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sitp-recs · 4 months

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BL Reclist - Part 3

Thanks to @pullatta’s encouragement I come bearing more BL gifts! This is the third part of my manga/manhwa recs. This list compiles some of my current reads (the other 3 were mentioned in previous lists: Shutline, Steel Like Silk and Semantic Error). Curiously, some of these have an art style that isn’t what I usually go for, but the plot is so good and characters so compelling I couldn’t resist. There’s a bit of everything here: pls mind the heavy themes for #8; go with #3, #6 or #7 for feel-good slice-of-slice, with #10 for a fun rivals to fuck buddies to lovers. #9 has the prettiest art and top notch angsty historical romance. #2 brings sexy & tender vampire love, #4 and #5 are the way to go if you you’re looking for adult, nuanced and introspective stories. If you wanna choose only one go with Momentum, a masterclass in intimacy. I’d love to hear your thoughts! I think this will be my last manga list for a while, wondering if I should go for anime recs next? Hmmm 🤔

1. Codename Anastasia by Boy season & eunbi (E)

Agent Kwon Taekjoo is dispatched to Russia with two tasks. First, he must find “Anastasia,” a new weapon that could change the world forever. Second, he is to avoid Russia’s psychotic killer, Psikh Bognadov, at all costs. To assist him on his undercover mission, Taekjoo is sent a partner who only reveals himself to be a man named Zhenya. But Zhenya quickly proves himself to be just as dangerous and unhinged as the infamous Psikh himself.

2. FANGS by Billybalibally (E)

As the sole survivor of a vampire attack, En wakes up to find that his hair has gone white as snow... and, worse, that he's developed a craving of his own for blood. Fortunately, the vampire health and welfare organization FANGS is there to help with the transition, and the handsome Ichii steps up as his guardian and mentor. Swept up into a confusing and lonely new world where everyone seems to be hankering for a taste of his "virgin" blood, En must navigate the FANGS pairing system, an arrangement that sets up compatible vampires as mutual feeding partners... and partners in all other ways as well.

3. Fools Remastered by Yeongha / Parkdam (T)

Eungi has been in college without being engaged with others. One day by encounter, he finds the secret of underclassman Jeongwoo. Why are you so nervous to forget? A love story that’s both easy and difficult. See original story HERE.

4. Lovesick Dog by Songhyel (E)

If one word could encapsulate Noh Ye-gyum, it would be “lovesick.” Despite him loving people with all his heart, Ye-gyum finds himself trapped in an endless cycle of being used, betrayed, and ultimately abandoned. This time proves no different for him, as the family of his current ""master"" Jooyung drives him away to pave the path for Jooyung's advantageous marriage and future spouse. Suddenly, a mysterious man named Jooin appears, sweeping Ye-gyum away to his home. There, he is fed, clothed, and showered with an overwhelming amount of affection. As Ye-gyum senses the telltale signs of his lovesickness resurfacing, an uncertainty lingers: will this man also leave him, or could he finally hold the cure to this lifelong affliction?

5. Momentum by Park ji-yeon (E)

“Momentum” is a series of beautifully drawn vignettes that glimpse into the life-altering moments of several couples as they fall in and out of love. This BL features a series of characters learning how to love, understand, and forgive one another – and in some cases, the world – at different moments in their lives.

6. Our Sunny Days by Jeong seokchan (M)

Sung Ho’s not the kind you’d typically expect to settle down in the countryside. He’s in his late 20s, ex-military, and…a single father with a year-old baby his ex-girlfriend pawned off on him. Jobless and without any prospects but a house, Sung Ho hopes the peaceful Nuldongmae village will make a good new home for him and his daughter. Rumor has it that the head of the village, despite his young age, is a real jerk… But he won’t have to deal with that, will he?

7. Run Wild by Wuzhe / Zuoercongdong (M)

As soon as Jiang Cheng finds out he’s adopted, he’s abandoned by his adoptive family and sent to live with his deadbeat father, who has a gambling addiction. Everything about his new life, from his pathetic father to the unfamiliar environment, makes Jiang Cheng depressed. But then he meets Gu Fei, who’s like a shining bright light in this run-down city, and the two become each other’s salvation and hope.

8. Stigma by Marloong (E)

In the dark alleys of this city, there's no hope for trash like Sehyun. Having sex with strangers in the cramped stall behind a bar is just a typical Thursday night. But after a chance encounter with the brash and violent Boris, Sehyun begins to dream of living a normal life and an end to his restless nights. Boris is unlike any other man he's encountered. After a life spent bound by thorns, can time truly heal all scars?

9. Under the Plum Blossom Tree by Bori/Baekha (M)

As the son of a prestigious political figure in Joseon, Hajin has only ever been interested in studying to become like his father. That is, until he meets Namwoo, a young man who takes on various odd jobs as he struggles to pass his school exams. As they overcome hardships together and learn more about each other's history, they soon realize that their lives are intertwined in more ways than they thought.

10. You Get Me Going by Moscareto (E)

Despite being thirty-three, Young-won sure is gullible. He falls in love way too easily, comes on way too hard, and still believes that he’ll meet “Mr. Right” sooner or later. Not that he knows who “Mr. Right” is, but he sure does know about “Mr. Wrong,” a.k.a. Kang Hyun-woo. Young-won swears that he’ll never, ever get together with this polar opposite of his, but the universe sure seems to think different. One drunken night, they end up in the same bed and Hyun-woo proposes an intriguing deal…

#bl recs #part 3 #Sitp faves

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aquagirl1978 · 2 years

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Shades of Grey - Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

My contribution for Day 3 - Soulmates AU of the "Different Universe, Same Love Content Creator Challenge" hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

Prompt: soulmates au

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

Warning: slightly angsty

He never gave it much thought – growing up in Obsidian, there wasn’t much color to miss in life. Between the craggy mountains and barren wastelands, the landscape in Obsidian was painted in shades of grey. Color had no home in the militaristic country where blood was too often shed and life was shrouded in darkness.

Imagine the surprise of the young prince when he had learned one day from town elders of this thing called color; that not everyone shared his clouded view of the world. They told him tales of how once every thousand years, a pair of children were born unable to see in colors. Fret not for these children though, for they were soulmates and when they found one another, they would discover a world soaked with color.

Somewhat skeptical, the young prince kept this tale close to his heart. He scoured the libraries, searching for any shred of evidence that this tale might possibly be true. Examining the world in a new light whenever he met someone new, in the off-chance that this person could possibly be his soulmate.

This had gone on for year after year, until the prince was no longer a young boy but now a grown man. Rumors abound that he was lonely; by his age, most others had taken a partner. But not him. He was still searching for his soulmate; clinging to that hope from years ago that meeting this one person would change his entire world.

The prince was filled with rage when he was asked to travel to Rhodolite – he had no desire to be surrounded by those noble beasts unless he could put his blade against their throats. But hope sprung eternal in his heart; what if hiding amongst those beasts was what he had been searching for all these years?

*****

“Who is that?” Prince Gilbert asked, interrupting the four-eyed devil’s lecture.

Sariel peered over his glasses at the figure sitting in the gazebo. “They’re nobody.”

Brow arched; Gilbert questioned the minister. “It is common practice of the royal family to allow nobodies free reign of the palace grounds?”

Exasperated, Sariel crossed his arms and sighed deeply. “It is of no concern of yours to wonder who is and isn’t allowed access to the palace grounds. Now, come along.”

Smirking, satisfied he got under Sariel’s skin, he glanced back at the mysterious figure one final time. His smirk disappeared as he clutched his cane; where there should be a garden of grey, there appeared a splash of color.

*****

The chatter from the other end of the garden distracted you from your reading; so much that you closed your book to see what was going on. Sariel was with an unfamiliar man, their conversation not loud enough for you to make out what they were saying.

The unfamiliar man glanced back at you, your gaze catching his. Mouth parted in awe, the book in your hands fell to the floor as his single eye shined brightly in a sea of grey.

Book forgotten, you waited until the men returned to the palace before you made a mad dash to Rio’s room. Rio, your best friend, your confidant, the one who knew of your affliction. Rio would be able to help you, you told yourself.

“Rio!” you whisper-screamed as you knocked on his door, hoping and praying he was in there. He quickly opened the door, the smile on his face quickly fading when he saw the state you were in. He grabbed you by the hand, and pulled you inside.

“What’s wrong?”

You paced around the room, wringing your hands. “Rio, you work closely with Sariel. No one tells me anything. I saw a man today with Sariel, he was wearing an eyepatch....”

“Gilbert von Obsidian.”

“Obsidian,” you muttered under your breath. “None of this makes any sense.”

“What happened?”

“Gilbert. He looked at me. And for the first time in my life, I saw color.”

*****

The next few days you were haunted by that single red eye; a shining beacon in the mist of grey that dominated your world. This image pervaded your every thought; from the moment you woke to the moment your eyes drifted close to sleep. Some might call it obsessive, and they would not be wrong. But to have lived your entire life and only see in shades of grey, you too would be curious as to this sudden burst of color.

Unable to shake the vision from your head, you took it as a sign to seek out this man. Maybe he could explain what was going on; what spell he had cast on you.

With Rio’s help, you had selected a red outfit to wear today. Red, he had told you when asked what color eye Gilbert had – red like the roses of Rhodolite.

Rio had also informed you that the Obsidian prince would be attending a tea party in the rose garden that afternoon; the perfect opportunity for you to run into him again on your way to the gazebo.

*****

Gilbert was bored; neither the tea party nor its participants were doing much to interest him and he found the entire ordeal to be a waste of his time. He had spent the past few days searching for the mysterious figure he last saw in the gazebo. Try as he might, no one knew who they were or where he could find them.

The Obsidian prince was just about to leave the tea party, when something, or rather someone, caught his gaze. He remained in his seat, waiting for the participants to dissipate.

*****

You distracted yourself with your book, casually glancing up every so often, hoping to catch the Obsidian prince’s eye and see if your mind was still playing tricks. You waited patiently, hoping the other attendees would leave soon, allowing you to seek out Gilbert.

Your patience was rewarded doubly; not only were the other guests leaving early, but the prince was approaching you. You quickly put your book to the side, and got up from your seat, meeting him in the rose garden.

This isn’t real, you told yourself; the closer you got to him, the more the shades of grey gave way to color. Stopping in your tracks, your jaw slackened as not just his visage was in color, but so was the surrounding scenery.

“You see it, too,” he said gently, his voice almost a whisper. You nodded your head as he approached you. Upon hearing your response, he closed his rose-red eye shut; his cane fell to his side, its thud softened by the lush green grass, as he dropped to his knees before you. Body trembling, he let out a shaky breath as he pressed his face against your midriff. Instinctively, your fingers stroked his dark hair, as you held him close to you.

“I don’t understand. The other day, when I saw you. I saw red.”

“Have you ever heard the tale of the children born unable to see in color?”

You sank to your knees next to him. Gazing into his rose-red eye, you implored him to tell you everything he knew, and tell you everything he did. All these years, you thought you were cursed with this vision of life with no color, only to find that this man before you was your soulmate and key to discovering a whole new world.

“Soulmates...” Now bathed in the bright, vibrant colors of the sun, you traced the features of his face with your fingertips.

He brought his face close to yours, his lips brushing against yours. “Yes,” his whispered, his breath hot on your skin. “I think fate brought me here to you.” He pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, and you knew. You knew he spoke the truth, that he was your soulmate. Your eyes drifted shut as you leaned into his kiss, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, savoring love’s first kiss.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and rested his forehead against yours; he smiled sweetly at you, but you smiled sadly back.

Trembling, with tears in your eyes, you forced the words out that shattered your heart. “This can never be.”

He brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. “What are you saying?”

You pressed your hand against his; you didn’t know him at all, but your heart somehow did, and your heart didn’t want to let go. Not yet at least. “You are Gilbert von Obsidian,” you said sadly, “and I am Belle.” Your shut your eyes, your heart shattering into a million pieces. Of all the cruel twists of fate, you had to be paired with your enemy, the very last person you should be with.

“You are Belle.” You heard him repeat your words, his voice cracking with the same sadness. He brought your hand to his lips; brushing a kiss against your knuckles, his words whispered warm against your skin.

“I don’t care that you’re Belle.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, your gaze tender as you looked into his. He stole another kiss, his lips firm against yours, reaffirming his feelings for you.

“I waited for you; I searched for you for years. I am not letting a thing like this get in the way. You won’t be Belle forever; and when your job as Belle ends, I will be there waiting for you.” He kissed you again, already addicted to the sweet taste of your lips. “I love you; I am in love with you. I will start wars to be with you; I will end wars if it means I get to bring you home.”

“I waited so long for you; I can wait a little longer. But I am not giving up on you. Or us.”

Overjoyed, your heart sang for him; melting into his embrace, your arms encircled his waist as he pulled your close against his body. Overwhelmed with emotion, you lifted your lips to his, a promise to wait for him.

“And I love you,” you whispered to him before kissing him again, your bodies bathed in the fading glow of the sunset.

Tagging: @xxsycamore @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @queengiuliettafirstlady @gilbertvonobsidian @alixennial @redheadkittys @atelieredux @rhodolitesrose @chaosangel767 @queen-dahlia @devildomwritersposts @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @ikehoe @altairring @lordsisterxotome @lucyw260 @violettduchess

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#different universe same love ccc #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikeprince #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #fanfic #ikemen fanfic #ikepri fanfic #otome #otome games

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medicaldoctordana · 8 months

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Doing Science 2/3

“Oh, Scully! Check this out!” Mulder called his partner’s attention to the merch table he had been parked in front of for the last ten minutes. They had all kinds of tee shirts he wanted to buy and was having a hard time deciding which one.

“‘Elvis is Alive and Well, You’re the One That’s Dead’” Scully read off the shirt Mulder was holding up in front of him with a huge grin on his face. “Mulder, we’ve been over this. There’s no evidence to suggest he’s alive. I’ve seen his autopsy report and it clearly states the cause of death as cardiac arrest from sustained drug use and poor nutritional content in his bloodstream.”

“That’s what they want you to think, Scully. You know how easy it is to get a body from a morgue and falsify reports.”

“Yes, which is precisely why I believe the body they found in his home was his, Mulder.” Scully gingerly picked up a t-shirt like it was made of that same green acid blood that burned through her shoes. Classic Case of Demon Fetal Harvest it read with a graphic of a female cartoon devil driving away in a red Cadillac convertible with a demon baby in the back seat. “Oh, god.” Scully gasped and put the shirt down.

“Lucifer isn’t god, Scully– he’s his son. Or I guess in that case, she’s his daughter.” Mulder received a punch to the gut for that one.

“Who came up with these?” Scully asked more to herself as she looked on in a mix of horror and disbelief at the line-up of cryptid-themed paraphernalia ranging from Chupacabra to Yeti with everything in between– even that merperson they saw posters for at the carnival back in ‘94. Vintage cryptids.

They moved on to the next kiosk which was filled with stickers that said things like,

I want to believe

This is no place for an entomologist

Seeing is believing

Accept who you are - however repulsive that may be!

All lies lead to the truth

DECEIVE, INVEIGLE, OBFUSCATE

When she spotted a familiar saying, she shuffled off the ones on top of it. Scully picked it up and slyly paid the attendant one dollar for the merchandise. She told herself it would be the only thing she bought to remind her of this… little adventure.

Do You Think I’m Spooky? it read. She slipped it in her pocket and scurried off after Mulder, desperate not to be left alone with these people.

Next thing she knew, they were posted outside the session on Vampirism, and Mulder was engaged in a heated debate with another conference attendant.

"I’m familiar with porphyria. It’s an affliction which causes lesions and blisters when skin is exposed to sunlight. Sufferers may have a hema deficiency which can be supplemented by a small ingestion of blood.” Mulder tapped Scully’s arm for her attention, “Tell him I’m right, Scully, Tell him.”

Scully focused on the conversation with the man wearing plastic fangs and had over 90% of his clothing covering his skin.

“Huh? Right, he’s right, porphyria is an overaccumulation of porphyrin– a natural chemical produced in the body– which helps hemoglobin, the protein that carries oxygen in the blood.”

“Oh yeah? Where do you get off? How do I know you know what the hell you’re talking about?” The vampire man dismissed Scully.

“I’m a medical doctor,” Scully stated simply, the vitriol starting to boil in her own blood, tired of being dismissed by men.

“As I’ve said before, it’s probably ignorance of porphyria as a disease that led to the creation of vampire myths in Asia in the Middle Ages," Mulder continued on, hoping he’d be successful in backing up his partner and dismissing this guy’s patriarchal and misogynistic stance.

“People and cows die of exsanguination all the time. How do you explain that?” he argued back.

Scully was growing irate, it was bad enough talking Mulder off these ledges. Now she had to do it for complete strangers?

“What is your reference for all the time? Once every 300 years? Given the vast multitudes of deaths– specifically blood loss-related deaths– in the entirety of the documented history of humans’ time on earth, exsanguination is a fairly rare way to end one’s life. In most cases, the individual, or in your case, cows, are found to be dead by some other means and have their blood removed post-mortem, thus rarely attributing exsanguination as the cause of death.” Scully’s tirade seemed to shut him up.

“You’re Dr. Dana Scully, aren’t you?” Was all he had to say in reply.

Scully rolled her eyes and dragged Mulder away from the vampirism room.

“Hey, Scully– do you remember that cow that crashed through my motel room?”

“Yes, Mulder. I saw it mentioned on that slideshow presentation of creatures falling from the sky– remember when it rained frogs on us?”

“Yeah, good times, Scully. Good times. Wish it would have rained sleeping bags that one time though.”

“You and me both, Mulder,” Scully said under her breath.

“What do we do if she shows up to the mixer?” Bert nervously asked his friends as they sat down for lunch on Saturday.

“What makes you think she’s gonna show up? It doesn’t really seem like she wants to be here at all,” Vee sipped on their iced tea, handing Nora her rootbeer.

“I saw her leaving the meet-up this morning right before we all got there, we had just missed her, by like ten seconds.” Nora unwrapped her bagel with cream cheese sandwich and took a big bite. They had a huge assortment of schmear choices and she finally had settled on the tried and true, full-fat classic.

“Carter told me they said they’d both be there,” Jones informed, he and Carter went way back since Jones had helped get the forum up and running.

Daphne came running up to the table, bursting at the seams with something to tell them. Her red hair flopped around her face, it was red much like Dana Scully’s but much longer.

“He talked to me! I talked to him! We talked!” Daphne shoved Bert aside and sat on the bench seat next to him.

“Woah, Daph. Slow down. Who are you talking about?” Vee grabbed her shaking hands in an attempt to steady them.

“Mulder!” She all but squealed. “Mulder,” she said again, testing the name in a sultry tone. “Fox Mulder,” she sighed dreamily.

“And?” Nora asked, “What’d he say? What’d you say?”

Vee had to snap their fingers in front of her face to bring her back down to earth.

“We said hi,” she whispered slowly, blinking her eyes like she was in love.

“That’s it?” Vee clarified.

“Yeah,” Daphne confirmed.

“Did you say anything else? You know, other than ‘hi’?”

Daphne’s four friends leaned in while they waited for her response.

“No,” was all she said. “But he smiled at me, nodded his head too. God, he’s hot,” she added with her head resting on her hand and her elbow resting on the table.

“Give us the rundown, how’d it happen?” Bert interrogated.

“He came out of the bathroom right when I came out too and we almost ran into each other! I said hi and he said hi back then he scurried over to Dana.”

“Oh, so you’re on a first-name basis with her now too?” Jones asked, clearly jealous to see Daphne’s attention elsewhere.

“Yeah, we chatted it up a bit in the bathroom, and she came out right behind me. I overheard her ask him if he had a thing for all redheads or just her,” Daphne giggled as she recalled the interaction before she was starstruck by the man, the myth, the monotone.

“You talked to her too!?” Nora balked, stunned Daphne was suddenly team Mulder when she previously was well known for straddling the line.

“She was a little stand-offish but really nice, it’s pretty obvious though that she’s not thrilled to be here. I didn’t want to push it by asking her anything. I don’t know, I kind of got mom energy from her- Nora, Vee- she’s all yours at the mixer tonight.” The plan was just a little harmless flirting anyway, it was blatantly obvious they were majorly into one another– devoted to each other like constants, touchstones.

“Hey! What about me!” Both Jones and Bert said at the same time.

“Oh, Bert. You’d be lucky to get out a single word in her presence. She’d eat you like a little cricket. Jonesy and I will tag team Mulder. Are we sure we want to save all our questions for Sunday’s presentation? What if she’s not the presenter?” Daphne worried they’d miss the opportunity to interrogate the interrogators unless they jumped the gun at the mixer instead of waiting to hear whichever one of them presented. Truth be told, they all had a feeling the mystery headliner was Mulder and not Scully based on how much she dragged her feet around the convention center.

Which would be a huge disappointment to the entire scientific community in attendance. This was a serious conference, there was no space for Mulder’s philosophical, flowery speeches about the meaning of life and the value of the human soul. They were here to get answers— cold, hard facts. How was it not clear to the organizers that Scully was the better choice for a headliner?

“We better go,” Vee said looking at their watch. “Holman Hardt’s presentation starts in 10 minutes. I want to get a good seat, Mulder and Scully know the guy and will probably want to sit in the front.”

After the presentation on unique weather phenomena, only one member of the gang lined up for the book signing with author Jose Chung.

“What was it like to interview Special Agent Doctor Dana Scully? Or is it Doctor Special Agent Dana Scully? Special Doctor Agent Dana Scully?” The last variation came out questionable, Bert always was better with beauty than brains.

“Agent Scully was, enigmatic, as they say. It was a very mystifying experience. She’s truly one of a kind. Her way of articulating her experiences on those cases, the X-Files, was matter-of-fact. She left no room for misinterpretation and was clear, straightforward. Dr. Scully didn’t dance around the great beyond– she met it head-on.”

“Wow,” Bert grabbed his signed book, From Outer Space, and hugged it close to him.

“Oh, why don’t we ask her yourself? I didn’t know she’d be here.” Jose Chung saw the familiar red bob bounce by his table, “Dr. Scully!” He called out with no response. “Agent Scully!” He tried again.

“Scull-lay!!” Bert yelled across the hallway. Finally, that got her attention.

Mulder directed Scully who was begrudgingly walking toward the table.

“Hello,” she greeted the author, “It’s been a while, Mr. Chung. How have book sales been?”

“I’m making a bleeping killing, Ms. Scully,” Jose greeted her hand in a respectful shake and finally got to meet that partner of hers.

“I’m a little miffed you asked to interview Scully instead of me, Mr. Chung, given the subject matter and all,” Mulder admitted to the author.

“Well, when it comes down to a more credible source, Mr. Mulder. I’m sorry but your bachelor’s of arts in psychology is no match for her bachelor’s of science in physics and a medical degree.”

“Oh, I understand completely,” Mulder grinned. “Let me tell you, the brains on this one… She outpaces every one of my theories and grounds my work with her realism and cynicism. Our work would mean nothing without her science and smarts.”

“Mulder,” Scully blushed and gripped tighter on his suit sleeve.

Bert watched the exchange in amusement, ready to run back to his friends and relay the interaction as soon as it was over.

The three notable individuals chatted among themselves a moment longer before Mulder ushered Scully off to their next session; Aquatic Monsters: How to Spot and Know When to Avoid

“I miss Queequeg,” Scully said sadly with a pout on her face as they walked into the room and took their seats.

Nora left the room she shared with Bert and Jones, having forgotten her lucky pen in there. She wanted to use it to take notes during the Consequences and Considerations of AI and Tech panel. It was the second to last presentation on the schedule before the mixer and she really wanted to see Invisigoth’s AI-self as part of the discussion. Nora’s favorite programmer, Phoebe, was also supposed to be a member of the panel. She couldn’t wait.

Walking toward the elevator, Nora felt a chill rush down her spine. It was well known among her friend group that she had the gift of premonition; her Aunt Sharon had been the one to raise questions about it initially, giving her guidance and peace in dealing with the heightened emotionality that came with the skill.

As she pressed the call button for the lift, a flash of passion flew across her mind and she was quick enough in her reaction to fly around the corner, out of sight to the doors opening to Mulder and Scully in a heated embrace.

“Mulder,” Nora heard Scully moan. “Room, now,” she heard her demand.

“I’m going as fast as Newton’s law of motion states. I’m trying my best to generate more inertia.” Nora had to stifle a laugh at how much Mulder was trying to impress Scully with the science talk. He really should leave that stuff to her, she’s much better at it than he is.

“Mulder shut up.” Yeah, you tell him, Scully! Nora thought to herself as they pushed each other down the hallway to room 402. Their lips only left each other’s bodies to speak those horribly arranged words.

Once they reached the door, Scully pushed him backward through the doorway and he pulled her with him by the edges of her blazer.

“I guess they’ll be missing the next panel discussion,” Nora said aloud to herself as she boarded the empty elevator. It reeked of nerds making out in there. She giggled all the way down to the first floor. Nora couldn’t wait to tell Daphne what she had witnessed.

At the last scheduled discussion of the second night, Vee looked around anxiously for Mulder and or Scully. It was on their itinerary to attend this event. Vee was desperate to make sure they were here so Vee could talk to either one about it at the S&B mixer later that night.

Vee knew Mulder would have a lot to say about alien-human hybrids and the impending colonization plans set to take place in a mere 12 years from now. Vee also knew that despite the inaccessible information on the topic, Mulder and Scully had first contact with alien bounty hunters and other extraterrestrial beings– even if one was a hallucination. They had heard the rumors about his trip to Antarctica to rescue his partner from being abducted (again) by aliens.

They had questions about the implants, about the cancer (their mom had been a repeater and a part of Penny Northern’s abductee support group. They lost their mom in ‘96 to the same cancer that almost took Dana’s life), and about the Syndicate implicated in it all. MUFON had been no help and was on the cusp of disbanding and reneging on its credibility as an organization.

Vee needed to know about the Consortium’s alliance with the aliens and how they could get revenge for taking their mom away from them. Mulder would have those answers, or if anything, the will to help them find the truth about why. So much pain and hurt permeated their life and they just needed one person to believe them– they thought Fox Mulder would be that person.

Finally, the two agents slipped into the back row. They looked disheveled and giddy. Maybe Sunday was the better day to probe Mulder. Vee didn’t want to dim their obvious afterglow. So Vee sat back dejected in their seat and waited for the event to be over so they could grab dinner with their friends and have a little downtime before the Skeptics and Believers mixer at the Diller Room.

“Mulder, where are you taking me?” Scully sat in the passenger seat of their rented car, the red fabric interior clashing with both her hair and her outfit.

“I figured you could use a break from that crowd, I’m taking you somewhere a little more your pace,” Mulder said cryptically.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Mulder.” Scully looked on disapprovingly, they had been driving through the thick Seattle night traffic for the last fifteen minutes and had finally made it through the worst of downtown.

“We’re going to make a quick stop by the troll before our reservations,” Mulder finally admitted.

“Troll? Reservations? Mulder?” Scully wasn’t dressed to see any trolls as Mulder had requested she put on the nice shirt and slacks that she had packed.

“Fremont Troll, Scully. Under the Aurora Bridge, constructed in 1990. You’ll love it.”

“Mulder, why are we really here?” Scully asked when they parked next to the sculpture clutching a cement-covered VW bug.

“I wanted to come see it when it was first installed. They had a bust of Elvis inside the car, but that was stolen in ‘91 when it was vandalized. The idea of a troll living under a bridge is derived from the Scandinavian folklore. The history of this troll, however, is unfortunately a bit murky as the city erected the art in an attempt to deter homeless populations from inhabiting this area.”

“I thought you said you wanted to take me away from the types of people from the conference, Mulder. This seems to fit right in with their kind of crazy ideas.” Scully crossed her arms and leaned on the beetle, seemingly uninterested in the troll and its significance. It was neat, but nothing special.

“This stop was for me, the next stop is for you.” Mulder walked back to the car and opened the door for her before getting into the driver's seat.

Getting back on the road, they circled back toward the convention center and made their last stop for dinner. Mulder ran around and tried to get the door for her before she could open it herself.

“Tom Hank’s houseboat from Sleepless in Seattle was parked on this side of the marina, Scully. Just up the road here,” Mulder placed his hand on the standard spot on her lower back as he led her through the doors of the restaurant.

“I didn’t know you liked romantic comedies, Mulder,” Scully watched as Mulder ducked his head with a little coloring on his cheek. “You keep unfolding like a flower,” she repeated the line from many years ago.

“Come on, your seafood buffet awaits,” Mulder followed the waiter to their table overlooking Lake Union. It was beautiful this time of night and Mulder was glad he had convinced Scully to step outside her comfort zone for a rare nice restaurant– truly, the whole weekend was out of her comfort zone. His love and appreciation for her expanded far outside the prices of the meal he was about to treat her to at McCormick and Schmick's.

They ordered lobster, clams, oysters, and salmon. Like the true New Englanders they were, they devoured the food with bellies full and smiles wide.

“Thank you, Mulder. This was nice,” Scully let Mulder pay the check then walked arm and arm with him back to the car and off to the convention center where their hotel room was. After such a pleasant evening, Scully felt a little more prepared for the Skeptics & Believers mixer.

Jones ran down to the parking garage to grab something from his car before running off to the bar to help set up for the mixer. When he got there, a car parked a few down from his had windows steamed and was rocking in a rhythmic pattern. He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what was happening inside.

Once he grabbed the item he needed, he smirked while walking back out of the garage. He heard the car door open and the two offenders stepped out on shaky feet.

“That’s the last time we defile a rental car, Mulder,” Jones heard Dana announce to her partner.

“That’s what you always say, Scully,” Jones heard Mulder laugh and shut the door behind him.

“Let’s just get this mixer thing over with, we’ll discuss the topic further in the hotel room tonight,”

“Can you get an old fashion and do your trick with the cherry stem? That’ll really rev my engines. And make all those guys jealous. Please, Scully?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

@today-in-fic

#the x files #today in fic #dana scully #fox mulder #txf #x files #msr #fanfic

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

Text

The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’)

Prompt: Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go” before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

____________________________________________________

You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.

1K notes · View notes

mqtsuno · 3 years

Text

꒰ LAME DELINQUENT ꒱︙M. CHIFUYU

in which chifuyu seeks your comfort while you treat his wounds from a fight he was in earlier. bonus scenario!

꒰+꒱︙finished this 2 weeks ago but at that time i haven't write the bonus scenario yet. hope you enjoy with this comfort cliche chifuyu fic i made :)

being one’s delinquent girlfriend was a challenging thing to do. at the very least, it was for you—chifuyu matsuno’s much-loved girlfriend.

dating a delinquent doesn't guarantee you'll be excellent at fighting anyhow, so 'challenging' doesn't entail you have to join him if he gets into a fight.

it’s actually the opposite of it.

'challenging' it's when you just have to meet him at your front door every time, and chifuyu has to greet you with the largest sheepish smile you've ever seen. when it comes to his condition, he pretends as though he is not guilty that they are covered in huge wounds, that his lips are bleeding from cuts, or that there is a dark purple bruise under his eye. he can't help himself; he can't help but laugh at you, as much as he doesn't want to. your reaction to it, no matter when gets him.

your boyfriend has a knack for steering the subject as if you aren't plainly concerned about his current situation. while strolling around your room like he was looking for something (although he wasn't, he simply wants to escape the impending scolding), he says, "oh it's nothing." it's nothing your ass, then why did you come to me in the first place if it's not about treating to your wounds—you wondered in the back of your mind.

woah! i didn’t remember this shoujo manga before here. is this new to your collection?

please chifuyu, just sit down and let me—

babe, isn’t this the standee you were talking about a few days ago?

oh my god chifuyu, please.

it'll take a good amount of time to shut him up and simply follow your order to sit on your bed. his hands formed a straight line in the opposite of his face, imagining like he was being detained by the police, he would respond alright, alright repeatedly as he gently sat on the bed.

chifuyu pondered for a while, waiting for you to finish whatever you were doing at the time. however, the boy will get up again and begin to trail you around the room. he kept an eye on you as you turned to face him.

'fuyu, why are you following me around? didn’t i tell you to sit so i can take after your wounds?

what are you doing?

chifuyu acts nonchalant about your words and the fact that you're going through your medical supplies to care for him. he hasn't let down his guard in the last 15 minutes since arriving here and still kept trying to divert your attention about him, but who wouldn't notice when your partner was battered half to death by someone else?

you had had enough of his antics, so you weren't shocked. although the tough attitude isn't necessary when you know perfectly well that the boy came to you for help with his fresh wounds, it still rubs on your nerves.

once he settled in with the situation—letting his guard down—he would be seemingly quiet. silence loomed over the both of you before you dared to speak something in front of him pertaining to his current affliction.

my view looks very awful here, you know.

ouch, your words hurts a bit, babe.

but which one hurts more? my words or your wounds i’m tending right now.

your ruthless rebuke caused him to clench his teeth. now, he can't deny your planned fuss over the next few minutes because that was the first thing you spoke following that extended pause.

chifuyu was 99 percent certain that you'd go into a series of never-ending ramblings about why he got into another fight; it was a regular thing you'd do anytime he got himself hurt. as for his answer, it is usually either toman-related stuff or someone annoyed me so i gave them a solid whipping but they turned out to be stronger and giggled afterwards. regardless of how absurd his arguments may sound, you accept them anyway.

both of you would be embracing every intimate moment as you cared for him, loving each other with a huge hug and a soft peck on the forehead after you'd finished taping the bandages into his skin. not to mention the complaints he'll hear from you.

he is aware of your complaints about his injury since you were concerned about him. chifuyu is never upset; on the contrary, he allows you to chastise him on a regular basis. even if you were constantly reprimanding him, he finds it adorable and it distracts him from the pain.

maybe chifuyu gets into fights on purpose simply to see you like this.

but he wasn't seeing it today.

you didn't chastise him while tending to his bruises, which was opposite to his expectations. he wants to question you about it, but he feels as though an invisible barrier is preventing him from doing so. is she, for once, really mad at me? no, she isn't. oh, she is. she's madder than usual.

babe, can you lift up your bangs for me?

one. chifuyu was absentmindedly spacing out.

babe? chifuyu?

two. he sees you wavering your hands in front of him but still, it wasn't able to shake him off.

matsuno chifuyu.

three. it was when you addressed him by his full name that he snapped out of his gaze.

“w-wait, okay, it’s my fault, i was pissed off from bunch of other thugs saying toman was some ratty gang. i knew they intentionally made fun toman to piss me off, i couldn’t help it and—“

the words sprang out of the boy's mouth like lightning. followed by exhalation and a brief break in his speech before continuing. "im, im sorry."

with that stated, he raises his look, locks onto your eyes, but then quickly shifts his focus to the bookcase across from you. chifuyu shouted it all out of frustration—it wasn't even directed at anyone—but he felt bad for really making you upset.

a quiet moment was created yet again, but this time you cracked it with a cackle. you laughed heartily as chifuyu looked at you with skepticism. what if he was overthinking things all along? however, this does not explain your silent treatment. or is this another snarky retort since you're still upset?

his imagination wandered to another round of dramatization.

even though he's in his own brain, he can still hear you chuckling in the back of his head. he has no idea why you are laughing right now. is it possible that this is a joke? an overly analytical joke on him would be unforgivable.

why are you laughing so loudly? is there anything funny here? and aren’t you mad at me?

he heard your giggles quieten after he asked you the question that has been on his mind for a long time now. it takes a great deal of guts to speak that out loud. you thought his anxiousness had simmered down? no. waiting for your response made him even more sweaty.

but why would i be mad?

then you cradled his face in your arms, his gaze returned to you. his nose is hurting from the alcohol odor emanating from your fingertips, but what's more interesting is the extremely odd response. this wasn't on the list of 10 replies he was anticipating.

because i got into a fight, again. didn’t you say you hate me getting into one?

though happy that you were not outraged, chifuyu still hasn't grasped the reality that you were not displeased with him. the way you used to scold him, you should be infuriated with him today—but you're not. that side of you that takes care of him when he's misbehaving, he wants to see more of.

i never said i’ll hate you for that.

apart from that, i doubt that you'd listen to me anyways, even if i told you not to get into fights. everything depends on what you want to do and it's not because i care nothing about it.

“i warned you about getting yourself injured for nearly one hundred times now but,” you said as your hands slid away from his cheeks and held his calloused hands securely—holding them tightly and locked your eyes into his with deep mesmerization, “but if you happen to get into one, just remember one thing.”

“remember that i’ll wait for you, and will always be here to look after you, chifuyu. aside from that, i like it when you knock my door in the middle of the night."

after that, no words were left unsaid. the whole time, chifuyu was thinking about all the things that were pointless in the first place, thinking about all the conceivable outcomes. you provided him with reassurance and comfort after all of his contemplation.

chifuyu promptly grabbed your arm in an embrace after feeling a burning in his eye. your boyfriend whispered under his breath, "man, im so lame..." tilting his head and hiding in the crook of your neck so that you wouldn't see the tears streaming down his cheeks. "because i got myself engaged again, and lost the fight when i expected to win, i felt you were furious, simply so i could be scolded again as usual."

you happen to enforce the cuddle. comforting him once again, "you're hilarious, 'fuyu." so you'd rather have me scold you for this?” the child did not respond, instead tilting his head so you could see his face. “right? i'm such a lame-ass that i expected you to annoy me and worried when you didn't.”

“yeah, you are one. you’re my really lame delinquent. and i love you for that.”

bonus little scenario !

"still, i don't think it's fair that i lost that fight. can you image me almost winning if i just punched that fool a couple times until he pass out? that motherfucker, on the other hand, opted to call his—AAAHH" when you decided to massage more alcohol into his wounds, making them sting even more, his words were cut short.

chifuyu abruptly stopped you from polishing his skin with another cotton that was moist from the alcohol. he gave the most adorable puppy eyes which meant please don't rub it again, it hurts like crap, have mercy on me. but did it prevent you from handing it to him? no.

"AAHHH, FUCK IT HURTS SO BAD, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?"

"you dramatic ass, you did this to yourself. i'm just treating the wounds that you got from the fight."

despite the dramatic vision of him screaming at the top of his lungs from the agony caused by the alcohol. chifuyu is still unable to shut the fuck up. really.

and you know? i went kaboom, kachaw on him! after 2 punches he went flying!

chifuyu, babe. stop moving your hands please, can you see im trying to plaster your upper arm now?

oh okay, sorry babe.

but he didn't stop the hand movements.

they went boom boom! paw paw! on me but i still managed to keep my composure and didn't—

for the love of god chifuyu, stop moving your hands or i'll pour alcohol on you again.

HEYYY! THAT'S NOT FAIR!

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yasminbenoit · 3 years

Text

“A Romantic Partner Won’t Complete Me, Because I Was Born Complete”: How Identifying As Asexual & Aromantic Brought Me True Freedom & Happiness | Yasmin Benoit for British Vogue

There is a phase in our lives where everyone seems asexual and almost everyone seems aromantic. It wasn't until puberty kicked in that platonic relationships seemed to take a backseat. My peers stopped wanting to play together and started wanting to 'date' each other. That was when I started to realise that there was something different about me. I didn’t seem to be experiencing the same urges as those I was around. I chose to go to an all girls school in the hopes that – in the absence of boys – everyone would stop caring about sex and dating. It actually had the opposite effect. There was a sense of deprivation in the air and the heightened desire to project their sexuality onto anything and everything.

Therefore, my lack of interest became even more obvious, and it became a not-so-fun game to work out the source of what should be troubling me, but hadn’t been until that point. Having a sexual orientation isn’t just natural, it’s essential. It’s part of being a fully-functional human being. And to be romantically love and be loved by another is the ultimate goal. It’s part of being normal, which made me both abnormal and puzzling. When your asexual, people think there’s something wrong with your body. When you’re aromantic, they think there’s something wrong with your soul. Even for a teenage girl who internalised all of Disney Channel’s “be yourself” messages, it’s never nice to have people publicly debate your supposed physical and psychological flaws.

My nickname in school was “hollow and emotionless.” I was a joker with a decent amount of friends, but I was lacking something crucial, the kind of love that really mattered and the kind of lust that made life exciting...so I was practically Lord Voldemort with braids. I sat through the regular DIY sexuality tests, having my peers show me graphic sexual imagery, have very sexual conversations in my presence, and ask me inappropriately intimate questions to gauge how far gone I truly was. These tests lead to the development of theories, most centred around me having some kind of mental problem. After a while, you start to wonder if everyone knows something you don’t.

When they said that I must have been molested as a child and “broken” by the trauma, I wondered if I had somehow forgotten about sexual abuse that actually hadn’t happened. I looked at some of my own relatives with suspicion, the same people who would later ask me if I didn’t experience sexual attraction because I was a pedophile. It was suggested that I was “suffering” from my “issues” because I was socially anxious and insecure. The suggestion that my ‘issue’ was pathological stayed with me for a long time, but not as much as the widely accepted theory that I was mentally slow. Unfortunately, that one stuck. I was referred to as “stupid” and I started to believe that was the case. It would impact my experience in education for the next eight years, long after I realised that there was a word for what I was.

Asexual.

I first heard the word during one of the near-daily sexuality tests that I was subjected to. I was asked if I was gay, to which I said that I wasn’t interested in anybody like that – men or women. At fifteen, I was asked, “Maybe you’re asexual or something?” but it wasn’t quite a lightbulb moment. How could it be when I had never heard the word outside of biology class? After an evening of Google searching, I realised that there were many people with my exact same experience, complete strangers whose stories sounded so strangely similar to mine. I also stumbled across the word ‘aromantic,’ but at the time, I didn’t understand the need for it. "Wouldn't all asexual people be aromantic? A romantic relationship without sex is just friendship with rules,” I thought.

Either way, my discoveries showed me that I wasn’t alone, but that only half helpful. I now had an identity that no one had heard of or understood. Most didn’t believe that being asexual or aromantic was a real thing, and I doubted it to. I had been taught to after years of armchair pathologisation. If asexuality was real, why did no one tell you that being sexually attracted to nobody was an option? What if it was just an internet identity made up to comfort people with all of the issues that had been attributed to me? I didn’t have to go far down the rabbit hole to realise that asexuality, like many non-heteronormative identities, had been medicalised. What I had experienced as just the tip of the iceberg. As someone who hadn’t been prescribed drugs I didn’t need or subjected to unnecessary hormone tests, I was one of the lucky ones.

My activism would be my gateway to the community. Despite being the ugly friend at school, I ended up becoming a model while in university. I decided to use the platform I had gained through my career to raise awareness for asexuality and aromanticism. It gave me the opportunity to encounter a range of asexual and aromantic offline, it was then that I learned the significance of having an aromantic identity. There are many asexual people who still feel romantic attraction, as well as aromantic people who still feel sexual attraction. They have their own range of experiences, their own culture, their own flag, and like the asexual community, I was relieved to see that they are just normal people. These intersecting communities are not stereotypes. They weren’t just thirteen year old, pink haired kids making up identities on Tumblr to feel special. They were parents, lawyers, academics, husbands, girlfriends, artists, black, white, young, old, with differing feelings towards the many complex elements of sexuality and intimacy. Most importantly, they were happy.

I am proud to be part of both, and I know that while being asexual and aromantic, I am a complete person and I can live a perfectly fulfilling life. Since meeting members of my communities, I’ve become more open about my identities in real life, and a reaction I’m often met with is sympathy. “You must feel like you’re missing out,” “I can’t imagine being like that,” “It must be hard for your family,” “Do you worry no one will want you?” “How do you handle being so lonely?” “You’re so brave and strong,” “What will you do with your life now?” Even in 2021, a woman who isn’t romantically loved or sexually desired by their “special someone” is perceived as being afflicted with some kind of life-limiting condition.

Asexuality doesn't make undesirable or unable to desire others. It is a unique experience of sexuality, not a deprivation from it. Even if it was, there is so much more to life than what turns us on and what we do about it. Romantic love is just one form of love, neither superior nor inferior to any other. Being aromantic doesn't mean that you can't love or be loved, it does not mean you are void of other emotions or capabilities. I am not lonely with my friends, family, co-workers and supporters. I feel confident not when someone wants to date me but when I meet my goals and form worthwhile connections with others. My success isn't determined by whether someone will want to marry me someday. What we want out of life is our decision alone, our sources of happiness should not be defined by our ever-changing, culturally relative social standards. The love of a romantic partner won't complete me because I was born complete. Feeling sexual attraction to others won't liberate me because my liberation is not dependent on other people.

Valentine's Day is on the horizon. It's an occasion that amps up the focus on (and the pressure to achieve) a very specific type of love and sexual expression, one that is actually alienating for people inside and outside of the asexual community. During a pandemic where many relationships have been strained, tested, formed or distanced, it's important to keep the diversity of romantic and sexual feelings in mind. Many expect me to feel annoyed or lonely during this time of year, but I actually feel empowered and excited by the way sex, romance and love are discussed more deeply around this time. These conversations are constantly expanding to become more inclusive for everyone, and that's what we need to see all year round.

https://www.vogue.co.uk/arts-and-lifestyle/article/asexuality-and-aromanticism

#yasmin benoit #valentines day #british vogue #asexuality #aromantic #aromanticism #aroace #asexual #this is what asexual looks like #thisiswhatasexuallookslike

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mrsbrekkers · 3 years

Note

could you do a jesper x reader where the reader is more on the emotionless side and is always lowkey angry at the world and jesper is always happy/flirty?? I love that type of trope sm!!!

first request yEEEEE. i got this during work and practically jumped up and down 1; because i love jesper. 2; i actually didn’t think people who request. 3; because it gave me something to do when i got home lol

i hope this is up to what you were looking for! i didn’t quite have an idea for backstory in terms of your request, so i left that up to interpretation. plus, i haven’t written jesper before +++ this is the first one-shot i’ve written IN AGES

pairings; jesper x reader / kaz x inej + nina x matthias ( mentioned )

reader is non-gender specific because jesper is a bi-con and i want this to be seen as either female, male, non-binary pals, whatever one identifies with!

warnings; like one or two swearwords? guns, the usual soc stuff? and not edited in terms of grammar, etc.

word count; 2026 ( p proud mom here )

one shot under cut!

BOATS WERE MADE TO CREATE LAUGHS

The world was cruel.

Anyone who’d lived long enough in the barrel knew that, and still, somehow, Jesper Fahey managed to be as happy as he was. Whether it be after he’d lost all of his money gambling, or during a job gone wrong? Jesper Fahey never seemed all too affected by the barrel and the shit it’d throw at The Crows. Maybe it was because he was good at hiding his affliction. Maybe he’d become used to it, and simply decided to have a better onlook when it came to such affliction. Whatever it was?

The same couldn’t be said for Y/N.

Becoming used to the affliction wasn’t in the cards for them, but hiding it was. Keeping a stoic face, always observant. There was rarely a smile on their face. Inej had coined the stoic look as ‘The Brekker Stare’. Kaz had started it, but slowly Y/N grew to use it as well. It was easy to be emotionless. It made one more equipped to face danger and problems that arose. Or, that’s what Y/N’s excuse was when they were teased about using ‘The Brekker Stare’.

Missions were always the hardest to keep that stoic look on. Especially when paired with Jesper. It wasn’t that Y/N hated the boy, quite the opposite actually. They admired his ability to stay so joyful in a place such as the barrel. Sometimes they wished it was as easy as Jesper made it seem. Maybe that’s why they’d rather be paired with Nina, but that spot was reserved for Matthias - courtesy of Kaz Brekker and his secret want for them to work out their relationship. Inej was a good choice for a partner, but she worked either alone, or with Kaz. Rarely with anyone outside of those choices. Wylan made a good partner too, but Kaz and his reasons.

That left Jesper and Y/N.

The mission seemed simple enough - sneak into The Emerald Palace to gather information on what Rollin’s next move was. Eavesdropping seemed easy enough for The Crows. Inej was doing what she did best: moved quietly. Wylan posed as a new waiter, his hair tailored by Nina to appear brunette. Nina and Matthais acted as a drunk couple at the gambling table a few away from Jesper and Y/N.

“This is going to go horribly wrong,” Y/N spoke as they’d gone over the plan numerous times in their head. One, how would the Dime Lions not notice who they were? Nina was a good enough tailor, but she wasn’t a phenomenal one. Certainly not Genya Safin phenomenal. She was a heartrender after all. Two, they may not even receive the information they’d need. Three, if they were caught, that information would be useless.

“Oh come on Y/N, don’t be so down about the world. It hasn’t killed us yet,” Jesper responded. To which, Y/N simply gave a glare. Surely it hadn’t killed them, but it’d killed enough people for them to be mad at it.

“It won’t go horribly wrong as long as the two of you don’t bicker like children,” Kaz said with a wave of his cane between the two.

Gambling, a wonderful way to gather information. Whatever Kaz’s reasons for this mission was, Y/N wasn’t going to question it. They’d rather do their job, get their cut, and then return to the Slat. It was easier that way, but Jesper decided it wasn’t easier that way tonight.

“I’m raising, what do you think darling?” Jesper asked, his eyes glancing up at Y/N, who sat on his leg.

“Raising with a hand like that?” Y/N asked out loud, raising an eyebrow. “You’re asking to be stung, dear.” They were bluffing, but doing a beautiful job so. Jesper had a royal flush - which in terms of luck tonight, was the best he’d had.

“Oh come on darling, it’s a wonderful hand. Money grabber at that!” Jesper said, his lips pouting out. Y/N would never understand how men could fall for such an act, but it seemed they didn’t have brains.

The men around them smirked, amused. They seemed to think they’d won, and with everyone raising and placing their hands down, Jesper chuckled. It was easy to play drunk men, and with Wylan continuously supplying them with alcohol, even easier to gain information.

“Boss is going to kill me,” one of the men murmured, making Y/N’s eyes shoot over in their direction. Their attention seemed taken then, eyes narrowing. Glancing down at Jesper, they nodded in the direction of the man.

“And why would that be?” One of the drunk men across the table asked. It seemed the men would do the work for Jesper and Y/N.

Easier for us, Y/N thought. Indeed it was. Words spilled from the men’s mouths, and before they’d known it, they learned of a job Rollins planned to have lined up. It was going well, until one of the men decided to become handsy with Y/N.

“A pretty one you’ve got here,” he spoke, causing Y/N to scowl. Pretty is not what you’ll be thinking when I break your nose. “Mind if I have a go at them?” The man added his hands finding their place on Y/N’s waist. Before Jesper could step in, Y/N’s leg lifted, the man doubling over at the pain that seared through his groin.

“Touch me again, I dare you.” The commotion had caused men a part of the Dime Lions to step forward from around the room. Realizing they’d been compromised, Y/N glanced over at Wylan, nodding and then grabbing Jesper’s arm. “Close your eyes,” They said before a flash bomb went off, the room ringing as the two exited the back door, Kaz waiting mere feet away from it.

“Remember what I mentioned about not bickering like children?!” Kaz asked, rolling his eyes. Maybe if you didn’t pair us together, Brekker, we wouldn’t bicker. But Y/N knew better than to say that outloud to their boss. It was asking to be punished in some out of the box, Kaz Brekker way.

“The men got all handsy with Y/N! I must say that was rather attractive back there! Showing them who’s a badass!” Jesper yelled across the commotion as they began to run down the alleys of the barrel, leaving Kaz behind with Inej who’d jumped down as silent as the night. How she did that, Jesper and Y/N would contemplate together.

“This is not the time Jesper!” Y/N yelled, rolling their eyes.

“Oh come on, no flirting with me?!”

“Jesper, we’re being chased by Dime Lions wanting to murder us, no I’m not going to flirt with you right now!” Then Y/N slipped down one of the alleyways, pulling Jesper’s arm. Coming to the edge of the canal Kaz had prepped with a boat in case this happened, Y/N jumped down into the boat with Jesper.

“Go,” Y/N said to Rotty who had been waiting. Then down the canal they were going. Out of breath and going down the canal, the trio rest in silence for a few moments.

“For a mission gone wrong, I’d say that was pretty successful,” Jesper said, showing the money he’d managed to grab from the table before the two of them had to run.

“Money? That’s what you call successful? It’ll be gone by tomorrow night at the Crow Club, we both know that,” Y/N said, huffing as they became situated on the boat. It was small, but it made do for the three on the boat. Their face held the usual stoic look, but just the smallest bit of anger broke through.

“The Brekker Stare is happening again, but is that . . . is that anger I see?” Jesper teased his face falling into the same look Y/N currently held.

“Jesper, this isn’t funny. We almost just died. Kaz is going to kill us. Are none of the consequences we’re going to experience angering you?” Y/N asked, their stoic face falling into semi panic. They were so going to experience the wrath of Kaz Brekker when they were safe and back at the Slat. Or the Crow Club. Whichever one they were found at first.

“All the information we just gathered? Is worth nothing because Rollins knows we were there. What was the one thing we were all supposed to manage?” Y/N wasn’t sure who they were mad at more. The man at the Emerald Palace was one of the people they were mad at, but also Jesper for always somehow, even after almost dying, being so flirty and happy. They’d never understand it.

“Getting out silently,” Jesper huffed. He knew Y/N was right, but he couldn’t help himself. Having a crush on your mission partner never made things easy. “But come on, you got to see me looking this dashing tonight,” he reminded, winking.

“I’m really beginning to think you don’t care for your life,” Y/N said with a small shake of their head, just the smallest laugh leaving their lips. Guns and all, Jesper still seemed oblivious to the fact that they’d just been shot at and found out by Pekka Rollins.

“Was that a laugh?” Jesper said with wide eyes, smirking.

Dammit. “No, no it wasn’t,” Y/N said, composing them-self.

“Oh yes it was, and it was angelic. You should laugh more. Do less of The Brekker Stare and more of The Y/N Angelic Laugh,” Jesper deemed, smiling like an idiot.

Then they couldn’t hold it in, and Y/N let the laugh completely consume them. “The Y/N Angelic Laugh? You’ve already coined it?”

“Indeed I did, and I will be taking full credit for this one. Inej took The Brekker Stare from me. This one is coined by me, Jesper Fahey, from this day, until the last.” Jesper had spent years trying to make Y/N laugh, and he’d almost deemed it impossible - but he always had his ways, and they finally had worked.

“I think I’ll be asking Inej to recoin it, thank you,” Y/N spoke as they exited the boat, thanking Rotty. They tossed their green outfit off, their usual black attire hidden underneath. Unaware of Jesper behind them, checking them out per usual.

“I think not. Inej wouldn’t believe I even made you laugh. Do you want her to know you can show emotion that isn’t being angry or pessimistic?” Jesper asked, standing from the boat. He loved teasing Y/N. It was among his favorite pastimes.

Y/N simply rolled their eyes, kicking Jesper in the shin. “I’ll have you know that the girls have seen me laugh.”

“Why don’t I believe that for a second?” Jesper asked. Because it isn’t entirely true. But why would Y/N give Jesper that satisfaction? They weren’t sure. Maybe it was because for once, they were experiencing feelings they hadn’t in a while.

“Because, the girls wouldn’t tell you if I had laughed.”

“No, no. Nina tells us everything. She tells us when Matthias checks her out, how Kaz does his little glance at Inej every time we’re about to leave for a mission, about how I stare at you for too long. I think she’d tell me about you laughing,” Jesper declared, making Y/N stop in their tracks.

He was good. They’d give him that. “You stare at me for too long?” Y/N turned their boot skidding along the wet concrete of Ketterdam.

“Oh yes, Nina declares it’s because I find you attractive, which I do, but you already knew that,” Jesper said, shrugging.

“Hmm,” Y/N simply said, their lips quirking for a moment in thought. “Fine, they haven’t heard me laugh,” and that was the only thing Y/N said before turning back to walk towards the Crow Club, leaving Jesper there with a dorkish grin.

As Jesper began to follow, he chuckled. “I made Y/N L/N laugh,” and with a skip and pull of his coat in victory, he declared he’d hear that sound again.

#jesper fahey #jesper six of crows #jesper x milo #soc jesper #six of crows #crooked kingdom #kanej #kaz x inej #jesper x reader #shadow and bone #one shot #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #nina zenik #wylan van eck #wylan van sunshine #fluffy #fanfiction

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lawslessons · 3 years

Note

hi hi! i js found your blog and omg its amazing??? especially what you wrote for Sabos soulmate vv mucho gusto😤👌🏽

could i request B from the soulmate alpha for Law? i feel like Law is the last person to believe in soulmates and love and all that bs, but when he sees tattoos he’s all too familiar with on someone else... yeah! he probably thinks they’re some intense groupie at first until one of his men brings up the whole soulmate business. anywho, hope all goes well! :D

Law x Reader - Rivers of Ink

I agree with that! He would be a stubborn man for sure. Honestly I was a little self indulgent with what I wrote for this, I do hope you forgive me if this isn’t what you were expecting. Today is February 17th and tomorrow, the 18th, is actually my birthday so I made this one extra long as a mini gift to you all! I hope you enjoy this, dear. I had a fantastic time writing this!

Warnings: Slight NSFW, Love at First Sight

Synopsis: Nightmares plagued the doctor every night, nothing seemed to be able to remedy his affliction. But could one artistic individual on an island hold the answer to his worries? A sudden and unexpected whirlwind of a romance, Law struggles to see and accept the fact that he was falling hard so quickly.

“Haven’t you heard that tattoos don’t age that well?” Someone whispered into Law’s ear as he walked down the dark alleyway. The lights flickered above him, moths swarmed around the light until it was barely visible, it served no purpose in being there. He rolled his eyes and turned his head to see who was there, but he was unable to see anyone.

“Marking up your pretty body like that? What a shame,” Another sneered, the words grew louder and soon it turned into chanting, it was louder, louder and louder. His ears began to ring, laughter pierced his ears and soon Law felt like he was falling.

Law gasped as he woke up with a start and clutched his chest. His eyes were wide as he felt around his bedside table for his glass of water. He chugged the remnants of what was inside while he used his free hand to wipe the sweat off of his brow and onto his palm instead. He felt clammy and gross from waking up so suddenly, his eyes felt dry and heavy, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep that easily after what he experienced. Leaving his bed, he grabbed his jacket and left his room to go to one of the main hallways of his submarine so he could look out at the ocean. The ocean was beautiful, they all said. But in the night, the normally blue ocean was a vast expanse of black ink. He stared out at the ink and saw that there was nothing notable to look at. The ocean was dark, the submarine was dark, nothing seemed able to emit much light here. He didn’t even know his purpose in coming out here, his nightmare seemed to have more light than the hallway he was currently in. Dismayed, he grabbed onto one of the walls and groped his way back to his room before he laid down on his bed and did his best to force himself to sleep. He was blessed to not have anymore dreams, or nightmares that night about his inked up skin. He woke up and overheard his crew talking about how they noticed an island on the radar and how they were going to go up to restock on some supplies and to also get some fresh air as well. Law made himself get ready for the day, he couldn’t let anyone else find out about his restless night.

Law went up to the deck for the first time in weeks when they finally reached land. The warm air on his tanned cheeks caught him off guard, he felt disoriented after coming out of his underwater hibernation. The captain glanced around the shore of the island with his steely eyes and saw how the island was rather boisterous and full of life. The islanders were walking around, laughing, flying kites that were covered in extravagant designs.

“I’m going for a walk,” Law said as he left the submarine and stretched his arms up in the air, he watched as some people ate snacks while some were walking and were just enjoying the island’s temperate weather. One thing he noticed was how no one was alone, and how everyone - except for the children of course - had exquisite, matching tattoos that covered their arms and legs, backs and necks. Anywhere there was space, unique designs covered people’s bodies and it caught Law’s attention. He started to “people watch”, he noticed how this one woman had a long, intricate dragon tattooed on her arm, and how her girlfriend had a matching one on the same arm in the exact same place. He watched as a mother and father had matching ones on their wrists, it was the same with everyone he met. Law’s curiosity soon took the better of him and he approached one of the happy couples and awkwardly looked down at them.

“Those tattoos… where are they from?” Law asked as he pointed to the intricate ink snaking down their bodies. The woman answered for the two of them and told him about a tattoo artist who lived on this island who specialized in “Soul Tattoos.” While he got no further elaboration on that, he decided to follow the directions he was given by the polite couple and soon found himself knocking on the door of a random shop. The door soon opened and Law was greeted by something… strange, familiar. He looked down at their hands and noticed how death ran across their fingers, and how from under the collar of their shirt, he could see the start of a large tribal heart. Law brushed it off as a major coincidence as he slowly walked inside of the shop and looked down at them.

“I saw some of your work out on the streets, it’s really well done,” Law said as he looked down at the person in front of him.

“You did? Oh, thank you,” They smiled as they walked back into their shop and showed off some of the work they had on the walls of the shop. “I’m proud of the work I do, and especially for people like that? This? I really do enjoy it,” Law studied how their lips curved into a smile and how they parted when they let out a small breath.

“What work are you talking about?” Law asked, he knew that they were all tattoos and he appreciated the artistry behind it, but other than that he wasn’t sure about what they were referring to.

“I do Soul Tattoo’s they’re all about -- “ Before they were able to say more, a clock chimed behind them and they looked over at it.

“Oh, closing time -- “ They looked over at Law and suddenly sparks coursed through their entire being. His steely eyes pierced straight into their own like a sword, their heart begin to race as they maintained eye contact with one another for a prolonged period of time. Their breathing slowed as they took in the sight of the captain in front of them. The tattoos were the first thing that caught their attention. Finally... he was here. Before they could even speak, Law looked away from them and at the door in some discomfort.

“It’s alright, goodnight,” Law said as he went to leave the shop before he heard any objections from the person who was there. As he walked in the dimmed streets, he looked at the inky sky and couldn’t help but think about their tattoos. The knuckle tattoos were similar to his own, he glanced down and was surprised to see that it could have been the exact same thing. Death on his knuckles, the ornate tribal style tattoo heart on his chest, the more he thought about it, the more perplexed and creeped out he became. He went back to his submarine, that confused look mixed in with his usual cold look caught the eyes of some of his subordinates. Bepo looked at his captain and quickly stood up to give him a hug.

“Captain! Welcome back!” Bepo cheered as he hugged the tall man, Law didn’t resist the hug but he didn’t hug him back either. Bepo noticed how his captain was more stone cold tonight than other nights which confused the poor bear. “Captain? Are you alright?” Bepo asked him.

“I’m fine,” Law assured as he pulled away from his warm companion and looked up at the sky for a moment. “I met someone strange,” Law said as he studied the stars with his eyes next, the mixing of the bright white against the blueish black was a wonderful contrast. Mindless thoughts, Law was trying to distract himself again.

“What do you mean?” Bepo decided to ask him.

“Someone with the same tattoos as mine,” Law shared as he glanced over at Bepo. Bepo was confused too, he looked over at Penguin who was taking in the cool, night air.

“The same as yours? That’s a little weird,” Bepo agreed, and Law was glad that he wasn’t crazy for thinking otherwise. He didn’t understand why they had the same ones as him.

“Maybe they’re some weird follower of mine or something,” Law grumbled, that thought upset him. Bepo noticed the upset look, but he had to agree with his captain, it was strange.

“You did gain a lot of popularity after the Doflamingo incident,” Bepo reminded him. That seemed to almost settle it for Law, he had a stalker, a fan and that made a weird chill shoot down his spine. Was that the shock he felt from earlier? No, that was more powerful, the captain stared out at the ocean with a blank, thinking expression until he heard Penguin clearing his throat to speak.

“I don’t think it’s a weird fan,” Penguin said as he continued to relax on the deck. Bepo and Law both fell silent and looked over at Penguin for more of an explanation, one he was happy to give. “Well, I was talking to some of the locals and they told me about how people who are supposedly soulmates would have the same tattoos on their body and how they would always get big pieces so they could find them easier,” Penguin explained. Law listened to what he said and couldn’t help but think that his words were ridiculous, that story didn’t even make any sense. Soulmates? Partners for life? As if.

“I’m going to bed,” Law simply said as he went to go to his quarters. But the seed of doubt was already planted, and as he slept, he couldn’t help but think about that possibility.

“Marked skin… we warned you, didn’t we?” A stranger mused.

“Yes, yes we did, we did,” Another chirped, their voice was too cheery for the grim, nightmarish atmosphere.

“Pirates can’t have soulmates, they can’t have -- “

Law gasped, he shot out of bed and didn’t even grab his water, he grabbed his jacket and left his room to go to the hallway. He noticed that they were on land, they were still on land, this wasn’t all just a dream, he really did meet someone with the same tattoos as himself. His mind for once wasn’t able to process what he saw and he soon found himself on the deck of his submarine looking out at the blue ocean and the black sky. He stared at the scene for a minute before he looked at his knuckles. How could something so alarming, something he had that was meant to push people away be the reason he got close to someone else? It hadn’t even been a day but all Law was able to think about was their infectious smile, their incredible art… There was more that had caught his eye too, but it was too inappropriate to even say, Law was embarrassed that he was caught up in such juvenile affections. Maybe Penguin was right. Law scoffed under his breath and continued to deny the truth that was in front of his face, he was falling for them after only one day. It was such an unreasonable thought that it disturbed him, it seriously caught him off guard. How was that even possible? Was it possible to fall this hard for someone after one day? Law was slowly beginning to lose his mind. Against his better judgement, he grabbed his sword and left his submarine to go back into the dark town. As he wandered around, he noticed how the dim lights mimicked stars, and all those stars led him down a straight path towards their place. Moths were around the lights like in his dream, in fact the alley looked eerily similar. Law forced himself not to think too hard on that, after all was he even thinking? He was walking over to some stranger’s studio in the middle of the night to ask questions, none of it made sense. It was late, they wouldn’t be awake. Before Law could even knock on the door, the door opened and Law was met by their piercing eyes.

“You’re back,” They breathed out, their voice was smooth and rich, Law felt his breath hitch in his throat when he was able to see their hand that rested on the door. There was no mistaking that their tattoos were the same as his.

“We need to talk,” Law quickly said, they offered no objections and opened their shop up for Law to walk inside. The warm atmosphere still was present, it contrasted the typically cold submarine he lived on. His eyes scanned them over in their casual night attire and felt his heart stop, he was hyper aware of every hair on his body, the electricity that was in the room. “We have the same tattoos,” Law said as he swallowed his shock away. Don’t stare, he ordered himself, but the tension between the two of them was thick. Their batting eyelashes, their soft smile, Law felt drunk off of them already. He watched as they shifted their weight onto one hip and how they pouted as they thought about what the captain spoke to them about.

“These? I’ve always had them,” They shared as they held up their hands to show off the tattoos that decorated their skin. Next, Law watched as they pulled the collar of their shirt down to show off the top part of their tattoo, it was the same as his and it was a little unnerving to see it so perfectly replicated on their skin. Not only was Law staring at the tattoo, he was staring at their skin, he let out a small breath and did his best to dim those thoughts in his sleep deprived brain.

“How long,” Law asked them.

“Always. Like ever since you got them I suppose,” They shrugged.

“So you know?” Law asked.

“I’m not stupid, I know who you are, Trafalgar Law,” they said as they poked a finger at his built chest. The captain staggered back and frowned down at the person in front of him. “I’ve known it was you for a long time, I was just waiting for you to come and find me.”

“You sound like you’re just some fan,” Law stated with a small scowl on his face, he didn’t like the arrogance they were presenting.

“Don’t test me, Law,” They snarled back as they grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pushed him against the wall. Their hips met his as they got closer to glare at him. They weren’t aware of how close they were and how this proximity was slowly getting to Law’s head. Law decided to toss all sense of reason out, why should he care? His mind was swarming and he needed release desperately.

“Oh yeah?” Law smirked, he looked down at where their bodies were touching and then back into their eyes. And just like he predicted, they gasped and tried to step back from him, but Law wouldn’t allow that. Law grabbed them by their hips and tsked when he saw their face slowly going red. “What happened to all that confidence from earlier, hm?” He purred into their ear, his large, calloused hand groped their rear and he chuckled at the gasp that escaped from their lips.

“You’re such an ass!” They gasped, while they wanted to sound menacing, it didn’t seem to be working, Law was proving to be in control of the situation as of now, but it was clear that they were enjoying Law’s teasing.

“I think you like me like this,” Law teased as his hand slipped under the back of their shirt. His fingers dragged up their spine and he drank in their heated expression. “How long did you fantasize about this?” Law asked as he pulled them back to look them in the eyes with an arrogant smirk on his face.

“I-I don’t -- “

“Lying? Oh my, are you sure you want to be doing that now?” Law asked as his free hand wandered down to their pants. He watched as their face contorted with need and want, but Law knew he had to resist for now no matter how tempting they were to him. He let out a small sigh and reluctantly pulled away from them, he watched as their expression contorted to dismay but he knew he needed to stop, he had to remember the gravity of his situation, their situation.

“Did you think about what you were going to do once you found me?” Law decided to ask.

“It’s obvious, don’t you think? Go on your ship, er - submarine. I want to travel the world and see all the art that exists, and I also want to get to know you more,” They said before their eyes scanned over Law’s built figure, there would for sure be a lot to explore later on for sure.

“What about your shop?” Law asked them. He watched as their lips curled into a small smirk and Law nearly felt his heart stop again.

“I’ll bring it with me, I’ll travel and help other’s find their soulmates with my tattoos. Those who already needed my services here had me, I’m not needed here anymore,” they shared to the captain. There was suddenly silence as the two of them stared into each other’s eyes.

“Then come with me,” Being this impulsive wasn’t usually Law’s forte, but with an opportunity like this, he knew he had to live it to the best of his ability. He was surprised to see how they grabbed his hand without any hesitation and smiled.

“Let me lock up my shop,” They said before their adventure with Law began. All Law could recall was holding their hand, running through the dark streets and stopping here and there to fiercely kiss them in dark alleys on their way to the submarine. He remembered taking them to the submarine, dragging them to his room and the sound of clothes hitting the ground. Lips, hands, warm skin touching one another and soft sounds throughout the rest of the night. When Law woke up in the morning, his head felt empty, he was relaxed for once, he didn’t have another nightmare. That surprised him, were they the answer to his nightmares? The room seemed lighter, he was amazed with himself by how he just followed his heart like that. When he looked over to his side, he saw them sleeping next to him and he found himself softly smiling. He leaned in and kissed their shoulder and watched them stir in their sleep. This wasn’t what he had planned at all for his trip here, but he was pleasantly surprised with himself, affection always sprung up from the most unexpected places, didn’t it? Even if his tattoos didn’t age well and wrinkled into his skin when he was older, he knew that they both would age well by growing with one another, and that was enough for Law.

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castexpectopatronum · 3 years

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Liquid Amber - Part IV [Remus Lupin x Reader Imagine]

Summary: You had been crushing on Remus Lupin for an eternity when you finally decided to ask him out. However, things do not go as planned and you remain wondering just what exactly is going on with this boy.

notes: reupload because the original got deleated

trigger warnings: none

word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

The silvery light of the full moon was shining into the room and the only sounds to be heard were the soft, steady breaths of your dormmates. Your figure, sitting cross-legged on the bed, was throwing a long shadow onto the floor. An open book was lying in your lap, but you didn’t pay any attention to it. Instead, you were staring absent-mindedly out of the window, your mind surprisingly calm despite the knowledge you had now gained.

The full moon was beautiful but cold in the pitch-black night, a distant viewer of this cruel world. Your heart ached at the thought of what Remus must be going through right now, trapped in an eternal cicle of pain and madness he could never escape.

You turned your head and took a brief look at the open page, the detailed drawing and the title stamped in big letters across the top of the page: LYCANTHROPY.

It had taken weeks of research for you to find out about Remus’ affliction, and now that you finally knew, your mind had gone completely blank. You weren’t sure what you had expected but it was certainly not this.

And there were still so many questions left unanswered. Where did he go during the full moon? Where did his friends go? Did Dumbledore know of this? He had to – did that mean he had arranged all of this?

So many questions... And only one person who could answer them.

He was in the Hospital Wing, as you had expected, whiter than the bedsheets he was lying on, and the shadows under his eyes darker than ever before.

He looked like a ghost.

Quietly, you crossed the room until you had reached his bed in the far corner and sat down next to him. He was fast asleep. The thick blanket rose and fell steadily with each of his breaths.

You watched him for a while. Now that you knew what Remus’ problem was, suddenly all these tiny little details that had been so subtle before and seemingly irrelevant now sprang to your eye with obvious meaning. The wrinkles in his face, despite his young age, the pale shadows of scars on his skin, the bandages around his arms, the wounds peaking out from under his shirt... He did look like he had been battling a wolf.

Only now you knew that wasn’t far from the truth.

A part of you expected to feel disgusted at the sight of him. The part of you that knew werewolves were classified as dangereous creatures of the class XXXXX. The part of you that knew there was a Werewolf Capture Unit for a reason. The part of you that knew of all the cruel things Fenrir Greyback had done and was capable of.

But you didn’t. You felt only pity. Pity for the boy who lost himself every month and who would get shut out by every soul if somebody found out.

It was there, as you looked at Remus’ vulnerable self, that you realised what would perhaps be the most important lesson of your life.

None of this was his fault.

You left the Hospital Wing before Remus woke up. It wasn’t the right place to tell him.

For the next few days you carried on as though nothing had changed, but you kept watching Remus from afar, watched as he regained his strength and spirit. And yet you delayed the inevitable confrontation. Every time you saw him, you made up a new excuse – not now, he’s with his friends, not now, I’m meeting up with Mary a few minutes, not now, he is looking so happy – when in reality, you were simply afraid. Afraid of telling him, afraid of his reaction. Afraid of how things would change.

Until one day.

It was in Defence Against the Dark Arts class; Peter had caught the flu, leaving him sick in the Hospital Wing and Remus without a sitting partner. You saw the opportunity and – to your own surprise – seized it.

Muttering a quick excuse to your friend, you swiftly slid onto the empty seat next to Remus. He lifted his head, startled, and gave you a confused look.

In a split second you realised you must be looking extremely desperate and needy to him, but you quickly put on a bright smile before you could drown in your own embarrassement. After all, the reason you were sitting there was not because you were desperate and needy. This was about Remus.

“You won’t mind if I sit here, right?” you asked him, still smiling.

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off before he could.

“Great!” You placed your book, ink and parchment on the table before Remus got the chance to protest.

As the professor at the front began his speech about nonverbal spells, he turned away from you, and the class quickly settled down and fell quiet.

All but you.

You saw the professor talking. Saw his mouth moving, his hands gesturing... But you didn’t hear a single word he said. Not with Remus sitting right next to you, not with the tension growing between the two of you. Not with his hand lying only a few inches next to your own.

Far too quickly you had to get up to push the tables aside and as you got to the practical part of today’s lesson, everybody paired up. James and Sirius, Lily and Marlene... Remus and you.

You found a free space in the middle of all the students and turned to face each other, at least a foot between the two of you.

Remus pulled out his wand from under his robes; his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and adjusted his stance. You smiled weakly at him before mirroring his posture, the tip of your wand pointing towards him.

Although the class had been practicing nonverbal spells for a while now, not everybody was yet able to perform them, you among those who couldn’t.

But Remus could. He could do it perfectly.

When your wand flew out of your hand for the third time this day, Remus lowered his own. He looked like he wanted to say something, but several moments passed before he actually did.

“You’re concentrating too hard,” he said quietly.

You furrowed your eyebrows and gave him a confused look. “You’re supposed to concentrate.”

“Yes, but you’re too ... constipated,” Remus said. “Try to relax. Concentrate less on wanting to block me but more on the actual spell.”

Your mouth opened in a voiceless answer, but the words got stuck in your throat. It had been weeks since Remus had talked to you, and you had forgotten how much you adored the sound of his voice.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

He smiled weakly. “Ready?”

You nodded and raised your wand to chest-height. “Ready.”

Remus flicked his wand – and your own flew out of your hand once more. Remus quickly snatched it out the air before it fell to the ground. Your shoulders slumped down.

“It takes a while,” Remus said.

You shrugged and shook your head. “I just can’t concentrate today.”

A line appeared between Remus’ eyebrows. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly as though he was afraid of the answer.

You locked eyes with him, and the words that had been stuck in your throat were now threatening to burst out.

You came to your senses just in time and quickly bit your tongue and nodded. Remus didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t further inquire.

The rest of the lesson was about as successful as the first few minutes and when the bell rang, you were glad to pack your things together.

Remus was throwing his stuff so fast into his bag that he only took a few seconds before he was slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder and turned to leave the room.

But you were prepared and swiftly slid over to block his way. Remus stopped and pressed his lips together, looking straight at the door behind you. Students were impatiently pushing past you, but you didn’t mind them in the slightest. Your attention was soley focussed on Remus.

“Can we talk?” you asked. “It’s important.”

Remus looked rather constipated; his teeth were clenched and his eyes were fixed at a point directly over your head.

“I... uhm... This isn’t really a good time,” he said hoarsley.

“It’s never a good time, Remus,” you said quietly.

Remus didn’t respond.

You bit your lip and turned your head away from him, smiling sadly to yourself. You hadn’t expected a different reaction, but that hadn’t stopped the hope from bubbling up inside of you.

You let out a quiet sigh and looked back at him. “Meet me here tonight at eight o’clock. I would really appreciate it if you came.”

Finally, Remus looked at you. His brown eyes were darker than usual. Not the shade of liquid amber you loved so dearly, but still so beautiful.

But you didn’t linger around to hear the answer he never gave. Instead, you flashed him one last sad smile and turned around, walking out of the classroom without looking back.

#remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #marauders era imagine #marauders imagine #liquid amber #part iv

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mintchocohip · 4 years

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sub!bts as pillow princesses [headcanons]

╺ requested | the ot7 as pillow princesses!

pillow princess ~ somebody who prefers to receive.

╺ note | sub!bts x domme!reader. see each member for any other kinks and warnings.

👑 TAEHYUNG | other kinks: spanking, princess endearment | ↬

Squeezed, cuddled, kissed onto the nearest flat surface, adored from head to toe; breathlessly hoping you’ll slide your hand back around his throat next time your lips move along the crest of his ear—Taehyung needs to feel loved. Happiness compounds until his mind is spinning so hard he can’t reciprocate. He’s too dreamy not to act bratty over complex instructions, but Taehyung can follow simple commands to arch his back, put his arms over his head, or roll over.

Eventually, your generosity emboldens Taehyung. On lazy sun-streaked afternoons spent in bed he curls up against the pillow and whimpers when you tell him to get on top. "Demanding princess,” you sigh out the frustration. Taehyung stops whimpering instantly. Hearing that word dazzles him. Thankfully, you sense how much he likes it. Your typical clicks of “naughty boys only learn from spankings,” become “this spoiled princess needs to be taught a lesson”—and Taehyung finally has a title that makes him blush.

👑 YOONGI | other kinks: mommy kink, biting | ↬

！ warning: body image

There are several positions Yoongi prefers in life. Sitting is comfortable. Laying flat on his back is serene. Yoongi smiles faintly when you tell him you want to do the work. Still, he understands the value of luxurious treatment. It’s exhausting. Yoongi doesn’t slip. He’s your angel, and it’s his duty to be cute for you every day. Pious grooming that unholsters the tweezers, coffee scrubs that make him soft, exercise, a dab of makeup, a hint of your favorite cologne between his pecs, and pretty selfies on-demand are efforts to tempt somebody who already adores him. Nonetheless. Yoongi earns it. He needs to. It embarrasses him to think you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off even if he didn't look like your dream boy.

“I’m amazed,” you smile up at Yoongi, “that my little slut can keep his hands to himself. I look pretty down here, don’t I? You know Mommy likes using her toy without interruption,” a kiss on his cock punctuates the admiration, “smart boy.” Yoongi presses his fingertips into his collarbones politely. He doesn’t necessarily enjoy how lazily you suck his cock when he’s forbidden to squirm, stroke your hair, and beg for more. Yoongi does love the praise. He’s just glad his nervous giggles aren’t on the list of bite-worthy transgressions.

👑 JUNGKOOK | other kinks: collaring, pegging | ↬

In public Jungkook kisses your hair and slips his hand into your jeans pocket with an easy confidence. Everything changes when bedroom doors close. During the early, uncollared days of the relationship you wondered if Jungkook was shy—awkward; or just inexperienced. Now, the collar hugging his throat tells Jungkook it’s okay to shut out every confused instinct. He’s yours. That’s all he needs to be.

Jungkook lurks in lifestyle group chats. He never thought much about his obsession with pegging before reading grievances about entitled subs neglecting the person behind their favorite toys made him put down his phone, stare at the wall, and question everything. He struggles to talk about it. “When I want something I take it,” you comfort Jungkook by digging a fist into his hair after he stutters through another reminder that he’ll do something different if you prefer, “and I want this.” Jungkook smiles and chokes on a faint sound of understanding. He’s breathing into the mattress and the strap buried in his ass, but he needed to check before he lets go completely.

👑 HOSEOK | other kinks: objectification, marathon sex, toys | ↬

Cleaning your home, shopping for you, and wearing more of the outfits you like are ways to please you that Hoseok understands. Sacrificing his naked body is equally sensible. He knows he has a handsome face, lithe curves, and a generous cock to provide. Calling this an act of service for the moments when you need to burn off frustration or relieve excess hyper joy helps him curtail the embarrassing reality that he gets off on being used. How you exploit this passivity isn’t too important. You make Hoseok feel good by enjoying him however you need.

"My chewy-oowie gingerbread cookie,” the affliction of Hoseok’s post-orgasm uselessness keeps you by his side after the silence clears from his ears and his fucked-out world of blurry darkness becomes light, “why are you so sweet? So soft,” you trace circles on his tummy, “very squishable.” Hydration, 3 A.M. homemade pancakes with steaming hot coffee, massage, and baby-talk fill the long, long gaps when Hoseok’s senses are returning. Spoiling such a good boy with the Hitachi and your hand feels correct to you. Whether or not he feels spoiled after his orgasms have turned dry and birds are singing outside doesn’t negate that you’re doing this is out of love.

👑 JIMIN | other kinks: bondage, gags | ↬

！ warning: topdrop

Jimin knows exactly what he needs. If it feels like you spend more time sitting on the living room floor talking to your boyfriend about sex than actually fucking him—you aren’t wrong. If he’s going to trust you to tie him up and make him feel good, though, Jimin needs you to understand everything. Finding that balance between your fantasies, his fantasies, and folding them together is the confidence that allows him to surrender. When you're sitting at your desk tomorrow evening trying to get some work done while Jimin’s crawling all over you and kissing your neck for attention—all you need to do is remember his vivid confessions, roll up your sleeves, and let intuition fill in the blanks.

Flow state settles into quiet numbness while Jimin cozies up to your side and nestles like a kitten. Feeling a little empty when you've given so much is inevitable. “I’m glad I have you,” Jimin sounds extra sweet after ribbons of used bondage tape are kicked off the bed and his gagged voice has reappeared in a crystalline sigh, “you’re amazing. You make me feel… transcendent. Tell me how it felt for you. Please.” You sip the coconut water Jimin just offered you, sigh, and think. You dedicated every ounce of energy in the air to showing Jimin exactly how you feel. Loving him is instinct. This is reflection—and Jimin is an amazing listener.

👑 NAMJOON | other kinks: general roughness, edging, somnophilia | ↬

All Namjoon can give you is instant surrender. Attempts to pretend he won’t tremble the moment you put a little pressure on him are endearingly futile. There are simple things that dig under his skin. Having his wrists pinned is nice. Mostly, Namjoon is just flattered that, apparently, you really like it when he turns his head to the side and closes his eyes like that’ll protect him. You’re bullying him with pleasure, of course. Namjoon is still learning lessons in denial. Until he masters that art, you can tease him with unpredictable ebbs of gentle touch and say evil things to unlock the cute helplessness that only motivates you to handle him rougher.

“Why are you leaving?” Namjoon’s stomach sinks when he wakes up to feel you slide off the bed. “You fell asleep. It’s okay to prioritize sleep.” Weekly edging sessions can stretch for hours. Tonight, you were only touching him for a few seconds before Namjoon’s sleep-deprived brain convinced him it was safe to relax. “Sorry. I don’t want you to feel insulted.” “I’m not insulted. Would you be insulted if I didn’t stop after you fell asleep?” “No.” A few clothed, fully awake talks make it clear. You can smack his thighs to keep him awake during the pre-determined time he gives to you. On nights when he’s swimming through pleasant dreams while you’re needy and bored because he fell asleep before you there’s no reason to wander out of bed and watch porn on the couch. You’ll try your best not to wake him up. Namjoon is more than happy to be available 24/7.

👑 SEOKJIN | other kinks: toys, lingerie, elements of cfnm | ↬

Before you met Seokjin dumping a pile of expensive silicone and cheap clothespins on a partner who barely reacted was a recipe for disappointment. Seokjin appreciates novelty. He won’t complain if you want to experiment on his body for hours. Laser-focus in your gaze tracking every audible shiver that starts at his eyebrows and ends in his curling toes makes him want to hide inside himself; yet, he can’t truly feel shy when he only feels grateful to entertain you.

“Couples should match.” Seokjin states it with a twinge of irony. Wearing matching shoes in public gives him butterflies. Your suggestion of matching lingerie underneath sweatshirts and jeans gives him so many butterflies it hurts. Being the center of attention isn’t painless. Following protocol after you arrive home from a date doesn’t make it easier. Undressing while his girlfriend watches and waits fully-clothed makes his ears burn. When he’s finally down to bare necessities the kisses of crimson lipstick you cross up his skin mapping your favorite places around his pantyline and skimming close to the trim of the bralette disappear in red-on-red. His whole body is glowing hot. If he defended his pride by undressing you and kissing you back his hand might be less shaky when you hold it. Telling Seokjin to lay down on the floor and focus on nothing more than the beautiful view while you undress to do your work is absolution. He did enough. Right now, he just needs to relax.

#sub!bts #domme!reader #member x reader #ot7 post #sub!taehyung #sub!yoongi #sub!jungkook #sub!hoseok #sub!jimin #sub!namjoon #sub!seokjin #mch #headcanon

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calligraphist-artemisia · 3 years

Text

Scattered Blue (Part 1)

Written for the Kidge Spring Event!

Prompt 3: Forget-me-nots | True Love, Memories, Remembrance

Summary: Alternate Universe. From the moment the first blue petal passed her lips, Pidge knew what was happening to her.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Part One: Pidge

The small blue petal haunted her from the time she woke up to the time she laid her head down to go back to sleep. There was a part of her that desperately wanted to ignore it and what it meant, hoping it would go away if she just wished hard enough for it.

But as with all things in life, wishing did nothing without her also taking action.

Pidge covered her mouth as she coughed hard, feeling something slide up through her throat until it splattered out into her hand. She caught a glimpse of blue as she shoved that hand into her pocket to hide the evidence.

“Is everything okay?” Hunk asked in concern. He and Lance sat across from her at the cafe table they'd snagged for their weekly lunch.

“Everything's great!” she lied with a smile. “How was your flight, Lance? You transported some heavy cargo to the east coast base, right?”

Lance shrugged. “It was just a normal, boring flight. No issues.”

“Which is a good thing,” Hunk said, his tone long-suffering.

Lance agreed with a grumble that spoke strongly of his true feelings. He'd always dreamed of being more than a “simple” cargo pilot, no matter how often Pidge and Hunk tried to remind him that he was the backbone of the Garrison and served a pivotal role in keeping everything running smoothly.

“What about you?” Hunk asked Pidge. “You and Keith have been testing the new jets. That must be fun.”

Pidge's heart fluttered at the mention of Keith's name and she swallowed to try and stop the cough that threatened to overtake her. “Um, y-yeah. Yeah, it's been a ton of fun.”

Hunk and Lance exchanged alarmed looks at her unusually lackluster response and Pidge wanted to swear, but instead, she reached for her water and took several swallows until her throat was clear.

“Keith giving you problems? I could kick his butt for you,” Lance volunteered.

“We're fine, so please don't get yourself suspended trying to fight him,” Pidge said with a roll of her eyes. She set down her drink. “Our test flight went great! We're just waiting for the technical report to come back before we can go up again and there were a few minor tweaks the ground crew wanted to make to improve how responsive the controls are. Shiro's been coaching us through new drills while we wait.”

“Ugh, you're so lucky. You get Shiro as a mentor and you get to test fly the new jets. Can we trade lives for one day?” Lance asked.

“That means you'd have to work with Keith,” Pidge reminded him.

“Good point. I'd much rather trade with Keith and have you as my partner,” Lance said, sitting back in his chair as the waitress arrived with their meals.

Pidge rolled her eyes as he went about his usual routine of flirting with their waitress. She briefly considered apologizing on his behalf but figured it would only encourage him to keep going. At least he wasn't making a complete fool of himself and thus, by extension, of her and Hunk as well.

They didn't do much talking as they enjoyed their food and it was only as they got down to the last few bites and were contemplating dessert that Pidge asked Hunk how he was doing in the engineering department. His eyes lit up as he began describing their experiments with a new lightspeed engine that they hoped would be capable of drastically reducing the amount of time it took to get to the farthest planets in their solar system.

“Pretty soon you and Keith will be preparing to fly one of these! Well, uh, if everything goes the way we hope,” Hunk said, rapidly backpedaling in an attempt to curb his own enthusiasm.

“That sounds incredible, Hunk! You'll have to keep me updated,” Pidge said.

Hunk grinned back at her. “I will.”

In the end, they decided against ordering dessert at the cafe and instead walked a few blocks down to Lance's favorite gelato place where they each got a scoop in a little paper cup so they could walk and eat at the same time.

Every now and then, Pidge had to turn away and cough, though thankfully she didn't end up with any fresh petals. For the rest of the night, she didn't find a single speck of blue when she pulled her hand away and she went to bed with a smile on her face and no worry lingering in her mind.

She danced around her room with a spring in her step when morning came, taking a little extra time on her hair and putting a little bit of color on her eyelids, which she normally saved for special occasions. By some miracle, she didn't drip any of her breakfast onto her uniform and was able to leave the house soon after by catching a ride with her brother, who was also on his way to the Galaxy Garrison.

They split up after he parked in the Garrison's garage, with Matt heading over to the labs where they were analyzing new plugs taken from Saturn's moon, Enceladus, while Pidge went to the gym to meet up with her flight partner and get started on their training for the day.

Keith was already there warming up when she arrived. His black hair was tied back out of his face and he had swapped out of the heavy uniform in favor of a pair of gray shorts and a black tank top.

Pidge caught his attention with a wave before gesturing towards the locker room, silently indicating that she was going to get changed and would be out soon. Once she was dressed in her own gray shorts and Garrison-provided orange shirt she jogged out to Keith, dodging around the others who were taking advantage of the open gym.

“Hey, did you get the itinerary Shiro sent?” Keith asked the moment she was close enough to be heard.

Pidge had to take a moment to think about it. She's woken up to two messages from Shiro that morning – one was a note regarding a slight change in their schedule and the other was a list of what they'd be covering that week. She assumed he was talking about the week-long one. “I glanced it over. It looks like it's mostly what we do every week.”

“Yeah, except for Friday. Do you think I can convince Shiro to give me a pass to skip out on the annual health screening after what they pulled last year?” Keith asked.

“Doubt it, though I bet he'd go with you if you're really worried about it,” Pidge said as dread began to creep in her chest.

At their last screening, the nurse helping Keith found something “odd” in his blood and ordered him into quarantine for two weeks while they tried to puzzle it out. The Garrison medical team ran test after test, asking Keith all kinds of invasive questions, until Shiro, with the help of Commander Iverson, put an end to it all. Keith was let go, but he then had to suffer through several months of resurgent rumors about his parentage and whether or not his abilities were because he wasn't fully human.

Keith was anti-social and a little awkward, which when coupled with his innate sense of how to pilot and the fact that he out-flew even seasoned pilots on the simulator on his first try, led to a number of rumors that one of his parents weren't human or even that Keith himself was born somewhere far beyond their solar system. It was all nonsense, of course.

Pidge had her own reasons for being worried about the screening. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would find out about her affliction.

Hanahaki.

Just putting a name to it made it feel all the more real and terrifying.

“Hey,” Keith said, nudging her gently. “It'll be alright. I'm really not worried about anything happening again this year. They wouldn't dare.”

Pidge did her best to smile and try to reassure him that she'd also be there to stop them if they tried anything, but the weight of what was happening to her dragged her down, threatening to drown her if she didn't wrestle back control of her emotions. Her breath stuttered in her chest, a cough building even as she cleared her throat to try and chase it off. Her eyes watered.

“Pidge?” Keith's tone turned concerned and he placed one hand on her back to keep her steady.

She couldn't hold it back any longer.

Once her coughing started, it was nearly impossible to stop as something thick and slightly scratched traveled up through her throat, threatening to block her breathing, until it finally began to slide out. Pidge gagged and coughed even harder, forcing a long stem and the accompanying blooms out of her mouth and into her hands.

All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat. Dark spots danced across her vision and she swayed, nominally aware of Keith holding her up. Pidge closed her eyes.

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

She woke in the medical wing.

Or at least, she thought that was where she was at first glance, but closer inspection of the wall next to her and the lack of orange décor told her that she was most likely at the Plaht City Memorial Hospital. Pidge stared at the wall for a moment and then slowly, stiffly turned her head to look around the room, which was when she realized Keith was sitting at her bedside and staring at her with a worried expression on his face.

“Wh... what happened?” Pidge groggily asked.

“You passed out,” Keith told her. “Pidge, why didn't you say anything sooner?”

She looked away from him. “Didn't want to. S'fine, Keith. I can handle it.”

“You can handle it? Pidge, this isn't going to go away on its own!” Keith's voice raised to a near shout. He blanched and ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to calm down. “You... Will you at least tell me who it is? I could go get them and... and then everything would be fine, right? Unless... you've already told them?”

Pidge swallowed thickly and glanced to the bedside table, hoping to see a glass of water there, but there was nothing. “It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it matters!”

“They don't feel the same way,” Pidge said, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don't need to ask them in order to know that.”

Keith growled in frustration and stood up. “I don't buy that for a second! Who wouldn't like you?”

“Keith...”

“Just tell me who it is and I'll go talk to them,” he said fiercely. “Or I'll bring them here, whichever works best for you. Please, Pidge, I just want to help. You're my best friend.”

Her chest clenched painfully at those words and Pidge wondered for a moment if she were about to be launched into another coughing fit, but after a moment or two, the pain subsided to mere discomfort, which allowed her to speak again.

Not that she really wanted to speak, since that meant revealing the truth: she was in love with him.

That was the cause of the Hanahaki Disease. Flowers would take root in the lungs, growing until there was no place left for them to go. The body naturally tried to rid itself of the invasion by coughing them up but there was only so long that could keep the disease at bay before it became too much for the body to handle. Sometimes, the person afflicted could “cure” themselves by falling out of love before the disease progressed too far. Otherwise, there were three ways it could end: in the death of the infected, by surgical removal, or by having their love reciprocated.

The last of those was the best-case scenario – the one that was often used in the plots of movies or cheesy romance novels. Having one's love returned would effectively shrink the flowers until they were gone completely.

Surgery was a more recent option, though one that some still chose to reject even if it meant their death. Choosing to surgically remove the flowers meant also removing any feelings they had for that person and often resulted in the complete loss of memory of them as well. No one could pinpoint why it was like that and all attempts to improve on the surgery fell flat.

Those were the options sitting before Pidge.

She didn't want to die. That much was for certain. There was still so much she wanted to see and do in the world, and though it broke her heart to think of needing to do it all without Keith, her partner, steadfast by her side, she wasn't going to give it all up. Besides, there was still the chance that she wouldn't forget about him. She was too stubborn for that. And if she could remember, maybe they could rebuild their friendship as well.

But what if she didn't remember?

Pidge slowly met his eyes.

He was her best friend too; the first person her own age that she'd ever truly gotten along with and felt comfortable around. Life without him wouldn't be nearly as vibrant. She couldn't lose him.

“Don't leave me,” she begged, her chest constricting as she forced the words out. She tried to sit up, her arms trembling from the effort, but gave up as Keith moved to help her. She shook her head and blinked back tears as she caught a whiff of his cologne, which usually inspired warm and fuzzy feelings, but instead dredged up an intense need to cough.

She swallowed, trying to force it away. She needed to talk first.

“Of course I'm not going to leave,” Keith tried to reassure her.

Pidge shook her head. “If... If I forget you, please don't leave me.”

Keith made a confused sound. “Why would you forget...?”

She could hear the exact moment he put the pieces together. The way his voice cracked was a dead giveaway just before his expression crumbled in distress. She reached out and grasped his hand. “It's okay, Keith. I know.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “It's not okay! Pidge, I-”

“You're not allowed to blame yourself,” she cut in. “This isn't your fault. You can't help who you like. Or who you don't like.”

While it wasn't something they'd exclusively talked about, she'd gotten the gist from past conversations that he wasn't someone interested in any kind of romance. He preferred focusing on his career and studies, which was something they'd always had in common right up until she went and fell for him.

She had to look away from him for a moment. “It's just... you're my best friend too and I don't want to forget that, but if I do then I need you to be there and make sure we stick together. I know that's a lot to ask.”

“No, it isn't,” Keith heatedly denied. “Of course I'll stay with you.”

Though Pidge mostly felt relieved by his agreeing to stay with her, there was still that sliver of worry that things could go wrong for them. But what choice did they really have?

She was saved from needing to talk about it more by the arrival of Shiro and her family, who crowded around her bed to ask if she was alright and if there was anything they could do to help. Matt seemed particularly stricken that he hadn't noticed anything wrong when he spent the most time with her, though her mom was a close second.

Once he was sure Pidge would be okay, her dad took charge of the situation and arranged for her surgery to take place that evening by calling on a few favors and using his influence as a Commander at the Galaxy Garrison. It took a little more convincing on Pidge's part, as well as some hefty backup from Shiro, to make an allowance for Keith to stay with her outside of surgery. It all happened so fast that she didn't have time to think about everything else she wanted to say to Keith, just in case she wouldn't get the chance later.

Her family stayed until the last few minutes until Shiro was able to direct them out into the waiting room so she and Keith could have one last moment alone.

And it was in those last few minutes that genuine fear struck Pidge.

She didn't want to forget him.

She didn't want to lose his friendship.

Heavy tears flooded her eyes, dripping down her cheeks without her fully realizing it. She choked back a sob as she looked at Keith. “I-I-...”

She couldn't get the words out.

Keith didn't need her to say anything. He got up so he could sit on the edge of her bed instead, cradling her against him and offering physical comfort. He refused to budge as the anesthesiologist entered and began prepping her arm for the IV which would administer the anesthetic directly into her bloodstream.

“Count backward from one-hundred, dear.”

Pidge tried, but she was still too choked up to speak and had to settle for mouthing it instead. Rather quickly, Keith's soft reassurances faded and she dropped off to sleep.

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

There was an annoying beeping sound that cut through her dreams, dragging Pidge back into the realm of consciousness. It was a strange, rhythmic sound – wholly different from the obnoxious screeching of her alarm clock. She groaned as she opened her eyes and had to squint against the sudden, harsh light that reflected off of crisp white sheets and plain white walls. The only spot of color near her was a single stem of purplish flowers that was placed in a water glass on the bedside table.

“Pidge?” an unfamiliar voice called her name, relief present in their tone.

Her head felt heavy as she turned it to face whoever was speaking to her. She figured it was a nurse or something – she had to be in a hospital of some kind – but instead, she found a young man with dark hair sitting in a chair at her bedside.

“You're awake!” he said, a smile blossoming across his face. “How do you feel?”

“M'okay,” she said thickly. She stared at him for a moment and watched as his smile faded. “Sorry, but who are you?”

He reeled back as though he'd been slapped, his expression dropping into something close to pure anguish. “I...” He paused and took a deep breath. “I'm Keith.”

#voltron #kidge #kidgemas #kidge spring event 2021 #fanfiction #hanahaki disease #there will be a part 2

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fvrxdrm · 3 years

Text

Personal - Songfic (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

Pairing: RE6!Leon x Bisexual!Reader

Warning(s): Angst, death, slight fluff at the end

Song: Personal by Against the Current

*****

Death is the gateway to rebirth, and at someone beloved passes through, we both mourn and celebrate. We fee their loss in our life and community, yet we celebrate all that they achieved in their lifetime for goodness, for love, for the natural world, for humanity.

People think I look crazy Picking fights with the clear blue wall Hard to reach you lately Straining my neck, just to talk You got caught in the hunger And I know it was chemical Didn't plan to go under But I took it personal

Brick by brick, your walls tumbled down, collapsing into a million pieces as you held onto the trembling hand of your best friend. The tears of fire did not matter to you nor did the monsters that slowly took the life of the girl you loved. All that mattered to you was holding onto her until the last breath trickled away from her paling lips for you knew that was the last you'll ever see her.

You held onto each other, tightly clutching the other as quiet sobs spilled from both of your lips. As much as you tried to hold it in, trying to appear stronger just for her, you couldn't. The pain came out like an uproar from your throat in the form of a silent scream. The beads of water falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping.

"Please, don't go," you cried, your grip on her tightening as you pleaded.

Death wasn't kind. You knew that. It snatched where it could, taking people who were far too young, far too good. It didn't pretend to care, it didn't pretend to distinguish. The hooded vale of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. Death had ripped away a part of her, the part of her that was most loved. Now, your friend would sit staring for hours, her face sunken and haunted, her mind cold and empty. This was another proof that the world had gone cold because of greed, war, and death.

"I have to, Y/N," she replied as her free hand cradled your face. Despite her skin feeling cold and dead, you found comfort in her touch and the fact that that would be the last time you would ever feel it against yours sent another wave of pain in your chest; clenching and twisting your heart as if it was a fruit being plucked from a tree.

You pressed your face against her neck at her reply and cried louder than before, letting her sway your body as she tried to comfort both you and her as much as she could.

When you let those blue eyes turn grey I took it personal

She knew her time was limited. She could feel it. She could feel the disease running through her veins and it wouldn't be long before she would turn into one of the things she was fighting against...for the world.

When you took my hero away Death isn't personal

Slowly, her eyes started turning feeble and lamented, her bloodied skin being embellished by purple and none, her body was losing strength...she was dying...and she accepted it. However, before she could lose everything that she had on earth, she wanted to tell you her last words, to tell you to live your happiest in that drunken world. She wanted to tell you to live your life with the person you loved the most.

"Hey, Y/N, listen to me," she said, holding both of your cheeks in her hands while her thumb gently wiped the crystal tears of agony away. She hated seeing you like that but there was no choice. She had to go. "You...take care of each other, okay?"

"What?" You questioned, confused as to what she was talking about.

"You know what I mean. Take care of each other and...don't let each other end up like me. Don't let each other go," she said. She stared at you for a few seconds, taking in the last face she would ever see before she finally leaves the world before pressing her lips against yours. The kiss spoke a million emotions, a volume of passion that transcended the works of the great poets combined. But then you realized, that was your first and last kiss.

"I love you, Y/N."

***

The sun shone brightly above you, funnily contrasting to the emotions you felt as you clutched onto the bouquet of your late friend and lover's favorite flowers. You took your time approaching her gravestone, taking slow steps as you knew that once you saw her name perfectly engraved on the hardened material, you would break down and you wouldn't figure out how to let her go without feeling so much pain and distress.

I scream at your ghost When I miss you the most

But the thing is...you made a silent promise.

I'll lace up my armour and fight for us both Finish what you started and crown your stone

But even so, do you have it in you to let her go?

Maybe I could let go, let go, let go

Maybe.

There was still a maybe.

You knew it was going to be hard, but you have to...for her.

You have to be a hero for her, to gear up and fight for the both of you...you have to.

As your eyes lingered on the slab of stone implanted on the ground with your everything buried beneath it, a man watched you fall apart from afar. He had heard about what happened and he knew about how you felt about the deceased girl. Oh, how he wished it was him you loved but he knew it was impossible so he pretended to throw those feelings aside and be a friend for you.

"Y/N?" He called out your name as he approached you from where his partner was still grieving for her sister. You slowly turned your head around, afraid to show how vulnerable you felt right at that moment but you knew there was no hiding it so you just let it be.

And his heart stopped.

He already expected you to be like that but shit. He still didn't know what to do. All he could think about right at that moment was engulf you in his warmth and tell you that everything was going to be okay even though he knew that was the opposite. But he did it anyway.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close, gently rubbing your arm. Despite the heaviness in your stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of your body pressed against his. You sunk into the warmth of his body, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch made everything warmer somehow, your future within its walls seeming a little less bleak.

But that didn't mean it stopped you from sniveling.

He held you tighter as soon as he heard you sniffle, seemingly puzzled as to what he was supposed to do next to comfort you a little bit more.

As you were crying all your torment and affliction out from losing someone so important to you, you couldn't but think about how lucky you were to have somebody like Leon.

Yes, Leon.

The man who guided you through your journey in that greedy world. The man who fought by your side. The man who...who you also loved the most.

You couldn't help it. You couldn't help but admire him. You couldn't help but fall in love with the man who you had grown close with through the years of fighting off the monstrosities that lurked in the face of the earth... And you you sure as hell couldn't help but pull his face to yours and feel those lips of his.

Now, you knew what she meant.

She wanted you to be happy with Leon, to be happy with each other. She wanted you both to not let each other go. She wanted you to love each other. She saw it through your eyes right when you first saw Leon and she did see it through his...and she didn't want you to give that up...so she let you be even if it hurt.

Maybe I could let go, let go, let go

I loved you both, you know. It was hard to choose between the two of you but I know I gotta keep my promise and let you go...maybe.

I promise I'll finish what you started in honor of you, of us. I won't give up on anything, ever.

So, I guess this is goodbye. I'll see you in the afterlife.

Never let go

*****

So, how was this? I kind of rushed this because I got school things to do. I would write this later when I'm not busy but I don't want my inspiration to go away so I wrote this now. Hope you enjoyed this though.

#leonkennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leonxreader #leon kennedy x you #leon+kennedy+fanfic #leon+kennedy+imagine #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfic

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riddledeep · 3 years

Photo

Foop’s Full Character Profile

Slight Riddleverse ‘fic spoilers. Your mileage may vary.

(See also, Hiccup’s full character profile. It’s up next.)

OVERVIEW

Full Name: Anti-Poof Nebula Anti-Cosma-Anti-Fairywinkle

Title(s): Count / Prince / Väika / Heir to the High Count seat / Youngest anti-fairy in the universe (Temporarily) / Poof’s counterpart / The Green Samurai

Preferred Form of Address: Foop (Childhood); Anti-Poof (Adulthood)

Alternate Forms of Address: Nebula / Hiccup / Angel

Born: Summer of the Frozen Planet

Zodiac: Love Breath

Birthday: June 13th, 2008 (Spring Cleaning)

Hometown: Luna’s Landing, High South Region - Raised in the Blue Castle near the Anti-Fairy capital city (When not raised in Abracatraz)

Came Into Adult Wings: 149,720 (Earlier than average)

Age During Frozen Timestream: Mentally 7-12

Age As of “Live For the Moment”: 147,425 (Mentally 13)

Age As of Devil’s Backbone: 163,254 (Mentally 14)

Race: Fae (Unseelie Court)

Species: Anti-Fairy

Ethnicity: Mostly common anti-fairy (Faeumbra fae); ¼ anti-will o’ the wisp (Faeumbra lepidoptera); ⅛ anti-brownie (Faeumbra mundus)

Nationality: Hy-Brasilian (Obtained at birth); recognized as Jakokërian in Twilight Point (Hawthorn Haven)

Patron Bat: Tadarida brasiliensis (Mexican free-tailed bat)

Gender: Foop is genderfluid. For most of his youth he goes by he/him pronouns, but being Angel is his escape from reality and he goes by she/her pronouns at those times. They/them pronouns are also used frequently, especially later in life. Foop will be referred to using he/him pronouns in this profile, but she/her and they/them are still valid. Foop’s alternate personality, Hiccup, is also he/him.

Mindset: Pilot

Counterparts: Poof/Foop (Equal core sync) > Poppy

Core: Searchlight

Core Color: Yellow

Core Trait: Vengeance-seeking

Primary Fairy: Sport-loving hippie celebrity

Fairy Refract: Anime-obsessed pop diva wannabe

Stats:

Power: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Endurance: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Wisdom: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Adaptability: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Charisma: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Openness: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Conscientiousness: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Neuroticism: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Crown Lift: ~7 in_

Fagiggly Color: Blue

Preferred Shapeshifting Form: Scent hound

Signature Tactic: Fairy Backstab - Poofs immediately behind his target and whacks them once with all his strength while their back is turned.

Wand Type: Obsidian

Kept in sheath on right side of body (A second wand is kept on the left side of his body for Hiccup)

Family: Nobility

Creed: Vihaku sõsi milaska pra - “Friends who fight are overtaken quickly by a common enemy.”

Caretaker Spirit: Her Glory Laelaps (The scent hound)

Permanent Residence: Blue Castle, Luna’s Landing; Anti-Fairy World

Lives in the school dorms for much of the year - Rooms with Poof, Sammy Sweetsparkle, and Finley Hammerfall

Also has a cell reserved for him at Abracatraz

Occupation: Heir presumptive; student; high school TA / tutor

BACKGROUND

Self-Perception: Extremely intelligent mind trapped in a body much too young and pathetic. An evil genius only playing nice and biding his time for now. They’ll see. They’ll all see.

Alignment: Chaotic Evil -> Lawful Evil

MBTI: INTP

Deadly Sin: Envy

Heavenly Virtue: Diligence

Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Reinforcers: Groveling, praise, whimpers of fear

Personality: Foop grew up in Anti-Cosmo’s shadow, constantly being compared to his father while struggling to assert himself as anything but. Anti-Cosmo is a social man who doesn’t feel complete without someone to bounce his thoughts off while introverted Foop sees collaboration as frustration and assistance as an insult. Where Anti-Cosmo is impatient and quick to throw half-formed plans into action, Foop is grounded and rarely acts without finalizing his calculations. He’s easily frustrated when real life deviates from his careful outline. While not prone to throwing fits in public, he’s stubbornly petty and releases his feelings by devising cruel revenge plans. His paranoia often keeps him from putting these plans into action, especially when he’s older and feels judged by all of Fae society, but it helps him blow of steam without hurting anyone or damaging anything.

Work is Foop’s passion. He loves taking initiative with his projects, doing his own thing, and talking endlessly about what he enjoys to someone who follows along- even if that means spending hours tutoring someone he’s not too fond of. He loathes being yanked away from his passions and is hardly interested in Anti-Fairy traditions and social etiquette, which he considers to be a bunch of useless, stuffy niceties. While Anti-Cosmo adapted to that proper world of charm and dignity because it was expected of him, Foop rarely sees value in keeping quiet about activities he dislikes. He struggles to articulate his feelings and is extremely self-conscious about sharing his deepest thoughts, but you’ll always know when he’s annoyed.

Aside from the struggle to form emotional connections (and lack of emotional stability in general), Foop’s main folly as a leader is his analysis paralysis. He’s much more of a perfectionist than either of his parents and often gets too bogged down in details to act until too late, then loses his patience and blames others when things don’t go his way. For Foop, the worst-case scenario is always being caught and punished. Most Anti-Fairies accept prison time as a necessary cross they have to bear, but Foop finds jail absolutely humiliating (and anxiety-inducing) and will do all he can to avoid it. Usually that means bailing on a plan halfway through and taking off for the hills, then lying low for a few decades with his nerves permanently on end. A far cry from Anti-Cosmo who treats jail time as a vacation free from worry until being cooped up makes him restless. Foop would rather improve his job resume than his criminal record, at least for now. He wants to be well known in the history books, but wants it to be for an impressive reason.

Though he may be mature for his age, Foop is still young and dealing with fluctuating hormones, political expectations, and school drama on top of his actual classwork. He exhausts himself very easily, yet continues to push himself further and further because his self-worth is tied to his achievements. Genius is everything. Failure is weakness. Struggles are shame. No matter what the media says about him, his harshest critic will always be himself. His emotions are complicated and fragile, but he’s far too nervous to let anyone close enough to truly understand what he’s thinking. Even his therapist and romantic partners are constantly surprised by what he does one day compared to the next. Anti-Wanda is his sole confidant and he tells her everything. Foop doesn’t show it publicly, but at his core he’s an absolute mama’s boy; Anti-Wanda isn’t bright, but she is loving and offers him the stability his father can’t. She’s his tether. Losing her trust would absolutely shatter him.

Special Note - Dissociative Identity Disorder: Officially, Foop and Hiccup (and Angel in Identity Theft) are multiple personalities in the same body, referred to collectively as “the Nebula system.” Foop is considered the original personality, and suffered a lot of trauma in his youth that he can’t quite recall since those memories are blocked. Hiccup is the protector who slips in control when life stress becomes too much for Foop to handle- he holds the trauma memories, but doesn’t like to talk about it with anyone besides his pixie therapist at Wish Fixers. In their younger years, Foop and Hiccup flipped control rapidly. In their older years, they sometimes go for days at a time without the other personality switching back.

In his youth, Foop’s goal was to integrate Hiccup back into himself. He eventually gave up on this and now strives to cooperate with Hiccup, whom he grudgingly considers a twin brother. The members of their immediate family, as well as their roommates at school, acknowledge Hiccup as a separate identity from Foop. Their extended family and most of the media have their doubts.

Hiccup firmly sees himself as his own person. He describes himself as being “stuck in Foop’s body” and frequently makes comments about how “This isn’t what he really looks like.” He suffers from body dysphoria and desperately hopes to master magic well enough to adjust his looks... though Foop is quite happy with their looks staying as they are.

Education: Attended classes at Spellementary School, Frederick Shinesworth Middle School, and Carl Poofypants High School when he wasn’t getting into trouble otherwise.

Spellementary School: _

Middle School: _Did well academically? Poorly? Sports?

High School: _

Further Education: _

Favorite Magic Subject: _

Least Favorite Magic Subject: _

Favorite Non-Magic Subject: _

Least Favorite Non-Magic Subject: _

History: Here we have one of those kids who constantly has too much on his plate and yet never seems to have enough to do. He’s extremely efficient at getting things done (mainly achieved by cutting out his social life) and has a wide range of interests that he prefers to pursue alone. Such interests are further complicated by the fact that since his youth, Anti-Poof has always been afflicted with dissociative identity disorder, and flips regularly between his two personalities: Foop, the bitter and blunt one who harbors a fascination for biology and horticulture, and Hiccup, the gentle and giggly romantic who enjoys cooking and has a blatant streak of savagery.

Yet somehow, they seem to be getting along okay. Their love life is a mess even without including the politics, but since the two personalities have known each other all their lives, they’re used to compromise. One wonders how much longer it will be before their patience snaps._

Notable Likes:

Goals:

Juggle his wants against Hiccup’s.

Unlock the secrets of Fairykind biology.

Take over the High Count seat from his father (even if it’s in the boring traditional way).

Work out politics with the Ghosts and Beasts.

Find a balance between what he wants and what his parents want for him so he doesn’t hate life.

Beliefs:

Favors Daoism over traditional Zodii teachings

Everyone is a moron except for him

Fears:

Vicky

Falling from roost and landing on his head

Spending his life rotting in Abracatraz

His own death

Upsets:

Being directly disagreed with

Getting tossed in prison

Comforts: Kelly Clarkson songs, Skullbeary, pajamas, research articles, retreating into the mindspace and letting Hiccup take the wheel

Indulgences: Black licorice; alone time in his lab; tasty poisonous spiders; sensual back rubs

EXTERNAL

Verbal Notes: Mostly straightforward and lets you know how he generally feels, unless he’s lying. He does a lot of lying. Very guarded with his true emotions and will allow you closer layer by layer, but absolutely shut you off before the last level (unless you’re his beloved mother, and even then it’ll take an hour of conversation to crack him).

Foop is very curious and interested in learning new things; if you can keep telling stories, he’ll keep asking questions. While he doesn’t want you messing up one of his projects with your “collaboration,” he doesn’t mind studying alongside you and will quiz you if you want him to. He lacks tact and has a direct way of speaking, which is very unusual in Anti-Fairy society. His long-windedness and dark humor make friendship a struggle. Overall he’s quite verbose and unsentimental.

Language: Fluent in Snobbish, speaks some Vatajasa, speaks some Milesian, speaks some Gaideliac

Physical Notes: Very thin and not endowed with the muscles even the average Fairy would have, but he works out regularly since he’s on the saucerbee team.

Handedness: Left-handed

Body Language: Usually stiff even around those he’s comfortable with. Movements are softer and less jerky than Anti-Cosmo’s. Keeps his chin up and shoulders back, and often walks or floats with his hands clasped behind his back. Famous for pacing in circles to burn off his frustrations. Those who know him well can usually tell when he’s fronting in the body by his tense, guarded posture (Hiccup tends to be gentle and open).

Hair: Thick black curls that inherited Anti-Wanda’s sleekness rather than Anti-Cosmo’s scruffiness. He has a bald spot in the middle (just behind the two big curls) due to having a scent gland there, like a sugar glider.

Teeth: Has a snaggletooth that pokes over his bottom lip.

Wings: Foop has conversion disorder- He limps slightly on his right side while floating, even though there’s no physical reason for him to do so (Hiccup doesn’t do it). Anti-Fairy pups are born with “imprints” of their parents’ minds on their own, and Foop simply inherited the part of Anti-Cosmo’s brain that limps. Foop hates this detail about his body, but he can’t change his instinct.

Pilot Freckles: _Average dusting on face and throat, light dusting on back of shoulders, heavy dusting on upper arms.

Iris Virus: Inherited

Scars: Scar on neck courtesy of Cavatina

Style: Dresses properly for an Anti-Fairy of his status; strives to be clean and somewhat elegant without straying into tuxedo territory.

Regular Clothing: Black undershirt, black pants, blue sweater vest with purple trim, belt with a skull-shaped buckle, pointy shoes

Casual Clothing: May wear his black shirt or a dark blue one without his sweater vest and without the belt buckle. Usually goes barefoot when in casual clothing.

Nightwear: Often wears purple silk pajamas decorated with little skulls.

Ceremonial Clothing: A yellow leotard designed like a ruffled shirt with gold sequins and a low-cut neck. White cummerbund, white shoes, white bow tie.

Other: He wears a black lab coat while working in his lab. This coat is long and almost always kept open unless someone else points out that he forgot to button it. There are two pockets low on each side with a fifth pocket over his left breast.

Height: 3′6″ (Average for a fae)

Hygiene: _

Morning Schedule: _

Typical Day Schedule: _

Evening Schedule: _

Sleep Schedule: _

PERSONAL

Relationship Status:

Publicly courting Anti-Coriander Anti-Windskimmer; Anti-Marigold Anti-Goldenglow is his secret mistress.

Ideal Relationship: Definitely interested in brains and needs a partner he can banter and scheme with. _.

Sexuality: Sexually attracted to both Seelie and Unseelie Courters; aromantic

Attractiveness: To a degree, Foop is considered attractive in Anti-Fairy society. He’s seen as intelligent, graceful, and clean, which are desirable traits in his culture. However, his patience, tact, and wisdom are lacking, so he loses points in those areas. His temper and pettiness don’t help. Foop is also out of touch with traditional Anti-Fairy culture and tends to rub people the wrong way. He is often judged for choosing to sleep laterally more often than hanging upside-down and criticized for not worshiping in the Zodii temples as often as most Anti-Fairies feel he should. Furthermore, he did not inherit Anti-Cosmo’s large fangs. Kissing is extremely intimate for Anti-Fairies, so they pay a lot of attention to mouths. Foop’s fangs are notably undersized thanks to his will o’ the wisp heritage; some of his peers tease him for “still having his baby fangs.” On top of this, the fact that he has an alternate personality makes many people wary.

Foop is not terribly attractive by Pixie standards for one obvious reason: Pixies value order and he embodies chaos. And also for further obvious reasons: every pixie loathes him after [REDACTED; see Prompt 130, “Final Stand”]. He would not normally be considered attractive in Fairy society either due to his light weight and thin body. Strength is valued more than brains in Fairy culture and he’s lacking in that department. However, his magical strength is indicated by the height his crown floats even if he lacks full control of it. Foop holds high rank in Anti-Fairy society, which contributes to his perceived dominance. Arguably, he’s considered more attractive by the general standards of Fairy culture than by his own, so he has a reputation for being the one anti-fairy his schoolmates would ever consider getting with (Mostly admitted in games like Truth or Dare and Kiss, Marry, Kill- not in polite conversation where such hypotheticals aren’t welcome). He either doesn’t know this or doesn’t care since he has his sights firmly set on Goldie, but Hiccup takes advantage of their good looks from time to time.

That said, Foop is a luz mala: a magical being brought into existence through magical means. His magic is highly unstable and not easily contained; his emotions can radically affect the world around him in ways that unnerve those who utilize wands. Traditionally luz mala have been extremely looked down upon in Fae society, though Poof and Foop themselves have started improving that view thanks to their celebrity statuses. They’re both very open about being luz mala. Poof tries to make luz mala seem less scary while Foop presents himself as more powerful than most, so they’re still at odds with each other, but they’re getting by.

Intimate History: Considers his first sexual experience to be with Anti-Marigold (whom he passed the iris virus to) shortly after he became a legal adult. He considers her his mistress since he is also courting Anti-Coriander, the girl the public expect him to marry and rule alongside someday. Hiccup has gotten around while in control of the body, and Foop has a few scattered memories of those events, but doesn’t consider them to be his own experiences and is uncomfortable when Hiccup’s past partners talk to him as though he’s Hiccup and remembers such things.

For Foop, sex is an absentminded thing. It’s more about scratching the itch his urges fill him with than either emotional bonding or achieving physical pleasure. If he does feel like he’s bonded or enjoyed the experience once it’s over, that’s a bonus but not normally his goal. The way sees it, he has lustful hormones that distract him from his work, so he satisfies them the same way he fills his stomach when it alerts him he’s hungry.

Turn-Ons: While Foop does his fair share of body admiring, he’d never chase after anyone if he wasn’t strongly attracted to their brains. He knows he’s into curves and playing with hair, but with him, foreplay consists mainly of conversation (and bragging). He knows a few physical tricks to excite others, but considers such things predictable and ineffective on himself. Stimulating conversation is the key to his soul, which is why he finds Anti-Marigold more sexually attractive than reserved Anti-Coriander. You... can’t have a short encounter with Foop. He’ll talk your ear off, and if you don’t have the mental stamina to keep up with him, he’ll quickly lose interest.

Kiff-Tie: Not currently tied to a nature spirit, but it’s expected he’ll tie with Winni, the spirit who represents Breath on the Fairy zodiac, when High Count. He is not looking forward to it and plans to avoid it if possible despite literally all of Anti-Fairy society expecting him to be the spirit’s champion in the mortal world.

Honey-Lock Partner: Anti-Marigold Kelsia Anti-Goldenglow

Father: Anti-Cosmo Julius Anti-Cosma (née Anti-Lunifly)

Grandfather: Anti-Robin Anti-Cosma

Grandmother: Anti-Florensa Anti-Lunifly

Uncle: Anti-Robin “Anti-Schnozmo” Anti-Lunifly

Notable Ancestors: Anti-Ky Anti-Braddocki (The first anti-brownie); distantly related to the von Strangle family

Mother: Anti-Wanda Venus Anti-Fairywinkle

Grandfather: Anti-Dusty Anti-Fairywinkle

Grandmother: Anti-Kylia Anti-Swiftspark

Aunt: Anti-Wendy Anti-Fairywinkle

Notable Ancestors: Shylinda Coppertalon (The first High Countess of the Anti-Fairies); Anti-Ilisa Anti-Maddington (The first anti-will o’ the wisp)

Alternate Personality: Anti-Poof “Hiccup” Anti-Cosma-Anti-Fairywinkle

Met in youth

Brother: Anti-Dusty Smoky Anti-Fairywinkle-Anti-Cosma

Met at age 1,007

Girlfriend: Anti-Coriander Cleo Anti-Windskimmer

Met at age 141,266

Mistress: Anti-Marigold Kelsia Anti-Goldenglow

Met in youth

Crush: Goldie Kelsia Goldenglow

Met in youth

Other Important Relationships: _Chloe, Kevin, Caudwell

TRIVIA

The name “Foop” is of Genie origins and translates to “Wolf which runs across the blue moon.” A foop is a magical wolf with a pelt that mirrors the sky, so in “Fairly Odd Fairy Tales,” Foop was quite literally a big bad foop.

Foop is typically associated with plant imagery while Poof is associated with animals.

Like all Anti-Fairy drakes, Foop has a scent gland on his head. He rubs his head against things he considers “his” (such as the door to his lab, his favorite bookshelf, and Anti-Wanda). He doesn’t use it for marking lovers much, although his alternate personality does.

Inherited black hair from his grandparents, but some people speculate he’s illegitimate since both his parents have blue hair; some suspect his true father is Anti-Juandissimo while some suspect his true mother is Anti-Cosmo’s ex-wife, Anti-Saffron. Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda were alone during the pregnancy and birth, after all... It’s a mystery to the public.

Pretty much spent Spellementary School covering Anti-Marigold’s butt, then spent his older school years pulling Poof’s weight. He’s a TA for a reason... He can’t resist correcting answers.

Hates roosting upside-down.

Melts into the sensation of fingers scratching in his fur.

Actually enjoys taking walks; it relaxes him. He’s one of those people who will go out walking late or early in the morning all by himself.

I believe Foop appears in more 130 Prompts than any other character, and rivals H.P. for most appearances total (assuming each Origin of the Pixies chapter is not counted as an individual appearance).

APPEARANCES

Riddleverse Classic Timeline: “No Absolutes” > Identity Theft > “Yellow Flower Number 9” > “Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails” > “Bells On Bats’ Tails” > “Whenever Possible” > “Let’s Speak Vatajasa!” > Hawthorn Haven > Devil’s Backbone

130 Prompts Timeline: “Think Positive” > “Shouldn’t Have Survived” > “Hidden” > “It’s On Now!” > “Not All the Same” > “Lucky” > “Hate Mail” > “Who Am I?” > “Second Chance” > “Naptime” > “Teaming Up” > “Evolution Hopeful” > “This Is a Box” > “Step Back” > “Take a Break” > “Name” > “Final Stand” > “Unwelcome” > “Tools of the Trade” > “Opinion” > “Shadow” > “Live For the Moment” > “Watch and Learn” > “Temptation” > “Mind Your Manners” > “All I Ever Wanted” > “A Family Matter” > “Whisper” > “Forever” > “Revenge” > “Inside > “Trance” > “No Refunds!” > “Piggyback” > “Little Wonders” > “Not Like You” > “Voice” > “Bubbles” > Daddy’s Girl” > “Revenge” > “Can’t” > “Reality Doesn’t Work That Way” > “Reflection”

AU Appearances:

N/A

#RD Foop #RD canon characters #RD character ref #RD profiles #RD AntiFairy stuff

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, theydraggedmein!

For @theydraggedmein. I hope you like this story!

Fic inspired by Melsephant's Monster of the Week Comic, specifically Solidarity and by the freedom of creation from my Secret Santa giftee

Tags: Supernatural is somewhat known, Stiles is a Selkie, Alive Hales, Friends to Lovers, Quickburn, Workplace Setting, Light/Background Angst, Communication

Read On AO3

*****

Selkie Solidarity

Stiles’ alarm doesn’t go off when it’s supposed to and he wakes up about two hours late for work.

Thankfully, he has an understanding boss with even more understanding bosses, so when he calls in, they just tell him to get himself there safely and don’t worry about it.

Stiles hops in and out of the shower so fast his suit doesn’t even have time to dry before he stuffs his clothing into a waterproof bag, chucks his phone and wallet in too, and leaps off his balcony to do a perfect seal dive into the water below.

He makes good time swimming, but nothing changes the fact that he’s late and he and his office mate were supposed to be running expense reports all day today.The final step before the merge negotiations happening next week.Thankfully they got most of it done this past week, but still, Stiles feels bad about slacking when his office mate is such a good sport. Without him there, Derek’s probably gone a little grumpy around the edges, the way he always does whenever Stiles is inevitably late.

Stiles passes a delicatessen and backtracks. He’s already late, so a few minutes more isn’t a huge deal, and Derek does love everything bagels.

Stiles climbs out of the water, ducks behind some brush, and sheds his suit. He tugs on his clothes, checks his phone for messages—none—and grabs a twenty out of his wallet.

Then, bag slung across his back, he troops into the deli and orders three everything bagels, two for Derek and one for him because he hasn’t had breakfast yet.

Then, it’s an exchange of his clothes for his suit, making sure the bag with the bagels is secured in his bag, and then leaping back into the river to finish his commute.

He’s already apologizing when he races into his and Derek’s office.

“Dude, I know I’m so, so late, but, look, I got us bagels!”

He stops short at the sight of Derek, shifted into his full werewolf form, hunched over his computer and poking at his keyboard.

He looks miserable, his snout long and dripping with saliva where his teeth are too big to retract anymore. His claws keep catching on the keys and he stares at them sadly before huffing out a sigh and starting again.

Stiles digs out the bagels and plops the bag onto Derek’s desk. Comically, Derek’s nose twitches. He looks at Stiles with his baleful eyes before gently opening the top of the bag and with far more care than Stiles is used to seeing from Shifted-Derek, he plucks out a bagel and pops it whole into his mouth.

As Derek chews with the power of a ravenous wolf, Stiles glances at the little calendar Derek keeps pinned to his side of the office.

“Oh man,” Stiles remarks, tracing the outline of the day. “Full moon? That’s rough, buddy. I’m sorry.”

Derek shrugs and picks out his second bagel. “s’okay,” he mumbles, spraying saliva and crumbs everywhere. “T’nks for bagels.”

His over large teeth and flopping tongue make his words nearunintelligible and kind of fascinating. Stiles wishes Derek would talk more during his shifts, but he also knows that Derek doesn’t like making messes even though he’s good at cleaning them up, so he tries not to make messes. And talking with his shifted mouth is about the messiest Derek can be. Second only to eating while shifted.

Stiles takes his bagel and sits down to boot up his computer. Derek hasn’t eaten his second bagel, and instead seems to be waiting for Stiles to start eating his. A quick bite confirms this, and Stiles smiles at Derek.

“So, shall we get those expense reports done?”

No argument from Derek, who seems to be trying to savor his second bagel.

Whatever. It’s cute. That’s why Stiles got them for him. He likes doing things like that for Derek, even when he isn’t almost two and a half hours late.

After a few more minutes of Derek struggling to type with his claws, Stiles turns to him. “Should I shift too?” he asks, gently. Derek barely moves his head, but Stiles feels stared at all the same. “I mean, if you’re stuck in your form, wouldn’t it be less awkward for me to be shifted too?”

“Work?”

Stiles shrugs. “I was late today. How productive am I really going to be?”

Derek looks at his keyboard. It isn’t really functional, and he’ll probably just keep tapping at it and then replace it on Monday when he can shift back. “Broken?”

Stiles waves his hands. “They’re flippers, dude. I don’t think they can do that much damage.”

Derek tilts his head while he thinks about it. It’s such a cute pose that Stiles has to physically turn back to his computer and enter his password before he accidentally squees out loud or something equally embarrassing.

“Okay,” Derek finally says. “T’nks.”

“Be right back!” Stiles grabs his bag and skips off to the bathroom where he exchanges his clothes for his suit and then happily bounces back to his and Derek’s shared office.

Derek straightens for a few minutes when Stiles gets back. At first, he thinks it’s because Derek is laughing at him. Stiles isn’t the most graceful in his human form, but in his seal form, he’s simultaneously better and worse at moving. If the office were water, he’d be grand.

Derek huffs a few times before slowly stepping off his chair and motioning Stiles to his chair. And, whoops, yeah, Stiles forgot that he’d have to climb all the way up there.

He gives Derek a hopeful bark and Derek nods. Together, mostly because of Derek’s brute strength, they get Stiles situated in his chair and ready to do as much work as his flippers can manage on his keyboard.

Surprisingly, despite Derek’s general malaise of being a werewolf in the midst of an uncontrolled shift, and Stiles’ selkie solidarity, they get a lot of work done. And surprisingly, Derek just holds half of the second bagel in his mouth for a long time before it disintegrates into mush and he swallows it.

Their boss pokes his head and shoulders in around lunchtime, some request dying on his invisible lips.

Stiles gives him a happy bark, and Derek follows it up with a less-pained wuff than he’s been giving lately.

“I just wanted to see how those reports were coming along, but I guess never mind.” Kindly, he adds, “If you ever need time off something like this, just let us know. We have a secondary set of time off for supernatural afflictions.”

Derek growls lowly before nodding. He stands up, hands his ruined keyboard to their boss, and walks out.

Stiles waits a few seconds to see if Derek will come back. It’s insulting to call their supernatural abilities afflictions, but Stiles can kind of see where their boss gets it from. He is invisible after all. There’s so many things he can’t do anymore because he inherently gets called a creep. In fact, he has to wear clothes on top of his invisible clothes constantly or risk being called out for being naked.

To him, being invisible is an affliction. To Derek, being a werewolf is like being human: natural.

Same with Stiles and his selkie side. He doesn’t even think of it as an affliction.

Derek doesn’t return, and Stiles decides that he might as well shift back and actually get something done, so he bounces off to the bathroom, tucks his suit away, and walks back to his office.

He finds Derek’s sister Laura standing by his desk. She has a note in hand and a tray of coffees. Stiles doesn’t think he was gone that long.

“Derek wanted to apologize for running off,” Laura says, thrusting the coffee tray at Stiles. One cup is already missing.

She hands him the note after he selects a mocha cappuccino. Then she installs a new keyboard at Derek’s computer and heads out.

Stiles opens the note. It’s a shaky apology written by Derek. Stiles flips it over and, avoiding the tears made from Derek’s claws, writes an acceptance of the apology and leaves it on the brand new keyboard. He’s not insulted by Derek needing time off. This full moon seems rougher than normal.

If Stiles really thinks about it, Derek’s tolerance and control during the full moons has been getting less for a long time. Almost six months. Something to think about.

He decides that he’ll bake Derek some of his prize winning double chocolate chip cookies when he sees him again.

It’s Friday today, so that means that Stiles won’t see him until Monday, and they have a meeting, so maybe he should do the cookies thing on Tuesday?

For now, he focuses on his computer and manages to complete all the expense reports they had planned.

5:00 rolls around and Stiles all but dances into the bathroom, switches into his suit, slides his bag on, and bounces out into the river for his commute home.

~ * ~

All weekend, Stiles does his normal routine, which involves staying up way too late and playing online games with friends halfway across the world. Then, he takes a quick, two hour break to make his apology-accepted-sorry-your-full-moons-suck cookies, because why not?, and clean his apartment.

Monday, he makes sure he has everything, including an actual suit for the meeting with their new clients, the ones he and Derek were doing expense reports for, slides into his suit, and speeds off to work.

He barely gets to greet Derek with the tin of cookies before they both have to change into their suits for the meeting. Stiles slings his bag on his back. He doesn’t like leaving it out of sight for too long, his mom and dad impressing upon him at a young age that selkies can’t trust people with their suits when they’re not in them. In fact, Stiles has a cousin who only just got away from her abusive partner that kept her suit locked away the whole time they were married.

Their boss is standing at the door to the conference room. He is made up to look as if he’s got an actual face for once. He’s wearing gloves and is dressed fully in the required suit. It’s a little uncanny valley, but has the desired effect of making all of him visible.

“Sorry, Stiles, you need to leave your bag somewhere secure.”

“What? Why?”

One of Derek’s ears twitches as he squeezes past them and sits next to Laura, who in addition to being Derek’s sister, is the head of their IT department.

“The clients. They’re human. We’re presenting as human today. I’m sorry, but you have to leave your bag off for this meeting.”

Stiles wants to bite out something about discrimination, but he knows how hard the supernatural world has worked for this. Their firm is the first human-supernatural merger, and if it goes well, there will be others.

“Isn’t this the meeting we reveal ourselves?” Stiles asks. That was the rumor around the water cooler a few weeks back.

“No.” His boss shakes his head. “We merge. Business goes on as usual. Another, more visible, supernatural business merges with another human business. The humans are told at that merger, and if there are any uprisings, we represent cases of discrimination.”

“What if our partners end up being discriminatory against us?” one of the more timid department heads asks. Stiles thinks his name is Boyd. He’s a werewolf, like Derek. It’s a good question, and it’s good coming from Boyd. He was rescued from a hunter farm where they bred and-slash-or forced werewolf creation so that they could “find out what makes them tick.”

Thank fuck that had been shut down right quick.

That’s what these mergers are all about: eliminating the humans’ natural instinct of being afraid of or hurting their supernatural counterparts.

“This firm has been heavily vetted. There can be no room for error here,” Stiles’ boss says. “Unfortunately that means that, for the press release, there can be no evidence of supernatural. Stiles, I am so sorry, you have to leave your bag somewhere. You will be compensated for your time without it.”

Stiles scoffs. “You think you can name a price and buy off my anxiety about my suit?” He looks at Derek, who looks murderous, at Laura, frowning, one hand on Derek’s arm, like she’s restraining him, at Boyd, who looks terrified. He sighs. “Fine. I’ll go hide my bag. But,” he adds, vehemently, “only because not doing so would endanger more than myself.”

“Hurry back,” his boss says. “The meeting starts in fifteen minutes.”

Stiles mutters a curse under his breath as he heads back to his and Derek’s office. There’s no place here at work that he feels safe enough to hide his suit, and there’s not enough time to call his dad to guard it for him.

Then he thinks about the file cabinet. It’s kept locked all the time. Paper copies of all the files he and Derek work on. He and Derek have keys, as does their boss. If he locks it in there, it should be safe for the meeting.

And he can check on it at lunch to make sure it’s still safe and sound. Stiles unlocks the top drawer, shoves the bag as deep as it can go, and heads back to the conference room, pausing to sneeze as some scent tickles his nose a little much. He slinks to his seat next to Derek and sits down.

Derek pats his arm, whispering, “I’m sorry,” without moving his lips.

Stiles shakes his head, turns to watch as the merging firm marches in, and the meeting begins.

~ * ~

Four hours later, Stiles heads back to his office under the guise of a quick refresher break.

When he gets to the room, he stares in shock at the destruction he sees there.

His and Derek’s computers have been knocked over, the towers scratched and smashed. Thank goodness for external servers. At least their work won’t be too disrupted while it’s fixed.

He turns to survey the rest of the room and his heart freezes in his chest.The file cabinet is leaning against the wall, all the drawers jimmied open, their contents spilled everywhere. Derek’s meticulous filing system ruined in a few moments.

But most heart-stopping of all is the fact that Stiles’ bag is gone.

It’s not anywhere in the mess and it isn’t still in the drawer he left it in.

Stiles runs around, digging frantically, in case he missed it. He also sneezes again and again, and finally pauses. He’s been gone too long. He’ll be missed at lunch, which they’re having catered in the conference room.

No. This is too important. Stiles isn’t hungry. He feels rather sick and on the verge of a panic attack.

He knows his nose is good, better than a human’s, but he knows better noses. He remembers when he first met Derek, and Derek was an awkward co-worker who claimed that Stiles stunk of the river even though, at that time, Stiles only went swimming on the weekend and used regular transport like his less aquatically-inclined counterparts.

Stiles hurries back to the conference room, grabs Derek’s arm, and drags him out, muttering something about a number or some shit.

Derek reverses their grip, holding onto Stiles as he leads him back to their office. Derek stares at the mess.

“What happened?” He doesn’t sound like he’s asking Stiles, so Stiles doesn’t bother to answer. He just goes to the file cabinet and points at the drawer where he’d stashed his bag.

Derek nods sharply, inhales deeply, and then points back out to the hallway. Stiles follows him as he goes through the building until they’re out on the street.

Lunch is probably being served now, but Stiles can’t find it in himself to worry about it. He and Derek already presented their expense reports. They’re clear for the rest of the day. It’s just that the firm wanted representation from all departments to be there for the whole of the negotiations. And lunch is also negotiations for some reason.

“Here,” Derek says suddenly, jerking Stiles into a coffee shop down the block from their building.

There’s a few customers in line and they all jump, muttering angrily as Derek budges.

He stops in front of the barista, a woman in her twenties, with long brown hair pulled into a requisite ponytail, green visor “protecting” her eyes.

“Sir, the line starts back there,” she says, bored.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Derek asks.

Stiles frowns at him. Girlfriend? He leans closer, catches a whiff of something spicy on her. It tickles his nose, and he stifles a sneeze into Derek’s back. Oh hell. They’re both still wearing their suits. It makes a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat. Derek pats at him clumsily but comfortingly.

The barista blinks. “My girlfriend is none of your business,” she snaps.

“She is when she steals something from my boyfriend,” Derek snaps back.

Stiles chokes on his spit. Boyfriend?News to him.

Derek gives him a quick, apologetic glance, before turning back to glare at the barista.

She caves rather quickly then. “Sorry. She’s in the back. What did she take?”

“A green bag, waterproof. Everything that was in it had better be in it when you get it back. My boyfriend will confirm.”

“I’m sorry about this. I thought she’d gotten over it.”

Derek just points to the back.

Behind him, the line takes a collective step back, some of the people mutter about being late, but for the most part, they all look too intrigued to leave. Shame.Stiles really doesn’t want to reveal to a whole roomful of people that he’s a selkie.

Derek grips his elbow and steers him to the far side of the counter so that they’re no longer in the line’s way. Another barista steps up and things start flowing again. No one leaves even after they get their orders. Crap. It’s like daytime TV, so hilariously bad as to be completely riveting. Stiles could do without the starring role though.

The first barista comes back, leading a pinkish-tinged woman with bright pink hair and cat ears headband by the hand.Stiles sneezes as soon as he catches her scent, the same spicy one on the barista, and definitely the same one in his and Derek’s office.

The pink woman has Stiles’ bag clutched tightly in one hand, the other is still being held by the barista.

“She’s sorry about taking your bag,” the barista says. She squeezes her girlfriend’s hand, and wordlessly, she offers Stiles his bag. Stiles grabs it, digging through to see that everything he’d left in there is still in there, including his suit. He strokes it before hugging the bag to his chest.

The pink woman nods at him. “Soft,” she says, voice low, sweet.

“I’m so sorry about that,” the barista says. “It’s just, she’s a pixie, y’know? She has compulsions.”

“Soft,” the woman says again.

“Yes,” Derek agrees. “It is soft. But it’s his.” He draws his eyebrows down, but it’s not his mad face. Stiles has become quite the expert on Derek’s faces after a year as office mates.

He knows they’re friends now because Derek doesn’t make his I-hate-you-and-want-to-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teethface anymore, but he hadn’t known Derek thought they were dating. They haven’t gone on any dates. It’s an oversight Stiles will have to correct, and soon.Unless, a stray thought mocks, Derek only said that to get the bag back quicker. Stiles’ stomach drops. They’re still friends, so whatever direction Derek decides to go in after today, Stiles will respect his choice, even if it doesn’t include him.

“Soft,” the pixie repeats, making a gimme motion with her free hand.

“I’m so sorry,” the barista says again. “I used to have a coat like that, but it got lost.”

Derek’s brow furrows. “Where did it ‘get lost’?” he asks. Stiles leans closer. Derek has his I’m-going-to-solve-this-even-if-it-means-an-international-incident face on. Stiles has seen that face exactly once: when he ousted a hunter cell that was operating near their firm. Derek’s mother, high level ambassador in the supernatural-human merges, had come down swiftly and kept other hunter groups from retaliating. Stiles surreptitiously slides out his phone and picks out Laura’s number. He doesn’t dial quite yet though.

Derek’s faces, while always a clear sign of what Derek is going to do, are not always indicative of the trouble they may or may not cause. Mostly, it depends on the other parties’ reaction to 200 pounds of pissed off werewolf suddenly appearing in their faces.

The barista makes a face. “My ex-boyfriend stole it one night. And I couldn’t exactly tell the cops what it was, so he’s still got it. I’m unharmed for the most part. Sometimes,though, I can feel him stroking it.”

“That’s good that he hasn’t hurt you through it,” Stiles says. He hasn’t really gotten into dating specifically because of the horror stories from his mom and dad. From the look on Derek’s face, this ex-boyfriend is going to be dead when they meet him.

“What’s his name? Where does he live?”

Derek is speaking lowly, but even the pixie draws back, a look of fear on her face.

Stiles pats at Derek’s arm. “The full moon was just yesterday,” he explains. “He’s really good with control, but it might still be affecting him.” He shows the barista his phone. “This is his sister. His whole family will help you get your coat back.”

She covers her mouth, tears already running down her face. The pixie turns to her and starts swiping at them, making little distressed noises.

“No, no. they’re happy tears. They’re going to help us get my soft back.”

“Soft?” The pixie gives both Stiles and Derek a long, assessing look before nodding fiercely. “Friends.”

They get more information from the barista before she checks her watch, flinches, and says, “I have to get back to work. Thank you for doing this. Bye.”

Stiles checks his own watch. They’ve used up all their lunch break and if they don’t leave right now, they’ll be late for the other half of their meeting.

Derek seems to realize it too, because he deflates a little. “I’ll call my mom. She and my uncle can go get her suit back.”

“Coat,” Stiles corrects. “I call mine a suit. She calls hers a coat.”

Derek smiles then. “Remind me that I have to tell you something when all this is over.”

“What?”

Before Stiles can attempt to get it out of him now, Derek starts running, and Stiles has to run to keep up with him. As much as Stiles knows Derek, Derek knows Stiles too. It’s frustrating sometimes, like now, when they’re running half a block back to their firm.

When they get back to the conference room, their boss, looking a little less visible with some of his makeup worn off, ushers them into the room. Derek fakes needing the restroom, promises to be back in two minutes, and runs off. Stiles sits down and pretends to pay attention.

Derek comes back in the promised two minutes, sits next to Stiles, and together they just listen as the finer details of the merge are finalized and suddenly, they’ve doubled in size.

Derek and Laura both get a call as soon as the workday ends, and before Stiles can ask what’s up or what Derek needs to tell him, they’re both shifted and gone.

Stiles sighs. There’s always tomorrow.

He changes into his suit, glad to have it back, and swims home.

~ * ~

Tuesday dawns bright and early without sun and with a dripping wet werewolf sitting on the end of Stiles’ bed.

Stiles screams and throws the first thing he can grab—his alarm clock—at the werewolf, and Derek tumbles to the floor with a muted oof.

Stiles flicks on the light and points at Derek. “Explain,” he says. “Why did you try to give me a heart attack in the middle of the night?”

Derek rolls his shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. “’snot the middle of the night,” he mutters, pettily.

Stiles points at his clock. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I had to use my timepiece as an improvised weapon.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go. I didn’t mean to—” Derek spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. Stiles can’t read it. He’d gotten so good at reading Derek’s facial expressions and tones but he forgot to learn his body language as well.Mostly because Derek doesn’t use body language. He sits still and doesn’t give clues. Stiles takes a metaphoric step back, studies Derek for a long, solemn moment, and then offers his hand to pull him up on the bed.

“Why are you wet?” he asks, more gently.

Derek rolls his shoulders again, like he’s trying to work out a kink, but it’s probably embarrassment that’s pinching his nerves.

“I wanted to update you on the pixie and the selkie,” he says, eyes fixed on his lap. “I only know you smell like the river a lot, so I followed it up.” A flush creeps up his neck, and he ducks his head down more. “I fell in,” he says miserably.

Stiles can’t help the laugh that comes out of him. He slaps his hand over his mouth, but the damage is done. Derek shakes his head once, and moves to get up. Stiles grabs his wrist.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you—well maybe a little. I mean, you’re a werewolf and you fell in the river?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Derek says.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Derek says, and then mumbles the next part too low for even Stiles’ selkie ears to hear.

“What was that?”

Derek repeats himself louder and faster. It’s still just a jumbled mess of syllables that mean nothing to Stiles.

“Couldn’t catch that, dear, repeat again please. And enunciate.”

Derek lifts his head, determination burning in his eyes. “I said,” he speaks slowly, more, Stiles gets the feeling, to get the words out, than through annoyance at having to repeat himself for a third time, “that I fell in because I caught your scent and got distracted.”

Stiles doesn’t know how to respond to that, because, aside from the pretend-to-be-boyfriends to get Stiles’ suit back, Derek has expressed zero interest in Stiles like that. So why would he fall in the river after catching Stiles’ scent?

Stiles decides it’s too early and goes with a less confusing topic of conversation. “You said you wanted to update me on the pixie and the barista?”

Derek nods, grabbing the offered opportunity gratefully. “My mom and uncle found the ex-boyfriend easily. And because werewolves, they were able to locate and secure the coat quickly. Turns out he’s just a regular human obsessed with selkie lore and just wanted to have control over her.”

“Is he in jail?”

Derek shakes his head. “How can we arrest him? Humans aren’t exactly aware of the supernatural yet. My mom is going to keep an eye on him, and my uncle promised to put the fear of Peter into him.”

“‘The fear of Peter’?”Stiles raises an eyebrow. “That’s awfully cocky of your uncle Peter.” He gets a quirked smile in response. Stiles has met Peter once, and that was enough for Stiles to realize that Peter, if he didn’t like you, could make your life miserable.

Thankfully, Peter seemed to like Stiles, and he hasn’t been subjected to more of his particular brand of Peter-ness.

“Anyway,” Derek continues, “I wanted to tell you that Ari got her coat back, and Livie is sorry for taking yours.”

“I get it. She probably thought it was Ari’s.”

“Yeah, and one more thing: I think I love you.”

Stiles blinks at the confession. Blood rushes in his ears and it’s a little difficult to breathe.

“What?” he manages to whisper.

Derek makes eye contact with the wall past Stiles’ head. Choked, he says, “I think I’m in love with you. It’s why my full moons have been getting worse. My anchor is shifting. It’s you.”

“What?” Stiles repeats. Derek’s head drops, his shoulders droop. Confused, Stiles just stares at him.

“My anchor isn’t what it was before. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. It’s too much. I’m sorry.”

He stands up almost too fast for Stiles to grab him again. “No!”

Derek looks at where Stiles is gripping his wrist. “No?” he asks, and it sounds so, so hopeful.

“No,” Stiles says, settling back, tugging Derek gently until he’s back on the bed. “Don’t go. Tell me more about your anchor. Tell me more about you. ‘Cause, Derek, you’re not the only one who thinks they’re in love.”

Derek’s eyes go to Stiles’ chest—his heartbeat. “I love you,” Stiles says, and the skip in his heartbeat isn’t from a lie. It’s because he’s realizing the truth. He may have been able to reason with himself at the coffee shop yesterday, and even explain away all the little anomalies of being attracted to his officemate as being friends, but he knows with certainty, he wants to be actual boyfriends with Derek.

He wants Derek here, in his space, wants to help him get his wolf back in control during the full moons, wants to get him bagels every morning, wants, wants, wants, so steady, it’s like his heartbeat.

And when Derek leans in, asks, “May I?” so gently and carefully before kissing Stiles’ like he’s the most precious thing in the world, Stiles knows, Derek wants too.

Warmth surges in his veins and he deepens the kiss, holding it like a breath, kissing like their lives depend on it, and trying to climb into the space in Derek’s heart that is already calling his name.

~ End ~

#theydraggedmein #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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