#I’ve been trying to get all of my commissions done in between how many shifts I’ve had at work

[vrronica-sawyer]

#I’ve been trying to get all of my commissions done in between how many shifts I’ve had at work #but I remembered this tweet existed and had to doodle this as a little treat #is this polygun #Trigun #rill'sart #meryl stryfe #milly thompson #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #vashwood

[crissiebaby]

Sissy's First Date: Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: This POV story contains diaper usage, forced crossdressing, public humiliation, masturbation/diaper sex, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

Commissioned By: Anonymous

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*SQUISH! SQUISH! SQUISH!*

An audible squelch accompanied every step I took as Becca and I exited the women’s room. It didn’t matter how much Becca tried to calm my nerves by saying that it was all in my head and no one could hear it. No amount of reassurance could stop my paranoia from obsessing over the soft, spongy sound. The sheer panic of it all had my heart rate through the roof.

*THROB! THROB! THROB!*

Speaking of heart rates, between the fear of being caught and the endless sexual tension between Becca and me, my blood was pumping at high speeds. This, unsurprisingly, affected the size, sensitivity, and stiffness of my genitals. Every time my swollen diaper shifted or my engorged cock twitched, I feared my buckling knees would give out. The only solace I got was from the cooling sensation that came from the chilly water that kept my boner at least somewhat in check but that was far from a consolation prize if you ask me.

Meanwhile, walking only a few feet ahead of me was the living embodiment of confidence and grace. If I hadn’t been the one to pour a full bottle of water into her diaper, nothing about the way she composed herself would’ve ever made me guess she was padded. It begged the question in my mind: exactly how many times had she worn a diaper in public?

“I can tell you want to ask me something,” said Becca, spinning around on her heel and walking backward in front of me. 

I must’ve been quiet for too long. Either that or she was a literal mind reader. Placing a hand on the back of my neck, my eyes instinctually shot toward Becca’s feet as I responded, “Sort of. I-I didn’t want to offend you, though.”

“Oh, well, now you HAVE to ask,” teased Becca, planting both feet on the ground and forcing us to stop in place. It was clear this date would not be moving forward until I said what was on my mind, “And I’d better get to see your pretty eyes when you do.”

Butterflies filled my chest before exploding out of my body. I didn’t have a mirror but I instantly envisioned myself with visible smoke rising from my circuit-fried brain. “It’s just…you seem so…comfortable. It has me wondering how often you’ve done this stuff,” I said, forcing myself to look deep into Becca’s eyes despite how warm and heavy it made my cheeks.

“Eeeeee!” squealed Becca, catching me completely off-guard as she rushed toward me and pulled me into a hug. To say I was confused would be an understatement, something Becca must’ve sensed through my body language from how quickly she broke from her embrace, “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just…the way you blush. I just can’t get enough of it.”

Steam had to be shooting out of my ears at a constant stream by this point. How did Becca do it? How did she know exactly what to say to ruin my composure every time? How did she make me want to die of embarrassment while simultaneously making me feel more alive than I’d ever been? Everything about her was a conundrum.

Luckily for me, Becca must’ve taken pity on me as she quickly pivoted to a response. “To answer your question, yes. This is far from the first time I’ve worn publicly before, both on my own and with…partners,” she said, watching as my head sank a little, “Buuuuut, if it makes you feel better, you’re doing a lot better than anyone else has. Most people I’ve spent time with while padded either lie about how much they’re willing to submit or, even worse, try to take charge of the situation.”

“And you don’t want that?” I said, struggling to wrap my head around the relationship dynamic that Becca was after.

Thankfully, Becca was more than happy to fill me in on exactly what she expected from a partner, which in this case, just so happened to be me. “Not at all. If I wanted a dom, I could find some pig-nosed idiot to diaper me any day of the week,” she said, closing the gap between myself and her as she grabbed me by the cloth of my dress and pulled me into her chest, “No, I want a subby sissy who will jump when I say how high. And on that front, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, my precious, little Cherry.”

My eyes were wide and my breath was heavy as Becca whispered her expectations for me into my ear. I should’ve been running with my wet diaper tucked between my legs. Everything about Becca was firing off red warning signs in the manly ego of my brain. So…why did submitting to her sound and feel so fantastic? It was a thought that lingered in my head as Becca looped her arm through mine once again and set off toward a set of midway rides. “Now, that’s enough questions for now. Let’s get that padded butt of yours moving. Daylight’s burning and I’ve had my eyes on that Ferris Wheel since we got here,” she said, forcing me to waddle awkwardly alongside her as she led us into the heart of the fairgrounds.

As we walked, the hyperawareness I felt toward my attire drifted away a little. My walk became more casual as I learned to sway my hips with the diaper. My back straightened up as I no longer felt the need to duck my head down and hide. My expression relaxed, allowing a genuine smile to grace my lips. If I had been alone, none of this would’ve been possible. But with Becca at my side to keep me safe, I felt… invincible.

“Someone looks like they're starting to have some fun,” said Becca, who had been watching every microscopic change to my expression and mannerisms from the corner of her eye. I opened my mouth to say something back but found myself at a loss for words, too blushy to counter what Becca had said. In truth, she was right, something I clearly didn’t need to tell her with the way she was looking at me.

Mercifully, it wasn’t long before we arrived at the line for the Ferris Wheel, which gave Becca something else to hook her attention on. “Good thing we got here before the rush. Last year, this line was like an hour long once evening rolled around,” she said, attempting to engage in the kind of mild chit-chat one might expect on a first date.

The easy conversation allowed me to respond without much pressure, something that was likely Becca’s intention but she made it feel so effortless somehow. “No kidding. Though, I can’t say I’m one to balk at lines easily,” I said, recalling my recent trip to Disneyworld and the sometimes multi-hour waits that came with each ride, “Abby’s the weakling when it comes to theme parks so you’ve got nothing to worry about with m-”

*SNAP!*

“Huh?” I said, my attention snapping away mid-sentence at the flashing sound of a photo being taken on someone’s phone. This undoubtedly spiked my anxiety as noise yanked me from the private, comforting world that Becca was trying to keep me in. While I had no way of knowing that said camera was aimed at me, it didn’t stop my paranoia from skyrocketing. My head whipped back and forth, searching for the source of the snap but finding nothing.

Of course, it didn’t take long for Becca to notice my shift in attitude. With her arm still entangled with mine, she tugged me in close to her before shifting her arm up and around my shoulder. “Doing okay, rocketman?” she said, the oddness of her sentence breaking me from my monomania. I gave her a confused look, causing her to chuckle, “Sorry, you were spacing out so…rocketman. It’s a C-tier joke, I know.”

A few seconds passed before the logic of her joke connected in my brain, making me feel slightly dumb for not connecting the dots sooner. I snickered both at her joke and the tiny hint of rosiness spreading across her nose, enjoying the brief role reversal. “Yeah…yeah, I’m doing great,” I said, looking deep into Becca’s eyes and sharing a moment that felt more intimate than any instance of kinky fun, “You could even say I’m…feeling out of this world.”

“Pfffft! Oh, my Goddess! You are such a goober,” said Becca, bursting into full-on laughter. It may have been a touching scene but the joke was too good to pass up on.

“Next!” shouted the impatient fair employee who was in charge of the Ferris Wheel, looking particularly annoyed by the fact that Becca and I were holding up the line with our lovey-dovey dorkiness. Becca’s arm broke from its hold on my shoulder as we hurried into the bottom-most passenger car. We barely had our squishy butts planted in our seats before the Ferris Wheel lurched forward, sending us up in our own private gondola.

The fair may have been one of the most public places you could be but as soon as Becca and I were in the air, it somehow felt like we were the only ones there. Especially with how small the fair began to look the higher we ascended. “It’s such a pretty view,” I said, breaking the silence that had been building since loading onto the ride.

“Right? If there’s one ride I make sure to do every year, it’s this one. I’ve always been a Ferris Wheel girly,” said Becca, looking incredibly cute as she cheerfully swayed from side to side a little. I thought about pointing it out to her in hopes of recreating her rosy reaction from earlier. However, I bit my tongue as I contemplated the possibility that such a taunt might escalate Becca’s desire to see me equally as embarrassed, if not more so.

Meanwhile, as I considered the ramifications of teasing my domineering date, Becca took the restful moment as an opportunity to do a bit of touch-up work. Placing her purse in her lap, she pulled out her cell phone and a tube of lipstick and began expertly re-coating the edges of her mouth with a yummy-looking red. I stared longingly at her perfectly plush lips and wondered how amazing it would feel to kiss them again, which we had yet to do since our night of passion at Abby’s slumber party.

Unfortunately, when Becca caught me gawking at her as she applied the finishing touches to her upper lip, her mind went in a completely different direction than mine. “Aww, does someone want to play with Mommy’s lipstick?” she asked, pulling the slick, silky tube away from her mouth and inching toward me, “If you’d like, I’d be happy to doll you up a bit. I may not have Sarah’s skills but I’ve definitely been itching to take a crack at your pretty face.”

In the end, it didn’t matter if I made Becca blush or not. She was going to press every one of my buttons until I combusted. “I-I…uh…” I stuttered, unable to put my thoughts into words. I had felt a tad thankful that Becca hadn’t forced me to try my hand at make-up before the date. I probably would’ve looked more like a clown than a girl. That being said, now that the prospect of having Becca do my make-up was on the table, I felt incredibly torn. Why did being treated like her doll make me feel so…alive?

Fortunately, for the sake of my sanity, Becca decided such a decision was far too big for me to make. “It’s okay, Cherry-baby, Mommy knows exactly what you want. Just lean forward and let me take care of everything,” she said, her words sending my mind into a deep Little Space. 

How could I say no to her now? Not that I even wanted to say no at all. There was no denying it now. I was a sissy, through and through. “Just don’t do anything too over the top, okay?” I said, not wanting to stand out from the crowd more than I already was.

“Hehe, trust me, you have nothing to fear. When I’m done, no one will see you as anything other than what you are, my baby girl,” said Becca, shivers coursing throughout my entire body as she did, “Now, let's get you puckered up, buttercup.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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[keilemlucent]

best nest

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: 6.2k

Keigo's never been able to properly indulge his instincts, though you're more than willing to help him change that.

warnings: avian, feral keigo. rut/heat cycles. nesting. wing kink. breeding. horny shit, i tell u what

beta’ed: @keiqos​ 

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wow :’^) this is a collab with the wuv, @keiqos​!! we each worked on a fic that was our own take of keigo during his rut, and now y’all get the fun results. here is hers!!! enjoy this feast!!!

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Keigo had been acting particularly weird for the past few weeks. 

He was hardly a skittish person, yet he had been avoidant and downright shy in the last month or so. Despite living together, you had hardly seen or heard from him, and when you tried to address his absence, Keigo continually brushed you off.

He was hardly meeting your eyes when you managed to be in the apartment at the same time.

Finally, one night, he came in late. You sat, waiting on the couch, very awake circa three in the morning.

His eyes went wide, knowing he was caught.

“I know it’s late, but can we talk?” You asked softly, patting the couch next to you.

Keigo nodded stiffly, wings folded timidly against his back as he sat. In his big, tough hero uniform, he looked so odd with his hands held so nervously. 

“What’s going on, love?” You spoke quietly, lowering the volume of the TV to a hum. “Talk to me.”

Keigo silently picked at the threading of his gloves, then pulled off his visor. He stayed silent, eyes wide and far off.

You sighed, bringing your knees up under your body to face him. You tried to sound strong, but there was a twinge of weakness in your voice, “Are you... seeing other people?”

That notion brought Keigo right back, head snapping up to meet your own before gripping the sides of your face (harder than you would’ve expected) and rapidly shaking his head.

“No, no, no, not at all,” Keigo scooted closer to you as he spoke. “I promise, not that.”

“Then what?” You were frowning, despite Keigo’s contact feeling aloe on a burn.

Once again, Keigo seemed to stumble. His eyes averted, going glassy.

“It’s embarrassing,” His hands slip from your face, back into his lap. “Very embarrassing.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Keigo Takami was many things. But, shy and passive were not in that repertoire. 

You deadpanned.

“Please, just tell me,” You huffed at him, crossing your arms. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, Kei’. Feels weird.”

“I know, it’s just— fuck.” His gloved hands dragged down his face, flushing a bright red. 

You figured he was a bit warm.

Carefully, you reached forward, going to pull them from his hands. He stiffened harshly, watching you with... slitted eyes— (had they always been like that?). You gingerly freed Keigo’s fingers and palms, intertwining your own. 

“You can tell me, Keigo,” You smiled at him, squeezing and feeling pricks of pain in the flesh of your own hands. 

You noticed then, that Keigo’s fingernails were longer, pointed even. Though, they didn’t look manicured. They seemed to grow darker at the cuticle.

Your eyes widened as you looked up at Keigo as he turned his head away, half hiding his face in the fluffy collar of his jacket. 

“You know how I go on a ‘business trip’ about this time every year?” Keigo asked, rubbing a clawed thumb over the back of your hands. 

You nodded, “You go on lots of business trips, Kei’. What’s different about this spring one?” 

Keigo shifted his legs, wings twitching at his back. His entire form emanated his uncomfortable energy. From the tension rolling off his shoulders to the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw, Keigo was visibly very anxious. 

“Okay, uh, how do I explain this—” Keigo dropped his head, then looked back up at you, blinking slitted pupils at you. “You know how I’ve got wings?”

“Duh, dummy,” You rolled your eyes, reaching out to brush some fingers over one of the large, external feathers. 

Oh, but you got a reaction you weren’t expecting. You hadn’t thought anything of your action, yet Keigo audibly moaned with the contact. Something loud, high, and sinful as his thighs clenched together.

Both of your eyes went wide. 

“So,” You began slowly, “You have wings.”

“I have wings,” Keigo’s voice sounded tense and held in his throat, shaking just a bit. “And, I have some other avian traits as well.”

“Like...?” You coaxed. Whatever it was must’ve really made Keigo uncomfortable if he was being this resistant to talking about it. This man was the number two hero, yet he was mincing about like a kitten. 

“Uhhh... They’re more behavioral. Some physical,” Keigo bit his lip, shaking his head. “What do birds do in the spring?”

“Is this a riddle?”

“No, straightforward question.”

You really thought he was pulling your leg, but based on Keigo’s words and grave expression, he was dead serious.

And you had a dead serious answer.

“Oh my god, Keigo, you migrate?!” Your mouth fell open. Keigo’s eyes went wide and he seemed to stifle a laugh before shaking his head, feathers ruffling. 

“No, oh my God, no,” Keigo carried some mirth in his gaze now. “Not at all.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing with him. The tension seemed to be somewhat out of his shoulders until you set a hand on his knee and squeezed. 

“Keigo, out with it,” You rolled your eyes. “I know it’s scary, but I promise, no matter what it is, I’m here for you okay?”

You let your eyes soften as you sighed, squeezing his hands. 

Keigo looked you dead in the face, “We fuck, (Y/N).”

You choked on your own spit, before leaning back with a small laugh, “I know it’s been a minute with your schedule, but we do indeed do that outside of spring.”

“No, no, not like that,” Keigo ran his hands down his face, shaking his head. “I’ve been avoiding you because this whole conversation is going to be weird and embarrassing. You up for it? Because it only gets weirder.”

“Lay it on me, tailfeathers,” You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles. 

Keigo took a hand to sheepishly rub the back of his neck, “One of my more... avian traits is this... I don’t know, the Commission called it a ‘rut’, but I’ve done my own research and I’m not sure if that fully encompasses all of what it is.”

You weren’t entirely unfamiliar with the concept, but you certainly weren’t an expert.

“What happens during it?” 

“Uh, to be frank, exactly what happens during a bird’s mating season, and then some.” Keigo’s long nails dug into the fabric of his cargo pants. “My feathers grow in a bit differently. I nest. I get weird and territorial, possessive. I cannot tell you how much I’ve wanted to leave your neck covered in bite marks, just fucking claiming you—”

You both swallowed.

“And... You’re insatiably horny on top of all of this?” You asked, trying to ignore the way your insides were heating up.

Keigo nodded, waiting for you to reply with a softened, gooey gaze.

Oh, this was a little weird, right? Keigo was avian in some ways, but you never thought he had a whole ass mating season-

“Wait, so, in the spring, the ‘business trips’,” You used air quotes with a frown. “You’ve been just disappearing for your ‘rut’ and then coming back? Alone?”

Keigo waved his hands between the two of you, feathers fluffing up defensively behind him, “No, n-no, not like that. Never once. I’d just hole up in my apartment and fuck my hand like it was God.”

You choked. 

It made sense, you and Keigo moved in together at the end of last spring. Looking back, the timing now seemed to be intentional. 

“When did it start?” You asked, getting semi-intrigued by Keigo’s odd biology. 

“I was sixteen, I think,” Keigo did the mental math and bit his lip. “The Commission didn’t really know what to do with me, so they would just lock me up in my room with two extra blankets and call it good.”

You choked again. 

“So, you just disappear, deal with it, then come back?” You frown. “Keigo, I would’ve helped if I would’ve known.”

“I don’t know, (Y/N), it’s a lot to ask,” Keigo’s nails bit into his wrists as he squeezed. “I’m basically a horny, possessive, feral birdman for two weeks, not too mention the time leading up to it. That’s why I’ve been all distance. I’m sorry, I should’ve at least told you.”

“I would have appreciated it if you had, but I understand,” You grabbed Keigo’s hand again and squeezed. “This doesn’t exactly sound like a thing you’ve really ever been able to deal with comfortably, huh?”

“N-not really,” Keigo got all sheepish again, scooting a bit closer to you. “I haven’t really known what to do about it this year, so I’ve just been putting off facing you. I was just gonna get a hotel room or something, run off for two weeks, and then come back.” 

“Another ‘business trip’?” You raised an eyebrow as Keigo looked down, all sheepish and blushy. You tutted, shaking your head. “Well, babe, not this time. I’ve got you. I’m your live-in partner and I will not let my sweet, bird boy handle horny hours alone. I haven’t made you before, right?”

That made Keigo laugh, softly, some of the stress being held still in his wings falling away.

“I appreciate that, angel, but I don’t want you to agree to do this until you fully understand it,” He beamed you a smile. God, the man was like sunshine and candy when he chose to be. 

You nodded, giving him a(n) (over)confident smile, “Lay it on me, babe.”

Keigo had amassed quite a detailed understanding of his biological clock over the years, and he was able to spit it all back onto you.

“It’s basically two weeks of time where my only thoughts are ‘nest’, ’fuck’,’protect’, ’breed’—” Keigo cut himself off when your eyes went wide. 

“Wait, like, have children?” You asked, gut feeling unsettled. 

You and Keigo had been dating for a while, but the topic of children had never been seriously brought up. 

Does helping him mean to commit to having kids?

“No, not exactly. Like, I’m trying to protect a mate and breed, but that doesn’t mean the outcome needs to be children. At all,” Keigo assured you, patting your knee. “I know, it’s weird. I definitely am not into getting you pregnant, but that instinct part of my brain is.”

“Well, I’m on birth control, so we should be good there, right?” You laughed, relieved, squeezing his hand. “What do you mean by nesting?”

 “A literal nest. A spot that just smells like me and you to keep—” Keigo clicked his tongue, sighing in what seemed like relaxation, “you safe. And mine. It usually ends up being just like... my entire apartment, lots of shredded pillows, feathers, blankets. It’s honestly a nightmare.”

A nightmare, yes, but a very necessary one.

So, a plan was made. 

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 Keigo sent you off to a hotel for the days leading up to his rut. He had to prepare, get things ready and he wanted to be careful not to trigger it earlier and risk ruining what would more than likely be his first proper rut. 

You took his lead, pampering yourself for a few days and letting Keigo handle the details. 

(Considering how wrecked your body was going to be in the coming weeks, it was more than smart to give yourself some time to rest.)

When Keigo called you to tell you he was ready, he was sounded elated, wings audibly flapping into the receiver. 

When you arrived back at the apartment, the ride up the glass elevator was daunting.

You were perfectly happy to help with Keigo’s rut, but you were a bit nervous about what he was going to be like. Though he reminded you that one of his hormonal brain’s functions was to ‘keep you safe’, it also sounded like he was going to be a bit out of his mind. You trusted him with your life, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t nerve-wracking. 

The elevator dinged, sliding open to the top floor. 

Keigo stood just outside. 

You couldn’t help jumping back in surprise, taking in Keigo’s... state.

He looked positively feral, just on sight. Though had been warned of this, you hadn’t fully expected how visible his state would be.

Keigo apparently decided to forgo any sort of a top today as his chest was entirely bare to you. A pair of grey sweats was slung low on his hips, likely put on in a rush based on the uneven settling of the waistband. This was not even to mention the very obvious imprint of his dick against the fabric, hard just from seeing you. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, skin pink with rushing blood.

“Angel,” Keigo purred, yanking you from the elevator and crushing you into his chest, smothering you with kisses. Stray feathers flew to pick up your bags, carting them off to your nearby apartment. 

Speaking of wings—

In the few days it had been since you’d seen Keigo, his feathers had almost entirely changed. They were still their usual bright crimson, but the filaments of the plumage seemed to be almost... shiny? You couldn’t quite place it, but there had been some sort of change in their anatomy that made his wings appear iridescent when they moved. The patterns almost seemed to swirl and streak through the plumage. You wanted nothing more than to admire them.

Without thinking (or responding to Keigo, mistake), you reached out to grab one of the feathers, “Oh wow, Keigo, they’re so pretty.”

The moment you wrapped your hand fully around the plume, Keigo clawed his... talons (?!) into your shoulders, shuddered, and screamed.

You hissed as pain radiated from your shoulders, but managed to hold both you and Keigo upright as he twitched against you.

“Fuck,” He cursed against your neck, panting.

You felt a vague, wet spot on your leg.

You blanched.

“Did... you just cum? From me touching your wings?” 

Keigo nodded against, still shaking.

“S-sorry...”

The shame in his tone made your frown, pulling away from him to press a harsh kiss against his half-parted lips.

“Nope,” You murmured against his lips. “Nu-uh, you have nothing to be sorry about. I’m here to help, dummy.”

He sighed in relief, pressing into you.

It was going to be an interesting two weeks.

...

 The apartment was a nightmare. Keigo really hadn’t been lying when he told about how extreme nesting was. 

Notably, nothing was dirty. Keigo was actually an immaculately clean person due to his time with the Commission, but he was disorganized. And the nest of an apartment was testament to that.

There were stray feathers everywhere. Stuck in cupboards, tucked behind the TV, wedged in pillowcases and blankets, even a few under the bathroom sink. Newly purchased blankets and pillows were strewn over every surface. It appeared like you could simply fall in any area of the house and be entirely cushioned. Not to mention that Keigo’s feathers could sense every single motion in the house.

It was a sweet gesture and testament to the protective element of the rut that Keigo described. 

In addition to the many layers of softness, a new, far larger mattress had even been dragged to the living room and placed on top of a high frame set against the wall of windows that overlooked the city. It was heaped with pillows, fluffy blankets, and downy-looking, glimmering feathers. All of, despite its inherent chaos, was the comfiest looking corner of the apartment. 

“Oh, wow, ‘Kei,” You breathed, running a hand along a soft-looking blanket over the back of a chair. “You did such a good job!”

With that, he was pressed against you from behind.

“I... I did? You like it?” Keigo never asked for validation so openly. The implication of his inherent fear around his rut continued to make your heart ache. From what he had told you (and what you read in the days prior about avian behavior), you needed to ‘accept’ the nest he made for the two of you. 

I’ll make this good for him. 

“Yes, so much.” You leaned back against his chest, loving the way the heat of his bare chest seeped so well through your clothes, “I can’t wait to snuggle up with you in it and so much more.” 

Your last word was more than enough to get Keigo chirping into your ear.

Yes, bird-ishly chirping.

It was a mix of high and low clicks, maybe a bit of cooing thrown in as well. As far as his avian adaptations went, this one was newer to you, but remarkably cute. You turned around, pressing a kiss to his neck without thinking.

The contact made Keigo’s aforementioned talons dig into the meat of your hips, a hot breath rolling over your ear, “Please let me fuck you.”

It was abrupt, his shift in tone, but based on the way his cock was nearly burning your backside, it was a necessary step. 

“Well, I certainly won’t stop you,” You didn’t realize the unintended weight of your words, but Keigo sure as fuck did. 

He roughly grabbed your wrist, dragging you across the room to the mattress in the corner.

“W-wait, not the bedroom?” You asked. Keigo pressed at your shoulders, pushing you down roughly, though the softness of the bed dressings insulated your fall. 

“Nope, here, best spot,” Keigo’s words were clipped as he straddled your waist, silencing any other words you might have with a soul-sucking kiss. His tongue wormed its way into your mouth, licking at your gums and receding to suck at your tongue. All the while, you could hear and feel his feathers shudder.

He pulled away, eyes half-lidded and vertical pupils blown wide. 

“You have no fucking idea how much I missed you.” Keigo’s teeth nipped at your pulse point. 

Were... his teeth sharper?

You craned your neck away from him, pulling a nasty growl from his chest. You watched his feathers, both the one’s still fixed to his back and flared upwards and those scattered around, shudder and writhe. 

Keigo’s canines were longer, maybe even a little sharper. 

This rut thing... it was an avian thing, right?

Birds... don’t have sharp teeth... Do they?

 You dismissed it, much more focused on Keigo’s hand as it slipped lower, futzing with the waistband of your pants. 

“Sorry, dove, I’m a little impatient,” His voice was rough and strained, like he was holding back. 

His normally nimble hands struggled with the button of your fly, and with a nasty growl, he snatched up one of his nearby feathers, hardening it in an instant, and slicing your pants off.

“Keigo!” You shrieked, squirming, and sitting up as he tore off the ruined garment. “I liked those! That wasn’t nice.”

 “I think I’m done being nice to you for a bit, dove.” He shot you a dark look. 

You blinked at him.

Keigo had warned you that he would be a bit feral... but you weren’t expecting his nasty attitude. 

You also weren’t expecting to be turned on by the rage-filled spikes in his words. 

“Get on your hands and knees.” Keigo’s voice was clipped as he slipped off his sweats.

Holy.

Fuck.

Keigo’s cock was nothing to fucking sneeze at. It was pretty, long, with nice girth and a perfect curve for your pussy. He tended to keep his body hair well kept and groomed, an old remnant of the militancy of his youth. 

Oh, but ‘fuck you until you’re pregnant’ Keigo? 

His dick was a bit bigger, engorged with what had to be painful blood flow. Heavy balls hung below, ripe and flushed, in desperate need of contact, let alone release. Maybe it was the ambiance (or, the smell and pheromones unknowingly being inhaled into your endocrine system), but his dick looked immaculate. 

“Is your dick bigger, babe?” You asked, half-drooling in your mind at your lover’s cock. It certainly wasn’t hard to. 

Keigo normally would’ve clawed at the opportunity to schmooze you for stroking his ego so directly, but your current version of Keigo was far less into flattery.

“I said, get on your hands and knees.” He didn’t wait for you to reply, just flipped you onto your stomach, straddling your upper thighs. You yelped at the shock of sheets hitting your front, fabric tearing behind you as Keigo made quick work of your shirt.

You gulped as Keigo’s hands, talons, raked their way down your bare back as he let loose a loud, quaking sigh, “Oh, Angel, holy fuck.”

He said the pet name like it was a prayer to God and you let him. 

You shivered under him as his nails drew lines up your neck, all the way into your scalp. Without warning, he pressed the heel of his hand into the curve of your skull, shoving you deeper into the plushness of the nest below you.

Oh... Fuck. Were you about to sloppy fuck in the sheets you’d be spending the next several weeks in?

(Yes.)

 The somewhat gross revelation was quickly forgotten as Keigo’s hot breath shuddered against your ear, his (oh my fucking god slightly pointed?) tongue curled along the soft skin of your pulse point.

You both choked down a moan as his exposed cock rubbed against your backside.

“You’re so pretty like this,” For being feral, and for the blood that was quickly rushing to your head and sex, Keigo sounded very nice. “Gonna look so cute with my cock inside you, right?”

You nodded into the sheets, struggling to raise yourself up on your elbows as Keigo hauled your hips up.

Stabilizing yourself on the softness of the sheets and feathers was much more difficult than one would think. You were already slipping, no matter how you tried to hold yourself up.

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I want to fill you up, right now,” His voice takes on a dreamy lilt as he shoves you back, further into the nest. You crawl on your hands and knees, succumbing to Keigo’s hand on your neck after arriving to the middle of the massive mattress. “But, I also really don’t wanna hurt my angel. Gotta make sure you’re good and ready.”

The sentiment was nice enough, but you stiffened, remembering that Keigo’s nails were not only sharpened, but slightly hooked. You tried to turn, but quickly stop when you felt Keigo’s hot, hot breath over your sex.

You shuddered, biting your lip as his pointed tongue ran up and down your slit. From his hold on the meat of your thighs, you could tell he was trembling and burning. Whether it was from how much he needed you or how much he was holding himself back, you couldn’t be sure. 

Keigo’s pointed tongue ran up between the lips of your cunt, both of you moaning at the sensation. You felt his wings raise behind the two of you, casting shadows down on your display in some weird show of dominance. 

It made your skin run hot.

What made it run even hotter was the jolt you received Keigo pressed his face into your cunt with absolute zero shame. 

His tongue slicked up the lips of your pussy, dipping around your opening with absolutely sinful sounds falling around the two of you.

When you tried to adjust your arms, you caught a quick slap to your ass, pain only pushing your eyes to roll back in your head as Keigo sneered against you.

“Greedy.” It was a rich line, coming from him, king of gluttony, but you weren’t about to argue with him.

His nails dug into your thighs, dragging your cunt and his face together to the point where it felt like there was no space between them. You were helpless to do much other than grind back on his tongue as he tongue-fucked your cunt.

Keigo drew away, grabbing you by the hips and spinning you. Your back hit the nest, eyes spinning as you weren’t so used to him outright manhandling you. You sucked in a breath as you stared up at Keigo, his face slick with your juices and enlarged wings spread out and upwards. 

The slits of his eyes were blown wide, a toothy smile beaming down at you. It seemed sort of sweet before two of his clawed-fingers (thankfully, somewhat gingerly) spread the lips of your cunt. He spat onto your exposed clit, no reverie in his actions as his avian glare slipped over you.

A harsh clicking came from the back of his throat, feathers fluttering.

“B-Babe? Are you okay?” You asked as Keigo refused to look away from your splayed-out body.

“More than okay,” He shuddered, looking a bit more grounded for a moment. He swallowed, shaking his head.

Surprisingly, he reached out to cup the side of your face, rubbing a thumb over your cheek, “If you want me to stop, can you tell me now?”

“I don’t want to, Kei’,” You laid your words on thickly, knowing you had his lucidity. “Can you please fuck me? Fill me up, Kei’.”

He growled, something from deep in his chest, nodding, feathers shimmering in the light of the room.

He was on you instantly, wings flapping to shove his body into yours, lips on yours and tongue pressing into your mouth. The tapered appendage licks and literally fucks your mouth, robbing you of air as you weave your hands into his sweaty tresses and pull.

The pain spurred him on, one of his hands sloppily going between the two of you to line his fat cock with your cunt. He was considerate enough to rub circles on your clit as he rammed into your insides in one single motion.

Your eyes went wide, snapping open and you tug the bite of your nails into the back of Keigo’s head, held by the burning stretch and pleasant ache of your insides. 

Keigo had been fairly quiet during this entire ordeal, an odd thing considering he normally ran his mouth dry with praises, filth, and sweet nothings when he was half this close to your cunt. Yet, he’d hardly spoken through most of it, and most of your reading of him had been based on body (and wing language).

But, when he did finally bottom out, shaking and straining, it clicked.

Based on the sweat that was rolling down his temples, the veins bulging in his forearms, and the rigid tension in his shoulders, he was holding his rut-crazed body back.

You frowned, trying to ignore the kiss of his cock head against your cervix.

Recalling some of the things Keigo told you about some of his more animalistic desires, you decided to egg him on to breaking. Based on the rapid twitching of his wings, he needed it.

Keigo just barely moved, biting his lip and harshly exhaling.

“Baby,” Your own voice broke as you spoke, falling back into his mutant desires as well. “Please, please, fuck me how you need. Please.”

“S’fine, this is enough,” Keigo gritted out as he dragged his cock almost entirely out of your dripping cunt.

To emphasize your need, you grabbed a fistful of his feathers at the base of his wings and tugged, making sure to press your nails to the bone.

Keigo threw his head back, moaning high into the air, a coo mixing with the sound as his wings shuddered in your grip.

You buckled down. 

“No,” You whined, hooking your legs behind the small of his back, thumbing at the plumage as he writhed from your touch. “Fuck me, like you mean it, Keigo. Fill me up.”

He paused, freezing, eyes darting up to your own.

“S-say that again.”

You grinned, dragging his stiff neck down to your mouth, dragging your tongue to his ear, “I said I want you to fill me up. Stuff me full of your cum and breed me so good, please, Kei’.”

You’d never spoken like that to him during sex, and you quickly understood why.

The moment the words left your lips, Keigo slammed his hips back into you, wings fanning out as wide as they could. 

His lips found your neck, cock rearranging your insides with the immediate force and pace of his thrusts. His hands grappled at your hips, your tits, your shoulders, and your legs, anything to get to ram himself into you. Each thrust was punctuated by growls and clicks from the back of his throat, filthy words finally fell from his lips without a trace of shame.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna breed you so good,” Keigo’s voice was breathy as he raked his nails down your neck, light lines following as he bottomed out in you once more. He roughly grabbed one of your tits, pinching your pebbled nipple. “Gonna make you gush for me, yeah, I am.”

You could’ve given an equally horny response, but Keigo’s tongue was quickly in your throat, groaning into your mouth as his pace picked up to something inhumane.

It was short-lived, the wet slapping of his heavy balls stalling as he damn near screamed into your mouth, coming deep in your throbbing cunt.

You shuddered, feeling his load already dripping from your cunt onto the sticky sheets below you.

Keigo’s lips parted from yours, half-lidded eyes looking glazed and dreamy.

You thought that nutting twice so closely together would slow him down, but you were remarkably wrong. 

You rolled your hips up, smiling, “Feeling okay, Kei’?”

Keigo blinked down at you, lowering his head to nose at your jaw. You tilted your head for him, spine curling when you felt him begin to move again, still fully hard.

“I’m not done yet.” His words were curt and sharp as his arms caged around your head. The sharp peaks of his canines caught on the skin of your neck, dragging and sucking. “Gotta make sure you’re fucked nice and good with my brood, dove. So good.”

You swallowed, eyes rolling back when Keigo bit down at the base of your neck.

Keigo’s hips slammed back into yours, his pace picking up and the squelching of your slick and his cum ringing around the room. You could hardly focus on it, or anything as he quickly threw your legs over his shoulders, moving his licks and bites to your calves and thighs.

Your clit throbbed with each thrust, wet and craving contact. When you reached down to play with yourself, Keigo swatted your hand away with a growl, a red feather from the bed replacing it. The small, soft crimson feathers lapped at your clit, making quick circles as it became wet with slick. 

With the hold on your legs, he hauled you upwards, your lower half lifted off the bed and held by only Keigo’s grip and the curve of your spine. You keened with each of his thrusts, listening to the wild words that spilled from his lips while he rammed your cunt raw. 

They were mostly incoherent, half-sentences about how he was going to ‘breed you until he’s shooting blanks’, ‘fuck you full with his brood’ and ‘reem you until you grew feathers’. Each phrase got your breath going fast, his grip and pace forcing your lungs to fill faster and faster. 

The feather against your cunt grew sloppier, nearly vibrating with its jerky movement. A well-timed swat to your clit by Keigo’s own hand while he talked about your ‘life-giving pussy’ was what sent you over the edge, cunt tightening around his cock. 

His words reached peak incoherency as he rammed into your cervix, spilling into you with a harsh wail, wings stretching upwards and bumping against the ceiling. 

You expected a moment of reprieve, but before you could even think, still spinning with your own orgasm, Keigo flipped you onto your tummy once more.

Despite signing up for this sort of treatment, your insides already ached. The friction of Keigo’s fat cock had stretched you perfectly, all for him, but the deep ache in your core was getting a bit distracting. This was not even mentioning how sore your muscles were getting, pulling from the pacing and positioning Keigo chose at whim.

You didn’t voice your pains, buckling down on your psyche (or, what you had left of it), as Keigo slid into you once more.

“Oh baby,” His voice was slippery as he wound his hands through your hair, pulling and forcing your back into a severe arch. “You feel that?”

He fucked into you harshly, the squelch that followed serving as a reminder of how he’d already more than filled you up.

“So pretty and round with my seed...” Keigo’s words got dreamy and slow, just for a moment as he smoothed his hand over your hips, “Just need to make sure it takes...”

The feather from earlier was back on you as he started up once more, babbling and flapping his massive wings as he fucked you numb. 

You came as he did the next time, your legs giving way under the pressure and sensation. Keigo was quick to tsk, two more of his feathers moving to hold you up as he started to move again, cock never leaving your spent cunt. 

The parts of your brain that were still working and not reduced to a pile of mush wondered how the fuck he was still hard, but all things considered, it shouldn’t have been surprising. Besides, he deserved to satiate himself properly, fucking your gushing cunt, considering he’d never gotten to indulge in his instincts like this before. 

Despite how you burned all over, you let him finish inside you yet again.

And again.

And again?

You lost count at some point.

Keigo apparently really liked you face-down, ass-up, and kept you like that as he fucked you full over and over again. After having his taloned-hand stuck into your hair holding you to the duvet and pillows for so long, your head was spinning. What made all of this all the more overwhelming was the small feather that never fucking stopped moving—

“Kei’, please!” You screamed, voice hoarse and dry. You’re spinning, aching, and yet you still want more.

Keigo’s pace increases, using his wings to rut against your cervix over and over. 

The tempo of the feather increased, Keigo’s growls falling away into his own shriek as he pushed forwards once more, hot cum spraying your walls all over again.

The sensations, all of them, pushed you over the edge, a shriek tearing from your throat as hot tears soaked the nest below. Your orgasm curled your toes to the point of pulling muscles, back bowing and straining as broiling pleasure swallowed you once more. 

Keigo might’ve kept fucking you after that, you couldn’t really remember. With the plumes of feathers under your knees, he could’ve and you wouldn’t have known.

Your body and mind were spent, trying to keep up with his appetite. Your eyes rolled back behind your eyelids, and lucidity was gone to you. 

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 You awoke to soft cooing sounds and the smell of sweat.

It was jarring, shifting the slightest bit and feeling aches and pains you didn’t even know you could have.

The cooing stuttered, falling into a chuckle.

Oh.

Keigo.

His rut.

Oh.

“Oh my god, Kei’, did you fuck me unconscious?” It came out almost as a growl, voice cracking and low. 

A hand carded through your hair as you opened your eyes, taking in the state of yourself, Keigo, and the nest.

You were both sweaty, sticky and smelling all sorts of musky. It was intoxicating, lulling you. It must’ve been those pheromones that Keigo had mentioned way back when.

Keigo had nestled you to his chest, wings spread behind him and shimmering. The windows outside showed only the neon of the city below, night having long since fallen.

He beamed down at you with a clear fondness, a lot of the tension gone from his body, and looking significantly less stressed. But, there was a sad quirk in his brow.

“Sorry about that, angel, I got kind of out of hand there,” Keigo replied sheepishly, smile turning a little sad. 

You frowned.

You couldn’t have him thinking that.

“Nope, no, not at all,” You pushed yourself on an elbow, wincing at the pain, but recovering to peppering his stubbly chin and cheeks with kisses. “None of that, silly. I am happy to help, whatever that entails. I love you, you know?”

Keigo relaxed even more, falling against the nest and pulling you to his chest, “You gotta stop being so sweet, dove. Gonna get me riled up again.”

You hummed, kissing the tip of his nose, “That’s more than fine, just rub my shoulders a bit first. I think I pulled something.”

He kissed at your sweaty hair, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, “I’m more than happy too, dove. Thank you.”

His hands met your shoulders, rubbing at the sore muscles, careful to avoid pressing his talons into the skin. 

You heard him say so softly, more to himself than to you, “I’m gonna keep you so safe.”

The grin that came across your face rivaled the sun in its brightness and honey with its sweetness. You melted into his touch, dissolving blissfully into the smells and feel of your nest. 

Keigo left kiss after kiss against soreness, cooing and clicking as his rut-based needs were more than met. 

For once.

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x y/n #feral hawks #mha x reader #mha smut #bnha x reader #hawks smut #hawks #takami keigo #keigo x y/n #reader x hawks #you x hawks #dont call me a furry for this one but damn im tredding the line #bnha smut

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Learned Helplessness.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very patient @99shadowcat99.

Pairing: Yandere!Hawks/Reader (BNHA).

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Mindbreak, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, Themes of Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Slight Gaslighting, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and Implied Kidnapping.

Sometimes, Keigo had to wonder if there was ever a point where you hadn’t been afraid of him.

It’d always been there, even if Keigo liked to remember your anxious smiles and stuttered greetings in a kinder light. It made sense, in the moment, the way you kept your eyes on the floor when you first approached him, struggling to introduce yourself as you fumbled with the disposable cup in your hands, caught between the urge to leave an off-shift hero alone and the temptation get your favorite idol’s autograph before he could slip out of the small, back-alley bar you found him in. You’d been nervous, obviously, hesitant to admit you were just as eager as he was when he asked for your number, when he called you for the first time – hell, it took him months just to get you to spend the night in his apartment. You were shy. He liked that about you. You’d always been so timid.

The fear, the genuine fear, started later on. He remembered it, the weeks you spent holing yourself up in the smallest corner you could find, how many times he tried to lure you out and how many times he was met screaming and thrashing and struggling, but you’d always been scared, slow to adjust, reluctant to sit still and listen when he asked you so nicely to try. You wanted to be loved, but you didn’t know how to let your guard down. You wanted him, but…

But, he was making excuses. You were never shy. You’d never really been scared. Even when things went bad, he doubted you were ever really afraid of him.

You were afraid now, though, and if he’d been a better man, he might’ve been able to admit he was the reason why.

Your hands were shaking. Violently, visibly, despite your attempts to keep them folded behind your back, to keep the evidence of your paranoia out of sight and out of mind. It was enough to give you away, though, and if it hadn’t been, your posture would’ve done it, too stiff and too rigid to be comfortable, or your bowed head, or the smile you couldn’t seem to force onto your grim expression as he let himself into the kitchen, stopping to lean in the doorway. Already, it felt like an invasion, despite the fact that he’d taken you to his villa, on his property, far away from anyone or anything you’d interact with willingly. He was home too soon, and this wasn’t his territory, anymore. He wasn’t your caretaker, anymore. He’d lost the right to think of himself as such a benevolent figure.

But, he tried. You had to give him that. Out of the two of you, he was the only one trying to make this work. “No need to be shy,” He started, keeping his tone as neutral as he could. You didn’t react well when he raised his voice, and when he tried to be more gentle, to soften himself into something delicate and unimposing, you never bought the act. He couldn’t blame you. If he didn’t know how sweet you could be, how playful and how loving, he wouldn’t know to be dissatisfied with the frightened thing you currently were. “I don’t bite, (Y/n), you know that. You can calm down.”

He wanted you to correct him. He wanted you to grit your teeth, to cross your arms, to get angry. You only nodded, narrowing your eyes at the tiling. “You… you’re early.” Your voice was quiet, barely above a mumble, but it was still an improvement. Not long ago, you’d refused to talk to him at all, and when he could choke a few words out of you, he’d have to deal with the breakdown that came afterward, the pleads for mercy forced out between hitched sobs. This was better. He could tell himself that this was better, even if it was less, too. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been there to greet you. I would’ve, if I thought you were going to—”

You were rambling, again. Keigo didn’t have a problem with that, not by itself, not when so many memories he had of your absent-minded tangents were still tinted with that sparkling, rose-colored haze, but he didn’t care for this, panicked muttering only made more painful by the way you shifted your weight, managing to hold your tense smile, this time. Did he ask you to do that? Smile when he was around? Play house and pretend you were happy when your captor chose to pay attention to you? It seemed like something he would do, back when he still thought that wearing you down was the solution. Fuck, it seemed like something he would do now, if he didn’t already know how painful it was to watch you try.

“It’s alright,” He cut you off, taking half a step forward. Instantly, reflexively, you flinched back, that slight shudder suddenly more pronounced. It wasn’t just your hands, now, your shoulders were shaking too, your jaw locking into place as you leaned into the sharp edge of the countertop. “Sweetheart,” He tried, moving forward before realizing his mistake and freezing, cursing under his breath. Predictably, none of it did anything to soothe you. “Baby, I just wanted to see you, that’s all. I got off early, and I figured we could—”

A stifled gasp interrupted him, just the hint of a sob. A month ago, he would’ve taken it as a sign of disobedience, another bad habit you had to be trained out of. Now, it was all he could do to stop himself from wishing you would cry, kick and bite and scratch at him until you’re too exhausted to care that he'd be the one comforting you. At least that way, he’d get to touch you. At least that way, you’d be something, other than afraid.

“Please, I just—I haven’t done anything!” Because you’ve been good. Because so much as being near him was a punishment. Because he wanted you to love him and now, he was paying the price for hoping he could ever do something so shamelessly heroic. “I can’t— please, don’t come any closer, I don’t know if I can—”

He wanted to hold you. That was all he could think about. He just wanted to hold you, the actual you. Not whatever shell he’d gotten used to living with. “Stop talking.”

You clenched your eyes shut, then you opened them again. Like a child, trying to blink away the remnants of a nightmare after just waking up. “I’m so—”

“Stop talking.” In his defense, he didn’t yell, he knew how much you hated it. He did yell, he didn’t throw a tantrum, not like you would’ve, not like you were about to by the time he stepped forward, crossing whatever ridiculous boundary you were so convinced he had to respect. You moved to shrink into yourself, but he grabbed you before you could collapse, catching you by the bicep and latching onto your hip, refusing to let you fall and make him seem like the bad guy. You already had your fun. You’d already gotten away with enough. You had to know he would put his foot down eventually, and you didn’t have the right to seem so shocked, when he finally did. “Just stop talking. Shut up. Don’t say a goddamn word until I tell you to, fucking brat.”

Now, now, you were crying, tears welling in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks, your entire body trembling like he’d ever given you a reason not to trust him, like he’d ever hurt you a reason to think he had anything but your happiness in-mind. He couldn’t bring himself to care, not about the tears, not about the excuses you were stumbling through, and not about the way you were holding yourself, your arms crossed over your stomach and your nails embedded in your sides, a moment away from drawing blood. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

You didn’t say anything, but he still shook his head, sighed, made a show of cupping your cheek and idly brushing away your tears. “It’s my fault,” He admitted, letting the disappointment seep into his voice, allowing his tone to dip into something superior. Compared to your whimpering, at least. “I trusted you to get better on your own, and I shouldn’t have. I thought you could pull yourself together, but clearly, I was wrong. You just can’t do anything on your own, can you?”

You looked like you wanted to say something, to argue. You didn’t, but you looked like you wanted to, and that was enough to make his heart skip a beat on its own.

“I’m tired of this.” Just as quickly as he took you up, he let you go, watching in silence as you struggled to stay on your feet. “Go to your room. Yours, not mine. I don’t want to look at you if you’re going to act like I’ve done anything but help you.”

You looked at him, at that, met his gaze for the first time since you decide doing so was a death-wish. It was only for a breath, a fraction of a second, but he still saw it – that spark, that light, that hint of something other than thoughtless, blank fear. It wasn’t positive, the adoration he would’ve liked or the resigned neutrality he would’ve tolerated, but it was something. It was something, and it had been so, so long since you’d given Keigo anything.

He couldn’t make you love him. He’d tried, he failed, and he’d tried again and made thing worse. It was over. He just couldn’t do it.

But, he was beginning to think you didn’t need to love him. Not as much as he loved you. Not at all, really.

Not if he could get you to hate him enough to make up the difference.

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompts #yandere imagines #yandere oneshots #yandere scenario #commission #writing commission #yandere commission #boku no hero acadamia imagines #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #bnha imagines #my hero academia imagines #yandere my hero academia #mha imagines #yandere mha #yandere keigo #takami keigo x reader #yandere hawks #hawks x reader #yandere fantasy #yandere fanfiction #yanderecore #yancore

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V2; report xiii

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, workplace relationships

warnings: swearing 

word count: 1.8k

g/n: decided on a bit of a filler for this one as a sort of prelude to future scenes 👀👀 ((likewise manifesting my plan to post another chapter this week))

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy @stargukkie @moonchild1​

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

Jungkook locks his apartment door behind him, jiggling the doorknob afterwards for ‘double security��� as one would usually call it. He grabs his backpack from the floor and places one of the straps on his shoulders and heads on his way. As he passes by two of his neighbors who live in the same floor, he nods at them, adding a brief hum in greeting. 

“Hey man!” One of the men, Jikwang (as what Jungkook believes this man’s name was), calls out just before Jungkook reaches the elevator. “There was this hot girl asking about you last night.” 

Jungkook raises a brow. He hadn’t really met anyone recently, besides that one cute law student who was looking for a new tenant - and eventually turned out to be your neighbor this whole time. She was cute and all, but she didn’t seem like the type that was ‘hot’ to these types of people. 

Jungkook racks his brain for anything, trying to remember the very few number of his one night stands.Surely,none of them would have gotten pregnant with protection on….surely? On top of that, he hadn’t really disclosed his address to a lot of people too, so there was no way someone would be looking for him, all the more a “hot” woman,as these two would claim. 

“Did she say what her name was?” 

The one beside Jikwang shakes his head, adjusting his beanie. He’d seen this dude a couple of times hanging around, but he never actually got his name.  “Nah bro, I don’t think you’re the commitment type of dude…” he comments, dark eyes looking at Jungkook from his head down to his toe. Who was this guy anyways and who was he to judge whether Jungkook was the type to enter a committed relationship or not? 

“She just...looked rich, rich. She had a driver... who helped her come down from a nice Benz.” 

Jungkook feels his heart drop to the ground. No way in hell. 

“I think her name was Hee something...Junghwa? I dunno man, I’m not good with names. But it sounds similar to that…” 

“Was it Junghee?” 

“Yeah I think that’s it…” bonnet-dude replies, tapping a finger against his chin as he approaches Jungkook. “You think maybe you can set me up? With you know…” 

Jikwang knocks the back of bonnet-man’s head. “I got dibs first, shithead. “If she’s not already yours though,” he adds, delivering a wink aimed at Jungkook. “Her friends will do.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at the duo. “No. She’s my sister. And she doesn’t have any friends.” A chill courses through his spine as he replies, wondering how she managed to find out where he lived, and why would she even reach out? Why now, when she had so many years to do so? 

Beanie guy simply laughs at him - if it was even considered laughing, when he was practically splitting his sides with laughter - like the thought of having a sister was hilarious to him. “You’re real funny, man. There is no...way...in hell… that that lady was your sister.” 

Ah yes, this man is a health vice personified. Jungkook notes the discoloration of his teeth, the god-awful odor coming from his mouth, and they both reek of alcohol and drugs combined. From a safe distance, Jungkook watches their amusement over the subject that is his sister, thinking about why he even indulged these two in the first place. For all he knows, they might have been shitting on him the whole time. 

“Sorry man. I mean...she’s rich and hot… and you?” Jikwang shrugs his shoulders. 

‘And he?’ What about him? 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

Jungkook clicks his tongue silently, clearly taking full offense with Jikwang’s statement. Did they just imply he didn’t look rich and hot too? Well, compared to them though, they’ll obviously have way longer to go. 

Jungkook blinks before equally returning their level of disbelief. “For real, bro?” These men diss him, won’t believe he has a sister whose aura dwarfs his by a million percent, and now they want him to set up a date with her? He shakes his head. Only crooks like these would say insane shit like this. 

If only this wasn’t the cheapest and most convenient apartment he could find to accommodate his daily hustle, Jungkook would have moved out of this crap excuse of an apartment building a long time ago. 

“Keep dreaming man.” 

“Hey, this is what I get for selling you my bike for a good price?” Jikwang eyes Jungkook, taunting him. 

“I owe you nothing. I paid for it ages ago.” Jungkook turns on his heel, leaving the two in the crusty ass corridor of their apartment building. He needs to get a new place. Quickly. 

With a sigh, he pulls on his down jacket, keeping himself warm as he walks to the garage. 

‘King Auto’ 

There’s a certain warmth that envelops Jungkook whenever he sees the garage, a place he’d rather call home than his terrible apartment building. It sits right at the corner of two busy streets, just six blocks away from his apartment. 

Funnily enough, it wasn’t him who first found out about the garage but the other way around. Well, technically, the owner did. Lee Dongmin, owner and manager of ‘King Auto’ repairs and restores almost all types of cars and bikes alike, occasionally servicing high-end cars on lucky days. 

Dongmin would usually see Jungkook pass by the garage in the morning on his way to the university or his part-time job.Well, being located at a busy street in the city of Seoul, there would normally be a lot of passersby but Dongmin knew these people either worked or lived around the area; Jungkook, however, always lingered when he walks past the garage. 

It had come to Dongmin’s knowledge a few months later that Jungkook purposefully used a longer route on his way, walking two extra blocks just so that he could pass by the garage. Dongmin hadn’t initially done anything about it, as he thought Jungkook simply took interest in cars - especially when the shop had its fair share of servicing cars from the western market. 

There was this particular day though one summer, that their paths would finally cross. Jungkook’s bike, the same bike he bought from sketchy Jikwang, broke down. Coincidentally just in front of King Auto too. Funnily enough, no one in the garage was familiar with fixing up bikes, but Jungkook simply asked if he could borrow a few tools and he’d fix his bike himself. 

Ultimately, Jungkook became part of the King Auto family. He’d spend his spare time in the garage when he’s not busy with his part-time jobs and on occasion, Jungkook gets to keep a tiny commission whenever he helps out with the repairs. 

Jungkook goes through the front door greeting the new receptionist, Clark, a good morning before heading straight to the garage. Jungkook spots a familiar shade of blue peeking through the scissor lifts, just by the end row. He practically dashes to the car in excitement, too thrilled to greet his favorite car he had worked on previously. 

“My baby!” The boy exclaims as he rests his chin on the Porsche Panamera’s roof. “Kook! Get your hands off that! I just had it cleaned!” gruffs Mansik from the other side of the car, flinging his towel at Jungkook who mumbles a sorry but continues to cradle the car, a little more gently this time. 

“If you continue doing that, you know a towel isn’t the only thing Mansik is going to throw at you.” Lee Dongmin’s voice is low, careful that the man he’s referring to won’t hear his words. “I’m glad he hasn’t resorted to tools yet...just a couple of smelly socks and a t-shirt that smells like it hasn’t been washed for months... “ 

“Fuckers.” True to Jungkook’s foreboding, Mansik does throw a sock ball from out of nowhere, one which barely misses Jungkook’s face. Dongmin simply shakes his head at his workers, who he has considered family at this point, Jungkook included. “I’m just glad none of that fell into my first coffee of the day.” Dongmin observes, drawing himself father from the Porsche and any flying objects later on. 

“By the way, the owner is actually here to pick up the car. I may or may not have mentioned your infatuation with it.” 

Jungkook almost instantly jumps to his feet, searching for the owner inside the garage, but disappointingly ending up with all the familiar faces at the garage. “Chill, kid. He just grabbed some coffee down the street,” Dongmin mentions as he takes a sip of his own. “Ah, speaking of the devil,” the latter states, nodding his head towards someone behind Jungkook. 

“Seokjin-sunbaenim?” 

“Oh hey! Wasn’t expecting to see you here...Jungkook, right?” 

“Yes sir!” Jungkook’s pupils shake, animatedly looking back and forth between the garage owner and his upper-level resident. “So...you’re the one who owns this Porsche?” Seokjin raises his cup, adding a small nod in Jungkook’s direction. He internalizes his excitement, before confessing his love for Seokjin’s Panamera. 

“And so, Dongmin here mentioned. Also said you were the one who fixed her up. Thanks man!” 

Dongmin looks at the two of them, eyebrows creased in the middle. “You two know each other?” 

“Seokjin-sunbaenim is a senior of mine at Woocheon.” Seemingly shellshocked at the new piece of information, Dongmin turns to Seokjin, “You’re a doctor?” The owner of the Porsche rolls his eyes fondly, “Yes, Dongmin. We can have lives outside the hospital too, you know.” 

“Anyways, ‘Mera’s ready to go yeah?” 

“Of course. Kook fixed it up just fine.” 

“Alright. Got a shift today man? Need a ride to the hospital?” 

Jungkook is tempted to give in, but merely fixing Seokjin’s car is enough honor for him and he can’t take advantage of his generosity. “No thank you, sunbae. I’ve already got a ride to work today.” Jungkook points to his bike on the other side of the garage. 

Seokjin tuts his disbelief. “You’re kidding me right? In this weather?” The older doctor points outside, then rubs his palm against his down coat. “No way in hell, kid. Get in the car.” 

“Really?” Jungkook mumbles, dimple on display as his lips form a thin line. Seokjin makes a hum of approval as he takes off his jacket while Jungkook dashes back to where he’d left his backpack. “He’s a good kid, Jungkook. Can be a bit of a delinquent sometimes, but he’s good. Take care of him, yeah?” 

“Huh,” Seokjin smirks, “this handsome face got nothing he can’t handle.” Dongmin rolls his eyes this time, “Seriously doubt we’re the same age honestly.” 

Jungkook returns to where the Porsche is parked, and Seokjin gets a spur-of-the-moment idea. The surgical resident throws his keys to Jungkook before settling inside the passenger seat. Jungkook, surprised as ever, simply stands there in surprise. “Well?” Seokjin asks, ducking towards the dashboard so he could take a look at Jungkook, “We’re gonna be late!” 

© joontier 2021

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #jeon jungkook #bts aus #bts fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #doctors au

[angelz-dust]

masters of none - part 4 (jason todd x reader)

summary: after many months, we are back in action and back in reader’s head. pls enjoy these jason crumbs. if you need a refresher on the plot, the other chapters will be linked below!

word count: 3.7k

warnings: food/eating. alcohol. cursing.

part 1 /// part 2 //// part 3

gravity

ever since i ever felt ya, right there life couldn't seem better. tulip flowers in my sweater. ask me now, is this forever?

…

you rested your chin on the table before you, your arms hanging limply between your knees as you listened to your manager, dana. you were really just watching her mouth open and close while she pointed at a powerpoint. god, what you would've given for an extra hour of sleep. the all nighters in the studio were starting to take a toll. 

the feeling of the back of daisy’s soft hands brought you back to earth. the smell of cocoa butter dancing beneath your nostrils as her smooth engagement ring rolled across your cheek. you breathed in her smell, exhaling in content through your nose.

“you good?” she mouthed and you closed your eyes, giving her a little nod. the bassist rubbed her calloused fingers against your forehead, pushing strands of your hair past your hairline. you pouted when she eventually pulled away, leaving you only with the sensation of touch that once was.

you heard tyler shift in his seat and then felt some air graze against your hand. you looked under the table, noticing he was holding something out to you. you two made eye contact briefly before you scooted back in, grabbing what felt like an envelope. looking down at your lap, you saw a sticky note attached to it. jason’s money was what it said. you carefully put the envelope in your jacket pocket, sitting back in your seat now and looking at dana’s powerpoint. she was going over reports from your publicist, jerry, which you didn't particularly care about.

“now, i have to ask,” dana’s words pierced your bubble of inattention. “have you all thought about what i said about this next album?”

jordy raised his hand like a school kid. “yes?”

“y/n and i decided that we'd be okay with making our album a group project. it has been, admittedly, kinda hard and boring without everyone else. we’d honestly be doing ourselves a disservice by not doing it together,” jordy explained, dana clapping her hands together.

“wonderful,” she nodded, keeping her hands clasped. “i know you two were excited to do your own thing, but i was talking to jerry and he was really pressing me to get a group album from you guys. the people wanna see you guys as a unit of established artists, which you all are. so what's the concept? we never discussed it.”

“uh,” you verbally paused, raising your arms above your head to stretch. “disco, jazz, and funk. it's a mix of those.”

“retro is in right now,” dana nodded, pacing around the room. “how far back will this set us on a release date?”

you grimaced, leaning back in your seat, the back of the seat lightly bouncing as it absorbed your weight. you pondered the question for a moment. “if it’s gonna be a group thing, it'll have to be significantly longer. we have a decent starting off point but i'm gonna need way more songs now.”

“what about the rest of you? any tracks that we could swing?” dana asked, looking at the rest of the group. 

grabbing a pen and piece of scrap paper, you started jotting down notes as everyone spoke out to you. dex and quinton didn’t have anything, but they wouldn’t be a problem. you just needed to give them a beat to rap over and you’d be set. the twins had a finished song already that fit the concept, which was good. with tyler’s voice and aly’s excellent song writing abilities, you doubted very seriously that anything else needed to be done to it. daisy and hector had plenty of lyricless songs, too. funk and soul was their specialty, after all. misha even had a demo track she was willing to share. 

you looked over the notes you had taken, tapping your pen on the table as you hummed to yourself. “this could probably work. we’ll need to go over everything in the studio, though.”

“we should just do it now. no one is doing shit else today, right?” dex asked the group, who all shook their head. 

“i have a request,” you raised your finger, looking at dana. “i want gotham to be involved in this project.”

“gotham…” dana repeated slowly, unsure of what you meant. “care to elaborate?”

“music videos directed by student directors from gotham university, commissioning local artists for album art. dancers, actors, musicians, whatever. all of them have to be from gotham. i don't want any of the money we put into this project leaving this city,” you stated firmly, dana giving you a blank look. 

“i like that idea,” hector said, giving you a kind smile before turning to dana, shifting in his seat. the drummer was like a big brother, always backing you up in moments like these. “accessibility to the arts is really limited here and we should change that.”

“i’d rather give back to the city, too,” quinton agreed, playing with the gold cross hanging from his neck. “we’re one of the only groups in gotham known outside of gotham. we should use that as an opportunity to rep our city.”

“it sounds like you have your minds made up on this,” dana narrowed her eyes, letting out a sigh. “it would definitely be good PR.”

“because god forbid we do something out of the kindness of our hearts,” misha laughed, rolling her eyes. “we're trying to put the city on and you're worried about how it makes us look.”

“that's my job, misha. don't you want me to do my job?” dana retorted. “besides, i'm more concerned with the funding. you all don't have disposable income, believe it or not.”

“but i know someone who does,” she said with a singsong tone, giving you a look.

“i hope you're not referring to me,” you deadpanned. your income was far from disposable.

“i’m referring to our good friend, bruce wayne,” she explained, grabbing a business card out of her purse, handing it over to dana. “ever since i got invited to that charity gala, i've had a direct line to a representative with the wayne foundation. i say we ask them to help fund the project.”

“now that could work,” dana admitted, eyeing the card as she tapped her foot. “if we pitch for more youth involvement, it'll probably go over better. we all know how much bruce wayne loves saving the children.”

you frowned at how dana described bruce’s initiatives as a philanthropist. you were sure his motivations for favoring youth projects were good intentioned, considering his parents had been killed when he was just a little boy. you wanted to go into this good intentioned, too and you hoped that they'd agree. they being the wayne foundation and subsequently, bruce himself.

“ty and quinton could do something with forrester. if we’re going for the youth involvement route, i mean,” aly spoke up. 

“forrester correctional. our old stomping grounds,” quinton sighed wistfully as he patted tyler on the shoulder. “i think that would be a good idea.”

“they use the arts as an outlet for them, so it could be beneficial for everyone,” tyler nodded. “there are a lot of good kids there. just unfortunate circumstances, that’s all.”

“wasn’t one of bruce’s son’s a troublemaker before he was adopted?” aly continued, not noticing the look you and tyler shared. “i’m sure he’d probably be interested in doing something with them if his son comes from the same background.”

“it’s settled, then. you all keep working on the music. jerry and i will handle the rest. we need this album out before hector and daisy’s wedding,” dana said, grabbing her suitcase. 

…

hey, i have your money. did you still want it?

you stared down at the unsent message, your thumb floating over the send arrow. you hadn’t spoken to jason since that night after the race, as per his request. your mind kept wandering back to it, even as time still went on. what happened was scary, to say the least. fun, but scary. you wondered how the hell jason didn’t get the two of you killed. that part, you didn't want to think about too hard. everyone in gotham had their secrets and it was an unspoken rule amongst citizens to not pry. secrets were secrets for a reason. nothing good ever came from unearthing them.

speaking of secrets, you hadn't exactly told tyler and quinton what happened that night. not in detail. you conveniently left out the chase and stopping to get something to eat. omitting the first part was obvious, but the second one was for your own sanity. you didn't need them teasing you over nothing. besides, all that mattered was no one was dead or arrested. and for the way the three of you used to get down, that was a win. 

you considered texting jason earlier this week, just to check in on him, but you decided against it. he obviously wanted you to text him and you obviously had to do the opposite. his little mind game wasn’t going to work on you. you pressed send, frowning immediately as you did so.

maybe it already had.

“it’s too many people in this bitch,” dex sighed, the cold of the water bottle you had asked him for against your hand bringing you back to reality. blinking, you were suddenly very aware of the chaos surrounding you in the studio as you put your phone back in your pocket. you looked to your left, where jordy was leaning against the wall and scrolling through his phone. to your right was aly, who was scribbling in her songbook in the chair next to you. you remembered you were supposed to be working, too. “we need a new stu.”

“i’m working on it!” hector hollered from inside the booth as he and daisy were setting up equipment and instruments. you glanced up at the glass in front when you heard his voice, accidentally catching the pair share a little kiss. you quickly averted your gaze, smiling to yourself.

“new stu, new view, what it do?” quinton began to freestyle to a beat he was making on the coffee table in front of him. “off 92, posted up with southside crew.” 

“okay,” dex laughed, noddinh his head as he was vibing with the beat, making his way out of your line of sight. you heard someone, presumably tyler, join in and add some depth to the beat. it sounded like he was hitting a pencil against a shot glass.

“i got a new boo, but i’m tryna slide with misha, too,” quinton continued, dex adlibbing in the back as quinton lowered his voice to his signature melodic whisper. “on the low, nobody gotta know.”

“would you shut the fuck up?” you heard misha say, followed by a barrage of muffled smacking noises and verbal objections from quinton, who you assumed was on the receiving end of what sounded like an assault by pillow.

laughing to yourself, you leaned your head in aly’s direction, not fully facing her. “pass me the flash drive?” you held your hand out weakly. once you felt the plastic in your palm, you leaned back over and put it into the computer, pulling up the proper files. 

“we’re done back here,” daisy smiled at you, she and hector coming out from the booth. 

you clapped your hands together. “wonderful. everybody shut up, please.”

you pulled up the twin’s song and let it play, your eyes fixed on the colorful audio loops on the screen. the green ones were tyler’s vocals, the purple were aly’s. it looked like blue was reserved for instruments and red was any added sound effects or layered sounds. 

“you two sound really great,” jordy walked up behind aly’s seat, leaning against it as he swayed his head to the beat. 

“thanks. i wrote it with our mother in mind,” aly said, the words coming out of her mouth uncomfortably. you placed your hand on hers and gave it a little squeeze, which earned you a look of appreciation.

“it's missing something, though,” tyler scratched the back of his head. “i need the producer squad to give us some assistance.”

“oh, say less,” dex laughed, snapping his fingers to the beat with one hand and holding his glass of hennessy in the other. he danced his way over, taking aly’s seat as she, tyler and jordy moved to give you all some space. 

misha sauntered her way over, sitting against the table and flipping her hair over her shoulder. the smell of her sweet perfume floated in the air around you. “i think it just needs some fluffing up. some snapping might work. more vocal layering in certain spots.”

“i agree,” you nodded, dex letting out a satisfied sigh as he took a sip of his cold drink. 

“is it good?” misha asked him teasingly and he took his final swig, letting out a more dramatic and drawn out sigh. this time, though, it was on beat with the song. you were pretty sure it was unintentional on his part, since he and misha just shared a laugh before returning their attention to the screen.

after a moment of pondering, you swiveled around in your chair, looking at tyler. “okay, hear me out…”

…

two weeks of very diligent working between the nine of you had given you a lot to work with for the album. all that was left was to start putting things together. you still had a ways to go, but you had a good starting off point. as much as you hated to admit it, it was a good call on dana’s part to have you all do a group album. the fans seemed to be greatly anticipating the release and the work ethic the nine of you shared was incredible. even in that cramped little studio, you all made it work.

you all agreed to take the day off, but you were still working at some capacity. you had just traded one small space for another, working in your walk-in closet/home studio for the day. you still needed said walk-in to function as a closet, so there were still garment bags pushed up into a corner and shoe boxes haphazardly stacked, surrounding your desk that you had shoved in there. there was just enough space for you to move your chair and safely get out without twisting an ankle, a fate you often flirted with in that room.

in the spirit of your day off, you hadn't done anything too difficult. you were just trying to decide what order you wanted the completed songs to go in. it may seem like an insignificant detail, but the order was important. the transitions between songs couldn't be jarring for the listener. everything had to flow together with natural progression. at this point, it didn't matter since you weren't done with the album, but it was just giving you an idea of how to fill the gaps with future songs. 

the sound of your growling stomach indicated that it was time to stop for the day. you quickly saved all your work and headed to the kitchen. you popped some leftovers in the microwave and scrolled on twitter while you waited. the microwave beeped at you, so you set your phone back down and grabbed the bowl, mixing up the contents with your fork. the flash of light coming from your phone got your attention. a text notification.

are you home?

oh, so now he wanted to respond? cute.

despite your annoyance with the situation, you quickly responded with a yes and set the phone back down. you leaned against the counter, eating what little food you had in your reheated bowl. you mixed the contents around with your fork, grumbling. stupid jason and his stupid inability to text back. he could have at least had the decency to leave you on read. he probably didn't even have read receipts on. you weren't sure which was worse. tossing your now empty bowl into the sink, you grabbed your phone to read his next message.

i’ll be over soon. 

soon was very vague and you wished that you would've demanded an exact time, but that opportunity had passed by the time you thought about it. you busied yourself with tidying up, trying to make your place look presentable. you even lit your new candle, which you found yourself focusing your attention on while you waited for him to show up. staring at the flame was much more entrancing than you anticipated.

you heard the door buzzer go off. you weren't expecting anyone else, so it had to be him. you leaned against the wall, pressing your finger to the button.

“who goes there?” you presented the question as a joke, but your tone was a little flat.

“it’s the irs,” jason’s voice came through and you buzzed him in. 

not too long after, you heard him knock on the door. you cracked it open and the first thing you noticed was his cologne. it was a strong but pleasant scent. spicy and sweet. it was very intoxicating, actually. so much so that you almost forgot you were angry at him.

“hi.”

“hello.”

you opened the door fully and handed the envelope to him. jason eyed it suspiciously. he opened it up and began to count it out in front of you. he made an effort to do it very slow, the sound of the crisp dollars echoing in the quiet hall. his eyes stayed glued to yours as he counted out loud. you leaned against the doorframe as you watched.

“six… seven… eight,” he said, pulling out his wallet and stuffing it with the cash. “thought you would've skimmed some off the top.”

“i should have with how long you made me wait,” you said matter of factly, letting your annoyance be known now. 

“i know. i’m sorry,” he sounded honest but you couldn't see it in his face or in his eyes, which was worrisome. it was a nice alternative to listening to a sputter of excuses, though. “let me make it up to you?”

“how do you plan on doing that?”

“i’m so glad you asked,” he smiled. “as it turns out, i've recently come into some money. let me spend it on you?”

“so you like throwing money at your problems?” you asked him. well, you weren't really asking. it was more like you were telling him. 

“no,” he said, sounding a little offended. “i just thought-”

“you just thought that throwing money at me would make me forget about the fact that you ignored me for a month.”

“no, no,” he shook his head, sighing in frustration. “listen, i-”

“i really don't wanna hear it,” you said honestly, watching as his frustrated look turned into kicked puppy. you almost felt bad. “i don't like feeling stupid, jason. that's how i feel right now. i want you to make it up to me but you'll have to be a bit more creative than this.”

“you want me to make it up to you?” jason had repeated, confusion on his face. 

you poked him harshly in the chest. “you do that or you leave me alone. those are your options. goodbye.”

you shut the door in his face and let out the breath you were holding in. you weren’t sure how jason was going to react to your little ultimatum, but those were your terms. you liked him but you weren’t going to stress over someone you barely knew, especially with your assumptions about him floating around in your head. 

“i’ll be right back,” you heard him say through the door, catching you off guard. 

“what?”

“don’t go anywhere.”

you didn’t respond but you heard his footsteps getting quieter as he walked down the hall. the elevator ding indicated that he had left. you stood there, confused as to what it was he was trying to do. you were still stewing in your negative emotions, so you went and busied yourself again. you decided the dishes needed washing and got on it right away. in the middle of scrubbing the stubborn sauce stains out of your plate, you heard your door buzzer go off again. 

so he did come back after all. interesting.

you buzzed him in like you did before and waited by the door for him. he knocked and when you opened it, you were met with two gifts: a bouquet of pink tulips and a small box of something from the bakery around the corner. 

“i shouldn’t have ignored you. it was rude and stupid and i’m sorry. it won’t happen again,” he said to you, holding out the items to you. you hesitantly accepted them, taking the opportunity to look through the plastic opening of the box to see chocolate covered strawberries. 

“it better not happen again,” you pouted, looking up at him. you had to appreciate the effort he put in at such short notice. it was a sweet gesture and he actually looked sorry this time. 

“it won’t,” he assured you and you smiled.

“i forgive you. but you’re on thin fucking ice,” you reminded him and he grinned at you with a nod.

“i’m going to make it up to you. just you wait,” he said confidently. “not all of us are naturally creative like you, though. you gotta give me some time to think of something else.”

“seems like you’re getting your feet wet with the flower selection,” you noted, taking a whiff of the delicate and fresh scent. they’d look nice on your coffee table.

“lady at the shop said they would convey my sincerest apologies,” he explained, a hopeful look in his eyes. “did it work?”

“for now,” you shrugged, setting the items down on the table next to the door. 

“i can accept that.”

“you’re gonna have to because that’s all i’m giving you,” you said firmly. his charm wasn’t going to get him out of this one. not completely. “now go away. i want to eat my berries in peace.”

“i’ll text you as soon as i get the chance,” he told you as you were shutting the door. you peered at him, narrowing your eyes before shutting it again. “i’m serious!”

“goodbye, jason!” you said through the door. you heard his faint farewell as you walked away, plopping on the couch with your dessert in hand.

were you still a little mad at him? yes. but you weren’t going to pass up free stuff, even if you had made all that fuss about the money earlier. at least the gifts had some thought behind them. so long as he held up his end of the deal, you had a feeling being friends with jason wouldn’t be that bad.

hopefully, anyway.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc x reader #jason todd #red hood

[rufousnmacska]

Only You

A Manorian arranged marriage fic requested by an anon.

Huge thanks to @itach-i for her help and advice with plot and beta reading! ❤️

Previously, in Part One

Previously, in Part Two

*

PART THREE

*

Manon jumped at the knock on her door. She’d sat up all night watching the fire slowly die, unable to sleep. Stiff from sitting in a chair in a cold room for so many hours, she moved slowly to the door. Expecting Glennis, she was surprised to find Yrene waiting to come in. The healer’s smile disappeared when she got a good look at Manon.

“I’m sure I look how I feel,” Manon said by way of greeting. She turned and went back to her chair.

Shivering, Yrene tried to get the fire going again, adding some kindling and blowing on the few stubborn embers that remained in the fireplace. The flames caught, but it would be a while before any heat radiated from it. She sat opposite Manon, watching her carefully.

“Just say it,” Manon said.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

She’d come to consider Yrene a good friend over the last two years. The woman was kind and an exceptionally talented healer, helping Manon overcome some of the darkest moments of her grief. Yrene also helped her navigate her way through the complexities of her relationship with Dorian, giving her advice and translating some of the human customs she didn’t understand. Like exchanging gifts. Manon had never given or received a birthday gift before. Yrene not only helped her find one for Dorian, she listened without judgment as Manon explained how foreign the concept was to her. The idea for the memory book had come to her after imagining what Yrene might get if Dorian and Manon were marrying.

Yrene sighed, resting her head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen this room before,” she said, absentmindedly. “It’s quite lovely.”

Manon glanced up. The ceiling was painted like the sky at twilight. A deep, rich blue turning black with stars scattered across it. It was beautiful, and it reminded her of those frozen nights she and Dorian and the Thirteen spent camped in the Fangs in search of the Crochans. She recognized a constellation or two and realized it was likely the same night sky. She didn’t think there was enough time for him to have commissioned the mural between her accepting the invitation and now. But she’d learned long ago that it was foolish to underestimate Dorian’s love of grand romantic gestures. Whether it had been completed for this visit or not, the intention was the same. She leaned back to examine the stars, smiling slightly as memories came rushing back – Asterin teasing Dorian about his pretty blue eyes, Vesta’s shameless flirting that often came dangerously close to provoking Manon’s jealousy, Sorrel gifting Dorian an Ironteeth blade that he still carried, Ghislaine getting caught up in talking about books with him. They’d only traveled together for a couple of short months. And yet despite the hardships, there was so much good to remember. It made her think of the memory book, and how much she wished to be sharing it with him as his wife.

“Josie asked for you the other day,” Yrene said, drawing Manon’s attention back down from the ceiling.

“She said my name?” Yrene and Chaol’s daughter had just begun forming complex words the last time Manon had seen her.

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “it was close enough that we knew who she meant. She mixed up the words a wee bit, so it came out Ma Nauntie instead of Auntie Manon. She’d seen one of Adarlan’s wyverns flying over the castle and thought it was Abraxos.” Yrene was grinning at the memory. “I’m afraid she butchered his name. But we’ve got her trying Brax for short.”

Manon was returning Yrene’s smile, but she didn’t know what to say. For as fond as she’d grown of Yrene, she’d come to care for Josie just as much. Would she ever see them again after today?

As if reading her mind, Yrene said, “I know it might be hard for you. To come here again. So I was thinking, maybe someday we can visit you?” Tears spilled from Yrene’s eyes and she pulled out a handkerchief.

“Of course! You can come back with me tonight if you wish,” Manon said, stretching out a hand. Sometimes it still felt strange for her to offer comfort to others. But it was something Yrene knew about her, something she never called attention to. And now, the healer leaned forward to take Manon’s hand in hers.

Yrene tried to smile but it just made her cry harder. She stood and walked away, taking a moment to blow her nose and dry her eyes. When she returned, she said, “Please don’t marry that fae prick. He’s not good enough for you. And I don’t trust him.”

Manon laughed, part of her shocked at the possibility, the other shocked at hearing Yrene swear. “No need to worry about that,” she said, further amused by Yrene’s exaggerated relief. “I no longer have plans to marry anyone. A consort isn’t required either. So, when the time is right, I shall only be in need of a … What was that word you so eloquently used just now? I will only need a prick.”

Yrene’s cheeks reddened as she laughed. “Is it not the best word for him?”

Manon grew serious, thinking about her evening with Fennick. He’d been too flirtatious and self-absorbed, and a bit rude towards the others at the table with them. But based on her experiences with fae males, Fennick’s behavior was typical, with Rowan being the exception. Yes, he was arrogant, but he’d also expressed sympathy for the Thirteen, and shared his past heartbreak with her. She knew what Dorian thought of the prince and wasn’t surprised that Yrene would also dislike him.

“Why don’t you trust him?” Manon asked.

Yrene sighed and bit her lip as she searched for an answer. “It’s mostly a gut feeling. He barely addressed Dorian. And him telling us about coming here to find a mate didn’t endear him to anyone. Even Eveline thought he was an ass.” At Manon’s expression, she offered an apology for mentioning the young woman.

“No, don’t worry about that. I’m more interested in what you said about Fennick. He came here looking for a mate?”

“That’s what he said. Some tale or superstition of his grandmother’s claiming fae would find their mate at a wedding. It sounded made up. And when Eveline told him there were no other fae invited, he said he could have a bond with a human or witch.” Yrene shot her a wicked grin. “Dorian wanted to hit him, I could tell.”

Her own lips twitched upward at the thought. But her mind shifted quickly back to Fennick. She’d known of his intentions from the letter. But why antagonize Dorian? Yes, the male was conceited, but he hadn’t struck her as stupid. Yrene was watching her expectantly, but Manon just said, “Well, regardless, you don’t have to worry about him. I don’t intend to see him after today.”

“Thank the gods,” Yrene said, apparently letting the subject go.

Manon knew Yrene had an extra sense about people. Whether it was her healing magic or just her ability to read others, Manon didn’t know. But she trusted Yrene’s opinion and knew it wasn’t clouded by jealousy like Dorian’s. Yrene’s relief set off warning bells. Manon needed to think, and she welcomed the distraction it offered as she waited for the ceremony later today.

“Where is Josie now?” she asked.

“With Chaol. Actually, I should be getting back.”

“Do we have time for an early lunch before the ceremony? You could bring her up here.”

Yrene beamed at the offer, promising to return with her child in a few hours.

After the healer left, Manon bathed and dressed. She sent her guards off on separate errands, giving them the names of castle staff who might know the gossip that was most difficult to come by. Then she set out on her own search for information, something she should have done sooner.

***

Dorian heard shouting from the main stable and poked his head through the door. The head groom was sending stable hands off in every direction, calling out reminders about the diets of certain horses. She saw Dorian and walked over to greet him.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. One of my lead grooms didn’t show up for work this morning and we’re scrambling to get the horses fed.” The woman grabbed hold of a young boy and turned him around. “Other way, lad. And be careful. That horse bites.”

Dorian smiled. “Don’t mind me. I’m just headed for the wyvern paddock. Have they been fed yet?”

Only half listening, she nodded, then turned back to the chaos surrounding her. “Last time I give so much responsibility to one person,” she muttered.

Continuing around the main stable and towards the far end of the yard, he saw a figure standing by the building that housed the wyverns and stopped. But it was only Glennis. The white hair had fooled him for a split second. She was feeding a small, bluish gray wyvern.

“I thought you’d never give up your broom,” he said, holding out his hand towards Abraxos. The little wyvern snuffled against his palm and Dorian rubbed his snout.

Glennis waved a hand, feigning irritation at her new mode of transport. “Neither did I until this little trouble-maker hatched out of an egg.” She tossed a chunk of meat to her wyvern, then moved on to the next one. Apparently Abraxos had already received his breakfast. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Glennis said, “the wyverns are more comfortable to ride. Especially for old witches like me.”

Dorian laughed, giving her his best smile. “Who are you kidding? You’re still young.” She snorted and waved him off again. As she fed the other wyverns, he turned back to Abraxos.

Fearing this would be his last chance to see the wyvern and hoping no one else would be here, he’d gotten up early to visit. Not that he’d actually slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep. “Hey, Brax,” he cooed, stepping through the gate into the stall. The wyvern curled his long, barbed tail around Dorian’s feet as he continued petting his snout. Dorian pulled a small bouquet of flowers from his cloak and laughed as a low, contented sound rumbled from Abraxos’s chest.

“He’s not like that with just anyone.” Glennis was standing behind them. “Flowers or no flowers.”

“I know,” Dorian said.

“She’d be mad to see you spoiling him so much.”

He huffed a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t stop.

Glennis knew why he was here and went back to spoil her own wyvern, giving him privacy.

After a while, Dorian inhaled, long and ragged, his breath pooling in the morning chill when he released it. Abraxos watched him, seeming to know this was a goodbye. The wyvern let out a sad whine and Dorian tipped his head forward to rest against Abraxos. “You take good care of her for me, Brax. All right?”

Abraxos huffed in agreement, enshrouding Dorian in a cloud of hot air. The pungent smell gave Dorian the perfect excuse for the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he said goodbye to the little scarred wyvern.

Glennis was not so easily fooled. She knew the reason for the shimmer in his eyes, but said nothing as they started back to the castle together. The main stable appeared to be under control and Dorian waved to the head groom as they passed.

“You were married to a Crochan prince,” Dorian said, breaking their silence as they climbed a hill. “Was it arranged, or did you choose each other?”

For all her talk of old age, Glennis didn’t struggle with the incline. “A bit of both. We’d known each other forever, and our parents had thought it was a good match. There was never any formal agreement but they encouraged us. It was a bond forged of love.”

“So, you were mates then?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling her cloak up around her neck as they reached the top and were exposed to the wind. “But witches don’t have mating bonds like the fae.” She stopped walking to think. “It’s not a tether, not a physical thing like it is to the fae. There’s no silent communication, no feral territoriality. It’s just a stronger connection than a normal relationship. Why are you asking?”

Dorian tried to shrug it off. “Just curious.” They started walking again and he moved so he might block the worst of the wind from reaching her. “Then it has nothing to do with witches having fae blood? I mean, Manon must have more than the average witch since she comes from a lineage without much human involvement.”

Glennis frowned. “Hmmm, maybe. I’d never really thought of it like that. Our fae blood is so diluted, I’m not sure that it really makes a difference.” She stopped, and by her sad eyes, he knew he’d failed to fool her again. “You think Manon is your mate.”

He wanted to say yes. How else to explain the depth of his feelings for her? That constant tug in his chest. Light as it may be, it still connected him to her. Perhaps it was the fae blood in her, making a mating bond between them stronger than with other witches. But then, wouldn’t that also make it more possible for her to be Fennick’s mate? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to go down that path. Not after a long night of fighting the worst his imagination could come up with.

Maybe what he had with Manon was just love. A strong love of two people who completed each other, filled in the pieces that were missing and held the other up when darkness set in. That would be enough, Dorian knew. He didn’t need a mating bond to love her.

Glennis was still waiting for his reply. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I don’t think it matters.” He’d meant the words differently than she took them. But when sorrow crept across her face, so deep it made his chest ache, he knew what she was thinking.

“No,” she said. “After today, I don’t think it will either.”

*****

Manon sat rigid, her eyes facing forward, ignoring all the stares and words whispered in her direction. She and Glennis had blessedly been ushered to a spot with only two available seats, ensuring Fennick could not sit next to her. Giselle and Lara were positioned nearby, but out of the way of other guests. Hearing Fennick’s voice as he took his seat a couple of rows behind them, Manon exchanged a look with Glennis.

After her lunch with Yrene and while they readied themselves for the ceremony, Manon and her guards had discussed what little they could find out about the prince. The two witches gathered minimal gossip from the castle workers. The prince had brought no attendants or valets of his own, and he’d made a show of turning down the head steward’s offer to provide him one. It wasn’t unusual for a noble to eschew servants, even for a long and important trip such as this. But it felt off given his formality and haughty nature. Of course, it kept him out of the streams of gossip among the staff.

Manon had gone herself to the royal library, hoping to find some information on Fennick’s lineage. The Whitethorn clan was old and spread out in the fae lands across the sea. And with his age, she thought perhaps he’d been mentioned in a genealogy or even history book. But the librarian had been unable to find anything substantial. The only occurrence of his name was in a recent book about the fae that included trees of the older families. Fennick was indeed a second cousin to Rowan and Sellene, stemming from a side of the family that Maeve had passed over when it came to titles and lands. How he’d risen to prince so quickly, she didn’t know. Sellene, ever practical and shrewd, had not seemed the type to toss out prestigious titles to just anyone. Nor was she the type, Manon realized, who would send an extravagant gift in an attempt to brag about her kingdom’s wealth.

They’d found nothing, and what little she did know made no sense. And yet, it left her unsettled. Glennis too. But, like the others, her grandmother had hated him from the start. In her mind, Manon had already dismissed him as a possible consort or provider of an heir. Yet she was still more ambivalent about Fennick’s flaws than Glennis and Yrene. His story about the human woman he’d almost given up his immortality for had touched a very raw nerve and stuck with her. Whether it was the faint similarities to her own situation, or just that she pitied him, she was unsure. Perhaps Yrene was wrong. And Glennis.

That was what unsettled her the most. It seemed impossible that both of them would misjudge the male. If only she weren’t here for Dorian’s wedding. Everything from her wits to her instincts were off kilter because of it, and she didn’t trust herself. Then again, if not for this wedding, she’d never have met Fennick and wouldn’t need to concern herself with him. The one good thing to come of it was the distraction it had provided her today.

There was movement at the front of the large chapel and Manon used every ounce of control to keep her face calm as Dorian and Chaol walked out towards the podium behind which the priest stood. Dressed in an azure jacket that brought out the brilliance of his eyes, he looked even more handsome than he had last night at dinner. Damaris hung from his side, and with his crown, he looked like a warrior king of old. This was it then, she thought, praying uselessly for more distractions or delays. Anything to keep her from having to watch Dorian pledge himself to another.

When he and Chaol took their places, the strings began to play a soft, beautiful melody. She couldn’t help herself and looked right at Dorian. He was, of course, staring at her. And for that moment, she pretended that she was walking to meet him. That she would be taking him as her king, becoming his queen, instead of Eveline. The hint of a smile caught his lips and she suspected, hoped, that he was imagining the same thing.

It wasn’t until Chaol lightly touched Dorian’s arm, drawing a frown in response, that she noticed the music had started over. She turned to Glennis and saw confusion, which was mirrored on the others in the crowd. Her grandmother stretched around to look back at the front entrance where the bride should have been standing.

“Maybe she has cold feet,” someone muttered.

In the first row, Lord Frey was turning red with rage. And right before he could jump up to go find his daughter and likely drag her down the aisle, Yrene came running in with a note in her hand.

***

Dorian hadn’t noticed anything. He’d been too busy looking at Manon. She was seated, so he couldn’t see the entire thing, but this dress rivaled the one she’d worn last night. A silvery gray color that matched the shimmering wings of her wyvern, the dress had a neckline that stretched across her collar bones, from shoulder to shoulder. Hanging down over her chest was a single red ruby, large enough to fit within the eye in the pommel of his sword. Her hair was braided into a crown atop her head. Despite their fight, despite everything, he smiled at her, unable to tear his gaze away. Unable to keep from wishing it was her walking towards him today.

Until Chaol tapped his arm and brought him back to reality. Where the musicians were fumbling to begin the processional again. Where Lord Frey was staring daggers at him for admiring Manon. Where Yrene was walking up the aisle instead of Eveline. He hadn’t even noticed Yrene wasn’t seated before them.

Trying to keep her voice low, she handed Dorian the letter she carried and said, “She’s gone. This was all she left.”

With so many eager ears and the heightened acoustics of the building, everyone heard her. Immediately, the chapel was in an uproar. Some guests were shocked, upset to see their king abandoned at the altar. Others were watching the scene unfold with glee, anxious for the tales they could tell afterwards. The priest stood with his mouth agape. Lord Frey was reaching for the letter, sputtering curses and pushing back the lords who’d allied with him. They were gathered around him, clamoring for an explanation. Manon and Glennis both stared wide-eyed at him, unsure how to react.

Dorian spun away from Lord Frey’s grasp and began to read.

Your Majesty,

Please forgive me for the lateness of this wedding gift. I had hoped to have it weeks ago, but my father is a paranoid man with many hideaways, and my efforts were delayed.

My father is not what he seems. He lost most of his gold during the war and has been pretending to be wealthy ever since. He fears nothing more than losing his title and being relegated to a life of poverty. His complaints to his neighbors about your rule were nothing more than talk. Is wasn’t until he was approached from afar that the talk turned into real threats of rebellion.

I was aware that someone was pushing my father down this path, offering to pay a rich reward for his work, but I didn’t know who until just an hour ago. A friend was finally able to procure some messages sent from the foreign party to my father as proof of their plan. They have been placed in your valet’s safe keeping. Ruben was always kind to me, and I believe him to be a trustworthy attendant to you.

I am sure you are curious about who is funding my father’s play at rebellion. I must confess I was shocked and confused to learn that Prince Fennick is behind the plot.

According to the messages, the prince had heard of my father’s money woes and came to him with a plan. My father was to stir up trouble among your nobles then offer up my hand in marriage as the only way to appease him and prevent a war.

I cannot be sure of the prince’s motives, but I suspect he has had his eye on your beloved witch queen for some time. I trust you will be able to get the details out of him.

I must also ask your forgiveness for my dreadful conduct in leaving you like this. The truth is, I am in love with a man named Costis, a groom in your stables. We had planned to run away, but my father pulled me unwillingly into his scheme before we could manage it. Costis was able to acquire the letters just this morning. As I have been freed from my father, we are now off to live our own lives.

I said above that this is my wedding gift to you. Of course, as we are no longer getting married, I do not give it to you as a wife to her husband. Instead, I offer this to my King, who is also now free to be with the witch he loves.

With hope for a long and happy life with your queen,

Eveline

 Dorian wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He rubbed at his eyes, skimmed over the message again and again, making sure it was real and not some figment of his overwrought imagination. Passing it to Chaol, he ordered him to arrest Frey. And then he found Manon in the crowd and ran to her.

Her face held a million questions, but there was no time. They’d waited long enough. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. After a second’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He thought he heard someone yelling but it faded away, just like everything else around them.

The world, his world, was here in his arms. That’s all that mattered.

When they broke apart, the chapel had quieted down. Manon opened her eyes slowly, as if coming out of a trance. “Marry me, witchling,” Dorian said, letting his wild grin take over his face. “Not today. I want our friends with us. But please, will you marry me? Be my queen? The only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Manon began to laugh, and the sound of her joy was like a balm to his heart, repairing all the cracks and pieces that had broken off in the past months.

“Please,” he repeated. “If you want me to beg, I will.”

She laughed again before cupping his face in her hands and nodding. “Yes. I will marry you, princeling.”

Some of the guests began cheering, others were still reeling by the turn of events. Chaol and Yrene were next to them, hugging Glennis.

Dorian turned to see Lord Frey in shackles, being hauled off by the royal guard. A glance to Chaol told him they still had one other person to deal with. Signaling to his remaining guard and Manon’s sentinels, he walked to where Fennick still stood, an expression of deepest insult on the prince’s face.

“Fennick Whitethorn, you are under arrest for plotting to overthrow Adarlan,” Dorian said. Manon looked between him and Fennick, speechless with shock.

The male was stricken with outrage. “What? What the hell are you talking about? When I return to Doranelle, this will not be forgotten! Sellene will not stand for this!”

“I suspect Queen Sellene is not aware of what you’ve been up to,” Dorian countered, noticing Ruben enter the chapel. His valet waved a stack of papers for Dorian to see. Dorian nodded and motioned for Chaol to fetch them. To Manon, he explained, “Eveline found proof that our good friend Fennick was paying Lord Frey to carry out this sham. He wanted me out of the way to pursue you.”

Manon’s eyes narrowed and he saw the anger and embarrassment rise in her like a flood. It was a level of rage he’d never seen on her before. And hoped to never see again.

She turned and glared up at Fennick. He immediately began accusing Eveline and Lord Frey of lying, accusing Dorian of making it up to escape the wedding. But she said nothing, just watched him grow more pathetic as he spouted increasingly ridiculous excuses. When he had nothing left to say, Manon cocked her arm and punched him in the face, sending him shuffling back and twirling around before he thudded to the floor, unconscious. Her witches picked him up and dragged him out, following the royal guard to the dungeon.

*****

After an abbreviated un-wedding dinner, Manon walked with Dorian to the top of the king’s tower, past her guest rooms to the suite she would now be sharing with him. There was much to be discussed and worked out. While their marriage would be a good alliance for both kingdoms, compromises would have to be made. Including, Manon informed him, splitting their time between the two capitols.

Dorian had agreed before she even got all the words out. “I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”

“We can’t be together all the time,” she said, trying to be sensible as she stood before him, staring in wonder at his proximity, listening to his heartbeat. He was taking his time pulling the pins from her hair, one by one. Manon wasn’t sure if sensible was possible right now. The heartache of the last six months, the explosive revelations of hours ago, she exhaled and let it all go, as if the winds could carry it away across the sea. Right here, right now, it was just them. Sensible talk about kingdoms and politics could wait.

“I beg to differ,” he said, reaching around her head for a pin. The movement brought him blessedly closer.

“There you go again,” she purred. “Begging.”

Her hair was free of pins and he began to undo the braid, letting it fall through his fingers. “Only for you, witchling.”

She continued to watch him, getting lost in the perfect smile that hadn’t left his face in hours. When Manon reached up and ran her fingers over his dimpled cheek, he made a little gasp and turned his attention from her hair. “You said last night that I don’t belong to you, but you belong to me,” she said.

“I did.” His smile faded, his voice a deep whisper.

“You were wrong. I am yours and yours only. There is no one else I would give myself to.”

Dorian took her face in both hands and kissed her, and she felt his smile return. “Only you.”

Clutching her hand, he led her to the bed where they took their time undressing each other. She lay back on the bed, losing herself to the charged heat of his touch, the soft fullness of his lips.

“Only you,” she murmured, feeling his mouth curl up against the inside of her thigh.

Dorian took his time, for they had that now. Time to tease and caress every inch of her, time to nip at her ears, time to shift her hips to sink deeper inside her, leaving her breathless and needy for more. And after an eternity where he sent her spinning over the edge again and again, he joined her, calling out her name as if it were his home.

When their euphoria faded, Dorian fell onto the bed next to her, pulling her close as they fought to catch their breath. “And you say I’m the one who always begs,” he teased.

They slept in the next morning, not getting out of bed until almost noon when Ruben knocked and demanded they eat something. There were other things to see to, guests to say goodbye to, and then finally, that night after dinner, Manon and Dorian went to the dungeons.

The second Lord Frey saw them, he dropped to his knees. “Please, Your Majesty. I only wanted the money to rebuild my estate. I never intended to bring about war. Please, please …”

Manon was surprised by the sudden turn. Just yesterday at the ceremony, he’d been trying to urge his allies to stand in support of him, ultimately resorting to screamed threats that had the opposite effect. And now, he was on his knees, pleading for his life.

“You’re accused of treason, Frey,” Dorian said. The man flinched at the loss of his title. “If you really want to continue confessing, be my guest. But you may want to wait for a judge.”

The man shook his head, befuddled. “You … you’re not going to hang me?”

This man had almost destroyed their lives, bringing Adarlan to the brink of civil war. Dorian had every right to punish him harshly. They’d discussed how to handle these interrogations over dinner, though they had not expected it would be this easy. It seemed that Frey was a coward at heart and had been a poor choice of conspirators for Fennick.

Dorian said, “I won’t hang you. If you tell me why.”

Frey heaved a sigh of relief, though he had the sense to still look nervous. “Before the war, Duke Perrington forced me to help fund some of his work at Morath.” At Dorian’s dubious look, he added, “I swear I did not know who he truly was then. I was acting in the best interest of my kingdom and my holdings. But … he bled me dry, offering promises of future reward that never came. And then he was revealed to be Erawan, leaving Adarlan devastated. I had enough in my vault to maintain appearances, but nothing more. Prince Fennick approached me earlier this year with an offer that would allow me to regain my former wealth. I was to stir up dislike for you and get support from other nobles, enough to pose a credible threat to your throne. When talk of rebellion grew to a boiling point, I would demand you marry my daughter. Her hand in exchange for appeasing your enemies.”

“And what was your payment?” Manon asked.

“Gold,” Frey said simply. She arched an eyebrow in a silent demand for more, and he sank miserably onto the floor. “And the promise that when an heir was born, the king would be eliminated, leaving me as regent.”

The gold was expected. But the threat of assassination came as a shock. Dorian was speechless, trying to process how close they’d come to ruin. Frey eyed him, fearful that the earlier proposal to spare him from hanging would be dismissed.

“What did he stand to gain?” Manon continued. Frey seemed oblivious to the fact that he would be installed as a puppet. Or, more likely, set up as Dorian’s killer and disposed of himself.  

“Prince Fennick would be able to marry you. He told me all about how the two of you met during the war.” At Manon’s surprise, the man hesitated. “He said that he had fallen in love with you, that you were his mate. But you were attached to King Dorian. He believed the only chance he stood was to have the king removed from the mix.”

Manon and Dorian said nothing as they stared at each other. Frey returned to begging for his life, mistaking their silence for anger at the dark depths of the scheme. He was still calling out to them for mercy as they left him with a guard.

When they reached Fennick’s cell further down the dank passageway, they found the fae stretched out lazily on a cot. His eyes were closed, and something about the scene made Manon’s temper boil to the surface. Dorian cleared his throat, and the fae could no longer pretend they weren’t there. He stood and looked between her and Dorian.

She’d thought perhaps Fennick might still be projecting the indignant fury of the night before, or something worse. But he wore the same confident expression he’d had when she first met him.

“I wasn’t lying about that woman I loved. Mortals are fickle. And they die so easily.”

It was directed at Manon, but Dorian asked, “Was that a threat?” She knew he was keeping his magic on a tight leash, but the air still crackled with it.

Fennick huffed a laugh, ignoring the question and Dorian. “Immortals such as you and I should not debase ourselves by associating with humans. Maeve and I rarely saw eye to eye, but the restrictions she placed on who could settle in Doranelle were something on which we could agree.”

“It seems to me your human was the smart one,” Manon said, somehow controlling the urge to maul him. “Escaping your clutches was the best thing that could have happened to her.”

He grinned at her, his sharp canines flashing, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Who said she escaped me?”

Here was the male she’d been worried they might find, the one kept hidden under the fancy clothes and courtly manners. The one who thought he could take their kingdoms as his own.

“So, you hate humans?” Dorian asked, lightly. “That’s what this is all about?”

Fennick finally turned to acknowledge him. “I don’t particularly care for them. But no, Your Majesty, that’s not what this is about.” Dorian’s title came out of his mouth as a sneer. “I had just as much right to Maeve’s throne as any Whitethorn. To simply hand it to Sellene, as if it were some cheap trinket to be tossed at whoever stood nearest was a disgrace.”

“We had nothing to do with that,” Manon said.

“True,” Fennick agreed. “But there were no other kingdoms as vulnerable as yours. Or as valuable, what with all that gold you have hidden in the Wastes. The Witch Kingdom was the perfect place to start.”

Manon growled at the insult, but Dorian asked, “Start what?”

“My rule,” he said simply. To Manon, he added, “Having you at my side was to an extra reward. I understand the valg king wanted you for his queen. I must confess, that piqued my interest.”

She shuddered at the mention of Erawan. It brought back memories of the way his eyes would crawl over her, possessive and hungry. The valg king had planned to keep her as his own. Much like this fae.

Dorian’s restraint was reaching its limit and the air felt suddenly cooler. His voice was just as icy as he asked, “Rule what?”

“Everything.” The word was slick, as if coated in venom.

Something had changed in Fennick’s manner with the confession. Gone were the handsome features and polite way of speaking. Locked in a cell, his hair disheveled and clothing dirty, he looked like a different creature. She’d known fae could be feral, animalistic. She’d experienced it, barely survived it. But watching him speak these words, Manon wondered if she’d truly ever seen the transformation before.

“You searched for a desperate Adarlan noble,” she said, “one with a marriageable daughter, one who could be paid off to extort the king. All to force Dorian into an arranged marriage, seduce me to steal my kingdom, then kill him for his. Do I have it right?”

Fennick’s eyes narrowed on Dorian and he grinned. “The seduction part is right, at least.”

Manon flew at him, her iron nails extended and desperate for blood. Bars or not, she wanted to scratch the bastard’s eyes from their sockets. But Dorian grabbed her by the waist and held her back. She struggled against him briefly before calming down. When he let go of her, she still shook with the desire to hurt the male. This fae prince had truly thought he could conquer Erilea? She wanted to scream in his face that he was a fool. But she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to bring more attention to how close he’d come to setting his plan in motion. And to her own foolishness. She’d let this monster touch her, dance with her. She’d pitied him when he deserved nothing but revulsion.

Dorian stepped up to the cell door, eyeing Fennick with a sly smile. “It’s funny that you think you could try to play us against each other.”

The male shrugged, unconcerned. “It was worth a shot. You are only human.”

“I may only be human,” Dorian said, “but I have something you don’t.”

Instantly, Fennick was slammed backwards by invisible hands, thrown up against the grimy stone wall and held there. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Somehow, Dorian had cut off his voice. The male’s eyes bulged in rage.

Manon watched Fennick struggle against Dorian’s magic, her enjoyment of the spectacle growing with each vein that popped out on the male’s neck. Speaking to Dorian, she mused, “Do you think he’s even a prince?”

“From his branch of the family? The one even Maeve ignored?” Dorian taunted. “No, I doubt it. And Sellene certainly played no part in this. He’s here on his own, likely without a coin to his name.”

“That reminds me,” Manon said, turning back to Fennick. “Your intricate plan had at least two big flaws,” she said. “Your reliance on using the Witch Kingdom’s gold was misguided, I’m afraid. The gold we have is mostly still in the ground, unrefined, and worth next to nothing. And your pathetic attempts to seduce me and make me think we might be mates …” She trailed off, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat at the words. “My mate stands beside me now,” she said, feeling Dorian’s gaze settle on her. Whatever connection they shared, whether it was love or something more, they were mates in each other’s eyes.

Fennick had gone still, a silent, malevolent rage simmering off him. She glanced at Dorian, who loosened his magical hold and let the fae drop to the floor in a heap.

Jumping up, Fennick sprang towards the bars holding him in, teeth bared, his hands reaching out to strike her. Dorian had them shielded. And when his fists were repelled by nothing but air, Fennick screamed. “You bitch! You don’t know-” The fae was thrown back against the wall, his voice cut off again.

“I’ve heard enough,” Dorian said, his face twisted as he struggled to control his magic so as not to kill the male.

Before they left, Manon said, “A messenger has been sent to Sellene, outlining all you’ve done and what you will be charged with. If she asks for you back to throw in her own cells, we may oblige.” When he didn’t seem to care, she added, “And a messenger was sent north to Terrasen. I’m sure Rowan will be interested in hearing about what you’ve done using the family name.” For the first time, real fear flashed across Fennick’s face. Manon smiled, wicked and slow. “You’re right to fear him,” she said. “But I fought with Sellene in the war. She is just as fearsome as Rowan. Why do you think they made her queen?”

By the time they walked back past Frey’s cell, it had been emptied of its prisoner. In exchange for his promise of testimony, he’d been moved to a cleaner section of the dungeons. And when they started up the twisting stairs, Dorian released his magic. They heard a thud and a string of loud curses.

Manon was silent as they came out into a room just off the main entrance hall. Even though she never fell for Fennick’s advances, had never come close to letting things progress in that direction, she’d excused his behavior. The fact that he’d marked her as a fool, marked her kingdom as vulnerable, marked Dorian for death, left her dizzy with guilt and fear. While Glennis and Yrene were happy to be proven right about him, Manon felt adrift, as if her instincts had abandoned her.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Dorian said, motioning the steward over to them. She didn’t hear what he requested.

“I know. But it feels as though it is.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was duped as much as you were. Thank the gods for Eveline and Costis.”

“Yes,” Manon agreed. “I wonder where they will end up?”

A boy returned bearing two heavy cloaks. Dorian took them and smiled. “I don’t know. But we should find them and send them a wedding gift.”

He draped a cloak over her shoulders and put the other one across his own. Clasping her hand, he led her out of the castle and in the direction of the stables. Abraxos stretched his long neck and arched his back at the first sight of them, excited for their late visit. Manon hugged Dorian tight, thanking him for knowing exactly what she needed at the exact right time. They climbed into the saddle and with a whoop from his rider, Abraxos took off into the star filled night.

***

The following summer in Rifthold, after a week of festivities that brought the Terrasen Queen and her entire court, the Queen of the Western Wastes, the future Emperor and Empress of the Southern Continent, the newly crowned King of Wendlyn, the Queen of Doranelle, and other royalty from across Erilea, Dorian and Manon were finally married.

That night, after the ceremony, as they lay in bed pointing out familiar constellations that had been painted on the ceiling of the royal suite, Dorian pulled a package from the bedside table. Silently, he presented it to his queen. Manon took it, bemused and unable to tell what was under the wrapping. When she tore it off and opened the box, she found a beautiful, leather-bound book.

Stamped in gold lettering on the cover were their names, Manon and Dorian.

“Is this the same …?” She trailed off, knowing the answer before finishing the question.

Dorian shook his head. “No, but Glennis told me about the one you got. I thought we should have our own. Open it.”

She flipped through and found some of the pages in the beginning already filled in. There was a family tree for each of them. Dorian’s included Chaol, Yrene, and Josie. And Manon traced her fingers over the names of the parents she’d never met, and the sisters she had lost.

Then a page titled How We Met. It was mostly blank, except for where Dorian had written

She saved me.

Manon stared at it for a long moment. Then suddenly, she jumped out of bed and went to his desk. After a moment of searching, she found a pen and bottle of ink. Underneath his words, she wrote

He saved me too.

Over the years, the book was carried back and forth between Adarlan and the Witch Kingdom, never leaving the possession of the King and Queen. Its pages were filled with memories, happy and sad. Memories of theirs and of others. Births, deaths.

And when the book was passed on to their daughter, she read her parents love for her and each other in every word. For they were lucky. Rhiannon’s parents were a love match, and she’d promised them she wouldn’t settle for anything less.

The end.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hope this ending made up for the pain and angst everyone suffered through! ☺️

You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

@itach-i  @bookishwitchling  @manontrashbeak  @awesomelena555  @jimetg98  @over300books

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #chaol westfall #yrene westfall #glennis crochan #anon ask #my writing #manorian fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #only you

[aminiatureworld]

Frustration II

Characters: Albedo, Kaeya, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,820

Premise: Commissions don’t always go as planned, much to your frustration. Luckily there’s someone there to make you feel better.

Author’s Note: Okay I did not predict the first part of this becoming the most successful fic on this blog to date. The people have spoken! So I come to you with more characters, hopefully this will make up for leaving Zhongli in the dust yesterday – that and the fact that his scenario turned out to be the longest to write out of all of them. I also have a few other characters for this prompt in mind, we’ll see. Also wow I don’t know how to title sequels.

Once more my deepest thanks to the 115 people who liked, the 8 people who reblogged, and the one person who commented on the first part. I cannot tell you the joy it brings me to see that people are interested in what I write. It makes me so stupidly happy, so thank you so very much.

Albedo

“I understand that Forsaken Ruins are supposed to hide secrets and all, but honestly how many boxes can one put in the same area before someone tells you it’s time to stop.”

Albedo said nothing in reply, eyes focused intently upon the graduated cylinder and glass pipette in his hands. You watched as he counted the drops under his breath, nodding slightly as the clear water in the cylinder shifted to a rather unimpressive muddied brown. Regardless of the color evidently the alchemist was satisfied, for he stoppered the cylinder and returned the remaining liquid of the pipette into its original container, arranging everything on the shelves, and leaving the rest in the small sink.

“Silver nitrate.” He explained, wiping his hands on a cloth, before going towards where you were sitting cross legged on a stool near the countertop that worked as his desk. “Now tell me about why you’ve been digging up boxes near the Forsaken Ruins.”

“It’s for a commission. You know Bao’er?”

“That suspicious woman from Liyue I keep telling you is probably a bandit?”

“That one.” You nodded curtly, glancing down at your hands. “And bandit or not she keeps commissioning me, I can’t very well not accept. Anyways, she’s been looking for some sort of treasure, but no matter what I give her it’s never what she’s looking for. Do you know how irritating it is to have a passive aggressive customer angry at you about something they did? I mean really.” You huffed in frustration.

“Have you considered the fact that she might just be using you to dig up all the treasure in that area.” There was slight amusement in Albedo’s voice, and your head shot up in response.

“Well forgive me for doing my job.” You shook your head, not truly believing there was any bite behind the alchemist’s words. He was right after all, and you weren’t altogether upset to know that someone else shared your suspicions of this person who kept commissioning you with no end in sight.

“Forgive me love.” Albedo walked over and gave your slightly hunched figure a hug. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning your head into his shoulder. The position you two in wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but there was nowhere proper for you both to sit, and besides Albedo’s embrace was so warm and secure you didn’t mind craning your neck a bit.

“You’ll get there eventually.” Albedo’s voice was steady, confident, as if he’d somehow calculated the fact that eventually this mad goose chase would end, had seen it in one of his many experiments.

“How would you know?” You whispered, still feel a bit contrary, though your frustration had long ebbed away.

“I just do. You can master anything with time you know. That’s the secret of science, the secret of alchemy. In the end it cannot be done without endurance, and I know that your endurance is one to withstand any storm.”

“Only when you’re cheering me on.” You replied, hugging Albedo a bit tighter.

“Oh that’s not true.” Albedo responded in kind, running circles along your back. “You’d do just fine without me. But I’ll be here for you regardless. So don’t forget that every question can be answered and every quest completed. It just takes a little time. We’re all humans in the end, regardless of vision or power. Just humans, and to be human is to sometimes need a little time.”

You nodded, lifting your head to glance into his face, usually passive and clear as ice, now filled with warmth and fondness, smile filled with fondness and love.

“Besides.” Albedo loosened his arms around you, instead reaching to help you off from the stool, laughing slightly as you stumbled, feet having fallen asleep. “I don’t see Bao’er doing any of the digging. How about you remind her of that next time she has an ill word.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” You replied, before leaving the lab, hand pressed firmly into Albedo’s and heart much lighter than before.

 Kaeya

“My darling!” Kaeya leapt down the steps outside the Headquarters of the Knights of Favonius, feet barely seeming to touch the ground, before sweeping you up in a hug. “It’s been too long and I’ve missed you so much.” He declared, ignoring the fact that it’d only been about 8 hours, instead peppering your face with small kisses, before registering the look of frustration clearly being worn by you.

“What’s wrong?” He drew back a bit, though not much, curiosity and worry in his eyes, hands gripping yours. You smiled, shaking your head; Kaeya always seemed to be ready to worry about your happiness, not that you didn’t find that completely charming.

“It’s nothing really important.” You were looking to assure him, but instead Kaeya’s frowned deepend.

“Nonsense. Anything that’s clearly making you so unhappy is of utmost importance. I’d like to know what it is, if you don’t mind. I’d like to help.”

“You’re helpful you being here.” You smiled, giving him a belated peck on the cheek. “But if you must know I’ve got a commission that needs to be done in an hour, and I have no idea how I’m going to accomplish it. You know how there’s a large vein of Crystal in Stormterror’s Lair? Well Wagner asked me to go mine some for him, easy stuff normally. Apparently though the mouth of the vein is situated right in the path of a ruin guard, and I’ve had a terrible time trying to do battle with the thing while being bogged down by mining equipment.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I mean really this shouldn’t be that hard. Why am I struggling so much? Wagner isn’t asking that much, he’s a good person. I’m just… inept.” You finished, by then your nails had begun digging into your palms. Kaeya noticed this and brought your hands up to kiss them, smiling as you reddened slightly and shook your head, a smile nevertheless tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Well I won’t tell you that Wagner is being utterly too demanding and that you have a right to a safe work environment,” you snorted at that, as if an adventurer’s work environment was ever safe, “but I will tell you that, since the best, most handsome, most daring Knight of Favonius has fallen hopelessly in love with you, he is willing to do the mining while you use that ruin guard to blow off some steam. Does that sound like a good deal?”

“I can’t believe you’re sitting out a chance to fight and instead are becoming a miner.” You smirked, placing a kiss on Kaeya’s jaw. “But really how could I ever turn down such an offer from such a gallant knight.”

“You’d run back to Wagner and give his ears a rightful scorching I’d hope.” Kaeya replied, linking his arm in yours.

“Hmm… unlikely.” You replied, leaning into the knight. “But thank you Kaeya. Truly, thank you. I know it’s not your job to fix commissions. It means a great deal to me that you’re willing to do this.”

“Of course I’m willing.” Kaeya smiled softly. “You’ve saved me from failing my job too, in more ways than you think. And even if that weren’t true, which it is, I love you so very dearly, and this is a small way to show it.”

You nearly ran into a lamppost, your face pressed into Kaeya’s shoulder, face warm and heart full of love.

 Zhongli

You really didn’t want to tell Zhongli.

That was the thought running through your mind as you hurried up the steps to the funeral parlor. You really didn’t want to tell him.

It’d been little more than a month since he’d given up his position as god of the city, little more than a month since the citizens of Liyue had begun the arduous task of ruling their own city in earnest. And little more than a month since you and the Geo god had begun your courtship. You relationship was still new, and though you’d thankfully mostly lost the sense of smallness that had initially come with falling in love with someone so powerful and so unending as a deity, though you now longer thought the love between you was something that could shatter at any moment, you still were a bit reticent to throw all your insecurities and mundane frustrations at Zhongli’s feet.

The smell of incense hit you the moment you entered, a bit overwhelming at first, but soon comforting and familiar. You exchanged a few words with Hu Tao, before walking over to Zhongli’s office, pace speeding up despite yourself. You might not have wanted to tell Zhongli about your day, but you desperately wanted to see him, as you always did when all was said and done. There was something about his presence, comforting and sturdy, and always filled with kindness and understanding.

Understanding. Zhongli would understand, of course he would. But you still didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to see his face cloud over with worry as you knew it would. He cared so very deeply, even if he didn’t always express it he truly did. Hidden under layers of politesse, tradition, and decorum there was simply someone who cared so very deeply. And thus someone who was often and easily hurt.

“Hello darling.” You said, entering the office quietly. Zhongli had been reading a scroll, but he quickly set it down, a smile erupting across his face as he stood up and met you halfway, enveloping you in a hug, which you gladly reciprocated. “I’ve missed you.” You said, voice muffled by his chest.

“I’ve missed you too, so very much.” He replied softly, one hand running itself through your hair absentmindedly, the other wrapped around your waist. “The days are terribly slow without you. I never noticed before how an afternoon can stretch so long.”

“Well I’m here now.” You replied, leaning back and bit to cup the archon’s face in your hands. Zhongli placed one of his hands on yours, leaning into your palm, smiling contentedly.

“I’m glad of it.” He said those words often enough, but every time it made your heart speed a bit. You felt so full of happiness you could almost forget the irritation of the earlier hours.

Almost.

“How were your commissions today?” It was early evening by now, and golden light was starting to slant through the windows. Zhongli was cleaning up a bit as you watched, smiling slightly. That smile slipped however once the question was asked, not that you didn’t know it was coming, as you two often asked each other about your days, each being a bit fascinated with the other’s job in some respect.

“It was alright. Fairly ordinary.” You tried keeping your answers brief and your tone light, though you could already hear the sharpness in your voice. Irritation was difficult to hide however, and you could already see skepticism in Zhongli’s gaze as he turned to face you.

“Oh. What were the commissions, if I may ask, the regular spots?”

“Mostly. I had one where I had to deliver a message to the Inn too, and one where, well, it was less of a commission and more of… well honestly I’m not sure what to call it.” You finished, tone by now filled with a mix of irritation an cynical amusement. Zhongli stopped altogether at that and sat at his chair, facing the spot you’d taken on the desk.

“May I ask what happened.” He said once more, tone slightly worried. Shit. Wasn’t this exactly the reason you hadn’t wanted to tell him?

“Well, you see I’m not the only guild member of course. And it’s almost the end of the month. What with everything that’s happened they needed someone to ask after some of the unfinished commissions, the ones that had a time limit. I finished my work early so I went.”

“And?”

“And, well. Well some of these adventurers were honestly hopeless!” You burst out, having shed your worries in your frustration. “I mean I know they mean well, I know they’re trying. Or at least I hope they are, you can’t really tell at some points. Like this one guy, I asked about why he hadn’t done any of the food deliveries he said he would and he made some odd excuse that a coworker was supposed to take care of it while he looked for a text that someone else wanted. Okay, fine. I go to the coworker, and she says that it was a one time thing as far as she was concerned and that she didn’t go to pick up the food after. I go to the restaurants themselves and turns out half the orders never go tthere and the other half have been put on a tab that need to be paid but no one thought to pay it so I do so. That doesn’t even begin with whoever did a hack job at the Wangshu Inn, apparently the boards have caved in again. And I was going to do that, but then I got pulled into some monster hunting so that won’t be done this month and honestly, it’s all just so… so frustrating!” You felt like you were spiraling at that point, all the frustration and shame coming back to you, the feeling of having to smile at someone who you’d much rather scream at.

Your thoughts cleared as Zhongli reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder. Bringing his hand up to your face he wiped away a few tears of frustration that you’d shed. Shaking your head you took his hand in yours. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t worry you about these things. I don’t want you to think Liyue is falling apart. I mean this was a thing even before you stepped down, and I know that I’m complaining too much and it’ll be fine it’s just, it’s just a lot.”

“I know.” Zhongli smiled softly. “You shouldn’t feel like hiding these things for my sake. I appreciate the sentiment, but I’d rather truly know how you’re feeling. Just like you don’t want to place a burden on me, so do I not want to place a burden by you by making it seem as if you have to carry your cares alone.”

“But, with everything so recent… I just. I worry you’ll regret it.”

Zhongli smiled, and leaned in, kissing your forehead. He smelled of incense and glaze lilies, and you found the knot in your stomach uncoiling despite itself. Smiling you linked your fingers through his, focusing on that as Zhongli kept a hand on your cheek, grounding you.

“Thank you for worrying about me. But just as I trust you’d tell me if Liyue were truly about to burn to the ground, so do I trust that it won’t happen. You’ve taught me that you know.”

“Me? Not the Liyue Qixing or the traveler? I think they’ve done a lot more than my running around will ever do.” You smiled a self-deprecating smile, but Zhongli simply shook his head.

“You have taught me that. How you keep going, how you support those you don’t even know for the sake of your guild and your commission, even if you have a grievance. And, more than that, you’ve shown it to me, simply by letting me have a place in your heart.” He lowered his gaze, face clouding over in the way you knew it did when he was considering the past. You gave his hand a squeeze and he looked up, smiling softly.

“I used to think that humans were delicate, no matter what. That they were destined for the tragedy of death and that made them unable to be depended on, that they’d just break and break and that I’d spend my existence watching it until I couldn’t stand it anymore. But you showed me that ultimately humans are resilient, more resilient than any adepti or magical being, who cannot stand to face time or pain or hard work. You’ve taught me that, and if you’ll let me I’d like to share that with you, your burdens, your frustrations, your anxieties. I’d like to be there to support you, if I cannot fix it then I’d at least like to be there for you. So please, don’t hide your struggles from me, so I may remind you that they’re simply proof of your power.”

You didn’t really know what to say, smiling in a mix of relief, sadness, and adoration. Leaning in to kiss Zhongli you felt the word recede and grow around you. You didn’t know how he did it, how he took all your cares and worries and flaws and morphed them into something beautiful.

But that was what made Zhongli special, and you adored him for it.

#oops I overwrote on zhongli #tale as old as time #this was also written while I was tired lol #it's a theme #genshin impact #albedo #kaeya #zhongli #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact x reader #scenarios #my writing

[trancelord]

OOC: HI I am so sorry I fell off the face of the earth with this blog but long story short my IZ hyperfixation got pushed to the back burner of my mind because I just generally couldn’t stand the fandom anymore and how unsafe I felt around the mass amount of z@dr shippers/supporters. I’m not posting in the fandom anymore because I kinda just couldn’t take the stress and it was becoming unhealthy. However, I was introducing the contents of this blog to a friend of mine and remembered that I had a bunch of asks typed up that I never had the energy to make art for. So I’ve decided to post them all here just in case anyone wanted to read them! Here they are under the cut:

"how long have you been in the business of mind control? Are you worried someone might follow in your footsteps?"

How long? (he pauses to consider this) I... Am not at liberty to say. Long enough for my antennae to lose color- but that might have been long before I had gathered up the strength I needed to manually override my PAK with my- (a few memories flash before his eyes) (kidnapping an unlucky invader to use as a guinea pig for the hypnosis vision) (completely alone in his ship, both hands on his head) (staring madly at the massive with his eyes just starting to spiral) I've said too much, on that end. I'm not telling you how I did it, you dirty cheat. No one can follow in my footsteps. I will die with my secrets. It will take anyone else far too long to understand the nature of irken hypnosis, how deep it runs, deep enough that I halfway decommissioned myself digging it to the surface. If you try, I will know. And if I know, it'll be the last thing you try. (he yawns) The only way YOU could actually perform hypnosis through natural means- that is, if you're irken- is through an accident. But that's rare. Rare enough that it might not even really happen.

(I'm hinting at what happened w zim and pustulio at the end there hehehehehehe) "why are you journeying to urth- urth? Earth. Why there?"

Oh, did the tallest spell it wrong? (he brings out a small tablet, fixing the error.) How embarrassing for them- but not surprising. Those two couldn't fix a single luminous unit between them. All they know is laugh at drones, lasers, "throw them out the airlock," eat hot chip, and lie. Anyway, weren't you listening? I'm journeying there to find Zim. The tallest are my clients; they sent me to go there in person to use my talents and throw him out of commission. Apparently the poor idiot doesn't know he's been exiled, and he's very serious about his "mission". I guess it's getting harder for the tallest to get any entertainment out of laughing at him, the more serious he gets about invading this backwater planet. You should have seen how many monies I squeezed out of them to perform this job! I have never seen a pair of irkens more desperate. I should have recorded the call so I could look back on it on a long day and laugh. They insisted the job needed to be done in person rather than through a call, so... here we are. (he hides a yawn behind his hand) "Hey since it will take a while to get to earth, wanna play video games?"

(Ren is asleep)

Lonny: Oh, looks like he fell asleep. (he hurriedly shifts the camera away from ren) It's just as well. He doesn't play games very often. I would, but I don't think we have any downloaded into our ship's console. Well, anyway, you all are already here, so I will entertain you in the meantime. Could I perhaps answer any of your questions?

OOC: Aaaaaaannd that’s where I stopped. Still though, despite all the adversity I’ve faced during my time in the fandom, I still adore IZ and all the happiness and inspiration that’s given me. I’m still really proud of the character and story I came up with, and am genuinely sad that I never got to go further with it. 

If anyone ever has any questions, my DMs are always open! I love talking about Ren and talking about him again after months really made me yearn for old times where working on his story and in relation to Zim brought me so much happiness. I hope y’all enjoyed the very brief time I was able to provide you with content of him, and I hope that y’all are safe and healthy and I wanna thank you for being interested in his story. 

<3

#z@dr/irken x child shippers/supporters please dni #invader zim #iz #irkensona

[paperpocalypse]

interlude.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 43. Holding shopping bags that are too heavy for them.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,304 words

Warning: Swearing

You step out of the car, the bottoms of your loafers scraping against the asphalt, and gaze up at the plain brown building silhouetted against the darkening sky.

The sight hits you with a bout of homesickness. How long has it been since you’ve shopped at a grocery store, really – sometime before the Commission recruited you out of 1949? It must have been. After all, you hadn’t exactly had the time or place to buy food and cook something up. Most of the meals you’d eaten for the past twenty-eight years were from cafés or restaurants.

“[Y/n].” Five snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Oh. Right,” you murmur, walking with him to the entrance. You feel his eyes on you as you push the door open.

As soon as you enter, you soak in the smell of paper bags and fresh fruit. Lands alive. You suddenly remember grocery shopping with your grandmother when you were – well, just a little younger than your physical age right now. Oh, now those were the days. She would take you to the candy store afterwards if you didn’t knock any of the displays over while she shopped.

(Everything was an adventure back then. You’ve been trying to regain that sense of wonder.)

Five lays claim to an abandoned cart and heads straight to the tea and coffee aisle.

You shake yourself out of your nostalgia to catch up with him. “Glad to see your priorities are in order,” you tease, sidestepping another customer.

“They’re always in order.”

“Of course.”

You watch his determined expression, amused, as he examines the shelves of coffee cans and bags like they’re suspects in a lineup. The two of you get halfway through the aisle before coming across a particular brand you remember him liking; he reaches up to grab one can of their 100% Colombian and plunks it into the cart.

Just a few feet away, a man around your age chuckles. “Don’t drink it all at once,” he says when you and Five look over at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Five gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Try me,” he says.

You manage to hide your snort under the guise of clearing your throat. Shooting the stranger what hopefully looks like an apologetic smile, you quickly usher Five out of the coffee aisle before you get a lecture on manners.

“One day I’ll bust a gut and we’ll both get in trouble,” you mock-admonish, smacking him lightly on the arm as you push the cart towards the fresh produce section. “How are we supposed to lay low if you don’t act your age?”

He seems to hunch over further, still displeased by the previous interaction. “In case you’ve forgotten,” he mutters, “I’m fifty-eight years old. I am acting my age.”

The crossness of his posture causes you to sober up a bit. Ah. Knitting your brow, you stop in front of the apple stand, facing him fully.

From the moment that Five and you fell into 2019, it’s been apparent that the whole de-aging thing is hitting him a lot harder than it’s been hitting you. You know that part of it is because he’s the one who actually did the time travel; you know that in between your work to prevent the apocalypse, he’s been combing through his equations, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. You also know that the other part of it is a matter of pride. And you get it. Despite enjoying your recovered youth a little more than Five, you don’t like reliving the experience of being talked down to either. Every time Five gets patronized, you can practically feel his blood boil – age was the only thing of societal value that he had gained from the apocalypse, and now that he’s physically thirteen again, that advantage is gone.

“Five, I didn’t forget,” you reply easily, softly. “But we both know that’s not how either of us look. So we gotta adapt. Like always.”

Five shakes his head, chuckling dryly. “I’ve spent my whole damn life adapting to bullshit.”

“I know.”

He inhales slowly, then exhales through his nose as you put a hand on his back. After glancing at you, he looks away stiffly.

“Sorry for screwing it up.”

“Hey. We got here in one piece and I don’t have back problems anymore. I should be thanking you.” You grin at him, and he scoffs.

There we go.

Dropping your hand to brush your fingers against his, you turn around to inspect the apples. “Now,” you announce, “I know I always complain about inflation, but explain to me why the hell these things are a dollar fifteen per pound.”

You still have some cash that the Commission had given the two of you for meal expenses, and since Five and you have literally nothing else, you spend the next hour perusing all that the grocery store has to offer. It’s quite … normal, really, tossing this or that into the cart and chatting with Five about the kinds of meals you would eat when you were kids, and you like it very much. You haven’t felt this domestic in decades.

After paying for your things, Klaus’s requested chocolate pudding, and Five’s coffee (it was the only thing he had wanted from the store), you take your turn driving back to the Hargreeves mansion.

Five blinks out of the car as you cut the engine, opening the trunk and taking all of the bags before you even open the door to get out.

“We need to start our surveillance of Meritech early tomorrow morning,” he tells you once you join him. “Whoever the eye belongs to is going to walk in there sometime between then and doomsday.”

You nod, closing the trunk and locking the car. “Right.”

The taillights flash in the darkness as you press the button again, just to make sure, and Five waits until you’re satisfied before starting toward the back entrance. With all of the groceries.

How many times do you have to tell him that he doesn’t have to do everything himself? “Fives,” you croon, reaching over to tap his fist. (The answer is as many times as it takes.)

In return, you get a brief glance. Five slows down just a hair, wordlessly shifting the bags to his other hand, and takes your hand.

You can’t help but snort.

“What?” he snips defensively. The two of you stop in the middle of the alley.

“Five, I –” you smile at him, somewhat flustered and absolutely charmed, and gesture to the groceries – “I was going to take some of the bags so you didn’t have to carry all of them.”

He blinks, face blank.

“I see,” he says. You fail to hold in another chuckle, and at the sound of it, Five attempts to let go of your hand.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You tighten your hold, moving to take half of the groceries. “I have two hands.”

With that, you resume walking, both hands full and quite sure that you’ve never adored your partner more than at this moment. Who knew he could be such a romantic?

Said partner walks beside you, silent and avoiding your gaze. You nudge him to break the tension. “I never thought you could be so smooth, dear.”

“You’ve done it before,” he grumbles, and you can hear an undertone of – dare you say it? – embarrassment in his voice. His gaze darts down to the bags. “I assumed wrong.”

“Five. You can always assume that I want to hold your hand.”

Even though you’re being incredibly corny on purpose, Five doesn’t dole out any snark. The two of you enter the house, and when you turn on the lights, you notice, with infinite satisfaction, that his face is flushed.

#wordless ways to say i love you #source: @50-item-writing-prompts #five hargreeves #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy #tua #five x reader #five imagine #fluff #reader insert #tua fanfic #fanfic #sam why are they shopping when apocalypse 1.0 is coming?? #because #:) #reader and five managed to drive to and from the store without anybody seeing that 13-y/os were behind the wheel bc they parked #in the far lot #that is the explanation i am going with #silververse

[my-writings-and-musings]

TFA Bulkhead/Bumblebee

Bulkhead, hoping to paint Bumblebee, finds a number of unexpected hurdles in the form of a willing but very fidgety model.

Got a lovely commission that the commissioner was okay with me sharing, so here it is! I had so much fun writing this, and remember, I'm always open if you'd like a fic for yourself.

Working up courage wasn't something one had to do often when they were as big and strong as Bulkhead, but he'd needed every bit he could spare to approach Bumblebee with what he'd feared was a ridiculous request. The fact he could expect his friend to say yes had brought him little comfort, because being rejected just scared him too much. He didn't want to admit how long it had taken him to prepare…

But finally, the day had come, and he approached the little bot as one might an armed explosive.

"Uh… Bumblebee?" he spoke softly, tapping his big servos together to try and call himself down. Bumblebee was relaxing and watching something on TV, and Bulkhead was so nervous he couldn't even tell what. Primus, he was just grateful they were alone, or else this would have been impossible! Bumblebee thankfully noticed him right away, lifting his helm to look at his friend with a smile.

"What's up, Bulk?" he said in greeting, half turning back to the television before doing an actual double take back to the big bot. Concern crossed his features, and he raised a curious brow ridge before he spoke again. "You feeling okay?"

Bulkhead realized just then that his nervousness was probably showing through like a beacon, and he gulped in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to disappear on the spot. Just his luck that things would already be going poorly… Steeling himself, he took a deep vent and put on the biggest smile he could manage. "Yeah, f-fine!" he gasped out, trying not to tremble. Wishing he'd written down what he wanted to say, he just managed to put some words together and speak, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. "I just wanted… wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" Bumblebee asked, expression not changing once. Near to collapsing, Bulkhead soldiered on, wondering with every word if he'd made a huge mistake.

"Well you… you know I've been painting a lot lately, and I was wondering…" he gulped again, closing in on the final thing he'd come to ask and hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake in the process. If this worked, it might just be the happiest day of his life…

"I'm kind of tired of painting trees and flowers… could I paint… you?" he asked, not even waiting for a reply before he clarified extensively. "Paint a picture of you, I mean! Like… would you want to model for a painting? That's… what I meant…"

"Oh, model?" Bumblebee repeated, optics lighting up like a supernova as he repeated the word. Bulkhead felt relief like nothing he'd ever experienced wash over him as the question got exactly the answer he hadn't dared to hope for, enough so that he struggled to stay standing as he sighed. Bumblebee hopped upright and stretched, lean little frame already eager to get moving as he stepped beside his much larger friend. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Yeah, sure!" Bulkhead said with enthusiasm, trying his hardest not to cry a few happy tears at the turn of events. Moving as fast as he could, he followed Bee to his room, where all of his supplies were waiting for them in the unlikely event this worked out. The big bot had done everything in his power to get all the paint and brushes he would need if Bee said yes, so hopefully he did indeed have enough, or at least what he'd require to get started. He'd gotten so many shades of yellow…

When they arrived to his room, he briefly scolded himself for not fixing it up better, not that Bumblebee ever bothered to clean his own room, but he wanted to be a good host.

Pointing to the smushed couch he sometimes liked to relax on, which was also in a good spot for lighting, he tried to ensure he was calm despite his still fluttering nerves. "You can, uh, pose however you like. How about there?" 

"Sure, sounds fun!" Bumblebee replied, quite enthusiastic as he hopped on over. Not minding that the furniture was beyond lumpy, he began finding a comfortable way for his frame to lay, moving his tiny self about as Bulkhead got everything ready. Trying not to blush at how happy he was, the big bot grabbed a spare canvas and his favorite cans of paint, along with a few brushes in his size. Someday he'd have to properly thank Sari for introducing him to art, and being kind enough to provide tools in his size as well. When his easel was in place, he looked up to see Numb laying himself over the couch and grinning in his usual goofy way. "Paint me like one of your French bots, Bulkhead…"

Even if he hadn't been so distracted by what he was feeling, the big bot would have had no ability to make sense of what he'd just heard. All he could manage was a one word reply of total bafflement. "...What?"

"It's a… a human quote. I don't get it either." Bumblebee mumbled in reply, likely referencing some movie he and Sari had watched together at some point. Not wanting his friend to feel awkward, Bulkhead happily helped the conversation continue, smiling as he grabbed a brush.

"Oh, well um… how about we start small? Just sketches and stuff, you know?" he offered, trying to think of the best way to proceed. It was hard to plan much of anything when he was this happy, especially because he didn't want Bee to know how he felt, in more ways than one. He had to keep going as if this was just a casual thing, and not something that really meant the world to him.

"Works for me, just don't forget to get my good side… which is all of me." Bee said proudly, striking a pose and grinning as he did so. It was a perfectly in character position, so Bulkhead got to work right away, carefully articulating his large digits to control the brush. While small mistakes were just part of the process for painting, he didn't want to make one here. This piece was going to be perfect, so every stroke had to be the same, and thus his digits had an almost vice-like grip. It didn't escape his attention how few bots got to pursue their greatest wish like he was doing now. Keeping his smile to himself, he cast his optics to Bumblebee and back to the canvas, wanting to have the perfect grasp of scale before he began. Having a friend with such particular proportions wasn't going to make this any easier.

Sticking with the core of his muse, he made a few careful strokes to get the basic gist of his friend's pose, hoping to capture both his sense of excitability and his current relaxed mood. It would be hard, but he was more than up for the challenge. This would be worth every last second of work...

"Actually, hang on, my arm looks better like this."

Bumblebee surprised him with the words and the sudden movement he made to match, his arm swinging about to rest almost opposite to its original pose. As he hadn't yet started drawing that particular spot, Bulkhead let it go, having expected a little bit of restlessness. It was also only fair that Bee liked the final result and was comfortable with the process. Getting back to work, the big bot wondered if his friend's face might be a good place to start. His horns certainly added an additional detail for him to take into consideration… Perhaps he'd ask if Bee wanted his face to be more in profile or at an angle. All he wanted was to capture the essence of the bot he was so close to.

Bumblebee coughed, optics looking about bashfully as he blushed and shifted on the couch to move his other arm. It wasn't a big move, but the small bit clearly realized it was inconvenient, and looked guilty for the move. "Need to change this too, it's not working. This look better?"

"Oh uh… yeah!" Bulkhead replied quickly, uncertain how he should respond beyond acceptance as the last thing he wanted was for this to be uncomfortable for either of them. Some small changes would need to be made to what was already on the canvas, but that was hardly a bother. Getting more paint on his brush, he tried to work a little faster as he got the bottom layer established. Not that he didn't trust Bee to keep his word, but the little bot often fidgeted without even meaning to. Sticking out his glossa in concentration, Bulkhead worked fast, using up a fair amount of paint as he got what he presumed to be the core of the piece. Next would come the much tricker details…

Or at least they would have, if he hadn't glanced up to see Bumblebee in a completely different pose and half asleep...

"Bumblebee?" he said on reflex, coughing to try and gain his friend's attention. Startling awake, the little bot looked around in surprise, seeming to have forgotten exactly where he was and what was going on. When recognition dawned on his features, embarrassment wasn't far behind. A light blush lit up his cheeks as he shrunk down on the couch.

"Scrap, sorry, wasn't thinking." he apologized, trying to remember how he had originally been posed and failing to do so. Bulkhead felt a bit of frustration stirring, but he kept it well under wraps. Just because this wasn't going according to plan, didn't mean he was going to give up.

"That's okay! Just… need a new canvas." he said, keeping his smile even if he was a little more flustered. With a little bit of white paint he could salvage the canvas and use it later for something else, plus it wasn't like Sari didn't provide him with plenty of supplies. Getting set up all over again, he looked back to Bumblebee, who was once again settled in what appeared to be his position of choice. Hoping to begin in earnest, he was careful as could be when he broached the question on his mind. "Is that the pose you want?"

"Definitely!" Bumblebee said enthusiastically, giving him hope that he'd be able to paint for real this time. Not wasting even a moment, he painted as fast as he could, glancing back and forth between the painting and his subject to make the process as smooth as possible. It was an effective strategy, as it allowed him to get the outline twice as fast. This time he wanted to fully capture his friend in the picture as he'd been trying from the start. Some part of him just knew it would be worth it, and that they'd both be thankful he put in all this effort.

Or, at least, he thought he knew...

"Actually, sorry about this, but…" Bumblebee was bashful but not especially hesitant as he moved to lay on his side, stretching as he moved into an entirely different position. The poor artist felt his spark drop at the loss of progress all over again, even as his friend tried to cheer them both up by looking as chipper as possible. "That was so much more uncomfortable than I was expecting. Go on!"

Bulkhead didn't say a word as he grabbed another canvas, and did his very best not to look as discouraged as he felt. It didn't seem like this was going to stop any time soon, as much as he wished it would, and that didn't bode well for his wish to get this done. Perhaps he'd been far too hopeful…

Still, he did everything in his power to stay positive and make the painting he'd dreamed of become a reality.

Painting faster than he ever had in his entire life, the big bot ignored the imperfections that came from moving so rapidly, setting his jaw tight as little flecks of paint spattered across the canvas. At this point, such little things hardly seemed to mind. What really mattered was getting this done. A familiar form began to take recognizable shape on the canvas, and the artist started to plan ahead for his next move from then on. Shading would come after these little details, which he'd be able to put together thanks to having a lot of his friend's appearance memorized. Hope blossomed in his spark as he finally saw Bumblebee in the picture he was painting.

Getting so close to what he wanted made seeing a repeat of what had happened before hurt more than it should have.

Catching himself, Bumblebee blushed and shrunk down on the spot, smiling bashfully in apology for his unintentional movement. It really wasn't something he was doing on purpose; he wanted to see his friend happy! Sitting still just didn't work for him. Seeing Bulkhead look hurt, however, made him feel especially bad for the mistake.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Bulkhead said with a sigh, putting yet another canvas to the side and looking quite deflated as he did so. There wasn't anything he could think to do that might change this, and he was ready to just throw in the towel. Perhaps this was just the one thing he wasn't meant to paint.

"Aw come on, why not?" Bumblebee pressed, aware of the answer but hoping there was something he could do to fix it. Staying still just wasn't in his programming, but perhaps… he could get some tape? That wasn't realistic, but he wanted to try something to make up for this. Bulkhead only sighed again.

"You won't stay still?" he said simply, frustrated but not antagonistic in his summation. It was something neither of them could change, and that left both more than a little helpless.

"I…" Bumblebee stuttered off, tapping his digits together as he saw his friend get even more sad. Unable to help getting a little defensive, he got up from the couch, throwing up his arms as the big bot cleaned up some of the mess. "Come on, Bulk! You know me! Staying still isn't my thing, and I can't force that!"

"Well yeah, but… couldn't you just stay mostly still?" Bulkhead asked, still not ready to just give up all at once. Even if he had no idea how to fix things or make it work, he wanted this painting too much to just give up, no matter how many canvases it took. All he needed was a little bit more time than he had been getting. His determination must have shown, because Bumblebee furrowed his brow ridges in consideration.

"I… I can try! I…" he faded off as the pressure weighed on him, and thankfully his friend caught that quickly. To be clear; he wanted this a lot, but he could never want anything badly enough to make Bumblebee uncomfortable. Perhaps it was best they rested a bit, to restore their patience and approach this with clearer heads. He certainly needed a minute to relax from all this frustration...

"How about a break? We've been trying for a while, maybe a bit of down time will help." he proposed, already feeling a little better at the prospect of cooling down. Bumblebee shared the sentiment straight away, visibly relaxing on the spot and letting out a tiny sigh of his own. 

"Great idea Bulk! Let me just grab something…" he said happily, darting off and leaving the big bot alone with his supplies. Deciding to clean a bit to ease his mind, Bulkhead sorted the discarded canvases, hoping that he could paint over the unusable pictures with some white and reuse them. Seeing how much and how little progress he'd made at the same time made him wonder how he might improve on their next attempt. Nothing was coming to mind just yet, but that didn't mean he had lost hope. There had to be something on this planet that would motivate Bee to stay still, and by Primus he would find it!

As he was wiping up some paint that had managed to drip onto the floor, Bumblebee quite literally skidded back into the room, coming to a dead stop after running at full tilt. 

"I'm back! Just wanted to grab my game!" the little bot declared happily, waving the device about as he went to sit back on the smushed couch. The game had been a gift from Sari as well; some kind of earth console that had been sized up a few times over to better fit the servos of a Cybertronian. Smiling in acknowledgement, the big bot nodded as he went back to cleaning. Digital music met his audials as his friend started up the system and began to play, reclining on the couch as he settled in for a much needed break. Bulkhead had only had middling success with the games popular on earth, owed in large part to his size, but he was at least happy his friend could have some much needed fun with them. 

When the floor was finally cleaned up, he took stock of his slightly diminished inventory. There was still plenty of paint, and more than a few canvases, but if they continued at their current pace… He'd have to figure out a strategy before they tried this again, because otherwise this just wasn't going to work. Looking up at Bumblebee, he briefly considered proposing that they try this another day before his thoughts were systematically interrupted. 

Laying on his back over the pile of stuffing that had once been a couch, the small mech was entirely engrossed in his digital world, optics focused only on the screen as his digits rapidly tapped away on the controls. Other than the occasional shift of his expression, he was entirely motionless. It took Bulkhead a moment to process what he was seeing. Bumblebee was so rarely still, and never for this length of time… He didn't need to think much before he was reacting the only way he could.

Moving as silently as a mech of his size was able to, he grabbed what he needed, gathering his paints around himself as he got a fresh canvas and sat down before his easel. He couldn't have asked for a better setup; the pose, the lighting, it was all perfect. It was almost too much to hope this was real. Considering how many false starts he'd had, most could probably understand why he felt that way.

Daring to take his time, the big bot made every brush stroke count, trying to think of all the reasons he liked Bee so much as he made each one. His friend was confident, energetic, brave… All those thoughts motivated him every second he worked, and the results were soon apparent. The form of Bumblebee began to take shape rather quickly, coming together far more smoothly thanks to how relaxed he was. A base layer was ready to go in what felt like only a few minutes.

Oblivious to everything, Bumblebee kept right on playing, occasionally sticking his glossa out as he did so. Bulkhead contemplated including that detail in the piece, but ultimately decided against it. This was going to be a somewhat more dignified painting than that. 

When the time came to add lighting, he was almost over the moon, but he kept all the excitement to himself. Colors mixed together beautifully on his palette, forming the light and dark shades to the vibrant yellows and deep blacks that made up his friend's paint job. It was far more satisfying than painting even the most beautiful landscape he'd ever seen. Perhaps he was just a little biased on that front, but he did believe that painting things you truly cared about just brought them to life. One only had to glance at this piece to understand how much this bot meant to him.

It almost seemed like he was dreaming when each and every glance revealed Bumblebee to be sitting perfectly still, without a hint of movement beyond the minor. If this did turn out to be a dream, he'd at least be happy it was going so well. Fate had truly designed the perfect setup for them to finally get this done without any stress for either individual. 

Everything came together with what felt like only a few of the most well done strokes he'd ever painted. At long last, the bot he'd wanted to paint so badly had been captured on canvas! It was so exciting he couldn't hold back an exclamation as he set his brush down theatrically.

"Done!"

"Huh?!" Bumblebee gasped, half jumping on the spot as his game nearly flew from his servos. Looking about in a daze, he put the pieces together when he saw his friend, at which point guilt crossed his features. Time had slipped away from him even more so than it had for the very busy Bulkhead. "What? I… oh, Bulk! I didn't mean to get distracted! You could have stopped me earlier, I wouldn't have minded."

Waving off the appreciated but unnecessary apology, the big bot only smiled and wiped some paint from his servos, rising from his chair to puff his chest out with pride. "That's okay, I'm already finished."

"How?" the little bot gasped in awe, checking his internal chronometer to see just how long he'd been wrapped up in his game. It had only felt like a few minutes, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten lost in a video game.

"Well, you were pretty content playing your game, so…" Bulkhead allowed his friend to put the rest of the pieces together, and in no time understanding dawned on the little mech. 

"Oh, I gotcha!" Bumblebee replied happily, quite relieved to have not held them up. If playing video games was what it had taken to make his friend happy, then he was quite fine with that. All he wanted was to get a look at the results, which he was certain would be incredible. "Here, let me see!"

Feeling a bit of shyness amongst his pride, Bulkhead handed over the canvas, careful to avoid the still drying paint.

"This is amazing!" Bumblebee proclaimed without hesitation, trying to be delicate even as he felt a surge of excitement upon beholding the painting. Of course he knew his friend had talent, but this was incredible! "Look at me, I look even better than usual!"

Bulkhead looked down to the floor and shuffled his pedes, doing his best to hide the blush creeping along his cheeks. "Well, I had a pretty great model."

"That's gonna sell fast, Bulkhead. No doubt about it." Bumblebee praised as he gave the painting back, confident in what he was saying. It didn't hurt that he was a good looking bot, but his friend had really done an especially good job on this one, and he was sure it would be bought up in no time. Taking the piece, the big bot smiled softly as he beheld it again. It had taken a lot of courage for him to get this, and he was quite proud of himself for that. As such, he held the painting very near and dear to his spark.

"Maybe, but… I think I'm gonna keep it, actually." he said softly, wanting to see it every day. There was a perfect place for it where he could do just that, not that he would say where that was. Bumblebee didn't mind the decision in the slightest.

However, when the little bot ducked in his friend's room later to pick up a borrowed item, he learned the true value of the painting to Bulkhead. On a wall reserved for only his most precious of works, the portrait sat high in a position of honor. Usually unable to say everything that came to mind due to overwhelming volume, Bee had been rendered speechless by the sight. Only a soft smile revealed how touched he was by the gesture. 

#transformers animated #tfa #bumblebee #bulkhead #commission #my writing #my commissions #fluff

[hoekaashi]

3 am Talks - bnha pt 3

a/n: here is the last part for bnha 3 am talks!! i’ll be doing hq next which will be longer than 9 characters. i hope yall enjoy (: pairings: dabi x reader, hawks x reader, aizawa x reader warnings: mentions for smex and smoking but no actual acts being done (dabi), dabi is a todoroki (not really a warning but i’m still saying it), mentions of depression (aizawa) taglist: @babydabi​, @suckersuki​, @bakugoustanaccount​, @animoozies​ part 2 | part 4

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

⇾ if Dabi is talking to you at 3 am, it’s because yall just finished doing the Devil's Tango ⇾ or yall smoking ⇾ those are the moments when his guard isn’t down persay, he’s just softer ⇾ he’s not a talkative guy to begin with so when he does start talking, you make sure to listen ⇾ it would probably start with something like ‘why are you with me’ or ‘joining the league, this isn’t what I thought I would be doing’ ⇾ maybe even bring up why he joined the league in the first place fuck Stain ⇾ he’s an insecure child at heart, but after asking some initial questions, he’ll be doing most of the talking ⇾ now - hear me out - if he reeeeeally trusts you, he would talk about his past and his daddy issues ⇾ how much he misses his siblings and mom, but he can’t go back to them ⇾ how he wants to expose his father for the things he did to his family but doesn’t want everyone else dealing with the backlash of it

You felt Dabi shift besides you, moving the thin sheet you used to cover yourself as you came back down from your previous activities. He sat there, facing the window, staring out at the moon and the stars. You knew something was on his mind, but waited to see if tonight would be the night he decided to talk about it. “Why are you still with me? You know I can’t give you anything you want.” You sat up, bringing your knees to your chest. Resting your head on your knees, you spoke. “Well, it’s not like I chose to fall in love with you. It just happened. But I honestly wouldn’t change a thing.” “Not even if being caught with me means you won’t be able to return to your family?” It wasn’t ideal, not in the slightest, but you hadn’t had that problem yet. “I don’t want to choose between the two of you. At this point, you are my family.” The silence fell back over the two of you. Sleep began to wash over you so you got up to find Dabi’s shirt to wear to bed. “When I joined the league, it was because I wanted to out my father to the entire world. Now that I’m here, I know that isn’t going to happen. The man-child has his own agenda that I’m a pawn in. The more I stray from my original ideas though, the more I realize that I can’t tell the public about his actions in the past. How will everyone else deal with the backlash? Shouto...he’s training to be a hero. How would that reflect on him? And Natsuo is in college… The only person I see benefiting from this is my mother who would finally be released from the hospital. But how would she adjust to life back home?” He dropped his head into his hands and you crawled across the bed over to him. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you pulled him back into your chest. “I miss them so much… If I were stronger, maybe I could’ve protected them all.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ oh boy, I can talk about my favorite chimken ALL day but I’m not gonna show favoritism like that ⇾ I see late night talks with him the way I see him drunk - the longer he talks, the deeper he gets ⇾ like, 10-12 am, he’s on crack talking about the most random things, not sticking to one topic ⇾ around 1, he starts to get more serious but more so about relationships - not necessarily yours, but in general (could be work, friendship, lack-there-of) ⇾ 2-3 am, he’s on work, spilling his innermost thoughts on it but never telling you secrets because he won’t put your life in danger like that ⇾ 4 am and onwards, he gets deep ⇾ he’s talking about his family and his childhood, how if he ever sees himself wanting kids in the future, he wants them to have a better life than himself ⇾ once he starts sharing the thoughts and feelings he’s kept to himself for all this time, he won’t stop ⇾ not unless he thinks you’re bored, tired, or he falls asleep himself ⇾ he just wants someone to listen to him for once and not cut him down for having feelings

“But I guess Endeavor is my best friend…” Hawks was staring up at the ceiling, lying on the couch as if he were in therapy - another luxury that was stripped away from him. “What about Miruko?” you asked, moving his legs out of your lap so you could get up. “My favorite rodent! Yeah she’s up there too. Actually, scratch that. She’s my best friend, don’t tell her I hesitated though.” You laughed. You heard him follow you into his bedroom as you began to change your clothes. Once you were done, you felt his arms wrap around your waist. “But I’m so lucky to have found you.” “It feels weird though. Like we’re dating secretly behind our parents’ back.” He pulled away, a small frown on his face. “Are you...not happy with me?” You walked over to the balcony doors, opening them to step outside. “Of course I am. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. It’s just strange I can’t tell anyone about you.” He joined you soon after, his shirt disregarded and sweats covering his lower half. “I know, but I want to keep you safe from, well, everything. The Commission isn’t exactly known for being kind to anyone. As a kid, I felt like I grew up in jail, my teachers and supervisors were my wardens. They forced me to grow up long before anyone my age had to.” He leaned back against the railing of the balcony, looking at you. Before continuing, he pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. “I never thanked you for not prying whenever I don’t tell you stuff. If the Commission ever found out that you know anything, I don’t even want to imagine what they would do.” You looked back out at the view of the city. “Are you planning to stay with them forever?” He took a moment to answer turning around to look at the view with you. “I mean, as of right now, yeah. Maybe one day in the future, if I want to settle down, I’ll leave. But they won’t let me go so easily, if at all, so it’s just easier staying with them.” “Kids?” He let out a dry chuckle. “If that ever happens, I’m keeping them the hell away from the life I grew up with.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ our favorite UA zaddy ⇾ he’s up that late on a daily, whether it’s from grading papers and working, or just from all the thoughts running around in his head ⇾ he’s an insomniac, change my mind ⇾ he’s also depressed so these late night conversations would revolve around that ⇾ he’s too tired to even try to keep his walls up at this point ⇾ especially with the shit show of a year this has been and all the media painting him to be an incompetent teacher, always endangering the lives of his students ⇾ he needs a break and a really long paid vacation ⇾ constantly hearing how he’s doing a bad job at his job starts to get to him and after a certain point, he doesn’t need the media and parents to tear him down ⇾ he does it himself ⇾ honestly, just hold him in your arms as he let’s everything off his chest 

“Shouta, why are you still up?” “I could ask you the same thing.” He was sitting at the dinner table, grading some papers. You walked out of your bedroom and took the pen out of his hand. Placing it down on the table, you pulled him out of the chair and walked him back to your bedroom. “You take your medication?” His lack of a response was all you needed. “If you don’t take your meds, how do you expect to get sleep?” He replied with a sigh as he sat down on the bed. “What are you running away from?” you asked, sitting next to him. “Everything.” He paused. “Do you know how hard it is for me to read and hear people call me a failure?” You knew what he was talking about. “I never cared how others viewed me. I don’t want to be a hero who’s in the headlines for the work I’ve done. But this? Those reporters don’t know the shit I go through to keep my kids safe.” He was tired and was finally at his breaking point. “I already feel like a failure for not being able to keep them safe - for seeing them in hospital beds because I was too weak - but then to have strangers who weren’t even there reporting on my incompetency? Comparing me to All Might?” “I know it’s easier to say this, but shouldn’t it matter about what your kids think only?” you asked, rubbing his back. “What about their parents? What kids will I have to teach and protect if their parents think I’m a failure too?” He had a point. You didn’t know what to say or do to help him feel better. All you were able to do was make sure he was going to class, coming home, and taking his meds. “Sho-” He sat up. “I love you, you’re doing the best you can with me.” He caressed your cheek. “It’s just my luck that everything is happening all at once. I don’t care how many times I have to put my life on the line though, I will always make sure my kids are safe before anything else.”

#dabi #dabi x reader #hawks #hawks x reader #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha x reader fluff #bnha imagines #dabi imagine #hawks imagine #aizawa imagine

[inkstaineddove]

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up.  They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #pruaus

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley chapter 12

The scene shifted the moment Tempest woke up. They were outside, on a street in the middle of the city.  Storm clouds circled overhead.  

Tempest stood in front of them, hands in her pockets, a bland expression on her face.  

“So,” she drawled.  “You’re Nine’s friends.”

“Uh,” said Ochako, taken aback.  Right after Four had said she wouldn’t talk to them, this was disconcerting.   “Yes?”

“I’m his teacher,” said Aizawa, stepping forward.

“Yeah?  You think you’re doing a good job raising up little child soldiers?”

“Excuse me?” said Aizawa.  

“You heard me.”  She shifted her gaze to Ochako, then to Todoroki and Iida.  “I bet Souma told you I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

“He did say something along those lines, yes,” said Iida, even as Ochako worked very hard to elbow him.

“I can follow why he’d think that,” Tempest said. “I spent most of my life fighting against the government.  Lord knows I wouldn’t have approved of him choosing a ‘pro hero’ to follow after him.”  She took her hands out of her pockets to make air quotes.  She was wearing brass knuckles.  “Whatever a pro hero is supposed to be.  Government lackeys.  Cops and war criminals with a different name.  I’m shocked he pulled a halfway decent person from the muck.”

“We’re not war criminals!” protested Iida.  

“Oh, yeah?  I forgot, the Geneva convention was nixed, wasn’t it?  They had this big meeting and decided none of it applied to metahumans, and then, bam!  Everyone’s a metahuman, so it doesn’t apply at all, huh?  Neat, right?”

“What we’re doing now might not be what you’re used to,” said Ochako, “but it’s the way society works, now.”

“And we’re not killing people, like you did,” said Iida.  Ochako winced at his combative addition.  

“I did what I had to, to get people out of the torture camps,” said Tempest.  “People like my little sister.  You know what they did to her?  They thought her power was just controlled by her voice.  So, they cut out her vocal cords.”

“They don’t do that anymore,” said Todoroki.  

“You think a government like that is just going to stop doing things?  Without people making them?  Without being forced?”  Tempest laughed and looked up at the swirling sky.  “Maybe you do.  You’re just kids, after all.  But tell me this, do you think they didn’t know exactly what was happening to your family, Todoroki Shouto?”

Aizawa cleared his throat.  “What’s your point, here?” he asked.  “What do you want from us?”

Tempest looked back at Aizawa.  The coldness in her brown eyes made Ochako shiver.  “We could have kept you out,” she said. “That Suzuki idiot, too.  Do you know why we didn’t?”

“Enlighten us,” said Aizawa.  

“Because the way we do it would cause irreparable brain damage.  We know, because we’ve done it before.  I thought it was worth it, but the others didn’t want to hurt ‘Nine’s friends.’”

“Are you implying that we aren’t Midoriya’s friends?” asked Todoroki, frowning.  

Tempest huffed and wind whipped down the road, making Ochako cover her face.  

“No.  To be honest, I’m not completely sold on Nine, either.  He wanted to part of the system so bad, and that’s not to mention—” she huffed again.  “At least he knows what it’s like to be on the other side of the equation.  You four, though… I’m stuck with Nine.  I don’t owe you anything and you’re causing all these problems.  What I want from you—”

Behind her, lightning snapped down from the sky.

“—is to prove to me you’re worth it.”

.

“Vlad, the police were able to find your car,” said Powerloader, holding his hand over the receiver of the staff room telephone.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Vlad.  “I hate taking public transportation.”  He paused.  “I mean, uh, did they find Yagi?  Is he alright?”

“No, they didn’t find Yagi.”

“Great,” said Vlad.  “So, ask them when I can pick it up.  Why are you making that face?  Did Yagi total it?  I bet he did.  ‘Symbol of Peace,’ my—”

“No,” interrupted Powerloader.  “Yagi didn’t total it.  Or crash it.  It was parked in an alley near the Musutafu entertainment district.”

“Where Midoriya had that fight with Hawks,” said Vlad, putting his head in his hands.  “It got wrecked by one of them, didn’t it?”

“No,” said Powerloader.  “It was parked in an alley.  They found it on a security camera.  It isn’t there anymore.”

“They took it again?”

“The League of Villains took it.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

.

The bus felt empty with half the class missing. The remaining 1-A students (plus Shinso) were all huddled together at the front, mooching off of the teachers mobile hotspots.  

“Did my email go through yet, kero?” asked Tsuyu, leaning over her seat to look at Denki’s computer.  

“Not yet,” said Denki.  “I’ve got all the pictures you guys sent arranged, but I wish we had more video material.  Ashido was the one with the most…”  He sighed. “Ashido, gossip queen, when you wake up I will apologize for all my comments about your hobbies.”

“I have some videos of Midoriya.”

“Trust us, Mineta, no one want your videos,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Huh?  Why not?”

“Tell us this.  How many of your videos are actually of Midoriya and don’t just have him incidentally in the background while you try to film girls.”

“None of them,” said Mineta, obviously not seeing why this was wrong.  “Why would I film Midoriya?”

“Mic,” said Midnight, “please remind me to sign up the walking lawsuit for some sensitivity classes.  How did Eraser miss this?”

“Unfortunately, Shouta is about as sexual as the average rock, so…”

“Remind me to sign him up for some training, too, then.”

“Will do.”

“Walking lawsuit?” asked Mineta.  

Everyone else sighed.  Then Denki’s laptop pinged.

“Huh.  I just got an email from Principal Nezu.”

The adults, including Green Light, the bus driver, blanched.  Adults were bothered by the weirdest things.  In the end, Nezu was just a guy with a quirk, right?  A hero, even!  Principal Nezu, the Education Hero!

Okay, he’d scared Denki (Mr. Terrible Grades) a lot in elementary and middle school, but really.  

(Okay, the crane thing at the Final Exam had been high-key terrifying, but he was trying to get past that.)

“Huh,” repeated Denki, having read the email. “That’s interesting.”

“What is it, my electric friend?” asked Aoyama, drapping himself sideways across his seat.

“Aoyama-san,” said Midnight, “don’t put your feet on the windows.”

“Principal Nezu sent me a link to an ‘All Might adopt a kid’ fanfiction, and it’s by—”

“Midoriya writes fanfiction?” asked Shouji, evidently surprised into using his real mouth to speak.  

“That’s cute, kero,” said Tsuyu.  “It must have been before he met the real All Might, though.”

“No,” said Denki, “it was last updated just a couple of weeks ago, and, well… Midoriya didn’t write it.”

“So, who did?” asked Yaoyorozu.  

“Not Nezu, right?” asked Jiro, winding her earphone jack around her finger.  

“There’s no way, right, Kaminari-san?” asked Present Mic, nervously.  

“Uh, no, no, it’s, uh, it’s All Might. According to Nezu.”

A beat of silence.

“What?”

Denki inserted his pinky into his right ear, trying to clear it.  Man, if the Bakusquad had been here rather than the quiet half of the class…

“Yeah, it says here that this serves All Might right for working on this during school hours?”

More silence.  

“Green Light, the road!”  

“Oops, sorry!”

“Hey, guys, are we sure that All Might didn’t, you know, kidnap Midoriya rather than the other way around?  Guys?”

.

Gran Torino, also known as Torino Sorahiko, was an active hero.  That meant late nights and late mornings.  He was also an old man.  A very old man.  Late mornings often turned into noons and afternoons.  

Sometimes, during those noons and afternoons, he liked to ignore technology and the outside world for a good long while.  Maybe read the paper a little bit.  Or one of those terrible romance novels Nana had left him in her will.  

Still, he was a hero, one wrapped up in something best described as a two-hundred-year-long shadow war, so eventually he did turn on the news.  

Only to see Toshinori’s boy fighting Hawks on live television.  

Not to mention Toshinori hanging out in the background with a shaved head.  

And the ticker said UA student Midoriya Izuku kidnaps Symbol of Peace.

(Which was the dumbest thing he had ever heard, and under other circumstances, he would have been rolling on the floor laughing.)

Gran Torino was an old man, but, luckily, he only felt like he was simultaneously having a heart attack and a stroke.  His body was more than functional enough to place a not-at-all panicked phone call to one Tsukauchi Naomasa.  

.

Tsukauchi Naomasa was incredibly busy.  That busy-ness was divided mostly evenly between desperately trying to find his best friend (who had evidently decided to make a hopefully brief foray into kidnapping teenagers) and trying to figure out what the commission was taking, because it had to be illegal.  Oh, and putting together a complaint that the commission was infringing on police prerogatives.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much traction that last would get, since pro heroes had been steadily gaining more and more responsibilities even as the police were losing both them and the power that came with them.  Not to mention Midoriya’s stunt with Hawks… Which… Naomasa just wanted to know why?  What had the point of that been?  On either side?

(Sometimes he wished he were friends with normal people.  Like… he didn’t know… an accountant, maybe?)

(Not that he would give Toshinori up for the world. Just, some normalcy would be nice, too.)

He took a deep breath, remembered what he always told Toshinori about stress, and took a mouthful of room-temperature coffee.

In that thirty-second period, two more problems presented themselves to him.  

One, his cell phone began to ring, displaying the contact information for Gran Torino.  

Two, his email softly pinged, and a message from Principal Nezu asking for any images or videos Toshinori might have sent him slid into his inbox.  

Briefly, Naomasa considered ignoring both of them, but that wasn’t a realistic option and was irresponsible besides.  Contrary to his character.  

He picked the lesser of two evils and answered Gran Torino’s call.

.

Garaki was going to have a mental breakdown.  This was fitting because his car had broken down.  Midoriya Inko was asking him if he thought that his ‘friend’ might come pick them up, if it was safe.  If his ‘friend’ had a car.  

This last had almost sent him into hysterics. Gigantomachia in a car oh-ho!

Except it wasn’t funny at all, as this was almost certainly going to result in his death at the hands of All for One.  No matter that he considered the man his very dearest of friends, he was under no illusions about what All for One would do to him over this inexcusable error.

Perhaps he should just cut his losses and get one of the remote-activated noumu to come for them.  

Then, inexorably and inevitably, things managed to get even worse.

.

“Stop the car!” shouted Tomura.  

“But you said not to—”

“I know what I said!  Stop the car!”

Tomura twisted to see out the rear passenger window. Everyone else turned to follow his gaze, effectively blocking his view.  

“Get out of my way!” demanded Tomura.

There was some awkward, half-hearted shuffling.

“Does that look like anyone to you?” Tomura hissed.

“Yeah!  Like the doctor!” said Toga.  

“I’ve never seen him standing up, though,” said Spinner, dubiously.  “It seems out of character.”

“I didn’t know he owned a car,” mused Compress, rubbing the bottom edge of his mask.  

“Not him!” snapped Tomura.  “The woman!”  He pointed angrily at the rapidly approaching woman with green hair, narrowly avoiding dusting Mr. Compress’s top hat.  

“Eh?  What about her?” asked Spinner.  

“Doesn’t she look familiar to you?”

“To be honest, everyone without mutation quirks looks kind of the same to me.”

“Someone without face blindness.”

“Oh!  She looks like Izu-kun!  Do you think that’s his mom?”

The woman knocked on the window of the car.  Twice, unhelpfully rolled it down.  

“Thank you so much for stopping, we—Oh!”  She took a step back.

She apparently recognized them.  Joy.  He was going to unpack his feelings about this woman later.

“Hey, doc,” rasped Tomura, annoyed.  “What the hell have you been doing?”

“Ahem,” said Garaki, finally stepping out from behind the car.  “I didn’t expect to see you here, Shigaraki Tomura.”

“Because you blew us off and stranded us in the middle of Musutafu?”

“No,” said Garaki, in a way that absolutely meant ‘yes.’  “I knew you were resourceful enough to safely make it out of the city.”

“Oh, yeah?  Really?  You—”

Compress chose that moment to slam his face into the back of Tomura’s head.  Tomura steadied himself automatically on one of the car’s uprights, which cracked dangerously under his hand.  He pulled back as if burned.  

When he looked up, the gremlin’s mother was halfway to the tree line with – What was that in her hand?

He looked back over his shoulder.  

That was Twice’s goddamn mask.  

Compress, for some reason, was also missing his stupid mask (and covering his face like the dramatic weirdo he was), and Toga basically had hearts in her eyes.  Spinner was being Spinner, and therefore ninety percent useless.  He was lucky he was fun to play games with.

How to make her stop?

“Hey!” he shouted.  “We have your son!”

This was a lie, as far as he knew (unless Dabi had snatched him on his way back; it wasn’t impossible), but, he was a villain.

The green-haired woman stopped and turned back, allowing Tomura a full view of her expression.  

He decided that he regretted everything.

.

“Okay,” said Izuku, multitasking by letting Two pick the lock on the League’s safe, “considering Gigantomachia’s ability to track by smell and the questionable running water, we can’t just sneak out.  He’ll find us.  So… I think our best play is getting him to attack Shigaraki, and then when they’re both distracted, we run for it.”

Toshinori nodded and sighed.  “If only we had a giant jug of perfume.  We could throw it at his face and disrupt his ability to smell us.”

“I mean, I found a whole bunch of garbage a way back.  That isn’t perfume, but it does stink.”

“No, no, your plan is superior.  We’d draw too much suspicion if we attacked him like that. Perfume could be written off.”

“Yeah, I can see that.  Because perfume is a ‘nice’ thing.”

“Indeed.”

“It isn’t actually very nice to have it all over you, though,” said Izuku.  

“No,” agreed Toshinori.  “It isn’t.”

The safe popped open.

“I won’t ask if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

“But, anyway, assuming we do get away, what then? Where do we go?  And—Wow.  The League of Villains is broke.  I almost feel bad.”

“I was going to say Deika, but that’s too far, now, and we don’t know if Gigantomachia will come after us,” said Toshinori.  “Drawing him to a place full of civilians would be irresponsible.”

“Yeah,” said Izuku.  He frowned, pulling his head from the safe, and glanced out the window. “What about the Wild Wild Pussycats?”

“What about them?” asked Toshinori.  

“They’re near here, aren’t they?  And they’ve got that whole complex, so, I mean…  I don’t know how they feel about us right now, but it wouldn’t be a terrible place to hide.  Would it?”

“I’d hate to bring all of this down on them as well,” said Toshinori.  “But… That being said, I don’t believe they’re actually there.  They were taking some time off because of what happened to Ragdoll.”

“That makes sense,” said Izuku.  “Should we take the risk?”

“I’m unsure if we have a choice, my boy.  We could try roughing it, but that puts us in a very vulnerable position.”

“And we can’t stay here, with the League.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Okay.”  Izuku sighed and started to thumb through the League’s collection of fake IDs, looking for something he could use.  “Wild Wild Pussycats it is.  We’ve got to convince Machia to attack Shigaraki, and… then we sneak out the back while they’re fighting.”  He shook his head.  “It sounds really unheroic when I put it that way.”

“Under these circumstances, I think heroic is the set of actions where no one dies.”

His mentor was right.  Izuku still felt weird about this, though.  (The pettiness was completely different.)

Not to mention…

He put the last of the fake IDs away and massaged his temples.  “They’re doing something weird in there,” he said.  “I’m going to check on them.  I might be out of it.”

“Don’t worry,” said Toshinori, patting Izuku on the shoulder.  “I’ll keep an eye on things out here.”

(Perhaps all of this could have gone unsaid, what with their connection, but saying things out loud made them easier to organize.)

.

“Hey!” shouted Izuku over the roaring wind. “Stop that!”

“Are you going to fight me, Nine?  All by yourself?”

“No,” said Izuku, somehow contriving to look down his nose at her despite the height difference and the fact that Tempest was floating several meters in the air.  “I won’t have to.  Because I have a secret weapon.”

Ochako could almost see Tempest roll her eyes.

“And,” shouted Izuku, “do you seriously think I just wanted to be part of the system?  Are you serious?  I wanted to help people.  People the system failed.  It isn’t like they’re responsible for the system either!”  He waved his hand to indicate Ochako, Iida, Todoroki, and Aizawa.

“I’d argue about your hobo teacher.  Is this your secret weapon?”

“No, this is, Great-Aunt Miranda.”

Tempest opened her mouth, then closed it again. The wind began to die down.  “I’m – I don’t know what the point of that was—"

“Neither do I!  What’s the point of this?”

“The point is determining whether or not you have people you can rely on, or a bunch of backstabbers who’ll hand you over to a government lab as soon as it’s convenient!”  She stabbed a finger at Ochako.  “She’s just in ‘heroics’ for the money!”  She pointed at Iida.  “He’s only here because it’s traditional for his family.”   She gestured at Todoroki with her other hand.  “He’s doing it mostly out of spite.  And who knows what your hobo teacher is doing this for!”

“There’s nothing wrong with any of that!” protested Ochako.  “You must have your own motivations, too!”

“She does!” shouted Izuku.  “Considering what they are, you have no room to be criticizing Iida!  Besides, you don’t even like me!”

“This isn’t about liking you or disliking!  You’re the—” Tempest visibly cut herself off, then took a deep breath.  She set herself down on the street.  “Knowing what we do now about certain things, a fourteen-year-old would not have been my first choice.”

“Excuse me!  We’re all sixteen!” said Iida.  

“You’re sixteen now, it’s – The fact of the matter is that you’re children.  Naïve children.”

“Oh my gosh, you were younger than I was when you—”

“I was kidnapped and tortured—”

“I know, but why are you taking it out on—”

“By the government that you are trying to lick the boot of—”

“Did you see what they did to Suzuki?”

Ochako felt like she was spectating a very passionate tennis match.  

“If it means anything,” said Aizawa, dragging himself out of the pile of rubble he’d been thrown into by the wind, “I’m just trying to keep my kids alive as long as possible.”

“Then expel them!  Stop them from becoming literal child soldiers!”

“I do,” said Aizawa.

“He does,” confirmed Ochako, who was well acquainted with Aizawa’s reputation.  

“He really does,” seconded Todoroki.  

“I used to see Tensei’s group chat, and every time he expelled someone…”  Iida shivered.  

“Huh,” said Todoroki.  “Is that why you’re so… insistent about rules?”

“Of course not!  Rules are important regardless of why so many students were expelled during the first month of school!”

“So, why didn’t you expel these ones?”

“If you honestly believe the problem child wouldn’t have flung himself at the first villain he saw after that and dove straight into vigilantism, you don’t know him very well.”  He sighed, standing, and brushed dust and pebbles out of his tracksuit. “That goes for these three as well. They’re insane and it’s not my fault.”

“Isn’t saving others what heroes do?” asked Izuku, walking closer to Tempest.  Ochako wanted to run out and grab him, but this whole ordeal had just shown how useless that would be.  “No matter what?”

“Not no matter what.  This is why I…”  She shook her head, sighing.  “Not no matter what.”  She leaned forward, her hands on her hips.  “Don’t die. You do realize what will happen if you die, right?  I don’t have to spell it out for you?”

“N-no,” said Izuku.  

“Besides which, I’m not a hero.”

“You saved people,” protested Izuku.  

“And, as your friends pointed out, I’ve killed, too.”

“I know,” said Izuku.  “But you aren’t a bad person.”

“Lots of people kill during wars,” said Ochako, going to stand by Izuku, “and that’s what you were fighting in, wasn’t it?  I mean, I don’t know a lot about that time, but…”

“You wouldn’t.  It’s been over a hundred years.”

Izuku nodded.  “This fight isn’t doing anything, though.  None of us want them here if the vault opens.”

“The what?” asked Iida.  “The vault.”

“Hopefully,” said Izuku, “you won’t have to worry about it.”

“The fight did do something, though,” said Tempest.

“What?” asked Izuku.  

“For one,” said Tempest, “it made you think. For the other…”  Her eyes flicked over Ochako and the others.  “Everyone you fight will have their own reasons. Remember that.”

.

As they walked down the street, storms still brewing overhead, Ochako kept catching glimpses of children in the alleyways and cross streets.  

“Who are they?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“My sister and I,” answered Tempest, brusquely. Ochako, watching the back of the woman’s head, saw her twitch slightly towards one of the alleys.  “About the time we were taken.”

“Taken by who?” asked Todoroki.  

Tempest laughed.  The sound was entirely humorless.  “That government you’re so eager to serve.  You’ve noticed, I hope, that my sister and I aren’t completely Japanese?”

“Yes?” said Todoroki.  “I’m not blind, after all.”

“Todoroki,” said Aizawa in a warning tone.

“Good for you.  Our mother was Japanese.  Dad was American.  We went back and forth to see the family.  Problem was, everyone on Mom’s side quirks.  We didn’t even realize it.  The government tracked the weather disturbances to our movements and raided our family reunion.  Never saw my parents again.  Never saw anyone, for that matter, except my sister and my aunt – Dad’s side – who tried to smuggle us out and got shot for it.  We spent four years in that hell before Ryuji rescued us.”

“You’re more open about this than I would have expected,” said Aizawa.

Tempest sneered.  “Why wouldn’t I be?  I’m a terrorist, and people only become terrorists if they want to make a statement. Which I did.  Trust me when I say this, Nine, if the hero commission took you into ‘custody,’” she spat the word like it was dirty, “you’d be in the same boat. What do you children think they do to all those high-profile criminals in Tartarus?  The ones that are held indefinitely in a private prison without even a show trial?”

“I know, Three,” said Izuku, far more calmly that Ochako would have been able to.  “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to be a hero.  It’s easier to change systems from the inside.”

“Not this system.”

“No,” said Izuku, “but then I had no idea this part of the system even existed.  They do a lot to hide it, after all.”

“Hm,” grunted Tempest, skeptically.

The buildings began to thin out, interspersed with wilderness.  The road rapidly graded narrowed into a one-lane road, then gravel.  

“Is this normal?” asked Ochako.  

“We have more control over our environments than the other ones.  You’ve noticed that only Eight and Nine had multiple versions of themselves running around and being confusing.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” said Izuku.  

“Exactly.  Any of us could send an army of ourselves against you.  Only those two don’t have a choice about it.  Amateurs.”

“Shouldn’t they have had the same amount of time as—” started Ochako.  She broke off as a series of concrete walls topped with barbed wire rose up in front of them, scraping at the surrounding trees, shedding clumps of dirt.  

The trees fell away, leaving a clear, baren space between the walls and the trees.  Slightly beyond the structure moonlight glinted off the surface of a lake.  

“Well.  Welcome to Jinoshi Lake Camp, kids.”  Tempest turned, putting her hands on her hips.  “This is where I met Ryuji.  And…” She glanced up at the walls.  “This is as far as I go.”

“You aren’t going to show us where to find this ‘Ryuji?’” asked Aizawa.  

“I promised myself I’d never go back there.” She jerked her head over her shoulder. “I’m not revisiting it for you.” She started walking away.  “Have fun.”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fic #my fic #long night in the valley

[bipercabeth]

percabeth | hurt/comfort | 3k | commissioned by @mericatblackwood 

a post-TLO fic in which we finally Let Percy Cry

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with anger—her own or others’. She can take her problems to the sword fighting arena or bury her nose in blueprints for weeks, but she’ll still come away with a tight jaw. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands when they aren’t clenched into fists. 

So when the tendons in Percy’s hands strain around his silverware at dinner, when his eyes are downcast and he’s closed off in that I’m-angry-but-trying-desperately-not-to-look-it way, Annabeth can only fumble over a painfully casual attempt at conversation and watch as he retreats to his cabin. He doesn’t even make an appearance at the campfire. The flames have been low in the weeks following the Battle of Manhattan, but they’re rising tonight. 

The problem isn’t reading Percy; it never has been. Annabeth knows what’s hurting him and why. It’s the fixing part she struggles with.

continue on AO3 

or 

He’s been angry for the better part of a year, often because of the ambiguous impending doom of his sixteenth birthday, but not exclusively so. Annabeth caused more than her fair share of his anger, she knows. Rachel had been there to provide an escape in her place, but Annabeth supposes part of being Percy’s girlfriend means that it’s her who gets to provide solace now. Not that she didn’t before, but. There’s a deeper commitment now. He was always her person—as she was his—but it’s out in the open. She’s the first line of defense—she wants to be the first line of defense from danger, be it physical or emotional. 

So Annabeth dons her Yankees cap and sneaks to Cabin 3, replaying the conversation where Percy shrugged and said he’s fine when she tried to call him out. He isn’t fine. She knows that much. 

That doesn’t mean she expects to find him curled in on himself, bedsheets tangled around his middle. It shouldn’t be possible to look small in a twin bed, but he looks so small—not at all like the hero the other campers celebrate over the campfire. It’s a stark reminder that he’s only sixteen. 

He lifts his head when the door opens, his eyes wide. Annabeth remembers that she’s invisible and knocks her cap off her head. She’ll pick it up later. Right now Percy’s breath stutters at the sight of her, his eyes shining like open wounds. 

Annabeth can do dry anger: the cold, unfeeling rage that motivates, propels, inspires. But wet anger—the paralyzing, painful kind you cannot power through—leaves her scrambling for purchase. Annabeth is a runner. She doesn’t sit in anything. 

The sheets rustle as Percy closes his eyes and takes refuge in his bed like a dog hiding his wounded paw. Despite his efforts, he cannot disguise his limp.

“Please don’t hide from us,” Annabeth pleads. 

“I’m not hiding from you,” he says mildly, not lifting his head from the pillow. “I can’t hide from you.” 

“But you came here.” 

“I knew you would come.” Percy shrugs, casually stating as fact something Annabeth didn’t know herself until a few minutes ago. 

In this moment, Annabeth envies Percy’s connection with Grover. She would kill to have a way to funnel her emotions into Percy’s brain in a way he could understand. All the love and concern she can’t articulate could exist in the world without the struggle of finding the right words. 

Still, Percy specified her. Grover is out there at the campfire, probably sensing Percy’s pain like a twinge at the base of his neck, but Annabeth is the one Percy can’t hide from. 

The thought propels her to the edge of his bed, sitting in the curve of mattress his torso folds around. His knees press into her right thigh as he shifts to close the space between them. Annabeth realizes with a jolt that he left this space for her to occupy. 

On her other side is his face, youthful and soft in the moonlight streaming through the window. Blue light for a blue boy, swimming in blue sheets that should shelter him instead of giving him something to fist his hands in. His arms cage his chest as if his heart is trying to escape it. 

Annabeth reaches for his hand, drawing it to rest between hers. If his heart is a burden, it’s not one he has to bear alone. They held the weight of the sky once. They can handle this. 

For all their shared burdens, the one that weighs on Percy now is uniquely his. Annabeth is a hero, but not the hero. Shouldering “child of Athena’s final stand” for a few weeks is not the same as “hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap” looming overhead for four years. Percy’s very existence has been dissected and politicized since the moment he was claimed, whereas Annabeth could’ve chosen a quieter, quest-free life if that’s what she wanted. She chose to pick it up. Percy’s choice was to stand under a weight that would otherwise crush him. 

It occurs to Annabeth that everyone who has shouldered this burden before him is dead. The heroes whose birth was prophesied, whose death was prophesied, died fighting their battles centuries ago. There are no words for that. 

Words are Percy’s strong suit, anyway. He has always known what to say to calm his friends down. Annabeth can’t recall the last time she saw someone do the same for him. 

She squeezes his hand and focuses on being here, where it matters. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, knowing he doesn’t. Or rather, knowing he doesn’t want her to have to talk about it. 

As expected, Percy burrows deeper into the bed. Half his face is squished in his pillow; the sole eye Annabeth can see fixes on the empty space in front of him. He gives her a noncommittal shrug she doesn’t buy. But at least he won’t lie outright. 

Silence follows. It nips at Annabeth’s ankles, nagging her to move, to do something, but she decides to sit with the discomfort. The confession he’s suppressing is a palpable thing: Annabeth watches it stutter in his lungs and claw its way up his windpipe. Percy will tell her when he’s ready, and she’ll be here when he is.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he says, still not meeting Annabeth’s eye. That’s okay, though. He’s getting the words out. That’s what matters, right?

“What kind of dreams?” 

Percy grimaces. “Not the useful kind. Nightmares, mostly. About the war.” He doesn’t breathe between the sentences, just grits his teeth. 

“It’s over, Percy. The war is over. We can rest now,” she tries. 

“They can’t.”

Dread settles over Annabeth, but she asks anyway. “Who can’t?” 

“Beckendorf,” he chokes, his hand tightening in hers. “Silena, Castor, Lee, Michael—I killed him, Annabeth. I told the others where to go, and they died because of me, but I killed Michael.” 

Annabeth opens her mouth to interrupt, but the names keep coming. Percy steamrolls through the tears, leaving her to watch his anger limp along until it collapses into the worn bed of sadness.

“Ethan shouldn’t have been on Olympus. I should’ve hit him harder, then he might have stayed down. And Zoe—I knew she was going to die. We found out who her dad was, and I knew and I couldn’t do anything. And Bianca wasn’t supposed to stop the automation. It was supposed to be me. She could’ve come home to Nico, and maybe then—” 

“Percy…” 

He shrinks with each word, looking every inch the child Annabeth found on Half-Blood Hill: bruised, tired, and crying for his mother. “My mom died because of me. I didn’t even save her—I saved the world, because that’s what I had to do. Hades let her go, but she still died.” 

Annabeth gapes at him uselessly. To love Percy is to know intimately the amount of guilt and unearned blame he assigns himself, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. 

“You saved your mom,” she reminds him. “You saved her and the world. You shouldn’t have had to do either, but you did.” 

“But I didn’t save the others.” 

“No one could’ve.” 

“I should’ve. When you fight the way I can, the people who die around you die because you can’t get to them fast enough. If I had just been faster, I...” He takes a shuddering breath. “Why do I get to survive when they don’t?” 

A lifetime of war games and war alike, and that question is the worst thing Annabeth has ever heard. Percy is just laying there, still not meeting her eye, and she doesn’t know how to help him. 

Terrified of how he’ll answer that question, Annabeth leans down to kiss him before he can. She tries to pour everything into it despite not having too much experience. Kissing Percy so far has been fun, sweet, and definitely trial and error. Nothing this desperate, this needy. She inhales him like she can steal the painful words from his lungs before he says them. 

Annabeth tastes tears and pulls back, terrified that she’s done something wrong. Instead, Percy’s hand catches the back of her neck, keeping her close enough for their foreheads to touch. It’s there, inches away from his trembling lips, that Annabeth finds the words.

“You saved me,” she pants. “From the Furies on the bus, at the Lotus hotel, when Polyphemus knocked me out—” her fingers travel to his grey streak— “when we held up the sky, at Mount St. Helens, on Olympus… Too many times to count. From the first day we met, you gave me hope.” She strokes his cheek and wipes away the tears, feeling her own eyes well up. “Every day. You save me every day.” 

Percy clings to her hand on his cheek and releases a deep breath, fully exhaling for the first time all night. “You save me just as often.”

“So let me do it now, yeah?” 

Percy looks at her, green eyes wet and wide, and nods carefully. Annabeth sighs her relief against his forehead before pressing her lips there with an aching softness. There is more to say, but she takes a moment to just hold him. The Fates deemed her his anchor to mortality, so anchor him she will. 

“You survived because you were saddled with the weight of the world at twelve years old and the gods owe you a fucking break.” She looks at the ceiling, almost daring thunder to rumble. The sky stays silent. “More campers are alive than dead after a war with impossible odds, Percy. You saved so many, but you can’t save everyone. None of them would want you to blame yourself for this. We have to honor their sacrifice—and, in some cases, their choice.” 

That breaks him. The last of his anger gives way to painful sobs, the ugly kind that squeeze your lungs like a spasming fist. In this moment, he is not the wounded dog, but rather the limp itself: the awkward cadence of his breath reminiscent of limbs struggling to hold new weight. 

“What do you need?” she asks. “What can I do?” 

The mattress jostles as Percy scoots closer, freeing up part of the bed. “Could you stay here with me? Wake me up if it gets bad? If you have to go back to your cabin, that’s fine—” 

He’s cut off by Annabeth kicking off her shoes and crawling into bed behind him. There isn’t much room on the twin mattress, but she tucks her knees into the backs of his and wraps around him, and they fit well enough. She settles quickly to avoid overthinking, glad for the excuse to be close to him. 

This is entirely unfamiliar territory, as Annabeth discovers when she tries to figure out what to do with her hands. She’s never spooned someone before. 

Percy senses her hesitation and laces their fingers, pulling her arm around his torso. Annabeth squeezes him tight, like maybe lining up their hearts will calm the frantic beat of his. Between that and her body protecting his Achilles spot, she’s got him. 

It’s a little awkward, the silence that follows. They haven’t exactly had pillowtalk before, let alone while calming Percy during a breakdown. Annabeth doesn’t know how to hold him to make all that go away, so she clings to him as tight as she can. 

“You’re like a boa constrictor,” he chuckles. It’s a wet, half-hearted laugh that tells Annabeth he still has more to say. He’s at his worst when he’s deflecting. 

Still, she moves to loosen up. “Sorry.” 

 He tugs at her hand. “No! I mean, it’s nice. I feel… safe.” He pauses, his breath deep. “I always feel safe with you.” 

Annabeth hasn’t kissed much of him apart from his lips, but she liked the comfort of kissing his forehead. She tightens her grip again and presses her lips to his shoulder, just because she can. 

“Sometimes they’re about you,” Percy whispers. 

Annabeth lays her cheek on his shoulder, trying to see his face. “What?”

“The nightmares. Sometimes they’re about losing you.” 

“Percy, look at me.”

The tension falls from his spine as he flips around, tangling further in the mess of sheets. Annabeth smooths everything out for him before laying on her back and tugging him close. He ends up halfway on top of her: his arm around her waist, her hands in his hair, their legs a tangled mess. 

She holds his face, thumbs swiping at his cheeks gently. He may be invulnerable, but he’s a fragile thing. Maybe even more so with the invulnerability. 

“Tell me about them.” 

“What? No. Annabeth, I’m not— I can’t talk about you d— about losing you. I can’t say those words.” 

Annabeth just holds his face and his gaze. “You should. Talk about it here, safe, with me, and maybe it won’t be so bad when you fall asleep. I’ll be here the whole time.” 

The tension in Percy’s body is palpable as he resists Annabeth’s coaxing. But slowly, she slips her hands to his scalp and massages him there, leeching the stress from his body as he sinks forward into her. His weight presses Annabeth into the mattress. It’s comforting, having him above her. She can feel every breath he takes, every time his heart beats in his chest. 

“We’ve almost died a ton of times, but that was always together.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs against her collarbone. “But then on the bridge with Ethan, when you took the knife…” 

Percy takes a shuddering breath. 

“Sometimes we get you to the hotel and Will can’t help. Or I can’t find Will. Or Blackjack can’t grab you. Or—” his grip tightens around her, and his tears fall on her skin. “Sometimes you, you die right there at my feet. You jump a second earlier, and Ethan hits you in the chest, and I kill him for it. I kill everyone on the bridge. Most times it’s an accident, just the river listening to me, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t know. Both scare me.” 

One of Annabeth’s hands moves to his Achilles spot of its own accord. Percy gasps into her neck, where some tears fall as well. He’d fought his way through his confession, coming from somewhere so deep inside him that the deluge of tears was unavoidable. She hopes to distract him from them now.

“You saved me on that bridge,” she reminds him, her free hand scratching lightly at the base of his neck. 

“But what if I didn’t?” he breathes. He sounds so small. 

“Doesn’t matter. You did. Anything else is a hypothetical.” 

“But in the future—”

“Uh uh.” Annabeth’s chin taps Percy’s temple as she shakes her head. “It’s like strategy. You can think and think and think and plan your whole life out, but it’s not real. You never know what’s going to happen until your feet hit the floor. Are your feet on the floor?” 

“No,” he grumbles.

“No,” she echoes. “You’re in bed. You get to rest now.” 

Percy is still for countless heartbeats. Right when Annabeth thinks he might’ve fallen asleep, he props himself up on one elbow to look at her. Even in the lowlight, Annabeth can make out his puffy eyes and wet cheeks. 

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” He sniffles, his nose wrinkling adorably as he does, and his eyes bore into Annabeth’s. “You’re my girlfriend too, but you’re my best friend first. Always.” 

Annabeth hears that statement for what it is and grins despite the tears prickling in her own eyes. “And you’re mine. Always.” 

A smile breaks out on his face like dawn at this late hour, brightening up the small space between them. Exhaustion sets in to close it, drawing Percy to settle back into Annabeth’s neck with the slow pull of gravity. 

They drift off in a bed made to be slept in alone as they share a burden made for one person. Newness tinges the corners of this memory, this moment Annabeth finds herself missing before it’s gone: Percy asleep above her, finally getting the peaceful rest he deserves. Part of Annabeth wants to stay up all night to make sure he gets the most of it, to watch his back as she promised to do, but her eyelids are heavy with sleep in no time. 

What sticks with Annabeth is this: Percy’s breath slow and steady against her neck, his heartbeat reliable as ever as it syncs with her own. The world is warm and safe despite all the evidence to the contrary, and that’s what makes this moment untouchable. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, here they are. Together in every way that matters. 

#i hurt myself writing this i am not going to lie #if u read this on tumblr all i ask is u give it some love on ao3 bc engagement with tumblr is Trash but i try to keep commissions accessible #commissions #my percabeth #my fic #mericatblackwood

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Lucifer/Reader commission for the very lovely, very creative @pyrokittyowo​, with just a couple hints of Yandere!Diavolo. I really do love writing for him, if only because he’s got all the time and resources in the world to make everyone’s life a living *hell*, and nothing better to do than put his heart into it. What else could you ask for in a man?

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: (Minor) Physical Violence, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, and Dehumanization.

Diavolo couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy feeling superior.

It was an odd sensation. He was a demon, for all intents and purposes, but it was hard to feel like one, regardless of how often he tried to do so. It was the disorientation that came from being the strongest of your kind but still living so far below the next step, more powerful than those that surrounded you but unable to reach another level, one where he’d certainly be eclipsed by monsters who didn’t carry the same regard demons did for other living, breathing creatures. Diavolo didn’t think of himself as above the average creature, but the idea would arise in his subconscious from time to time, nagging and irritating and refusing to drown until it was acknowledged, even if dismissal always followed his admission. He was strong, and he was powerful and he was capable, but he never let it affect his ego, not when doing so would only push him further away from his subjects, as it had with his father and every ruler before him. Still, he knew the limits of his control, and he was keenly aware of all the many beasts and brutes went about their never-ending lives within those limits.

With this in mind, Diavolo’s annoyance upon seeing one of his most obedient pets start to walk along the edge of that boundary was understandable.

Diavolo had always prided himself on not having to keep Lucifer on a tight leash. The man was loyal to a fault, the reason behind his dedication long-since having become more of an excuse than a binding contract. Lucifer didn’t have to be given orders, anymore, there wasn’t a need for threats of discipline or the poorly veiled warnings that’d dominated the early stages of their relationship, not when he seemed to think of paperwork and politics as a hobby to be enjoyed rather than a responsibility to be dreaded. He was useful, hell, he was one of the few people Diavolo might call an equal, but this wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Not when Lucifer’s attention seemed to wander more and more with each passing day.

Even now, he seemed distracted, his eyes only ever occasionally meeting Diavolo’s. Instead, they darted around the ballroom anxiously, first to the flute of champagne in his hand, then to the tiled floor then a nearby staircase then anything, as long as he didn’t have to linger on it for more than a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be uncomfortable during Diavolo’s parties, his guests and all their many fangs and talons caused more than enough unease for the average visitor, but it was unheard of for Lucifer to fall into a similar discontent. His feathers were beginning to ruffle unconsciously, his secondary wings already curling towards his chest, and his posture was no better, too rigid to mean anything good. If it’d been anyone else, Diavolo might’ve shrugged it off and suffered through a one-sided conversation, but it was Lucifer, his confidante, his willing servant, his friend. If something was bothering him, Diavolo was sure he wanted to know.

So, he glanced in the general direction of Lucifer’s temporary focus, clicked his tongue, and frowned knowingly. “You’d tell me if Mammon got his hands on the key to my vault again, wouldn’t you?” He asked, flatly, aiming to keep his tone as serious as possible. “I’d hate to have to find another of my treasures ‘relocated’ to the House of Lamentation, especially after the fuss it caused.”

Lucifer jumped to alertness, shoulders squaring defensively and his gaze sharpening to a glare as he stuttered out something incomprehensible, stopping to compose himself before giving a coherent response. “We had a talk about that, last time,” Lucifer assured, his fingers flexing around his glass’ neck. “He won’t try anything, this time, I’ve made sure of it. As long as he values having the same number of limbs he had this morning, I mean.”

“And I’m sure your methods were effective, as always.” Diavolo gave Lucifer a minute to flush and fluster, but he pulled his companion out of his stupor with a hearty laugh, Diavolo nudging him gently with his elbow as Lucifer took to sulking. “But something is bothering you,” He confirmed, only pausing for a brief moment to allow Lucifer the courtesy of a nod. “Might as well tell me, Luci’. You know I’m not going to let it go until you do.”

Lucifer let out a long, labored sigh, but didn’t struggle before giving in. Silently, his concentration shifted, turning towards the ballroom’s center, where assorted couples were dancing and talking and doing whatever couples chose to do when music and drinks were in abundance. It took him a second or two to settle, his eyes eventually landing on you, already in the arms of one of Lucifer’s brothers, completely unaware of the agony you were causing him.

Diavolo couldn’t say he saw Lucifer’s reasoning. If he was a pet, you were a bug, something insignificant and defenseless in the grand scheme of things. With all the trouble you got yourself into, you should’ve been caught under someone’s heel and crushed months ago, but Diavolo was never one to refuse entertainment. And yet, if he was to trust the fury suddenly smeared across Lucifer’s expression, he would’ve thought you were the most unignorable pest across the three realms. “The exchange student?” He asked, absentmindedly. “You’re not going to tell me you let a human drive you into such a state, are you?”

“It’s an… unfortunate affliction.” As Lucifer’s eyes followed you, he only seemed to grow more agitated. He twitched when you smiled, flinched when you laughed, and when you pulled away from your partner, curtsying with an unsteady grace, Lucifer’s hold on his glass grew tighter, tighter, tighter, the flute eventually cracking and splintering, shards digging into Lucifer’s gloved hand and the translucent fluid beginning to leak out. If he noticed, though, he didn’t intend to show it, only gritting his teeth and giving an explanation. “It’s… It’s annoying, when she insists on lowering herself to their standards. I love my brothers, I do, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head and scoffing, as if he was still trying to dismiss whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind. “Am I supposed to watch this? It’s disgusting, it’s infuriating, it makes me want to do something unpleasant, My Lord.”

Although Diavolo doubted the sincerity of Lucifer’s declaration, he recognized that tone, that foolish, irrational anger. The awareness of power and the willingness to put it on display, the desire to use it on something smaller and weaker than himself. Diavolo felt his grin broaden, a solution to more than one of his problems arising. He could only chuckle, resting his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder as his open wounds began to drip and bleed.

“I know exactly how you feel, my friend.”

~

“He’s been acting strange, lately. I was just wondering if you’d noticed.”

You were no more impressive in person. When Diavolo approached you, your reactions had been so pitifully predictable, your demeanor vulnerable and unsuspecting, prey in every sense of the word. You’d been assigned to clean your homeroom after hours, a fortunate coincidence on Diavolo’s part, and he’d sent Lucifer off on some trivial, time-consuming task he wouldn’t be done with any time soon. When he finally addressed his concerns, you were all wide-eyes and parted lips, curling around the broom in your hands whenever he mentioned your companion’s name. But, if you considered Diavolo a threat, you were smart enough not to say it. A wise decision, really. He wanted this to go as smoothly as you did.

“No stranger than usual,” You said, tossing the wooden handle from hand to hand. You didn’t try to hide your anxiety. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. He’s never been normal, to me.”

Diavolo knew what you were talking about. He’d bandaged Lucifer’s hand the night before while being thoroughly educated on just how not normal the relationship between you and Lucifer happened to be. He simply pursed his lips, letting his gaze bore into you as he replied. “What do you mean? You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders dropping in some personal show of complacency. “I know how close you two are, but he scares me,” You admitted, your reluctance only momentary. “He loses control of himself, sometimes, I get it, but it’s not just when he’s in a rage. Ever since we made our pact, he’s been touching me more often, and saying these... these things. I can’t really explain it, but whenever he looks at me-” You stopped without warning, cutting yourself off. As if the only words you were capable of using were those you’d already convinced yourself not to speak aloud. “He’s controlling. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like he gets off on backing me into a corner and making me beg to be left alone.”

You looked towards him when you finished, searching for any traces of sympathy you could get, and Diavolo did his best to indulge you. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about your… dynamic, with Lucifer. He understood the temptation. Even now, alone and standing in front of a man you didn’t trust, you made no effort to protect yourself, exposed to any demonic being that wandered in and helpless, despite how adamantly you insisted you weren’t. With someone as stifling as Lucifer, such negligence must’ve been intolerable. But, he wasn’t Lucifer, and for now, you were more of a distraction than a pastime. Something that needed to be dealt with promptly and played with later on.

“I can take care of that. He goes through a rebellious phase, every now and then, but it’s nothing he can’t be snapped out of.” He smiled, delicately, putting on a grin not unlike the one he’d used with your counterpart.

“But, it’ll be much easier for both of us if you lend me a hand.”

~

Diavolo was the only one speaking.

The conversation was tense, at first, but existent. In the cramped walls of his office, both you and Lucifer had done your best to give suitable (albeit bland) responses whenever they were called for, more Lucifer than yourself. Your voice had been smothered by Lucifer’s gaze, intense and burning into you until you were rendered quiet, and his own words becoming less and less as more of his focus was dedicated to drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair and biting at his bottom lip and growing more impatient. You’d lied to him, to get here, promised that you were going back to the House of Lamentation and insisted that you’d never think of trying to run around behind his back, which was, evidently, untrue. You weren’t sure which he found more maddening, the violation of his control or your willingness to break out of it. You weren’t sure which he’d you punish you for more violently.

It didn’t matter, honestly.

You’d have scars for both, tomorrow morning.

So consumed by your own demise, you didn’t notice when Diavolo’s voice went quiet, too, leaving the room in a tense, frigid silence, as purposeful as it was terrible. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it might as well’ve been years with the anxiety suddenly racking over your nerves. Luckily, Diavolo didn’t let it go on for very long, breaking the stillness with a crisp, defined knock to his desk, a familiar grin stretching across his lips. You rose, right on cue, suddenly more uncomfortable in your own skin than you’d ever been before. It didn’t feel any better to take your place on his side, separated from Lucifer by a mahogany desk and a small mountain of paperwork, but you were glad to be standing. It was part of a plan, and plans meant security. They meant you knew what was going to happen next.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised when that security was ripped away, as fast and as carelessly as any time before.

Diavolo was supposed to confront Lucifer about his treatment of a valued exchange student. He was supposed to be professional, and strict, and move you into an empty dorm in Purgatory Hall, just to show that he could distance you from Lucifer, if he deemed it necessary. Lucifer was supposed to pout and argue and agree, and that was supposed to be it, that’s all that was supposed to happen. Still, your shock was muted as a strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into Diavolo’s lap, holding you there when the reflex to push yourself away and struggle took over. You threw your elbow into his chest, taking hold of his bicep and attempting to drag yourself away, but your efforts were made in vain, Diavolo only laughing and bringing his free hand up, letting it come to rest on your shoulder. A nail, a talon, really, sharp and pointed and blood-thirsty, tapped twice against your jugular, and you froze, not wanting to find out how easy it would be for him to drive them through your flesh.

Lucifer’s reaction was instantaneous. His mouth opened, something hushed and vile slipping out, and he clambered out of his chair with a shameless desperation, but haulted as soon as he was on his feet. A mix of instinct and common sense fueled him, his anger, his self-restraint. The overwhelming desire to stop someone else from putting their hands on something he so obviously considered his, but the prevailing knowledge that trying to take you back by force would only lead to hands too broken to do so. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d been through this, with Diavolo. He certainly seemed experienced, when it came to holding himself back.

“Why?” He spat, the question blunt, but dripping with something venomous. He took a step forward, slowly, moving to edge around the obscuring desk. Diavolo didn’t stop him, his grin only turning towards a smirk as he watched Lucifer make his cautious approach. “I’m not going to let your hurt--”

“I won’t have to hurt her.” Your breath hitched in your lungs as the hand on your shoulder slipped downwards, trailing over the shape of your collarbone before trailing its way to your neck, rubbing an apologetic circle into the edge of your jaw before taking your throat in a vice-grip, not choking but ready to. You were suddenly made aware of just how small you were, compared to both men, Diavolo’s palm pressing against the length of your throat and his fingers struggling to fit without forcing your head back. You didn’t doubt a thoughtless movement or jerk too sudden would be enough to crush anything vital. “I don’t want to hurt her, but you’re not giving me a choice.” He paused, pouting, tilting his head to the side and drawing attention to just how badly you’d started to shake. “It’d be a shame if I had to do something drastic to some poor human because of your actions.”

Lucifer locked his jaw into place, his fists clenching at his sides. “I haven’t taken action, yet. If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologize, but my feelings for (Y/n) aren’t…” He bit his own tongue, running a hand through his hair, searching for a distraction that refused to make itself apparent. “She doesn’t have anything to do with us. You understand that, don’t you? (Y/n)  doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

“I’d like to believe you.” He let out a ragged exhale, as if the thought had been weighing on him. He wasn’t the one with claws pressed against his skin, though, a thin, red line slowly forming along the side of your neck as Diavolo dragged his thumb lazily over your skin, leaving a muted, stinging pain in its wake. “I worry about you, sometimes, Lucifer. You’re so helpful, and I’d hate to lose you to some uncontrolled obsession. But, I fear you’d come to resent me if I deprived you of your vices completely.” Another squeeze, this one testing, teasing. As if you and him were in on a joke, some parody of a bastardized friendly scheme. “That’s why (Y/n) is going to fall under my protection, from now on. When I’m confident in your loyalty, you can carry on with your little courting ritual. I’ll even give you two a room in my estate, somewhere more private. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Privacy?”

Lucifer only glowered. “And if I don’t agree?”

At this, Diavolo chuckled. He chuckled, then he laughed, then he took you by the throat, lifting you off his lap and letting you sputter and cough and suffocate as he held you in place, ignoring your attempts to loosen his grip. Lucifer moved to lunge forward, to tear you away and take solace in whatever survived, but Diavolo just shook his head, something in your neck cracking as he clenched down. “I don’t take kindly to defiance. You should know that better than anyone, and you should know how little I care for being challenged. Either you get down on your knees and bow, or-” He dropped you, abruptly, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you’d gotten a decent breath in, fingers were entangled in your hair, jerking you upward and forcing a meek, pathetic whimper through your lips. You couldn’t tell whether Lucifer was concerned for your wellbeing, or jealous that he hadn’t been the one to elicit such a pitiful sound. “Or, I break your favorite toy and no one gets to play. It’d be a shame to give something so disobedient an easy way out, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, if it means you step into line.”

He released you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look, to move, to do anything but catch your breath and hide, your face soon buried in his coat. You heard rustling, the thud of something solid hitting the wooden floor, but those noises were distant, drowned out by something dark and dominant, as overpowering as it was oppressing.

You wondered if you’d ever be able to hear something other than Diavolo’s laughter again.

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompt #yandere imagines #yandere scenerio #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #commission #writing commission #yandere commission #commision #obey me #yandere obey me #obey me imagines #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me x reader #yandere lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #yandere lucifer x reader #lord diavolo #lord diavolo x reader #yandere diavolo #yandere dialuci #yandere fanfiction #yandere fantasy #yanderecore #yandere core