#i've found another child to adopt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pasukiyo · 1 year

Note

Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises.

“Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters.

‘To my dearest son,

Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling.

With all my love, your mother.’

Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they.

It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden.

She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say.

Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood.

But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.”

Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act.

When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried.

And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else.

But Tom… Tom Riddle was different.

Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool.

She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head.

And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was.

In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would.

So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year.

She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin.

At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not.

Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped.

And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more.

But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle.

“Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached.

She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing.

Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll.

“My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably.

Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling.

“Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord.

“Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious.

Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others.

All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family.

Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same.

But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her?

Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of.

“So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating.

The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view.

The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave.

“Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight.

Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

“Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his.

“Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess… I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear.

Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

“—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him.

“What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether.

“He’s not my brother.”

The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour.

But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them.

“Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed.

Why was Tom coming over here?

“Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

“It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

“Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it.

It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace.

Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone.

Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood.

It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away.

He wanted her.

“Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level.

“Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him.

“Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

“And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom.

Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate.

He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either.

“So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned.

“Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress.

All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all.

She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal.

Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs.

“I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem.

She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away.

“Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away.

But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer.

“Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed.

Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side.

Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here.

But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

“Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not.

She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger.

“Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?”

She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents.

Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet.

“Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering.

“You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat.

Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way.

It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together.

They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her.

Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was.

They had never ever been this close before.

“Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips.

It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability.

“Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted.

So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him.

“I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going.

So she did.

“They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside.

“They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything.

So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear.

“You are not nothing,” Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody.

And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear.

A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him.

So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep.

This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him.

He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that.

But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away.

For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone.

She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh.

“T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs.

“Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well.

She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches.

So eager, he thought.

He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched.

She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds.

“P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes.

“Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory.

He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next.

Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years.

Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces.

And maybe that was the goal all along.

Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire.

But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own.

But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person.

He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him.

For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her.

Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same.

This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

…then surely he could learn to embrace it.

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

#tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #wizarding world #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 30 days

Text

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Prologue

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 7839 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazonians' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

Long summary I know, but I'm attempting something that I haven't tried to do in a long time and I've had this thought in my head for ages so I've just got to get it out now. This story will cover the plot from Season One to the beginning of Season Three. Apologies if anything is vague or inaccurate, I haven't watched the show in a while and cannot be bothered going back to get it right when the main plot of this story is entirely of my own design and not canon. Also, for the sake of the growing-up-together part, I've brought Dick's family's death up so he is taken in by Bruce earlier than 12 years old. I've always loved this version of Dick Grayson (Nightwing) in Young Justice and I hope I do him justice for those of you who also loved the show and him xx

~~~

(10 years old)

'Don't worry, my beloved,' Diana said in a soothing voice, patting her daughter's head gently as the car pulled up. 'It's not so scary on the inside.'

Wayne Manor was made of grey columns and dark shadows it seemed to little ten-year-old Y/N, who couldn't shake the feeling that the house was full of ghosts. It was an imposing structure, making her wonder how anyone would choose to live in such a cold and lifeless place.

'I want to go home, Mother,' she whimpered, backing away from the car window.

Diana turned her daughter's head to face her, giving her best reassuring smile to alleviate some of her daughter's worries. 'We will, but I need to take care of something first and I can't leave you at home alone. My very good friend has kindly offered for his butler to look after you while we sort our business out. He has a son that I think you will get along with quite well.'

Y/N couldn't believe that a child lived in the scary house outside, but she knew when not to question her mother.

Her mother was always busy, it didn't matter what time of the day or night. Y/N didn't quite know what her mother did, but she knew it was dangerous, as her mother would come home with cuts and bruises, exhausted from whatever she'd just been doing. The partial truth of it all came out just last week, as Y/N and her nanny had been attacked in their small apartment in Washington DC. The nanny had locked Y/N in the bathroom when the men attacked so Y/N didn't see what happened to her. But Y/N had heard her screams, had heard the men laughing at her anguish. She'd heard her mother finally arrive and slaughter the men. And when Y/N was finally let out of the bathroom, her mother's red, white, blue and gold metallic outfit was covered in blood, as was the sword she'd dropped as she pulled Y/N into her arms tightly.

Whatever kind of work her mother and her mother's "good friend" were involved in, if she said Wayne Manor was the safest place to be when she worked, then Y/N wouldn't argue.

It didn't stop Y/N from squeezing her mother's hand to the point of cut off circulation as they walked from the car into the scary house.

'Miss Prince,' a man in a tuxedo said in welcome. He was partially bald and his moustache twitched when he spoke.

'Alfred,' Diana said, giving the older man a warm smile. 'So good to see you again. And please, I am Diana to friends and family.'

'Of course,' Alfred said, a cheeky smile on his face, 'but forgive me if I prefer to be a little old-fashioned, Miss Prince.'

'Very well,' Diana said, turning her gaze down to Y/N. 'This is my daughter, Y/N.'

Alfred smiled warmly down at Y/N, crouching ever so slightly to hold out his hand. 'A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Y/N. Welcome to Wayne Manor.'

Y/N hesitated in taking his hand. She'd always been taught to be cautious around strangers.

'Come on, Y/N,' Diana insisted. 'Don't be rude.'

Y/N, with her free hand, accepted Alfred's outstretched one, giving it a firm shake like she'd seen her mother do with people she had meetings with at work and at home.

'My, you certainly have your mother's strength,' Alfred commented as he stood back up, shaking his hand a little. 'I'll be sure not to mess with you when you grow older.'

Y/N didn't have time to process what Alfred meant when two dark figures walked down a grand staircase into the lobby they stood in. As they drew closer to the light, Y/N distinguished one as a tall and broad-shouldered man with dark hair, neat attire, and a stern face. Beside him was a small child close to her height, also with dark hair and flashing blue eyes. Unlike the taller man, though, his face was bright with intrigue and mischief.

'Diana,' the tall man said by way of greeting as he reached the ground floor with the boy.

'Bruce,' she replied, walking herself and Y/N over to him and the boy. 'Thank you for offering to look after Y/N tonight.'

'Well, it won't be me personally,' Bruce replied, 'but I'm sure Alfred will be able to look after them while we're gone.'

'If I could raise you to be the man that you are today, Master Bruce, I am sure two beautiful children won't be much of a task,' Alfred called out casually as he closed the front door and exited the room.

'I've contacted Clark,' Bruce continued. 'He says he'll meet us at the rendezvous point. We should leave soon.'

Diana nodded. 'Okay.'

To her surprise, Y/N found Bruce's gaze on her, and his stern expression softened as he looked her over. 'This must be the famous Y/N I've heard so much about.'

Y/N remembered her mother's lessons on etiquette and nodded politely. 'Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne.'

Bruce surprised her again as a small smile broke out, making him look younger and less intimidating than before. 'It's nice to meet you too, Y/N,' he said, looking down to the boy beside him. 'This is my ward, Richard.'

The young boy groaned in annoyance. 'It's Dick, Bruce. You know I don't like it when you use my real name.'

Bruce sighed, but conceded. 'Sorry, this is Dick. I hope the two of you get along tonight, Y/N.'

Before Y/N could reply, Dick stepped forward so that they only stood a step apart. His blue eyes were so bright as they scanned over her, and it took all of her will not to hide behind her mother.

He squinted sceptically at her. 'Do you like sparring, Y/N?'

'Dick,' Bruce exclaimed, eyes wide with horror. 'That's not something you should ask-'

Y/N ignored Bruce's protests as she locked eyes with Dick. She saw the challenge in them, and whatever fears she had about coming here faded away. A fire sparked in her, and she couldn't help herself but grab Dick's unsuspecting wrist and flip him over her and land him on his back. Before he could get up, she pressed a knee to his neck softly as she held him down.

'Y/N!' Diana exclaimed. 'That is not how we treat-'

She was cut off by the sound of Dick laughing, a sound so pure and light it brightened up the gloomy interior of the manor. Dick looked up at Y/N, not even bothered by the fact she was an inch away from cutting off his airway. 'Oh yeah, we're going to get along just fine, Bruce.'

The last of her apprehension to the arrangement disappeared as she released Dick from her death grip and helped him to his feet, a bright smile gracing her features.

'Where'd you learn to flip like that?' Dick asked.

'My mother,' she answered proudly. 'We've practiced for thirty minutes everyday since I was eight. I've also been taking classes back in Washington in judo and karate.'

'Cool!' Dick said. 'Maybe you can teach me some moves?'

'Sure!' Y/N answered.

Without even hesitating, Dick grabbed Y/N's hand and took off running to who knew where, words falling from him like a dam that had just been broken. 'Awesome! And then I can show you some of the cool gymnast tricks I picked up in the circus.'

'You were in the circus? That's so cool!'

The two of them were lost in their own world as Bruce and Diana remained in the lobby, looking after their children lovingly before they disappeared completely. When silence filled the room once more, they turned to each other.

'How much does she know?' Bruce asked.

Diana sighed. 'Enough to know that she will never have a normal life. Not after the incident last week. I thought I had a bit more time.'

Bruce placed a hand on his friend's shoulder comfortingly. 'I'm sorry, Diana. Truly. It's hard enough protecting a child who isn't your own. At least Dick has known death before. He knows everything.'

Diana nodded her appreciation, patting Bruce's hand before he let it drop. 'She will know, one day, what all this means. What her destiny is. Until now she has shown how much of Steve she has in her.' Diana paused at the memory of her fallen lover, feeling the tears rise up whenever she thought of him. 'But I fear she will grow to inherit my power, my responsibilities. I don't know if I'm ready to let her become that for the world. Not yet.'

'Diana,' Bruce said softly, 'she might not have a choice one day. I fear the same thing for Dick. You and I won't be around forever. The world will look to them to help, one day.'

Somewhere in the distance, Y/N and Dick's laughter resonated through the manor, giving it a warmth Bruce hadn't felt in a while. He smiled at the sensation. 'But for now, they have a choice. They can choose to be kids. Until the world no longer needs us.'

~~~

(11 years old)

'Uuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhh,' Y/N groaned as she flopped onto Dick's bed, textbook flattening over her face in defeat. 'I give up. I'm never going to pass this infuriating maths exam next week.'

All Y/N received was an amused laugh from the dark-haired boy, resulting in her throwing her textbook at his head where we sat on the floor. But Dick had always been quick, dodging the book easily. He was even more quick since they'd started training with each other since she moved to Gotham permanently for school.

She was enrolled at the same school as Dick: Gotham Academy. It was the best school in the area, and when she'd received her scholarship, her mother couldn't refuse her wishes to move. Y/N stayed in the boarding house for the most part, but being friends with the Bruce Wayne's only son certainly had its perks. Such as getting out of the boarding house whenever she needed to study and train without prying eyes.

Dick laughed again. 'Come on, Y/N,' he said, picking up her strewn textbook and offering it back to her. 'It's not so bad. We're just trying to find x.'

Y/N rolled over onto her stomach so Dick wasn't upside down anymore. 'Yes, and it is impossible! I mean, they give us nothing to try and figure out a and b, but we need them both to find out x. How?!'

When Y/N didn't take her book back, Dick put it on the ground and shuffled forwards. He did so until he was half an arm's length away from Y/N's face where it rested in her hands.

'All right, let's have a break,' he said. 'Focus on something else. How about... Ooo, I know! What would your vigilante name be?'

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed. 'What?'

'Your vigilante name,' Dick reported. 'You know, like a code name for ordinary people to refer you by. Like Bruce for example, he's Batman.'

'So like my mother too, who is Wonder Woman,' Y/N added.

Dick nodded. 'Correct. When we start fighting bad guys - and we will some day - we will need alter egos so villains don't pursue us outside of an ordinary mission.'

Y/N sat up as Dick jumped to his feet, pulling out all kinds of ninja-karate moves, many of which Y/N had taught him herself over the last year. 'I think I'll be something winged too. Batman needs to be accompanied by another flying animal, don't you think?'

'That is... logical,' Y/N admitted, though not understanding his motives for the specific topic. 'I haven't given much thought to the matter, honestly. I'm too busy trying to find this dumb x value.'

Dick landed a slam kick against thin air before he took up a normal standing position in front of Y/N. He smiled down proudly at her. 'I was thinking of just bird,' he confessed, taking a seat beside her on his bed, 'but then I thought that was boring. Batman and Bird, yeah sooooo intimidating. So I was thinking maybe Hawk, or Sparrow-'

'Why does it have to be intimidating?' Y/N asked.

Dick paused for the first time in the conversation and looked at her as if she was crazy. 'Because Batman is intimidating. I don't want to be seen as a sissy when I rock up beside him to fights. I defs won't feel the aster, then.'

'But shouldn't a hero be giving people reassurance and hope when they come to save people?' Y/N countered. 'Why would you want to be something that all people dread when you enter the door. I think a hero's name should be strong and encouraging. Something like my mother's.'

Dick rolled his eyes. 'You're just saying that because she's you're mum.'

Y/N shook her head. 'No I'm not. I've seen it first hand. When my mother shows up to lend a hand, the people cry with joy and relief because they know she will do all that she can to save them. I'm not saying Batman - Bruce - doesn't do the same thing, but I just know that when I have to be a hero, I would hope my name inspires people to keep hoping. Not fear me.'

Y/N watched Dick process her words, saw his piercing blue eyes grow distant as he looked down at his hands. For a moment, Y/N worried she'd ruined everything. That she'd overstepped. Dick and Bruce's relationship - it was more of an arrangement, in her opinion - was tenuous to say the least, the two of them always dancing on a very thin line that could snap at any moment when push comes to shove. Either way, it wasn't her place to comment on how Dick should handle his relationship to Bruce.

However, when Dick looked up to Y/n again, she was relieved to find he wasn't angry at her. In fact, a soft smile had bloomed on his lips.

'You're right,' he said softly. 'I don't have to be scary. Bruce has that all covered.'

'Glad to hear it,' Y/N replied with a a reciprocal smile. 'So... anymore ideas on your name?'

'Well, I still believe it's got to be a bird of sorts,' Dick answered. 'But let's steer clear of the birds of prey, shall we? Maybe Jaybird, or Bluebird. No, that's stupid. Raven? Nah, that's going backwards...'

'How about Robin?' Y/N suggested, and Dick's smile broadened to the point Y/N was scared he'd split his mouth right open.

'That's perfect!' he exclaimed, bringing her into a hug. 'Batman and Robin. It's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?'

'It sure does,' Y/N said, grateful to have helped.

When Dick let her go, he said, 'Now how about you? What do you think your vigilante name should be?'

Y/N thought about it for a moment, but could only come up with one name. 'I like Wonder Woman, but mother already has that. I don't think two of us would make it easy for the public, especially if she is still working.'

'That is true,' Dick replied, turning away from her as he delved into deep thought. Y/N could tell he was thinking deeply as his tongue was poking out ever so slightly - the thing he always did when he was concentrating really hard. Y/N always found it amusing since the day she met him.

Y/N jumped a little when Dick suddenly cried out with excitement. He turned back to her and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look directly at him. 'How about we take inspiration from your mother? Use part of her name to create yours. Like Wonder Girl!'

Y/N shook her head. 'No, that's really lame, Dick.'

'Wonder Kid?'

'No.'

'Wonder... Child?'

'No!'

Dick snapped his fingers and his eyes brightened as Y/N assumed a great thought popped into his head. 'I've got it: Wonderess! You know, like Wonder Woman and goddess put together!'

'Wonderess...' Y/N tested it out on her tongue, and she smiled at how easy it rolled off. It was simple, it was to the point. She could just hear the world now, shouting and screaming and crying her name for joy, for help.

She couldn't stop her smile from widening and matching Dick's. 'I love it.'

'Great!' Dick slid back down to the floor and grabbed the forgotten textbook she'd thrown at him earlier. 'Now, oh mighty and powerful Wonderess, time for you to conquer the alluding and difficult enemy that is mathematics.'

Despite her earlier anguish, Y/N felt rejuvenated and took the book from Dick and opened it back to the page she'd failed to understand. 'Then conquer mathematics we shall, oh sneaky and charming Robin.'

Dick flashed her one of his dazzling smiles. 'Oh yeah, I can see it now. Robin is going to be popular with the ladies when I'm older.'

Y/N rolled her eyes, but couldn't contain her smile. 'Don't make me throw this book at you again.'

Dick raised his hands in mock surrender before they both dove back into their respective homework. But after five minutes of work, Y/N had another thought.

'Dick. What does "aster" mean?' ~~~

(13 years)

When Y/N had walked into the Hall of Justice earlier that day, she never imagined that she'd end up helping her best friend and the sidekicks of the Flash and Aquaman break into a top secret and highly secured lab centre, get captured by the mad scientists running the show down there, break out and now be standing in front of the Justice League as a Superman look-alike (that they'd broke into for and out of with) stared down his creation's inspiration.

'Start talking' Batman said, finally breaking the tense silence.

Between Kaldur, Wally, Dick, and Y/N (Superboy, Y/N realised early on, didn't talk much), the story of how they ended up at Cadmus and pretty much destroyed it was eventually told. Afterwards, the blockbuster monster they'd fought was taken away by Green Lantern and some other League members. Y/N couldn't help but peak at her mother as Wonder Woman herself conversed with Superman and Martian Manhunter. For a brief moment, Diana looked her daughter's way then quickly averted her gaze. But Y/N knew from that one look that her mother was unimpressed by her actions today.

'Cadmus will be investigated,' Batman said, after Superman said a frosty goodbye to his younger clone. 'All fifty-two levels. But let's make one thing clear-'

'You should've called!' the Flash finished, crossing his arms, clearly disappointed in his sidekick's efforts.

'End results aside, we are not happy,' Batman continued. 'You hacked Justice League systems; you disobeyed direct orders; and you endangered lives. You will not be doing this again.'

Y/N's heart faltered at the very notion. Despite the wreckage and the stress and the struggles they had faced, Y/N very much liked working with Dick, with Kaldur and Wally too. Even the Superboy was enjoyable at some points. To never work with them again was not something she expected she would miss after one mission.

Kaldur and the other boys must've read her mind, as he stepped forward, standing tall and speaking with a strong voice well beyond his years. 'I'm sorry,' he began, eyes never leaving Batman, 'but we will.'

'Aqualad,' Aquaman started, stepping up behind Batman. 'Stand down.'

'Apologies, my King. But no,' Aqualad replied. 'We did good work here tonight. The work you trained us to do. Together. On our own. We forged something powerful. Important.'

'If this is about your treatment at the hall,' the Flash started, 'the four of you-'

'The five of us,' Wally corrected, looking directly at Superboy as he did, 'and it's not.'

'Batman,' Dick said, stepping to the front of the group. 'We're ready to use what you taught us. Or why teach us at all?'

'Why let them tell us what to do?' Superboy interrupted, pushing past Dick to take the lead. 'It's simple, get on board. Or get out of the way.'

Y/N joined her friends in staring down the heads of the Justice League. It was an intimidating figure they all posed, but Y/N knew she was doing the right thing. That her and her friends had done the right thing tonight.

Diana joined Batman, the Flash, and Martian Manhunter, her face unreadable and voice monotone. 'Are you sure this is the path you would like to forge, Wonderess?' she asked, her voice echoing in the crater they stood in.

Apart from Dick and Bruce, no one else (to Y/N's knowledge) knew that Wonder Woman and Wonderess were related in any manner. Not that either disguised themselves like other heroes did - purposefully hiding their faces to conceal their identities like Batman and the Flash - but neither outwardly acknowledged their true relationship either.

However, Y/N could tell her mother wasn't just asking her as her sidekick, but as her daughter. Was Y/N really prepared to risk all she had trained for, for some... strangers?

Y/N eyed the golden lasso that hung at her mother's hip, and opened her hand to summon the seemingly never-ending rope into her hand. It wrapped around several times, then glowed as Y/N clenched a tight fist around it.

'I am more certain than I have ever been, Wonder Woman,' Y/N replied, feeling the lasso urge her to speak all her truth. 'While I still endeavour to one day be your successor, my place is with my friends right now. We need to walk this path together, wherever it leads. I know this to be absolute truth.'

Y/N sucked in a breath as she let go of the lasso, feeling slightly drained from the power it had over her. Dick put a hand on her back to brace her as she recovered. Once Y/N had caught her breath, she spared Dick a grateful smile, which he reciprocated.

Just as it had been from day one, they would ride this wave together. No matter how rough.

The very next day, the five of them were taken to Mount Justice, the backup facility for the Justice League as Batman explained. Upon arrival, they met M'gann, Martian Manhunter's niece, and soon after Artemis was brought into the mix.

Soon, they were the Young Justice.

~~~

(13 years old)

'Congratulations team, you have won the day,' Red Tornado said as he laid dismembered on the ground.

The rest of the team had just reconnected as the Justice computer phased a date and time code onto one of the glass walls of the Watchtower. It read: January 01, 00:00 EST.

'Happy New Year, Justice League,' the computer announced.

To no one's surprise, Wally picked up Artemis and pulled her in for a long-awaited kiss. M'gann and Connor paired up, so did Rocket and Aqualad surprisingly.

Y/N felt uncomfortable watching them all making out, so she turned to her best friend so they could give them all some privacy. 'Hey Dick, let's go-'

But as she turned around, Y/N saw that Dick had also paired off with someone: Zatanna. This time, Y/N couldn't help but stare as the two of them made out.

Since day one of Zatanna joining the team, Y/N had noticed Dick had a thing for her. Who wouldn't? She was beautiful, she was just a year older than them but that just made her more desirable, and she was good with magic!

Something stirred inside Y/N, something that twisted her guts to the point she thought she'd throw up. Was it jealousy? No, she wasn't the jealous type. Besides, Dick was her best friend, no one could change that. He could kiss whoever he wanted to kiss. At the end of the day, they'd still talk and laugh and spar and go get ice cream together.

...Right?

'Human customs still allude me,' Red Tornado said from his place on the floor.

'You're not the only one...' Y/N mumbled to herself, standing all alone.

~~~

(16 years old)

Y/N was just sparring on a test dummy when Dick entered the training ring looking a little worse for wear, his usual mischievous smile not visible.

'Hey,' Y/N said, finishing up her combo of kicks and punches, heaving in deep breaths. 'What's up, bird brain?'

He didn't reply straight away, instead standing on the edge of the fight ring as if afraid to step out of the shadows and into the light. Y/N raised an eyebrow in confusion. 'Dick?'

When he didn't respond again, Y/N walked over to him. And when she got closer, she realised why he remained in the darkness.

'Have you been crying?' she asked softly, scared to speak too loud in case he ran away.

Dick wasn't an emotional guy. He just wasn't. He was the mischievous gremlin who kept the team together with his witty remarks, charm, and sheer intelligence. And even though Kaldur had been the leader of their team for years now, Dick always wanted to be a leader like Bruce was for the Justice League. He never gave himself room to be emotional.

So for him to stand in front of Y/N with red-rimmed eyes and tear marks streaking down his face, whatever had just happened had to be so impactful it finally broke his resolve.

He averted his eyes. 'Zatanna,' he started, biting his lip to suppress sobs falling out between the words. 'She broke up with me.'

Subconsciously, Y/N had been dreaming about hearing those words for a long time. She didn't quite understand why, as Zatanna was a close friend and Dick was by far her best friend so of course she only ever wanted happiness for them. But now that Dick stood in front of her so broken and sad, Y/N only felt sorry and remorse.

'Oh Dick,' she said. 'I'm so sorry... How can I help?'

Dick shook his head vigorously, eyes still averted from her. 'Can you just... Can we spar please? I think I really need that right now.'

His tone was restrained, as if he were holding back what he really thought. Y/N had half a thought to suggest they just talk, but when he finally looked directly at her, how could she refuse her best friend? After all, she was the only one he never wore his glasses around. Even after all these years with the team, he trusted no one else but her with his identity.

The original members knew, but even then he still wore his shades around them half the time if he wasn't in his vigilante suit. But not around Y/N, though. Never around Y/N.

'All right,' Y/N conceded, walking with him back to the centre of the fighting ring. She stood in her usual starting position, hands raised and feet split ready to fight. 'Same rules as last time?'

Dick nodded. 'No flying from you, no gadgets from me. Just us.'

'Perfect.'

Y/N launched into a heated sparring match, much more heated than any other match she'd had before with him. Sparring matches are usually to practice a skill, usually some punches can be pulled. But not now, Dick was throwing himself into everything, becoming sloppy, opening himself up. While the first few jabs Y/N got in were small victories, she soon grew worried as he grew more and more reckless as the match progressed.

'You're opening yourself up too easily, Dick,' Y/N commented between heavy breaths. 'Tighten up your stance.'

Dick groaned with frustration in answer, throwing another punch at her which she easily ducked and palm-punched his abdomen hard. He stumbled back as he caught his breath, but Y/N took it as her chance to end the fight as she charged at him, crash-tackled him to the mat with a bit more super-strength than she'd been using and pinning his limbs to the ground.

Dick struggled under her, but she refused to let go. 'Concede, Grayson. Now,' she demanded.

She rarely used his last name, only when he was in serious trouble or when she really needed him to listen. So he stopped, and he looked up at her and he nodded. 'I concede,' he said between huffs of air.

Y/N nodded her head in acknowledgement before stepping off him and helping him to his feet. For years they had been the same height, but once Dick had hit fourteen, he shot up fast. He was still lean and more on the skinny side, but he was toned in certain places and he now stood a head taller than Y/N. But she didn't let his new height stop her from locking eyes with him.

'Do you feel... somewhat better now?' she asked cautiously, feeling that Dick was on the brink of an explosion, she was just unsure what kind it would be.

To her surprise, Dick's piercing blue eyes welled up with tears. 'No,' he said.

Y/N immediately wrapped her arms around him, and Dick fell into her and wrapped himself around her as if she were a warm blanket on a cold night. They stood like that - with Dick crying silently into her shoulder and Y/N rubbing soothing circles into his back - for who knew how long. A minute, two, an hour maybe. It didn't matter, Dick needed Y/N'S help so she would stay there as long for as it took.

'She said she couldn't do it anymore,' he said finally, tears finally finished running, but he still didn't break from Y/N's embrace. 'The long distance.'

'Being promoted to the Justice League is a huge commitment, Dick,' Y/N offered.

'It's not just that, though,' he said. 'I think she couldn't take me anymore. Ever since Jason-'

His voice cracked on the mention of his fallen brother, the next ward Bruce had taken under his wing. When he joined the team, Jason took over the Robin mantle, giving Dick freedom to explore a new path of vigilante identity. One outside of Bruce's shadow and the dynamic duo of Batman and Robin. He'd settled upon Nightwing - another name Y/N helped come up with - and he'd taught Jason everything he knew about being Robin and how he could find his own meaning for the role.

But Jason never got the chance to do the same for the next Robin, who Bruce mentioned would never be found after Jason's death. Jason had been killed on a mission with the Batman himself only a month ago, and Dick had secretly been a wreck ever since. He'd learnt from his sponsor who to hide his emotions, but Y/N assumed he had to let it out to someone or someones every so often. Those people were herself, and no doubt Zatanna.

Despite her bubbly and adventurous personality, Zatanna knew death, knew grief. It suddenly angered Y/N at the thought that Zatanna had dumped Dick because he was grieving and couldn't give her the attention he had become known to give her daily.

Y/N held her tongue as she pulled him tighter, though. Now was not the time to rub salt into his open and bloody wound.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me, Dick,' Y/N reassured him. 'I understand.'

He squeezed her tighter. 'First my family, then Jason, now Zatanna. Promise me you won't leave too. Promise.'

'I promise, Dick,' Y/N answered. 'I'll always be here if you need me.'

Dick finally pulled away from her, but only far enough that he still held her in his arms and she had to angle her head harshly upwards to look him in the eye. Despite the redness, Dick's eyes still shone a blue that didn't seem quite real - like the colour of the purest, cleanest ocean.

So beautiful.

'You're my best friend, Y/N,' he said softly, a grateful smile finally breaking through his sadness. 'You know that right?'

Once upon a time, Y/N wouldn't have hesitated in answering. Yes, she would say, because it was the truth. It was the truth still, but a discomforting feeling in her stomach squirmed at the words "best friend". What he meant to her went past the simple label, at least in her opinion. But she just couldn't quite put it into words yet.

'Y-Yeah, I know,' she stammered out quickly. She had paused way too long to answer. 'Just like you're mine, bird brain. Don't think a bunch of tears is going to scare me off so easily.'

She was so glad to be the one to make him laugh then. It was the most melodic sound she'd ever heard, even though she'd heard it a thousand times before. Dick could never be tiring to her.

Finally - and thankfully - Dick stepped out of her arms, allowing her to suck in air that had previously been missing from between them. But he stole it all right back when he flashed her that charming smile of his.

'Guess I'll see you tomorrow, Wonderess,' he said. 'Thanks again for the sparring. I'll be sure to tighten up for next time.'

'G-Great, good, excellent,' Y/N stumbled over her words, unable to breathe when he smiled so causally yet so beautifully at her. 'See you tomorrow.'

Dick gave her a tiny wave as he left the room. As he left, Artemis and M'gann strolled in wearing civvies. They greeted and farewelled Dick before continuing to walk to Y/N, who stood frozen where Dick had left her staring after him.

'You okay, Y/N?' Artemis asked, waving a hand in front of Y/N's face. 'Helloooooo. Earth to Y/N?'

'Maybe she's fallen into a hypnotic state,' M'gann suggested. 'Or worse! A mind ant has taken over her brain! I'll have to go inside her mind to weed it out.'

That finally disrupted Y/N from her stupor. 'No! No need for that. No mind ants here,' she frantically said just M'gann was about to enter her mind.

'Then why were you looking like Medusa had risen from her mythical death and frozen you in place?' Artemis asked, deadpan.

'First of all, Medusa was a real person. Greek Mythology is real, or therefore my mother and I wouldn't be here today,' Y/N countered. 'Second of all... I think I a have a crush on Dick.'

As soon as she said the words, she knew them to be true. She didn't need to discuss it with the girls, she already knew.

Y/N Prince, daughter of Wonder Woman, had a huge, fat crush on her best friend, and son of Batman himself, Richard 'Dick' Grayson.

'Shit,' all three girls said at once.

~~~ (18 years old)

Y/N watched with sad eyes as two of her closest friends walked away under the cover of darkness. Again. Kaldur and Artemis - the latter now legally dead - waved farewell before they entered a small submarine, on their way to continue infiltration of the Light on Kaldur's father's ship.

Two figures stepped up beside Y/N. 'Well,' Wally started, 'I guess that's that.'

'For now,' Dick said. 'I promise, Wally, we'll bring them both back.'

'Yeah, whatever,' Wally said, turning to leave. 'You're my bro, Dick. But if Artemis is really killed because of this, I will never forgive you.'

Wally's footsteps resounded through the empty fishing warehouse as Y/N continued to stare out at the ocean. Soon, it was just her and Dick.

'We should head back to headquarters,' Dick suggested. 'Someone might start to wonder where we are.'

But Y/N didn't turn to leave, still transfixed by the ocean. 'I thought I was okay with all this,' Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 'I convinced myself that this was for the greater good. But now I'm not so sure.'

'What do you mean, Y/N?' Dick asked.

'The lying, Dick,' she answered, finally turning to him. 'The secrets, the faking of deaths and undercover betrayals. If we keep this up, it'll tear the team apart.'

'It won't,' Dick reassured her, his voice so certain and sure. 'When this is all over and we explain it all, they will understand. I expect some disappointment and hostility for a while, but one day they'll understand why we did what we did. But this team we've built, Y/N, it is stronger than all this. I know it.'

Y/N shook her head, wanting to believe him but unable to put aside the horrible feeling in her gut. 'I know they are strong. I just wish there was another way for us to win.'

'Trust me, if there was, I would've taken it,' Dick said, and even with a mask on, Y/N knew he was telling the truth. 'I want all of us fighting this together. For now, we've just got to trust in Kaldur and Artemis that they will succeed.'

Y/N nodded, her gaze returning to the flat ocean waters where her friends had long since left behind. 'Maybe you should've sent me like I suggested,' Y/N said half-heartedly. 'You're a great substitute for leader, Dick. Truly. But the team took Kaldur's betrayal heavily, and Artemis and Wally were out of the game. We shouldn't have brought them back in. Wonder Girl is trained up enough to take my place. You don't need me.'

'Don't say that.'

Y/N could barely react as she was grabbed by her shoulders and forced to face Dick, who had crouched so he was eye-level to her and leaned in so she could see the slightest gleam of his pupils through the white mask.

'Don't say that,' Dick repeated, his grip on her shoulders firm and grounding. 'We do need you. You're a founding member too, Y/N. Regardless of if it were Kaldur or not, the team would've struggled without any one of us. And the only reason I was able to lead this team this past year is because I knew you had my back the entire time.'

'Really?' she asked, the one word a struggle to get out.

His expression softened and he loosened his grip. But Dick didn't release her yet. 'Y/N, you are always the one giving hope to the team whenever I can't raise their spirits. You were the one to console them after Kaldur leaving. You are strong and brave and you never give up, especially when the chips are down. And they have been down on us a lot lately.'

Y/N caught her breath as Dick released one shoulder to use his pointer finger to hold her chin up, making her look directly at him. 'It kills me that you don't see yourself how everyone else sees you. Which is amazing, Y/N. Amazing and wonderful.'

Y/N swore Dick could hear her heart thudding rapidly against her chest. In the two years since realising it, her crush on her best friend hadn't faded like she'd hoped. Instead, it had grown and blossomed but Dick still couldn't see how much she absolutely adored him. She'd resigned herself to the fact that he would never feel that way about her, and also if they were to date, then it would just make working together all the more complicated. She couldn't compromise on the team's relationship.

But as Y/N looked into Dick's eyes now, a little spark of hope flickered inside her. He was so close to her, he had to feel her heartbeat. He had to know... right?

A wind of doubt blew out the spark and she stepped away from Dick so her head would stop spinning. 'You just had to get a pun in there, didn't you?' she said, surprised at how calm and casual her voice came out all things considered.

Dick took a moment to gather himself, as if he too had been lost deep in thought. But soon that infamous smile of his stretched his lips and Y/N knew she could never say no to him. 'What can I say? I'm an opportunist.'

'I thought you were a gymnast.'

'I am also your best friend, and so I am legally obliged to slip in puns about you whenever possible.'

'Oh, do you now?' Y/N asked, lightly shoving him as she made for the warehouse door. Dick was right, they needed to head home before anyone started questioning their whereabouts.

Dick quickly caught up. 'I mean it Y/N. You are my best friend.'

'I know,' Y/N said nonchalantly, trying not to let the words sting too much. But she managed a soft smile as she said, 'And you are mine. Always have been...'

Dick flashed her a genuine smile, no charm, no hidden agenda behind it. He held his pinky finger up, to which Y/N linked her own with. '...Always will be,' he finished.

As they went home, Y/N felt better about Kaldur and Artemis' mission, as well as her place in the team. But she was now even more confused about Dick and how he felt about her. They were best friends, had been through so much together, it wouldn't be wise to ruin all that now.

But the way he'd looked at her, maybe there was a chance after all.

~~~

(18 years old)

'You're leaving?'

Y/N and Kaldur couldn't believe what they'd just heard. One minute, the three of them were discussing the team's next move after foiling the Reach's invasion plans and splitting the Light in half, and the next...

'That's correct,' Dick said. 'I just... I think I need to take a break for a while.'

'For how long?' Y/N asked, finally getting over the initial shock of his announcement. It had been a hectic day, full of surprises and sacrifices nobody saw coming. Right now, in her opinion, everyone needed to band together, not... leave.

Dick shrugged his shoulders. 'I don't know. But it definitely won't be quick. This team has been my whole life for five years now. I think it's time I stepped away, let Kaldur take the reins again.'

'The team will not be the same without you,' Kaldur offered.

'The team already isn't the same,' Dick said solemnly, and the slightest crack in his voice indicated to Y/N what he was referring to. 'You, me, Y/N, Wally. We founded this team. Without him...'

Dick didn't need to finish. Y/N had felt Wally's absence since the moment he fazed out of existence. He saved the world, but he'd been too slow to combat the chrysalis' energy. Not even the Flash or Impulse could save him. It made Y/N so mad, because Wally must've known he wouldn't come out of it alive. He knew he was too slow, having been out of the game for so long.

And yet he did it anyway, because that was who Wally West - Kid Flash - was.

'I understand,' Kaldur said, placing a comforting hand on Dick's shoulder.

'Thanks,' Dick said, then looked to the boom tubes of the Watchtower. 'I should probably go.'

'What? Now?' Y/N asked. 'At least see the day through, Dick.'

'There's nothing else for me to see through, Y/N,' he countered, already making his way to the boom tubes to make his exit. 'Kaldur is back, and so is the Justice League. I am no longer needed.'

Kaldur didn't follow Y/N as she chased after Dick. 'At least let the team know personally you'll be leaving. Don't you think they deserve that much from you after all we've done?'

'All I did was sign Wally's death sentence,' Dick answered harshly, not even bothering to turn around and face her. 'Yeah, the team really deserves that from their substitute leader.'

The two of them stopped before the boom tubes, facing each other one last time. Y/N grabbed Dick's wrist before he could dial in his code to exit the Watchtower.

'Dick, please,' Y/N pleaded, voice tight with desperation. 'I know you're hurting right now. We all are feeling Wally's death. But the team needs you right now. I need you...'

It was a last ditch attempt at convincing him that he meant more to her than just a friend. That he was her glue, that he was important to her and the team. That, even if he was nothing else, he was her best friend, and she was his.

Always have been... Always will be.

Don't go, she wanted to say, but the words never came out. It's like Dick had always been a part of her life; she now couldn't imagine her life without his witty remarks, without his odd use of words like "aster" and "traught", without his charming smile and kind eyes. She couldn't imagine life without him. Please, don't go.

Dick's sad expression told her he'd made his mind up before he even spoke the words.

'I'm sorry, Y/N,' he said softly, pulling her into a gentle embrace where he pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead. 'But I can't deal with this right now.'

As if in a dream, Dick stepped out of the embrace and dialled in his code for the boom tube.

'B:01 - NIghtwing,' the computer announced as the boom tube activated.

Dick was a step away from leaving Y/N behind when she called out, 'Don't be a stranger!'

She knew he had already made his mind up. But that didn't mean the two of them couldn't still be what they had always been. Best friends.

To her joy, Dick stopped and turned back around, a melancholic smile on his face as he held up his pinky finger. 'Always have been...'

Y/N reciprocated his smile as she too held up her pinky finger, imagining hooking it with his. '...Always will be,' she replied softly.

And then he was gone, and Y/N was left standing alone in the Watchtower.

She didn't realise she was crying until Dick was gone, until her senses had returned fully and felt the sensation of tears rolling down her face. That's when she acknowledged she was truly, utterly, hopelessly sad.

Because for the first time in seven years, Dick was no longer by her side. She didn't have Dick to fall back on when things got tough; she didn't have Dick to talk to about her issues with the new recruits; she didn't have Dick to laugh with after a night out at the arcade where he had failed epically at every game; she didn't have Dick reassuring her that everything would be okay, even when the world was telling them otherwise.

Dick was gone, and that was something Y/N had never expected to deal with.

'Wonderess.'

Y/N wiped her tears away before she turned to see who had called her. It was Kaldur, and based on his sympathetic expression, she knew he had heard everything.

'Batman and the rest of the Justice League wants to speak with us all,' he said.

'Right,' Y/N said, composing herself before walking over to join her friend.

Dick was gone, but she was still an integral part of Young Justice, and they needed her more now than ever. Whatever was to come their way now, they had to be strong, a united front.

Even if her heart yearned for someone who had completely abandoned her.

220 notes · View notes

sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Text

Yandere König Headcanons

Warnings: Some 18+ Moments (Nothing Explicit), Social Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Acts of Revenge, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Underwear Stealing, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere Behavious, Toxic Behaviour, Intimidation, Social Sabotage, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You', etc.

Wordcount: 14,544 words

A/N: Hey Guys, Happy Valentine's Day <3 ! Thanks for stopping by to read my fic ! Much love and wellness to you all :-). I've had to split the bulk of the text and the ending into two posts because Tumblr will not let me keep them in the same post - it just won't save or post. A link will be provided below the main body of text to take you to the ending post <3

You and König became friends the very same day you met.

You were a new student to the school that König called Hell; not yet alive – conscious – to the incessant bullying and ignorance that occurred there.

Upon seeing you for the first time, feet pointed in, shoulders rigid, lunch pail squeezed – compressed – tightly between your tiny fingers, König felt… strange.

He’d never met you before, but he already felt that there was something to be done in the way of you.

As to what that ‘something’ was was completely lost on König.

But alas, he tore his resting head from his palm, his senses sharpening as he was drawn from the fantasy world he’d crafted for himself, becoming aware of his surroundings,

He watched you, for the first time, a child no older than himself, nigh-quivering under the curious gazes of students.

As if by instinct, König’s gaze drifted to the table that housed his tormentors.

And, sure as ever, their eyes held nothing less than malice. Intent.

Something in him told him to sit up straighter, to get his hands off the desk – anything to appear bigger than how he did now.

He recognised this feeling. Though, he’d never felt it towards a person.

In König, it only ever manifested whenever he happened upon some small, injured creature.

Despite being just children, König was already a little taller than everyone else in the class; foreshadowing of the monster he’d become, whose horns just peeked through his skull, made him an inch or three taller than the rest.

And yet, he was still the butt of every joke, the object of needless ridicule.

Little did he know that would all change the very same day he met you.

Something in him prompted him, told him, to talk to you, to find out as much about you as he possibly could.

An impulse he had never known until today.

Though, as to how he’d initiate conversation was tricky.

He could barely talk to his own parents, let alone a complete stranger.

As you peeked up from the floor every now and then, scanning the room and all its pieces, its players, your gaze fell upon König.

His heart fitted, adopting an irregular rhythm – a genre of music he’d never heard before.

Usually, he’d tear his gaze away, look down or out the window.

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

The seat beside him was empty, a sliver of mercy his favourite teacher had imparted on him.

The possibility that you would be seated next to him – that you might choose to sit beside him of your own volition – filled König with a dangerous sense of hope.

He found himself clenching his fists when you made a move to go to him, taking but a small step in his direction. The right direction.

Before the teacher pointed to another seat halfway across the classroom.

König deflated, his shoulders sagging, his mood dampening as if sodden with tears.

He looked upon your reluctantly retreating form, your friendship withering away with each step you were forced to take.

König looked upon his teacher that day with something he hadn’t felt for them before.

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

It was less of a break for König than it was an opportunity for his bullies to find him. Capture him.

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

He’d seen the way they’d looked at you, leered at you, repeated your name in mock mimicry when the teacher called on you for attendance.

König’s heart thrummed in his chest, an off-key harp.

He swallowed thickly, trying to hear over his internal symphony’s failing orchestra.

He almost considered calling off the search and searching for a teacher to help when he heard it.

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

Hissed and seethed and quiet, just below the radar of the adults ‘watching over’ the students.

König turned, only to find a long corner before him.

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

Another sniffle, verging on a cry. Then, more insults.

The Cycle.

König’s fists clenched, his heart flared with the anger he’d felt many a time when he’d been on the receiving end of such torment.

Yet somehow, now that it was you receiving it, it was as if the cap König had set atop his anger, to prevent himself from doing something drastic, or displaying too much emotion, had blown off.

The anxiety that occupied König’s every waking moment boiled with his growing fury, a chemical gas that threatened all life that came into contact with it.

Without thinking, blinded by something greater than his limitations, he embarked the corner.

There you were, surrounded by four boys, each as diabolical as the last.

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

König’s shadow descended upon the scene, covering your cowering frame.

The leader turned around.

He gave a sly grin, and turned partially from you.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to face König completely.

“Oi, oi,” he said, voice shrill and piercing. König stood his ground.

“And what’d’you want, König,”

König said nothing still, though the expression on his face was twisted, a far cry from the doe-eyed boy he was just two minutes ago.

The leader, when König didn’t answer, abandoned you, leaving you to his lackeys.

He approached König with a walk too old for his body, a cheap imitation of intimidation.

He only came up to König’s chin.

“I said–” he poked König’s chest, punctuating each word with a demeaning splinter.

And yet, König wasn’t paying attention to him.

He was looking at you.

You, having your hair pulled and your shirt practically torn.

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

Everything happened so fast that König scarcely thought it happened at all.

One minute, the bully was barely chest-to-chest with him. The next, he was on the floor, wailing, clutching his nose in his hands.

König almost couldn’t look away as a thin trickle of blood seeped between the boy’s fingers, staining his hands, and the concrete, a dark red.

König’s body shook, much like that displayed in starvation. He caught a glimpse of red along his knuckles.

And then, looking up from the bully, to his dumbfounded lackeys, he found you.

The lackeys were slowly backing away from you and making their way around König, as if he were a tiger, to their leader.

“Leave (Y/N) alone.” he said to the group, his shoulders heaving with his fresh victory.

The odd few nodded, mouths agape as they watched the leader struggle to get up onto his feet.

König walked past them and, taking cautious, slow steps towards you, stopped just shy of three feet away from you.

You were still shaking, your eyes wide as you craned your neck to look up at König’s face.

König felt giddy. A bubbling feeling welling up inside his chest.

Though, something caught in his throat. Something uncharacteristic of this situation.

“Hey–” König said, coughing, clearing his throat, when his voice cracked.

His face began to heat up, and he tried again.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

You, awe-struck, with your mouth hung open, said nothing.

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

König’s stilted introduction, and the fumble he made of it, was cut short with a soft, almost invisible feeling.

You’d thrown your arms around his middle and buried your face in his chest.

He looked down at the top of your head, only your hair visible.

The warmth on his face multiplied, growing hotter by the second as the gratitude in your muffled words – your ‘thank you’s – spilled from between the fabric of his jacket.

And, that feeling from before, the one that told him to act, returned; prompted him to do that which he thought best.

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

Only a moment later did you look up at him, eyes reddened with tears.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately after the incident, a swarm of students gathered where the bully lay, ultimately unable to peel himself from the floor, his lackeys too frightened to turn their back on König for even a second.

The incident was passed around the playground like folklore, and König, and yourself, never had any trouble from those bullies again.

They’d all but discredited their leader, claiming that he’d “Tripped and fallen on a rock,” and hadn’t finally gotten what was coming to him.

They could hardly say otherwise when König was staring them down with the look of hatred they’d all so mastered.

The group was disgraced, some of the boys eventually refusing to come to school altogether, transferring.

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

Your parents came to know König very quickly, as his family came to know you.

You both walked home together every day, memorising the paths to each other’s houses “In case aliens invade and I need to find you!” as König justified his vested interest.

The first time he visited your house was like visiting another country.

You were much different at home than you were at school.

For one, you were more vibrant, more prone to voicing your opinions rather than keeping quiet.

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

The fact that he had gotten to know this side of you while no-one else had felt like an accomplishment.

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

Regardless of how menial it was, how borderline unexplainable or just plain complex, König tried to make sense of it every time.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together, never apart for a second save for sleeping and the singular day of the week when your family would take you away somewhere; and even then, König was often invited to go along.

You had sleepovers as often as you could manage, exchanging stories like currency in a continent where only you and König lived.

König’s favourite to recite was Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, which, the first time he relayed it to you, had you peeking out from beneath your bed sheets, shivering.

That night, as König tried to sleep, he heard you whisper his name in the dark.

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

“König,” you said. “Will you…” your tiny voice barely permeated the suffocating dark.

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

König froze, then, as understanding gripped him, he thawed.

He clambered out from his sleeping bag and onto your bed, unsure of where to look or what to do once he got there.

He rested his arms above the sheets and stared up into the abyssal ceiling, hearing your breathing next to him.

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

He stiffened, his breathing stopped, and he dared not move a muscle for fear of doing something wrong.

“Thank you,” you said. König could feel your smile against the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodnight, König,” you whispered, your face buried into him as it had been the day he confronted your bullies.

Swallowing thickly, and, sliding an arm around you, König shot a reply into the darkness.

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

After that night, König began to feel…different where you were concerned.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it would hit him whenever his mind drifted back to you, which he found himself doing much more often than he already did.

Considering you were his only friend, you already occupied a good portion.

König always shelved the feeling, promising to try and make sense of it later.

Later, later.

He tested his tolerance for physical contact again one day when you were both walking home.

He’d calculated what he was going to say, to do, and, taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand in his.

His palm was sweaty, the anticipation of this action weighing on him all day.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you – to see your reaction.

His heart spasmed.

With nothing to say, to rebuke, you just smiled and squeezed König’s hand.

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders, the sky clearing, his face heating with that feeling of butterflies rather than crushing doom.

You would walk hand-in-hand everywhere you went after that.

Eventually, when all the stories you each had to offer were spent, you found another way of amusing yourselves – of remaining connected regardless of how far away the other was.

The Bestie Bible.

A scrapbook, patchwork, Frankenstein’s novel of shared memories, diary entries; testaments of the people you were.

The book would be passed between you each week; a ‘safer’ alternative to sending letters where your parents were concerned.

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

You got to know things about König that not even his own family knew, details that he was too shy to tell you, causing him to write them to you instead.

Like his hopes to become a ‘protector’ when he got older.

Little did you know, he wanted to do it for you – to protect you.

That part, he kept to himself.

And vice versa, König got to learn of your life, too; everything from your second favourite colour, bands you were into at the time, your favourite foods, shows - anything.

And he’d feverishly consume your every entry, committing them to memory.

Bible verses.

Whenever he was with you, he felt as if his whole world got brighter, that he could see a clear future with you and him in it.

And that feeling would always come with you. That damned feeling.

It only strengthened the older he became, heating his cheeks and knotting his words in his mouth.

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

He didn’t have time to understand, only to enjoy.

You celebrated birthdays together.

Every year, without fail, König would buy you a present that remained as timeless as your friendship.

And you’d always thank him the same way; a bone-crushing hug, a squealing “Thank you!”, and a lifetime of gratitude.

That, and one birthday, you kissed his cheek, sending him bright red, making both your families point and coo and stare.

A social nightmare for König, one which you rescued him from by finding a table to hide beneath and sit with him.

You apologised. He told you that you’d done nothing wrong.

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

Which, little did you know, evoked something from within König that was stronger, more potent, poignant, than the feeling he’d felt before. Its predecessors.

At what point König stopped seeing you as just friends was clear to him, yet the shift in his behaviour was subtle enough to be a snake hidden in the grass, a knife slipped between the mattresses – the ribs.

Or, perhaps he had always been that way. Completely and unequivocally in love with you and simply unaware of it.

Or, as close to love as one as young as him could interpret his feelings to be.

But that didn’t mean he understood what he was feeling.

It was light yet strong, a great army pounding on the walls of an even greater empire. A takeover.

He’d lay in bed most nights, hands clasped over his racing heart, as he thought of you, your smile, your everything, and he’d hope beyond hope, pray beyond heaven, that this feeling would last forever.

At first, he’d condemned it, and while he continued to shelve it, he couldn’t deny the butterflies you made him feel.

The warm jitters you’d give him whenever you’d hold him.

One day, sat in the tunnel of your favourite slide, in the local park you and König had claimed as “ours”, you sat together, waiting for your mothers to pick you up. König sat close beside you, almost fused to your side.

His hands shook in his lap, his gaze drifting to yours in a similar position, just lacking the jitters.

He wished he could be calm like you, to not be plagued with the mental anguish that he was born with.

He’d rehearsed this many times the night before, speaking with himself in the mirror – the only person aside from you he felt comfortable talking with – and prepared himself.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think about what he was doing, took your hand in his.

König waited a second, then two, before looking to you and gauging your reaction.

You didn’t even flinch, instead looking back at him with a small smile.

You squeezed his hand as you had done many times before.

So why did this time feel so different?

“What’s wrong, König ?” you said, tilting your head.

Wrong wasn’t even a word when König was with you.

König stifled the urge to withdraw, to retreat to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the day melted away and began anew, wiping your memory of this ever having happened.

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

He breathed deeply, hoping you wouldn’t notice as he tried in vain to placate his racing heart.

“Do you–” he swallowed, looking away, into the skyline of the fading sun, a sun set, then returning to you.

“D’youwannakiss?”

It came out so fast that even König had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

He thought his body would just seize up and release his soul to the heavens right then and there.

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

“König, we’re twelve. We don’t know how.”

It took König a second to understand what was happening until, yes, of course, the answer came to him.

Come to think of it, he’d only just realised.

His, and your, only knowledge of what ‘kissing’ was was something that people did when they loved each other.

He knew he loved you, though he knew the love he felt for you was different from the love he felt for his parents, or other family members.

He was rather sparse on the friend front, so he had little to compare you with there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and, thinking, found a solution.

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

You seemed confused for a minute, before you understood and applied equal force, your forehead resting against König’s.

And you stayed that way. Just you and König sat in a kaleidoscope of childhood with your heads pressed together; two halves of an arch way, one side meaningless without the other.

Act 2

Your childhoods came and went, a flambaic fanfare of hopes, dreams, and cartoons. And your teen years gave way to feelings you’d never felt before.

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

Even now as he shot up in height, you lagging behind in that same department compared to him, he would gladly bend the knee to take your hand in his.

As was the case on your first day of high school, where you and König hurried down winding, identical corridors that you could only ever have hoped to be liminal; too many people existed here for them to be so.

Eventually, you found your classroom, miraculously having an identical timetable – at least for now.

And as you sat beside each other, your knee bouncing, watching the students filter in, König squeezed your hand in his, casting you a small, quivering, nervous smile.

Your shared anxieties would continue on from this day forth, solidifying as, just as you had been in elementary, you and König seldom spoke to anyone outside your duo, having created an impenetrable wall through which nobody could enter and neither of you could leave.

Your habits from elementary continued on, too; you both completed homework together, you had sleepovers, you continued the Bestie Bible.

But something was…amiss.

This feeling, this loss of something, grew as you did, and by your early teen years, you realised what it was.

It was around every corner, at every block of lockers, leaned against them, gazing into the eyes of the most wanted.

Love.

Sure, you knew what love was, hypothetically. You could identify it on paper, sense it between two people you’d never even met. But you never felt it.

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

But you wanted to feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

And thus began your pursuit of that which would be your downfall.

Your gaze would begin to linger more on boys in your classes who you could see yourself liking.

Prospectors, you called them to König.

Your first mistake had been ever trying to like someone in the first place.

At your sleepovers, your homework and study sessions, your park wanders, you’d spill your heart to König.

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

You’d tell him of guys you thought you may, perhaps, just a little bit, be interested in.

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

He cast you a doubtful look, only to unfurrow his brows, unhook the smiling corners of his lips when he found you to be dead serious.

That night, König went to bed with what you could characterise as indigestion of the heart.

What you’d said didn’t sit right with him. Stirred a storm in his chest.

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

He thought you just wanted to be friends with other people.

More people.

The idea made him anxious, made his nerves light with doubt.

And he calmed himself, looking upon your Bestie Bible, reminding himself that your friendship was God, stronger than all the forces that kept the earth together.

Or so he believed.

One evening, weeks later, during one of your routine visits, König sensed a shift in you.

You were quieter, almost as if you had clouds drifting around your crown.

Over time, as your desire to experience more, do more, grew stronger, your gaze began to wander to your classmates.

One in particular.

Just some boy, really nothing objectively noteworthy about him at all, save for perhaps his kindness, his wit, and another benign personality trait you could romanticise.

Initially, you thought little of him.

But as the weeks crawled by, and you had extra time in your classes to simply retreat elsewhere, into another world, he would be there, smiling, waving.

And you would speak with him, imagine what his opinions would be, what his voice would sound like up-close.

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

Meanwhile, you and König still shared as much time together as you could, even when school was becoming troublesome. Difficult.

You’d study together, have sleepovers, write in your Bestie Bible and exchange it like a letter, a story almost as old as you were.

Whenever you’d fall asleep, König would watch you, unabashed and unfettered.

An identical habit to that he’d created during childhood, with a similar goal in mind; to protect you.

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

König would watch you, watch over you, and look for as long as he liked upon your sleeping features.

And, as he advanced into his later teen years, he couldn’t deny that he found you to be very attractive.

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

He always found his heart stuttering, his breath catching, his body heating at every docile gesture you made.

Not that you knew this, of course.

He’d studied, learnt enough from watching failed couples and friendships in school to see where mistakes were made – where friendships ended due to another’s impatience. Lack of restraint.

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

And so he fed from you as you slept, unawares, your vulnerable state further motivation for him to protect you.

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

But he held an answer, and it hung in his mind, a constant.

Everything.

During your study sessions, König began to notice that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Let me rephrase that; he’d noticed weeks ago that you seemed taken with something, but König couldn’t tell what.

He’d studied your Bible many times over, trying to find something indicative of your newfound interest.

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

And now, sitting here with you, König grilled you. Politely, with enough characteristic fragility in his tone that made him sound endearing enough to be spared any wrath you’d think to impart on him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Köni,” you assured him, smiling.

Your words were clear, but your eyes held a dream in them, a haze which settled over them like clouds before the moon.

König’s eyebrow raised, and, with a playful lilt, pressed further.

“That’s not true,” he said. He put his pen down and rested his hands upon the table.

“Something’s occupying your mind – I can see it.” He took a shallow breath, trying to keep his mouth stretching into a smile for as long as he could.

The fact that he didn’t know what was causing you to be this way killed him.

He recognised it in you, much as he recognised it in himself.

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

You shrugged him off again, smiling, returning to your work.

“Really, König, it’s nothing !” You made mindless markings on your paper. “Now come on, drop it. We have a history test tomorrow.”

That night, König couldn’t convince you to stay over.

You both knew the evening would drag on ‘til the early hours of the morn, and neither of you wanted to fail this test.

As König embraced you, his giant form eclipsing yours, he saw the back of your bag unzipped.

He knew exactly how many seconds he had until you’d pull away.

Without a sound, he slipped his hand inside and withdrew the paper you’d been scribbling on earlier.

For once, he withdrew first, though it pained him to do so.

That night, he looked upon the paper.

There was little he could decipher from the obsolete doodles and scribbles, but something did stand out to him.

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

It was given neither ceremony, nor decoration, simply slapped onto the paper as if it belonged there.

Looking at it made bile churn in his stomach, so he folded it, tucked it away somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.

The next day, it was his turn to receive the Bible, his makeshift friend, to give a near-identical account of experiences as you.

Given how you were both attached at the hip, there was little fluctuation in your day-to-day encounters.

In all honesty, he’d hoped that whatever had been plaguing you last night would emerge in the pages of that book, somewhere between the Frankenstein’s monster pages of glitter and brightly-coloured card paper and receipts from shops that exposed a most ambitious fashion sense.

And, like an answer from God, it did.

Laying in bed, leafing through the shared history book you and König shared, he sought your latest entries.

His heart burned as he discovered them, and, enthusiasm unmatched, he consumed every word.

He’d initially suspected that perhaps you’d taken up a new hobby, was maybe, in even a miniscule capacity, planning a gift for him, what with all your secrecy and all.

But König could read you like the book in his hands, and though he wanted to believe anything that crossed his mind, he knew any answer he came up with wouldn’t be the right one.

He truly had no way of knowing what was making you tick.

And then, he saw it.

A needle in a haystack; a whimpering puppy in a darkened alleyway.

A name.

A confession.

König’s body seized, his heart palpitating, his mind beginning to burn.

His throat tightened, and his stomach clamped shut, causing an immediate sickness to shoot through every nerve in his body.

The corners of his vision darkened, as if a cloud – or the cape of a villain – had settled over him.

And for a second, König thought that this was death.

There, in your handwriting, your letters, your words, was the cause of your distractment.

‘I like someone,’ you said, and König heard your voice in his ears, his head, as if you were speaking these words to him now, tearing his heart out now. ‘A boy from our class – the one who sits at the front, with the vintage biker jacket.’

König’s mind acted of its own accord, searching every frame of memory from the beginning of your school career to now to find the perpetrator.

All the while, König’s throat stung, the antiseptic truth bleaching, purging, the hope that had grown there over the years, a feeling which had persevered above all others.

The tightness in his chest gave way to a smouldering, burning, second death, the peeling of his heart in two, acid poured into the separate halves to be drunk by you, disintegrating the cumulative joy he’d felt there. Once.

The pages of the book tore in König’s hands, his grip on the edges enough to give the impression of a seizure, or some primal, uncontrolled bodily spasm.

The searing behind his eyes gave way to tears, an onslaught that choked him, choked him as the fiery clump in his throat burst into a sob.

König threw the book aside, feeling minimal relief from having done so, instead simply discarding the cross from his Hell-skin.

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

His hands clawed at his chest, pounding against the skin as if to search for the stolen heart beneath.

No words could, or would, leave König, no language of anguish or despair elaborate, violent, or loud enough to express what he felt.

On his knees now, König keeled over himself, compacting his large frame to a ball, as if to disappear entirely.

His mouth hung open, moulded to The Scream’s tune of horror, saliva stringing from within and onto the sheets.

He sobbed, convulsed, the same, nerve-frying stress that turned one’s hair white crushing him.

He knew now.

He knew what that feeling was, all those years ago, as another, younger version of himself lay in the same bed he wept on now, the agony his older self was benign subject to unseen by him, merely a pin-prick in the fabric of the universe, a bout of sadness, brief and fleeting, the desire to mourn, if only for a second, yet not knowing what for.

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

In all her most glorious, radiant terms, what he’d felt since the beginnings of your friendship, to the tumour it had developed into now, malignant and all-consuming, was love.

König wanted to part from it. To tear its parasitic tendrils from his mind and erase it so thoroughly from the universe that none should ever know it again, not its name, nor its face. Neither its feeling.

König’s face, pressed into the sheets to stifle his cries, to block out external stimulus, was scrunched in a portrait of terror, mid-scream, mid-death.

Eternities passed. The infernal suffering encapsulating König in its current made him break out into sweats, soaked his shirt and his body.

Through the dense thicket of heartbreak, König saw a thinning of trees, a glimmer peeking between distant gaps.

He searched for it, sought it, followed it blindly – anywhere but to be here.

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

König fled to the treeline, tangling in the vegetation and clawing his way free, sacrificing whatever material sentimentality he had to propel himself to freedom.

Body shaking, trembling, König threw himself into the light.

He shot up from the sheets, still clutching his spectral heart in his hands, breathing heavily, panting.

The idea settled, nestled in the forefront of his mind, incubated and basking in his attention.

König’s eyes darted from one dark corner of his room to the other, only the lamp by his bedside enough to fend off the monsters.

That, and the demon which sat upon his shoulders, bringing with it a weight which did not crush König, but grounded him, anchored and committed him to the plan festering in his mind.

If I can’t have you, he said to his two selves, the spirit of his innocence watching helpless and fraying from the sidelines.

Then nobody can.

Every time you returned with your findings, of guys you thought were nice, of those whose personalities you analysed and decided would be optimum for your first relationship, König felt his blood start to simmer.

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

König never bothered to learn his name – not properly. Even after he’d seen it square on your research paper like it was printed there intentionally.

And besides, it seemed to please you greatly whenever he’d get his name wrong, making you laugh.

Every night whenever you and König lay parallel, one on the floor and one on the bed depending on whose house you were staying at – since when did you stop sharing a bed…? – all you could seem to talk about was this feeling your whatever-he-was gave you.

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

Though, even as he lay, fists clenched beneath the bed covers, his ears would prick as you relinquished something new, something palpable, taintable, to him.

Like how he drove a car, how he was an athlete, how he was tall – “Not nearly as tall as you, though, Köni~” – and how he’d be taking you to the school dance.

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

Everything faded into white noise after that, König’s head burning with a thousand ways to separate you and your “crush”; how to remove him from your portrait and replace him with König.

But, having been willfully confined to the incredibly small circle that was only you and König, your social skills left… a lot to be desired. Made it easier for König to keep a closer eye on you without you flitting off to your other ‘friends’.

And whereas König never even thought about trying to alleviate his affliction, the “curing” of yours was all you ever thought about.

Each night, as you lay in bed, you dreamt of another you who was unafraid of public speaking, of private speaking. Of interacting in even the most broad or minimal of capacities.

Of talking to him.

And whenever you’d wake from those dreams, your chest puffed with the remnant confidence your alternate self gave you a sample of, it would deflate, crumble into ash the second you set foot over the threshold of the classroom.

People casting you a passing glance, the close proximity to others in a packed classroom…

It shot you straight back to square one.

And each time, you’d sit beside König, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in your lap, eyes devoid of any semblance of hope.

König wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that look was.

He’d encountered it many times in his youth before he’d grown comfortable with the uncomfortable; laid to rest his desire to remove the enemy and instead just live with it – anything for an easy life.

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

And as he watched your mind become filled with calculus and angles and the dates of histories that barely sounded factual, something, a wicked little thought, crossed his mind.

You were going to be difficult to break.

The idea cracked in his mind’s eye, a flash of lightning against the clouds.

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

He wondered where it had come from, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if to find the person who had put it there.

When the blazing cold panic fizzled out, calmed and quelled, he gave a glance to the thought, which hovered just out of reach; a legendary sword – antagonist – with not enough room in the inventory to keep.

And so König cast it into the Memory Pit, to die and to fade, while he returned to the lesson.

But it never left him.

It clung to the sharpened cliff edge, giving way to a bottomless pit.

The wright remained the day after. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

He had another set of eyes now, up above him, behind him, wherever he needed them.

His intuition sharpened, a cat in all but disposition, as he discerned the most miniscule of gestures in the most benign of people.

All excluding you, of course.

Knowing what he did now, König could see what you were thinking and when, especially whenever your attention turned to the boy at the front of the class with the decrepit cyclist’s jacket.

One time, you’d actually gone up and spoken to him, coincidentally on the one day König was off school ill.

Beginning a dark descent into something you couldn’t even fathom as of yet.

A ‘secret’ friendship that, when you’d tell König of it, excited and overjoyed at your progress, his face soured, his mood darkening.

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

König had pretended not to have seen your entry, pretended not to have actually had the book at all, but to suggest that someone may have stolen it, or that it had been thrown out when his parents were cleaning his room.

You found it difficult to believe, but what other alternative was there?

Trust your best friend or the possibility of pure, freak chance?

You chose the latter.

König neve let you out of his sight for a second.

Whereas he could trust you before, to handle yourself, to be loyal to his friendship, he could no longer.

Even when you were separated by timetable differences, he still had eyes on you.

A well-timed bathroom break, the revelation that he’d left his textbook in his locker – anything to slip out of his classroom and glide past yours, his eyes on you all the while.

Even if you’d caught him, you’d have assumed he was simply being humorous, as all friends were, or, again, pure chance.

He’d work harder than all other students, earn the teachers’ praise and trust, all to worm his way out the classroom a few minutes early to ensure he could pick you up from your class whenever you were separated.

In the corridors together, König would watch your line of sight carefully.

He’d see who you were looking at, who was looking at you.

Luckily, he never had to do much to deter others from interacting with you.

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

By his mid-teens, König towered above everyone else, giving an unsuspecting you scary dog privileges, and giving everyone else a heart attack when they caught sight of the well-dressed Austrian constantly at your side.

Given his stature, König could cast rotten looks to those who seemed even marginally interested in you, completely unbeknownst to you.

And besides, you wouldn’t believe anyone who told you as much.

König, the shy, quiet, socially anxious boy shooting daggers at another student ? Preposterous !

With this crush of yours, König already had enough to deal with. He wasn’t about to relinquish you to the throws of another person’s friendship as you seemed to already have done with your heart.

The one person König could never seem to do away with was your crush.

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

Not that you knew, but König would catch his eye in the hallways, see him stare at you for a moment before the reaper beside you caught his eye.

He looked away, and König hoped that was the end of it.

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

Or, losing what part of you was meant to be his.

And so he brought you to where you’d frequent as children, where you scarcely came to now ever since life had become so much more complicated.

The playground was desolate and empty, void of distractions save for the equipment – rides – which seemed too small for you now.

That didn’t stop you from trying to squeeze down the straw-thin slide, though, or into the seats of the roundabout.

König only watched, knowing he wouldn’t even have a chance of fitting like you would.

His palms were sweating, the script he’d rehearsed laying in some crevice in his room, ink smudged with anxiety and sweat.

König clambered up onto a climbing frame, the one which you had occupied when you ‘kissed’ for the first time.

The memory warmed König’s cheeks. But he couldn’t lose focus now.

He called you over, his voice deeper than it had been then, all those years ago.

And you came, bounding over to him, a labrador or a kitten.

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

And, wordless, equally intentionless, you faltered, just for a moment, then took it.

He pulled you into the tunnel, the tube wide enough to support König’s staggering height.

Comfort wasn’t the goal here; not for him, at least.

You fit perfectly, a perfect, perfect, perfect specimen as ever in König’s eyes.

That word reverberated in König’s soul, the only sublime measure capable of describing you in your purest form.

Now, hand-in, hand, you and König sat in silence.

Geese called somewhere in the distance, flying through the sunset gates in the sky to a land unknown, collecting passengers on their non-stop express to salvation.

The wind blew the trees as night began its slow descent, ink hands reaching down from the top of the canvas to transform this half of the world into its playground.

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

He ran his thumb across the back of yours, your knuckles.

He saw – felt – you wince, flinch. The beginnings of doubt, of retreat.

He knew he had to be quick.

The crippling anxiety that had shadowed from childhood sat with you in that tube now, your Venus, your evil twin.

It was you, who spat at him, at his attempts, and fed him tales of rejection and deceit, of your loyalty to that boy instead of him.

And yet here you sat, eyes wide as ever, curious and ambient, an ocean of possibilities.

The demon on König’s shoulders growled, its claws taking König’s heart in its clutches, knives to your feather-touch, and squeezed it.

König gave a cavernous, inward sigh and returned to you.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

He tried looking into your eyes. Peering into them as if they were the future.

You leaned in, swearing you could hear his voice twice.

One which spoke the truth, one which spoke a darker truth.

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

“Do you remember…when we were kids – and we…”

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

Your head tilted and your gaze flew to the sky in remembrance.

Your nose scrunched.

“König…that doesn’t particularly narrow it down,” you laughed, returning from the Heavens to him once again

König swallowed, thickly. He gave a wavering chuckle that barely reached his chest.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to mortify himself when he found sweat collating there. Colony.

He slapped it back down on his thigh, desperately, discreetly, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

He shuffled closer. You mirrored him, ear-first, trying to catch his words, butterflies in a net.

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

He was partially hunched, giving his tilted face a menacing, sharp look.

It almost took you aback.

His free hand, puppeteered by his demon, snaked past your body, fingers crocheting through your strands. Fusing you to him.

Your breath hitched, your guard defiled, as he placed his hand firmly there, the cold tips harsh against the warmth of your scalp.

“König–” you said, as if trying to identify the person in front of you.

König – or what he was now – didn’t listen.

He pulled your head closer, braced your hand in his.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves beginning to spark with…something.

You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you’d never felt it with König before.

You couldn’t place it, tried as you may.

It was only when König’s forehead kissed yours, his skin scorching, his eyes puppy-like and pure, that you found the answer.

It was the same feeling you felt for the boy with the vintage biker jacket.

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

And, with your forehead to König’s, a mirror image of the past, you were flooded with an ocean and all its creatures.

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

You’d never viewed König like that, not once.

And even now, it made you uncomfortable to feel this way.

And so, with the vigour of one escaping a trap, your eyes squeezed shut and tore yourself away, past König’s grip, his hold, and landing a foot or two away.

The umbilical cord, his hand in yours, was cut.

Your body felt cold, a phantom gust of wind prickling the skin, your heart.

König looked at you with wide eyes, pleading eyes, and a hole in his chest.

You looked upon each other, trying to find an answer, trying to see what the other would do.

Swallowing, breathing uneven, you crawled out from the tunnel, not looking back at König as he all but whimpered in your absence, eyes stinging, throat singing. A familiar condition settled upon him.

A paroxysm of his loving sickness, seeping deeper into his veins when you’d done your part in trying to uproot them.

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

It took a week of wavering smiles and faltering waves, of a wince or a jump when one of you spoke to the other, for you to eventually put it behind you.

Even with your minimal experience in Romantics, you knew something about the way König held you was different from every time before.

Or, maybe, you had only just awoken to the fact that such intent lay in all his actions towards you.

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

You’d made an effort to conceal that information from König, but he was fluent in the language that was you, and all its most obscure dialects.

You knew he’d figure it out sooner or later, whether you told him or some Rogue of Fate did.

But you wanted to live in this bubble of possibility for a bit longer.

Sure, you didn’t know your crush to a degree that you could call him as close a friends as König, but you’d done something to make him want you.

Your heart soared, chest swelled, the pit of pride held within.

And you waited.

And waited.

Your face grew sourer over time, the dripping of wax work, as realisation crossed your mind.

You didn’t want it.

This ivy – creeping – dread lacing around your heart, chains.

You felt your eyes kindle the embers of tears, your shoulders lowering yet remaining rigid, deflating.

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

You could feel his fingerprints against your skin. Distinct as he was.

You turned, a sliver of relief finding you, nesting between the cracks in your chest as you set your eyes upon him.

He wore a dark suit, altered in the sleeves and legs to accommodate his height.

He’d gelled his hair to appear as one would in a romance film. At least, that was what you thought.

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

Just for a second did your mind dare to tell you that this situation would not have happened if König had taken you to the dance.

The thought left you as you faced him fully, your hand coming atop his.

You squeezed it.

“Here all by your lonesome?” König said, voice low, a hint of humour within it, just short of malice.

You nodded. Dropped your head.

You went to talk, to say whatever came to your mind, when your voice gave way to tears.

König didn’t even flinch, even as your grip on his hand tightened.

Instead, he offered himself to you, bringing you close to him by your waist and holding you to his shoulder.

Bystanders would give a glance and König would give them death in a stare, and they quickly turned away.

The material of König’s jacket felt lavish, a far cry from the polyester of the other boys’ outfits.

You couldn’t place it. Not as your head panged with an oncoming headache and your heart burst with a reddening ocean, fire beginning to spark at the edges, boiling it.

You couldn’t help but go over every interaction you’d ever had with your crush, analysing it, scanning it, identifying any and every discrepancy that could have caused him to leave you this night.

And each time, your heart was heir to the shocks and bolts of despair, a palpable, gaseous substance that burned each time you inhaled, each time you thought

And as he held you, felt you shudder, quiver, into his shoulder the weight of your rejection bearing down on you, a far greater weight rested on his.

His demon sat there, smiling, grinning, the ghost of god.

He already had you flush against him, two cards packed tightly into the same pack.

“What’s wrong, Engel?” he said, softly, quietly. He rubbed your back, squeezed you.

“I am certain that whatever has you so upset is not worth your tears.”

And that just made you want to cry more.

The fact that König always knew what to say and when made the doubt from before – the regret – materialise.

König wouldn’t have done this to you. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“Come now, (Y/N),” he moved, his hand on your shoulder trailing the length of your arm and taking your hand.

You made no attempt to move.

He sighed, though you knew it was not of frustration. It was…something else.

König went still, then, his arm from your waist disappeared.

You nuzzled closer, an unconscious practice, as cold air hit your back.

“Listen !” he said, enthusiasm uncharacteristic of this situation laced in his tone.

You risked a glance, sniffing as you looked up at König.

He had a hand cupped over his ear, a makeshift megaphone. His gaze was occupied elsewhere, over your head.

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

Your chest stuttered with the remnants of your upset, and you strained to cease, to hear.

Music drifted over the sound of both idle and excited chatter, of the hazy, dusty, dusky layer of first love that had encompassed all.

All except you, it seemed.

You nodded into König’s chest, giving a cracked hum.

He finally looked down at you, both hands coming to yours.

He held them. Squeezed them once.

“It would be a waste for this song to go unremembered,” he said.

You gave a smile, strong as you could, yet it still turned out watery. Incomplete.

Something about König was…different.

You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but you knew you’d never seen it before.

His vehement denial of attending events such as these in the past had led you to the assumption he’d have stayed well away.

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

Still, the prospect of König even existing in a roomful of people, nevermind being watched by them, stunned you to the extent that you were sure it usually would have König.

You gave a short nod, and offering you his arm, you rested your hand upon it.

That night, König kept you close to him, sheltering you from everything.

When you were at your lowest, he brought you cake and a drink, watched over you as you tried to make sense of it all.

Then, he encouraged you, slowly, softly, to dance a few steps with him.

It started with him taking your hand and pulling you, like rope, up from your chair.

You resisted, initially, terribly invested in the comfort and protection of the corner you’d both taken up.

You felt as if everyone else knew of your predicament – like they were aware of your suffering.

Were somehow party and privy to it.

It took König’s reassurances, his placating tone as he promised he’d “Let nothing happen to you,” and “you’re safe with me, Little One,”

And, on your knees, with nothing else filling your head save for the crushing defeat of a love you hadn’t even had chance to know, König was your only salvation.

At first, dancing was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when it was what you were planning on doing with the person who had ripped your confidence out.

Other couples melted into the atmosphere, the ambience, becoming the backdrop to this milestone in your life, making the experience feel somewhat…less lonesome.

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

He was particularly agile as he kept you both in time with the music, setting a gliding rhythm and spinning you in his arms.

Initially, he was slow, despite the upbeat music not permitting such.

It shocked you how little König cared about the million ways he himself would have identified his actions as making him ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

Created a buffer between you and the rest of the world.

Though the sting of rejection followed you from each scene of this tragedy, its bite dulled, grained and blunted by the sheets of film placed over it, filled instead with the growing phantom of König, and you.

Little did you know that, inside, König was dying.

This place, this event, was a composite of all his worst nightmares, you being stolen from him included.

But, he knew that if he were not to face his demons – at least the ones that held him back – tonight, he’d lose you forever.

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

He only hoped you wouldn’t hear the clattering of his heart, feel it amid the plush layers of his suit.

Amidst the streamers and music and sticky scent of perfume and the slice of cologne filling the air made your mind hazy.

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

You swayed with König, your head against his shoulder, eyes shut. A glint of the dimming, pink lights reflecting against the disco ball pierced your eyelid, making you squeeze your eyes tightly, rub your face into the confines of König’s jacket.

He resisted the urge to let out a yell of victory.

The evening was drawing to a close, and König knew that, now, he had you.

Both mentally and physically.

He knew how untrusting you’d be towards your crush if you ever saw him again – if he ever dared to exist near you again.

And he knew how likely you were to take things like this – no matter how minimal the inconvenience – to heart.

König rested his chin atop your head. And, when you didn’t move, not one muscle, he relaxed onto you.

His mind and body had been a firework of nerves all day, waiting for even a second of doubt to cross your eyes, or your crush to come staggering out of the bin König had hidden him in.

But, here he was, the person he loved most in all the world with him and him alone.

Yet, despite his victory, he knew he couldn’t have you fully.

Not yet.

While no longer children, you both still had a considerable amount of time to change your minds, your mindsets, and so acting now while your life would be at its most volatile would be a wasted opportunity. A dangerous opportunity.

No, König knew when he had to act.

For now, he would abstain, take to your hand holding and secret sharing and forehead kissing until, one day, your eyes would open as his were, see the world with him as he did with you.

Pink. Rose-tinted as the very hall you occupied.

Act 3

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

If anything, it grew more palpable, yet not stronger.

It was already at its most imposing height, its final form, as König thought it.

The demon on his shoulders had retired to the corners of his mind since Prom night, surveilling everyone and everything that it thought a threat to your relationship with König.

And all the while, König kept it concealed from you.

You both ended up moving within close proximity to each other, though, given his occupation (which you’d vehemently warned and even denied him of doing) kept him away for many months of the year.

Resultingly, König could think of no-one better to guard his house and all its worldly possessions than you.

“What’s mine is yours,” he told you, handing you your very own set of keys.

“So you’ll see no point in stealing my shirts again.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! I was cold and it was just there !”

“Just say you missed me and save us both the effort.”

But seriously though, König almost died the first time he saw you in one of his shirts.

He leaves them strewn about in easy-to-reach places in the hopes that, one evening, he’ll come home and see you bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in one.

He gets a little frisky when he sees you in them.

First time, he thought you were adorable, pint-sized in his clothing.

And then, once the initial shock had worn off, his mind began to wander to…places.

He himself was rather taken aback by the ferocity of these fantasies, now breaking through the surface of his dignity to plague him.

He knows you have a preference for one of his hoodies, and he’s seen you wear it enough times to know that your birthday present this year was going to be very easy to choose.

He could have wept for the joy that spread across your face when he gifted you the hoodie, watching you wriggle into it before the wrapping paper had chance to fall to the ground.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom soon after, though.

You honestly spent as much time at König’s as you did at your own home.

Watering his plants, dusting the shelves, cleaning before he returned home; König found it all to be quite domestic.

Especially whenever he was ill and you were always there to make him feel better.

Like one time, when he was hit with a particularly bad cold, and was bed-ridden for three days.

You came and cared for him, cooked for him, catered to his every need with neither hesitation, nor complaint.

During his delirium, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you around like this all the time – to have you as his housespouse.

The thought, to König’s heavy, weary head, was particularly appealing, nigh euphoric, and when he slept he dreamt of you, serving him as you did now.

And he’d return the favour, of course.

It was in times like these that König’s mind began to…degrade, one might say.

More so than it already was.

Whether it was delusion or a sheer desire to have you, König began to try and make these scenarios a reality.

Make no mistake, he’d had similar ideas when he was younger, but now he had both the means and the time to actually do it.

And König’s mind had no qualms with exploring the darker avenues of this possibility, of the methods of how to enact it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content with keeping you close to him while you watched films together, your head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

Ferocious and positively massive, his mere presence was enough to frighten off potential suitors.

And friends.

That, coupled with his often silent exterior made for a terrifying experience to all that were not you or the handful of allies König had.

Often, you’d call him whenever you were frightened, or anxious.

Especially if you were out in the evening.

Not that König ever left you during those hours; regardless of the time of night or day, he’d accompany you anywhere and everywhere, your shadow.

But, on the rare occasion he was kept away, you’d call him, ask him to talk to you, keep you grounded.

One evening, you’d made the mistake of not telling König you were leaving to go out, and when he woke up at some odd hour of the night to find you gone, his first, soldier instinct was to panic.

He swept the house, found you nowhere, and began calling your phone so many times it very well could have exploded.

And when you answered, voice laced with sleep and heavy without judgement, König had to resist the urge to cry out in relief.

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

Had he not still been coming down from the panic high, König would have considered being angry.

“All right, just stay there. Don’t leave the store until I find you.”

“How do you even know which store—”

Needless to say, König was not best pleased to find you practically putting your life on the line for a bagful of crisps, a chocolate bar and…a toy fish?

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

“Next time, try not to act on your impulses so quickly.”

Like me, the voice told himself.

Your hand was shackled in his for the duration of the walk home.

And the whole night as you slept together.

Though, despite your blatant lac of self-awareness or judgement, König couldn’t help hut find you endearing.

The chocolate in your bag was his favourite brand, one which you couldn’t stand.

You’d gone out to do it for him.

He pulled you into his chest, practically purring as you nuzzled into his chest, enveloped completely by him.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through your hair. “I promise.”

Even during those moments where you were at your most intimate, regardless of how innocent your intent.

The first instance of this, a most shocking development, occurred when you and König had visited the beach.

It was a few months before his deployment to a far-away military base to train.

The two of you, as was to be expected, wore swimsuits.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only when you’d shed your thin jacket that König was affected.

His gaze fixed on you, unable to be torn away as he took in the silhouette of your body.

He’d never had an innate desire to see you partially, or fully undressed, even when he was at his most hormonal.

His love and appreciation for you had been based purely on you, your demeanour, your personality.

So to now see you having shed your fledgling body in return for one that was more mature, more defined, König couldn’t take it.

Sure, he’d seen people scantily clad before, though that was in magazines and shopping catalogues and movies that never quite took his fancy.

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

He swallowed thickly, the sun suddenly too hot, the sand suddenly too sharp.

And then, you had to bring him closer to ruin.

“Köni,” you called, melodic, a tune König would fall for every time.

“Would you help put this sunscreen on my back?”

This was all moving so fast.

Sure, he’d had thoughts of being intimate with you before, but they’d only been thoughts, hallucinations, even.

And he knew they weren’t real, weren’t palpable.

Unlike this.

Hesitantly, fearing his secret would become apparent to you, he sat beside you, legs clasped together as he tried desperately to keep you oblivious to the growing issue.

He’d lathered the cream between his waiting hands, and his breath shuttering, placed them upon your skin.

You were soft. Tiny in König’s giant hands.

He’d have cursed his genetics for making him so adept at this practice – for making it pass too quickly – was he not fighting every moral and ethic he had yet to break.

You purred as his hands slid from the to the bottom of your back, your unintentional mewls destroying König’s resolve.

His hands dipped, slowly, fractionally, down your sides, close to your front, your chest.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

He resisted, took in your body feverishly one last time before he got up, finished, his hulking figure blocking out the sunlight.

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

And off he sped to the nearest bathroom, where, whimpering into the jacket he’d balled over his fist and put to his mouth, he apologised over and over to you, his toes curling as he brought himself to a reluctant conclusion.

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

You smiled back at him from your shallow edge of the ocean, waving him over.

He declined, instead hiding beneath the shade of the umbrella.

He was still sensitive between his legs, as was his mind.

He wouldn’t risk compromising himself again. Not when he was so close to having you.

Or so he thought.

After that first encounter with his own beasteous appetite for you to a more…carnal degree, König had begun to indulge in some personal delights.

AKA, stealing your underwear and using it to get off during his long trips away.

And, whenever he stayed over, he’d take his opportunity to rifle through your drawers, gather intel (as he was so trained), see what new clothes you’d bought (why – and who for?).

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

Perhaps it was the false assurance of maturity that stopped you from realising – from seeing – how König felt about you.

Whenever he would come and pay you a visit, the afternoons would transform from a dusk-ridden sky to a languid black wine speckled with the universe’s offspring.

And there you and König would be, in bed together, talking for what would always be hours about anything and everything.

Much like that time in the tunnel, neither of you spoke of your time at the dance, though rather for you it was a source of hurt, whereas König, proof of conquest.

Regardless, you’d both matured, left school, and had pursued your own paths.

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

König’s decision to join the military had been one you’d discussed at length.

Or rather, you’d tried to convince him of staying.

He won that particular argument.

Not that he’d have let you stay mad at him, anyway.

“I can handle myself extraordinarily well, mein Maus.”

Your eyebrow quirks up.

“König, I’ve never seen you hurt a fly, nevermind a person.”

His stomach dropped when he remembered that you didn’t know about his…altercation with the boy who almost stole you from him all those years ago.

And the odd few he’d instigated whenever a potential suitor walked onto the scene.

He gets called away on business a lot, so you find other ways of communicating.

He’s not permitted to use a mobile phone since it serves as both a distraction and a vehicle for tracking, and the last thing König would do is put you in harm’s way.

Instead, you send each other letters, from addresses different to your true ones, of course.

You often send him books you know he’ll like, going through and annotating all the parts you found funny, sad, or profound.

And there was always a heartfelt note trapped within the pages, pinned to the paper in ink.

He has a limited edition copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart and a body of his other works that he keeps hidden beneath his bed.

‘Limited edition’ because you’d gone out of your way to print out each page of the book when you were just children, unable to purchase the book for both a lack of personal finances and not wanting to get König into trouble for reading such dark material.

Perhaps that had been some precursor to what your lives would become – a foreshadow over you.

The copy König had was worn, despite his best efforts to preserve it.

Dog-eared corners, blunted edges and yellowed, softened paper.

Some of the ink had scratches through the letters, faded.

And between those pages, a picture of you was held.

Each night, König would hold that photograph between his fingers, sometimes quivering with adrenaline, other times numb with the same affliction.

And, without fail, your visage brought him to sleep, to slumber, to a recreation of your domestic future that played behind his eyelids.

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

When he’d be gone for months at a time, you’d update him on your life occurrences; birthdays, anecdotes, work complications; König lived for it all.

All, except, for one sliver of news which you’d so foolishly told König.

And, as he held your letter between his clenching, grasping, white-knuckled hands, his teeth gritted, his eyes going wide, breath billowing from his nose like steam.

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

König did something he’d never done with your letters before.

He crumpled it between his fingers, his every nerve ablaze with the need to do something, to intervene.

König knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care.

This was different from Prom; he couldn’t reach you here.

That day, König’s kill count far exceeded that of his peers, many bodies ravaged with enough stab wounds to think them sacrifices for some angry god.

His teammates seemed a little reluctant to cooperate with him this time round, and steered clear of him for the duration of the mission.

Days later, König was home.

His fury remained with him, that demon he’d harboured for so many years now emerging from the corners of his personality.

But he knew to conceal it from you – knew how to.

He arrived at your doorstep before he’d even gone home yet.

To him, you were his home.

And as you invited him inside, his mask no longer an instigator of fright to you but of your best friend, your soulmate in another life.

König took little time to settle in your living room, putting his overnight bag somewhere, all the while his mind still rubbed raw with the mission.

And you.

Seeing as he’d been gone for some months, he knew he’d need to be attentive to the way you spoke of this new ‘crush’ of yours.

I’ll crush him, all right, he said to himself.

He couldn’t be sure how serious you were about him.

How deep a threat he was.

You’d cooked König’s favourite in anticipation of his arrival, having developed something of a sixth sense when it came to his making an appearance.

And as you brought him his fresh, spare clothes from your wardrobe, König couldn’t help but let a comment slip.

“We’re like an old married couple,” he said, stitching a laugh between his words to give the illusion of jest. Of humour.

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, placing König’s meal down in front of him.

“I suppose we do.”

And, as you went to pull away, König took your wrist, gently, in his hand.

He dwarfed you in every aspect, and this was no different.

But something that was different that you’d picked up was his stare.

It was deep, almost half-lidded in its demeanour.

König’s hand slipped from your wrist into yor hand, holding it, gently, like porcelain.

You squeezed his fingers.

“Something wrong, König ?” you asked, turning to give him your full attention.

He paused for a moment, then two, then three.

“No.” he said, final and certain. He let you go.

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

Since you stayed at each other’s houses as much as you did as children, König found it almost frighteningly easy to make you blunder.

He’d take your lunch out the fridge and hide it, only to deny ever having seen it when you searched for it in the morning.

Later that same day, König would come and pay you a visit, dropping off your lunch, claiming it to have “been in the back of the fridge. Must’ve missed it, Silly,” and he’d give you a smile.

The first few times, he’d treated your artificial oblivion to your surroundings as ‘cute’, ‘endearing’.

Then, when you began ‘misplacing’ your keys, your phone, everyday essentials, König would shoot you a concerned look.

“(Y/N), Sweetie–” he’d look in the cupboards with you, a look of concern laced into his features.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right ? You’ve been losing track of your things for quite a while now.”

At first, you could only give him quick reassurances before rushing off to work.

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

Searching the house not for your lost items, but for those he could hide next.

You’d never find them again.

You’d have to get copies of your keys, a new phone – replace all the contacts you lost,

And even then, König made sure you’d have to work for the ones he didn’t want you to have.

Like His.

Eventually, three months into this plan, this scheme, König made a proposition.

He sat you down at his dining table, his hand atop yours, holding it.

He appeared genuine.

True.

“(Y/N),” he said, almost exasperatedly.

“I’m…concerned about you.”

He gave you a second to consider what he was saying, wanting to give you the illusion of verbal freedom.

When you only nodded eyebrows knitted together in mirrored concern, he inhaled deeply.

“And, considering how…” he pretended to rummage around in his mind for the right word. “Forgetful you’ve been recently…” he watched you. Tried to gauge your reaction. Something flickered behind your eyes.

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

“I thought that, perhaps, just for a week or so, you could try…living here.”

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

You sniffed, rubbed your eye, and settled your weary head into your hand.

König pushed further.

“Unless…” he cast his gaze down, to the oak table.

“You don’t think I’d be able to care for you.”

At that, your eyes widened, and you clasped König’s hand between yours.

Desperate.

“Oh, no, Köni !” You exclaimed. “I-I can think of no-one better to look after me than you !”

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

“But…” you retracted. König had to resist the need to pull you back into his arms.

“But you’re just so busy. I don’t know if… I’d just be a burden to you.”

König almost let out a snort.

“A burden ?” he said, leaning back in his chair, as if taking an arrow of offence straight to the heart.

“My dear, you would never be a burden to me.”

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

His voice lowered. Soft. The flight of a bird across the ocean’s face.

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

A tear fell onto the hoodie you wore. The one König gifted you.

“Okay.” You relented.

The shark tore the bird from its glide, dragging its corpse into the abyss.

König squoze your hands.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you.

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

König left on official business not long after you moved in.

You still had you other apartment, but the way König spoke of it, using ‘was’, ‘were’ and ‘used to be’, gave the impression that it was off-limits to you now.

Lost.

You were allowed time off work after explaining your predicament to your boss.

She was supportive, told you to take as much time off as you needed.

As you bade König a farewell at the door, something about him felt…different.

You could feel it in the way he gripped you, pulled you up to him, his arms around your waist, hanging lower than usual.

His breath hot against your neck, the phantom brush of his lips against your most sensitive part.

And when you withdrew, König imparted only a sliver of advice to you.

“Don’t go into the basement.”

The look on your face implored ‘why?’, yet your lips did not.

König set your mind at ease regardless.

“There’s a bit of damp down there. Don’t want you getting sick–” He looked at you, smiling. “–er.”

And he bore himself into the night, shedding König and becoming a killer.

That night, when the TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment, and your phone offered little incentive to play games or socialise, your mind began to wander.

Through meniality, then obscurity.

You thought about your old home, and everything in it you loved.

Your heart ached for it, for everything you’d left behind there.

I’m sure König wouldn’t mind if I…just had a little time at home.

You consorted with your mental audience.

After all, he’s going to be gone for at least a few weeks.

Standing from the sofa, legs wobbling with inactivity, you hunted for your keys.

König kept his on a hook by the door.

But when you checked it, yours were nowhere to be found.

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

You lifted a pair of underwear from within that you swore you’d lost months ago – before you’d ever moved in with König.

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

I probably just packed these without thinking. Found them in the wash bin and threw them into a suitcase.

And you continued your search.

Soon, however, you were beginning to run out of rooms, and you were growing restless.

The longer you were forced to abstain from the outside world, the more ants felt like they were crawling under your skin

Eventually, despite König’s warning, you had no choice but to descend into the basement.

And you did so.

Quietly.

The feeling of having König over your shoulder didn’t leave with him.

Not this time.

And, as you clambered the newly-cleaned stairs down, you saw a dim light peeking out from beneath the door frame.

You reached for the handle, breath bated with the hope of discovery.

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

For a second, you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The source of the light had been candles.

Many, many candles, varying shades of your favourite colours, blended into a macabre rainbow over a horrifyingly familiar artifact you’d assumed had been lost to time.

The Bestie Bible.

Mounted on a makeshift pillar and aged with childlike handling, though it was noticeably pristine.

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

A man stood before you, but it wasn’t König.

It couldn’t be.

Though identical in build, in height, and in the way he stood, this veiled man was not your König.

At least, not the König you’d grown up with.

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

#mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you #yandere mw2 #yandere mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig modern warfare #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig x yn #yandere konig #yandere konig x reader #yandere könig #konig headcanons #mw2 headcanons #yandere

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justthoughts1310 · 2 months

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If you have not watched Netflix's live action ATLA yet, let me stop you right now. It is not good and it's score on rotten tomatoes is honestly too high.

However, it's far better than the 2010 Live Action movie.

I'm on episode 6 now, and as I watch, I've been trying to find the words that best describe the series.

I've struggled, but the first thing I've noticed is how all of the actors seem to walk their parts and miss the meaning and motivations of their characters all together. The only one who comes close to embodying their character is Iroh, and the only one who looks like they came from straight out of the avatar universe is the Bounty Hunter.

However, now that I'm in episode 6, I've found the word.

The series is Rushed. It's rushed. It feels that they are trying to pack as much avatar lore into the storyline as possible and they don't care what storylines or arcs they have to mangle in order to do it. It's like a really badly written fanficition or a bad spark notes recap of the OG show. I feel comfortable saying that because I've read the Kiyoshi novels (which are like fanfics) and they are EXCELLENT.

You notice this when the show starts. Aang can fly unassisted. Let me repeat. He can fly unassisted. Only two Airbenders in all of Avatar history can fly unassisted, and one hasn't even been born yet during the time Aang was trying to stop the 100 year war. This boy can fly, but we're 6 episodes in and he has not water bent once. If he hadn't turned into Kiyoshi, I wouldn't believe that he's actually the avatar.

As to not provide any spoilers, they've taken multiple storylines and mashed them together. For example, the spirt of wisdom that we meet in the library in the arc where Appa goes missing. Yeah, we meet the guy in the forest with the Panda Bear Forest spirit and then we meet Kah shortly after. As if that's not all terrible, then we are introduced to the Mother of Faces.

The mother of freaking faces! If you don't know who she is, she is not in the show. She is introduced in the graphic novel trilogy "The Search" when Zuko and Azula try to find their long lost mother.

It is my feeling that if you want to revisit a beloved show that you should work to make it better. Deepen it. Add color to it and help the audience better understand the characters insights. Take your time with it.

Netflix tries to do a little of this by providing some additional backstories, but it does this by running rough shot through literally everything else.

It even changes the characters relational dynamics with one another. For example you know how even though Sokka is the oldest, Katara very much has adopted the place of their mother? Yeah... throw that notion right out the window. Now, instead of Katara being the practical one who keeps everything on track, she's painted as the rash kid who needs to grow up and Sokka is the father figure.

Now, Zuko is kind of the beloved child even though he's been banished and Azula is seen as a nuisance to her father. Like what??????

It's actually ironic that the show removes Sokka's misogynistic nature because the show is kind of misogynistic in and of itself.

It's 6 episodes in and has already stripped three female characters of their core tenants.

1. Azula is a prodigy. She's the pride of the fire nation. Not anymore.

2. Katara is a motherly figure who is the mother of the group. She cares for everybody and keeps them on track. Not anymore.

3. Suki is a fierce and independent warrior who is not impressed by Sokka's misogyny. Now, she's a creepy woman who follows him around the entire time he's on the island until he asks to be trained by her.

When we heard that the OG creators and Netflix went different ways because of creative differences, we should have known right then and there that the live action was going to be trash.

Also, I'm going to put it out there. Considering the fact that this should be a block buster series, Netflix did not spend anywhere enough money on it, because the graphics are so cheesy and Appa looks terrible.

#atla #netflix #atla live action #sokka #katara #kataang #zuko #azula #nikelodeon #roku #kiyoshi #kah #avatar #avatar the last airbender #airbending #zaheer #legend of korra

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possibly-not-a-ghost · 2 years

Note

I've been thinking about your fake cryptids real ghosts thing nonstop, rent free in my head. That's all

All according to plan! Here's another blurb because everyone in this fandom is a gift.

So, I for one can totally see the Batfamily trying to find out where Danny set up is Haunt in Gotham because Dead Ghost Child and the implications of their first meeting. Actually, let's talk about their first meeting because it's related.

Danny bringing gifts to the biggest shrine to declare his arrival. He brings Robin a cool knife he found in the GZ (Or maybe it was a gift who knows.) Point is, it's a spooky knife, and like...nice postcard of sunrises, blue skies and other Pretty places because man, the Bats don't ever leave Gotham and aren't seen in daylight hours what if they miss it or haven't seen it and some homemade (slightly ectro-contaminated cause it was made in the GZ) Bat-themed cookies. No one Knows they're bat-themed until Danny explains. (They look like those sad misshapen spider-man ice cream cones but god did Danny and Jazz Try and intentions are what matter here.)

They meet, Danny throws them into existential crisis' because Ghosts and of course they're trying to find him so they can (adopt him, make sure he's okay, ask what who's hunting him cause WHAT) And instead of the usual shenanigans of them meeting Danny as human or Phantom, the only one to ever meet Danny is Alfred.

Danny who got help from a really nice British guy when he was trying to figure out what to give as offerings to the Bats and might've been having a small crisis because 'what if they don't let us stay and we have to go to somewhere like eugh Metropolis.' and ends up latching onto the first Nice Adult he meets during said crisis.

Danny & Jazz who just so happen to bump into the the Nice Adult while grocery shopping (Alfred who has a schedule for the family shopping and Jazz who always says having a set routine is Healthy.) and the two keep trying to politely ask how to adult and do cooking because let's be real. While Jazz has done her best to feed herself and Danny a better diet the Fenton kitchen was a disaster zone and there's only so much you can do when you're food keeps trying to attack you. There's much more to your food than striking it back down after all.

Also here's another meme.

#dp x dc #fake cryptid batfam #fake cryptids real ghosts au #danny phantom #there's so many ways you could go. I am an angst machime but I am just in a silly goofy mood #I made the memes on my phone forgive the quality lmao #plus Alfred unknowingly helping out Danny pick out gifts for his family makes me smile #Jazz asks the BEST PERSON about hard to get out stains by pure accident because you can't convince me that ectoplasm is an easy clean #this got away from me a little whoops #but love for Alfred is forever #rook posts stuff #asks and answers

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ssadumba55 · 10 months

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More Jack Skellington and Ghost Child! Reader

Request: Another jack Skellington father figure headcanons please

A/N: Continuing the canon that was established here

One of your little found family's favourite things to do together was read a book at night. It was the only thing that could guarantee everyday to pull Jack from his planning from next Halloween.

The bedtime routine had become your favourite, even though you didn't really need sleep. It was a mere formality seeing as you were literally dead.

Sally would help you pick out a book from the many shelves Jack had, a lot of them were gruesome but that's what comes from living in Halloweentown.

You always made yourself corporeal for this, snuggling up beside Sally on the bed and waiting for Jack to join. And he always did too, he was never late.

Sitting between the two adult ghouls, you flipped the pages while they read the words. Reading had never been a skill you'd picked up on before, but you liked listening to them read, feeling the warmth of them on either side of you. Which was funny seeing as none of you were actually alive so there should be no warmth.

And even though you really didn't need sleep, the routine always ended with you falling asleep, being tucked in by Jack and Sally and affectionate tucking in taking place

That was the best part of having a corporeal body, you could feel the warmth of the blanket and the gentle strokes of comfort from your adoptive parents

"Can I hold your hand?" You asked nervously

You and Jack had agreed to go on a special mission for Sally, she needed things for making her special brews and for other hobbies she took part in. She had said it was a good way to get Jack out of the house.

Jack looked down at you, your nervous form flickered between the usual transparent to the corporeal form. You had never liked the hustle and bustle of the main part of Halloweentown.

He held his hand out for you to grasp, and you did. It always struck him when he held your hand how small it was compared to his. Your small child hands looked even smaller in his bony fingers.

"You sure you're going to be alright?" He gently prodded. He had promised if you didn't feel up to it, the two of you could always try again another day.

"Yeah, I'll be fine dad."

If he had a heart, it would've surely skipped a beat at those words. Being called dad was not something he ever thought would make him feel so proud. It was a greater accomplishment even than his Halloweens.

"I know you will."

"Fetch Zero!" You tossed one of Jack's bones down the graveyard for the ghost dog to catch.

He barked excitedly as he floated as fast as he could to catch it, bringing it back in record speed. You tossed it again, this time harder and further.

The dog scurried off to retrieve the bone and you waited for him to return. It was strange to be here after staying at Jack's home for so long. You didn't miss being all alone out here, but sometimes you did miss the simplicity of it.

You were lifted into the air before you could dwell on the thoughts further, Jack had snuck up behind you and he set you on his shoulders. There was nothing better than being "on top of the world".

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

"Zero wanted to play fetch." As you said this, the dog in question raced back bone in mouth and Jack took it from him, connecting it to himself once more.

"It's time to come inside, your bedtime routine starts soon."

You kicked your legs in contentment as he walked back up the path to Halloweentown. Zero zoomed around at Jack's feet, following the two of you home.

You glanced back at the graveyard, one might think it was longingly but in reality, you didn't miss it as much as you thought.

#nightmare before christmas imagine #nightmare before christmas headcanons #jack skellington imagine #jack skellington x reader #disney imagine #disney x reader #disney headcanons #gender neutral imagine #gender neutral reader

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llondonfog · 5 days

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OK so Baul and Lilias friendship lives in my mind rent free, so I think that a few days after silver gets sick for the first time and mama and papa zigvolt manage to teach lilia the proper way to care for a sick infant after he comes over to their house tembling with poorly restrained panic, Baul goes over with v little persuasion from his daughter to check up on them.

What he sees is a happy and healthy Silver just quietly smiling up at him from Lilias arms while Lilia is passed out in his rocking chair fevered and red from catching baby's first cold.

Baul immediately assigns himself caretaker duties, doesn't even bother trying to move Silver from Lilias arms and instead just picks them both up to deposit them both in Lilias bed for a proper nap before checking the fridge for tomato soup ingredients.

When he first heard from his daughter that Lilia— Lilia Vanrouge, the once General of the Right, feared commander of the fae armies and scourge of humankind— had adopted a human child and had been caring for it for several months now, Baul had roared with laughter so hard that he split a scale wide open on his cheek.

It was certainly a poor excuse for a joke, the very kind of rumor that the castle fae still bitter over Lilia's persistent existence four hundred years later might spread. The very idea that Lilia, Lilia Vanrouge, would debase himself to care for a human child not of his blood, to stoop so low as to toil over its screeching and wailing demands when he had bathed in the screams of its own kind with a mad vengeance after the tragedy of Lady Meleanor . . . not even four hundred years of honeyed peace was enough to sweeten that wound.

Time, it seemed, had forgotten what was so cruelly emblazoned in the very depths of Baul's mind, in Lilia's own memories, and the nightmares of all those surviving fae who stalked the forests during those blood-soaked nights. Those born in kinder years had never known the horror of human avarice, and even his own daughter had taken up residence with one of their kind despite her father's immense displeasure, simpering, soft-hearted fool that her husband was.

At least, to Baul's proud credit, their lineage rippled strong and true through his grandchildren— and with his daughter due any day under the weight of a third, he's only too certain for another healthy, bouncing, scaled Zigvolt.

So when she had simply stared back at him with crossed arms and an arched brow while he had laughed and laughed and laughed, a sinking kind of horror began to creep into his heart— surely . . . she wasn't serious?

Months— hardly the blink of an eye for faekind, but everything to humans. Months, Lilia had kept a child for several months, and not once had tried to rid himself of it? Not once tried to deposit it upon the stoop of a human village and wipe his hands clean of the responsibility of child-rearing? He had been taking advice from Baul's daughter and her wisp of a husband on how to pacify and coddle it? He had barged into their home, fretful beyond measure with a colicky babe clutched in his arms, and all but demanded them to cure the child?

("Or what?" Baul found himself asking, utterly bewildered and needing to find some kernel of normalcy in the fact that surely Lilia had menaced his daughter's husband some into obeying his whims.

"Or nothing, Father," she said, the taunting ghost of a knowing smile playing about her lips. "In all the years that I've known him, I've never seen him quite so distraught. He stayed by the crib all night, frozen— we had to tell him it was alright to breathe and to hold Silver's hand if he wanted, it was as if he was afraid to hurt him.")

Silver? Lilia, afraid? Holding the hand of some human child?

It simply couldn't be true.

It couldn't be, this had to be some elaborate, poorly executed prank.

He clung to that belief even as his daughter shoved a bundle of medicine, food, and knitted blankets into his arms with the stern instruction to deliver them to Lilia's home (Home! He had never heard the forest cottage to be described in such terms! The place was a hovel, a storage shed for Lilia to dump his treasures before venturing off to the next location, how could it be considered a home?).

He clung to it even as he emerged from the woods to the path that led up to the cottage's door, casting unnerved glances to the strange and new abundance of woodland creatures skulking about the thatched roof and scampering along the thick tree trunk supporting the cottage like a lean-to, soft little animals that would have darted away in fright from Lilia's presence before Baul's own.

He clung to it until he could no more, when he threw open the cottage door with an odd tightness in his chest to see his oldest friend collapsed on a worn and lumpy armchair with a honest-to-goodness human baby snuggled safely within his arms and sucking happily on a stray piece of ruby-stained hair. Beyond them, a soothing glow flickered in the fireplace where a kettle of milk quietly steamed, and the scattered presence of cloth toys littered the living room floor along with (Baul shuddered) well-thumbed pamphlets, their covers illustrated with the cheerful faces of frolicking human children.

What had this child done to Lilia Vanrouge?

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scekrex · 2 months

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Hello💕💕💕💕 me again I just really love your story's and I would like to be known has '💕💕'<3 another request 💕hurt/fluff 💕

💕Adopted child male reader x parent Adam, were reader died from his father and went to heaven but doesn't have a place to stay of course his like 2 and Sera does not know to do with him so she just give him to Adam and told him to just keep him for a while to find someone willing to take care of y/n.💕

💕While Adam first saw y/n he just take cared for the kid and kept on saying how the kid was soo annoying, after a few months he started to actually started to get attached with y/n but then Sera asked Adam for the y/n back because she found a orphanage that will like to take care of y/n and maybe find a real family but Adam quickly refused saying that he would like to keep y/n so Sera was alright.💕

💕So after a few 10 years y/n and Adam became inseparable! Going to their favorite bands and y/n knowing how to play the electric guitar and even the drums. This year y/n wants to go and see his dad killing those sinners but Adam isn't too sure on letting his son but he let him because he kept on begging him to come so he allowed it just this once and to try stay close to Lute ( Lute is kinda like a babysitter for Y/n ).💕

💕Y/n was rooting for his father while he was fighting with Lucifer ( more like Lucifer fighting with Adam) until when Adam fell on the floor while Lucifer was punching Adam, then Charlie said that Adam had enough before y/n could run to his father and tell him if they could go home now the little red demon girl stabbed his father, y/n quickly ran towards his father grabbing the girl out of his father, crying fat tears and keep on saying "please don't go, dad" ( or whatever you want)💕

You can write the ending I am too lazy 🙃

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Okay so I've never written child reader before so I hope it matches your expectations! xoxo/p

Born to Lose

pairing: dad!Adam & child!male!reader (platonic)

warnings: language, canon typical violence, major character death

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The woman in the pretty white dress with the beautiful looking wings handed you over to that man with golden wings and long horns attached to his head, he looked a little grumpy.

“Why me though?” the first man asked, clearly displeased with the situation that had been forced onto him. What was he supposed to do with a two year old? Sure, he did have children back in the garden but… that was ages ago. He also had Eve back then, to help him raise them. How he was alone with nothing but you in his arms.

Sera was serious about this. A situation like that rarely happened and usually there had always been angels willing to take the child in, but not this time. Not when you had arrived in heaven. Your hands clumsily reached up to one of Adam's horns, you wrapped your small palm around it and giggled happily. Adam sighed. “I wish there would be a better, more permanent solution, it would be the best for the both of you, but sadly there isn't. It's either you taking him in or him ending up homeless.” Sera's words hung in the air for a moment before Adam sighed again, “Okay yeah, I'm taking him in. But fucking hurry up to find a family for that little shithead.” “Language,” Sera warned the first man who simply rolled his eyes at her before he flipped her off and left the building.

So he had to take care of a motherfucking two year old now. Fucking great, thanks for absolutely fucking nothing, god.

You were loud, most children your age were. Well, in Adam's defense, he didn't sign up to adopt a two year old. So he was allowed to complain about you. You needed constant attention, always silently begging to be lifted up into his arms by making grabby hands at him and considering that it was the only way Adam was able to get you to shut the fuck up, he carried you around more than he liked to.

You were a clingy, loud, annoying, stinky little brat and yet you made him soften up. Because carrying you around often resulted in the two of you playing. Adam would lift you up in the air, careful not to drop you of course, while you pretend to be flying - which one day you would be. He also complained about your nightly wake up sessions, how annoying and exhausting it was for him to get up at least five times a night to feed you, change your diapers, or simply give you whatever else it was you were craving.

Yet he loved you dearly and wouldn't give you up for anything.

He had already completely forgotten about what Sera had promised him. That she would find a permanent solution for your problem. To him, this was the permanent solution and he was more than fine with it. So when Sera had ordered him into her office and he had stepped inside with you sleeping in his arms, he was quite surprised to see other angels there too. “Who the fuck is that?” Adam asked as he steadied your little head that was resting on his shoulder. “Those are the people willing to take Y/N in, Adam,” the seraphim explained calmly to the first man, who turned his body away from the strangers in order to protect you. His wings were spread, working as a shield. “No fucking way, he's not leaving me now. I took care of this little fucker for the past six months, he's not going to live with somebody else now.” He pressed your little body a bit closer, yet he remained careful, the brunette had no intention in waking you up. And you remained asleep.

Sera folded her hands as she turned towards the angels that were there to pick you up, “As you can see, I'm very sorry to announce that Y/N will stay with Adam. He seems quite attached to the child and the young boy is visibly feeling comfortable around him. Therefore we don't need your service any longer.” And as soon as Sera had finished her little apology, Adam left the building. There was no need to stick around longer and possibly wake you up.

The years passed and before Adam knew it your twelfth birthday was in the past. Ten years had it been since the first man had been given the task to watch you, raise you. And he did. Once you had learned how to walk and fly, there was nothing that could possibly stop you in any form or way. Talking was also a skill you learned quite quickly, eager to repeat whatever Adam said. At first the first man had thought of it as annoying but he had quickly started to like that little habit of yours. It disappeared as you grew older though.

With six Adam had started to teach you how to play the electric guitar, music had always been a big thing in his parenting methods. He was a guitarist and singer, in God's holy name, of course he would raise you with music. So it had only been a matter of time until he took you to your first ever concert.

The drummer of Adam's band had insisted on teaching you how to play them after you had curiously asked him how he managed to stay so focused on it while also looking ‘badass’.

So. You were twelve, that was fucking old if someone were to ask you. Old enough to join Adam on extermination day. That had been a thing ever since he had adopted you, probably even before. But your father had always told you that you were too young. This year however, you weren't going to back down so easily.

“C’mon dad, you've taught me how to fight, I can defend myself okay? I'm not some whiney, helpless bitch like the other angels up here,” you begged your father.

Ah yes, the language. Your vocabulary was definitely heavily inspired by Adam. A thing Sera disliked, but had stopped commenting on. She still hoped you'd grow into it and learn how to articulate yourself properly.

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance as he furrowed his brows, “Jesus, okay, okay, fuck, yeah fine.” He had given in. He had officially allowed you to fight by his side during the extermination. “But you're not leaving my side and if you do, only in company with Lute.” That was something you could agree on. Lute was the most badass bitch you've ever met after all.

So extermination day rolled around quicker than Adam had liked it too, if he were to make the decisions, he'd skip it simply because that would mean you'd be safe, instead of being surrounded by demon fuck-ups. But he had already agreed, there was no taking it back now.

Adam was slammed into the ground, neither you nor Lute were in sight as it happened. Lucifer only showed mercy once his daughter reminded him. Adam crawled out of the crater, blood dripping from his face, his body was in pure pain.

You saw him, you also saw the little demon girl that was sneaking up behind him. But things went down way too quick. The little girl pulled out a dagger and stabbed Adam with it. Your father fell face first onto the ground. Pain shot through your body, not physically but emotionally. “Dad,” you screamed as you flew over to his body, the little girl sat proudly on his back. You grabbed her by her throat, your hand was wrapped around it tightly, strategically cutting off her air supply as you ripped the dagger from her tiny hands and lifted it, the tip pointing to her eye. And then you stabbed her.

As you pulled the dagger out, her eye popped out of its socket and blood covered your hands. You stabbed her again, this time in her chest. And again. And again.

The body in your hands went limp and you threw her away carelessly. “Dad, stay with me,” you dropped to your knees next to his head, pulling him onto your lab, “C’mon dad I wanna go home.” Tears started to well up in your eyes as Adam opened his eyes to look at you. His usually bright eyes seemed so lifeless, so dead. Tears streamed down your reddened cheeks and hit his face. “Don’t go dad, don't fucking leave me,” the brunette simply shot you a weak smile of thankfulness. Thankfulness that he didn't have to die alone, that you were there.

it was Lute who came up behind you to rest her hand on your shoulder. “Y/N,” she spoke so softly yet her voice sounded hurt, “He’s gone,” she stated as Adam's eyes fell shut. “No,“ you screamed as you pulled away from her touch and pressed your father's dead body against your chest, “He’s not- he's Adam, he can't-”

In the background Charlie, surprised, asked, “Adam had a son?” Lucifer nodded, “Well, he isn't one of the kids I know, he must either be heaven born or adopted, but Adam sure is a father.” Something tore in Charlie at the sight.

“Dad- Adam,” you hiccuped as Lute grabbed Adam's halo. “Y/N, we have to go,” but you shook your head violently, “I’m not leaving without my fucking father, don't even try it.” The lieutenant sighed heavily before agreeing to take him with you, to take him back to heaven.

You got up from the ground, straightened your back and spread your wings proudly as you and Lute picked up Adam and carried him to the portal the leader of the exorcists had opened only a couple of hours ago.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

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dotster001 · 4 months

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When You Escape Him; Scarabia

Summary: Yandere Scarabia boys x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

CW: Yandere, dark themes, betrayal, somehow Jamil is a shit in both parts, reader gets slapped in Kalim's part, implied hypnosis

Heartslaybul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia Non NRC Staff

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

You’d always known this was a possibility. But when so much time had passed, you had hoped for the best.

“Y/N!” You heard him before you saw him. His voice was excited as you heard shouts and running feet come your way. You looked down at your five year old, who seemed to have no idea what was wrong, smiling happily as he chewed on the donut you'd given him for being such a good boy at the doctor.

You could run.

But you wouldn't make it far.

And in the split second you took to think about it, a familiar set of bejeweled arms was wrapped around you.

“Y/N! I've been so worried!” He sobbed against your shoulder. Before you could respond, he had stepped away and begun jumping up and down excitedly.

“My baby!” He cried, smiling widely as he scooped up your son, spinning him around and making the boy giggle happily. “You're both safe! I'm so happy!”

Your son was squished between the two of you as Kalim initiated a group hug. Kalim was sobbing, but smiling and giggling. Your son was giggling. The only one miserable was you.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. You made eye contact with a very irritated pair of grey eyes. Jamil's face said it all. Even if Kalim was happy, you were absolutely fucked.

Jamil loudly cleared his throat, and Kalim took a step back, gently taking your hands in his own.

“Jamil told me everything. He said that after my father was killed, you were scared that they would hurt our baby. But it's okay! We've fixed all the security problems! He'll be safe now!”

The only thing stronger than Kalim's delusions, were Jamil's deceptions.

Kalim pressed a kiss to the back of each of your hands, before pressing a quick chaste kiss to your lips, one you were too petrified to even pretend to reciprocate.

“I need to do some fatherly bonding with my son, and tell him all about being the Asim heir. But you're going to go home with Jamil. He's going to fill you in on all the safety upgrades we made.”

He stared at you, his eyes full of adoration, before he giggled again, and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“I'll see you when you get home. I love you!”

He once again scooped up your son, exiting the crowded area to a private limo. You slowly turned to Jamil, who was still glaring.

“I hate you,” you said.

“And I despise you. Let's go,” he said dryly, grabbing your arm and dragging you to the limo he and his men came in.

The first few minutes of the ride were silent. He eventually broke the silence.

“You disgust me.”

“I'm not the one who kidnapped another human being.”

“You were barely kidnapped,” he snapped. “You have the world in the palm of your hand. All you have to do is be an obedient little toy, and he'd give you the stars in the sky, if you asked for it.”

“What good is having the stars if I don't have the freedom to enjoy them?”

He slapped you across the face. “I never want to hear you tell me what freedom is.”

“I hate you.”

“It's mutual. But I don't have to worry about it for much longer,” he sighed. “I've been told to make you “feel safe” by whatever means necessary.”

The full meaning hit you a second too late, as he snatched your chin, and looked deeply into your eyes, his smile smug.

“The one you see before you-”

In your time of need, you'd made a deal. You knew a viper from the desert would drown in the vast ocean. So you gave up your old life in exchange for waiting tables in the undersea Monstro Lounge for the rest of your life. It wasn't anything glamorous, but Azul had promised, in exchange for your free labor, you'd have a nice home, your meals would be taken care of, and he'd get your son into school. Over the last ten years, you'd become so well liked, and well versed with Monstro Lounge policy, that you and Azul had been discussing bumping you up to management. You'd even begun getting closer to Jade.

Life was good. Except for the stray nightmare, which Jade was now there to help save you from, you could almost forget your past. You could forget him.

Jade was usually the one in charge of stock, and the lounge always picked the best of the best. So Jade would take trips to the surface for ingredients. He always invited you to come with him, but understood whenever you told him you weren't ready yet. He fully believed one day you'd be ready, and that you, him, and your son would have a picnic in a forest. It sounded nice.

After school, your son would come to the lounge, and do homework at the bar, where you, Azul, or the twins, would help. Since Jade was on the surface today, Floyd was the current helper. Though you definitely heard some scheming between the two of them; something about becoming Uncle Floyd.

Life was so good right now.

“Y/N, can you please see me in the VIP room when you get a moment?” Azul asked. You nodded, finishing off the order you were taking, then dropping it at the bar for Floyd to pass to the kitchen.

“How's homework going?” You asked, pressing a kiss to your boy’s cheek.

“Good. Uncle Floyd- oops,” your son looked at Floyd in regret, but Floyd was just smiling widely.

“Baby shrimpy and I are doing just fine. Homework will be done by the end of the shift.”

“Floyd, I accidentally-”

“Don't worry baby shrimp. They're gonna make me your uncle. You don't have to pretend,” Floyd said with a happy giggle, mussing your son's hair happily.

“Don't keep Azul waiting too long, Shrimpy. I think it's gonna be good news! I got little shrimp. Everything's good out here!”

You smiled gratefully at Floyd, then made your way to the VIP room.

What you found there froze you to your core. There was Azul sitting in his normal chair, his face set in a grim line. The problem lay with Jamil standing right next to him.

“Where's the kid, Ashengrotto?” He asked dryly.

“I only asked for Y/N.”

“Well, the deal was for both. Get the kid in here.”

“Deal with this first. You don't want him to hate you more than he's going to already,” Azul snapped.

You finally returned to yourself enough to ask in a broken voice, “Azul, why? We have a contract!”

He looked down at his desk, despair filling his features.

“He offered a deal I can't refuse,” he pressed the button on the desk that summoned the twins. “As of this moment, your contract is void.”

You turned to rush out of the room, hearing Jamil a half second behind you, only to bump into Floyd and your son.

“Shrimpy, what-” he began, before seeing Jamil over your shoulder. “What's sea snake doing here?” His voice held barely concealed rage.

“I'm here for my family,” Jamil said, snatching your wrist, and then your son's. Floyd held tightly onto your son.

“Nah, Y/N’s protected here-”

“Floyd,” Azul said. “Let go.”

Floyd's face went dark. “Huh. Funny how this happens when Jade’s on the surface.”

“What does Jade have to do with anything?” Jamil spat, demanding an answer from you with his eyes alone.

Floyd stared for a moment, before coldly saying, “Don't worry about it.” He leaned in to your son, whispering something into his ear, before leaving the room with a slam of the door.

Azul sighed, and moved from his desk. “I expect you to be gone by the time I get back,” he said tiredly, leaving the room with another slam of the door.

The moment you were alone with Jamil and your son, you broke down.

“Please don't use snake whisper on me again.”

“What's going on! Why does he look like me-”

“Cause I'm your dad, and we're going home. Y/N’s just bitter because they lost,” Jamil said coldly.

“Close your eyes,” you commanded your son, who quickly obeyed, even though he was confused.

“Y/N,” Jamil ran his hands through his hair, as though this was just some minor irritation, not the end of life as you knew it. “I can't just not discipline you for this.”

“Don't snake whisper him.”

“If he behaves, I won't have to. You on the other hand-”

“I'll do anything. That's the reason I ran.”

He paused, and you opened your eyes, hopefully. He seemed to be thinking it over.

“You need to prove you can be obedient.”

“I can.”

“One slip up, and you're going back under.”

“I understand.”

“In the meantime, you have to stay chained up in my room.”

“Okay.”

“And one more thing,” he smiled wickedly. “Kneel.”

“Huh?”

“Beg me for forgiveness. Beg me to not charm you or my son. Prove that you can follow instructions without my help.”

“You disgust me,” you whisper.

“That sounds a lot like defiance,” he sneered.

You took a shuddering breath, and knelt, bowing your head reverently.

“Please, Jamil.”

He slowly made his way to you, stroking your head.

“Good pet.”

You saw a flash of gold, and, suddenly, a portal stood before the three of you.

“Let's go home,” he said with a triumphant smile.

#yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #yandere kalim al asim #yandere kalim x reader #kalim al asim #kalim x reader #yandere jamil viper #yandere jamil x reader #jamil x reader #jamil viper

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gingersnap-17 · 7 months

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A Complete Family (Suguru Geto x Fem Reader)

Hello everyone! This is a super fluff filled story, and I enjoyed writing this so much! I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: Suguru and his wife Y/N have been struggling with infertility for the past few years. After coming to a wonderful decision, they adopt two beautiful girls, Mimiko and Nanako.

Contains: PURE FLUFF

Suguru Geto and Y/N had been together for five years, their love growing stronger with each passing day. Their bond was unbreakable, and they had faced numerous challenges together, but nothing had prepared them for the heartbreak they were enduring. Y/N had always dreamed of being a mother, but after numerous negative pregnancy tests and failed attempts at IVF, it became clear that she couldn't carry children of her own.

One evening, as the sun set over the city, Suguru approached Y/N with a determined look in his eyes. He could see the pain in her eyes, the longing to be a mother, and he couldn't bear to see her suffer any longer.

"Y/N," Suguru began gently, taking her hand in his. "I've been thinking. I know how much you want to be a mother, and I want to make that dream come true for you. We've tried everything, but maybe it's time we consider the next best thing."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes brimming with hope. "What do you mean, Suguru?"

Suguru took a deep breath. "I mean adoption. We could provide a loving home for a child who needs one. We have so much love to give, and I believe that we can make a difference in a child's life."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she nodded. She knew that adoption was a beautiful way to build a family, and she was touched by Suguru's willingness to explore this option.

Over the next few months, they embarked on the lengthy and emotional journey of adoption. They filled out countless forms, underwent background checks, and attended parenting classes. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, with moments of frustration and doubt, but their love for each other and their shared dream of becoming parents kept them going.

Nearly a year later, they received the long-awaited call from the adoption agency. There were two little girls in need of a loving home, five year old twin sisters named Mimiko and Nanako. Without hesitation, Suguru and Y/N agreed to meet them.

The day they met the twin girls was a day they would never forget. Mimiko and Nanako were shy at first, but their smiles were infectious. The girls had been through their own share of challenges, but their eyes held a spark of hope.

Suguru and Y/N spent the day with Mimiko and Nanako, getting to know them, playing games, and sharing stories. It was a day filled with laughter, tears, and the warmth of a newfound family. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Suguru and Y/N knew that they had found their daughters.

The adoption papers were officially signed, and Mimiko and Nanako became a part of their loving family. The joy and happiness they brought into Suguru and Y/N's lives were immeasurable. The house echoed with laughter and the pitter-patter of tiny feet, and the heartbreak of the past was replaced with the hope and promise of the future.

Suguru and Y/N had discovered that family was not solely defined by blood but by the love, care, and commitment they had for one another. They realized that their journey to parenthood had led them to the most beautiful destination of all—the love of two incredible twin girls who had filled their lives with immeasurable joy.

After a few months of settling in with the girls and adjusting to the life of now a completed family of four, things had been pretty busy around the Geto residence.

Y/N had just returned from a busy day of grocery shopping, her arms filled with bags of fresh produce and other household essentials. As she approached her front door, she couldn't help but smile at the sounds of giggles and laughter on the other side.

Opening the door, she stepped into their cozy living room, which was washed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. And there they were, in the heart of their home, Suguru Geto, her husband, and their two adorable adopted daughters, Mimiko and Nanako.

Y/N's heart swelled with love as she watched the scene before her. Mimiko and Nanako had decided that today was the perfect day to pamper their beloved "Daddy" Suguru. Mimiko sat on the floor, cradling Suguru's head in her small lap, and with a look of intense concentration, she was braiding his dark hair with colorful ribbons. Nanako, sitting beside them, carefully painted Suguru's nails with an assortment of vibrant colors, her tiny hands focused on each stroke.

Suguru, the usually stoic and somewhat quiet man, looked surprisingly at ease. He glanced up from his position on the floor and met Y/N's eyes. His lips curved into a gentle, affectionate smile. "Hello, sweetheart," he greeted her warmly.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle at the sight. Her heart was full of gratitude for the family they had created. She set her bags on the table and walked over, kneeling down beside her daughters and giving them each a quick peck on the cheek. "What are you all up to today?" she asked, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

Mimiko beamed at her. "We're making Daddy pretty!" she exclaimed proudly, her small hands continuing to braid Suguru's hair with great determination.

Nanako, equally enthusiastic, added, "And we're making his nails beautiful, just like yours, Mommy!"

Y/N chuckled, ruffling their hair affectionately. "Well, you're doing an amazing job," she praised them. "Daddy does look quite handsome, and his nails are fabulous!"

Suguru smirked, tilting his head to give her a better view of his freshly painted nails. "I thought it was time for a makeover," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "And who better to help me than these two little artists?"

As the girls continued their work, Y/N found herself completely captivated by the sight before her. She was overwhelmed with love for her family. In this cozy, sunny room filled with laughter and love, she knew she had found her own piece of heaven on Earth.

In that precious moment, Y/N couldn't have asked for more. She had a loving husband, Suguru, who had welcomed her into his life, along with their two beautiful daughters. The bond they shared was unbreakable, and moments like this made her heart swell with happiness. With a heart full of gratitude and a smile on her face, she leaned over and planted a loving kiss on Suguru's lips.

Their family was far from conventional, but it was perfect for them, and it was all they ever needed.

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wangxianficfinder · 7 months

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Fic Finder

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1. 1. Hii, if it isn't too much hassle and if you're still taking asks, i have a question about a fic i think has been deleted? I'm not sure.

A) It goes like this : Nie Huisang goes back in time, and he gets his brother to bring a young, severely malnourished Wei Ying and is trying to keep him from being sent to Yunmeng ( he kept intercepting his brother's letters to Yunmeng to let them know about Wei Ying). And he has this idea that if he gets Wei ying to believe he is an ugly child (malnourished ++) and that everybody will love him for him and not his skills.

I had it in my bookmarks but i think it was recently deleted? If you have any idea please lmk 🙏 i've lost too many fics this way.

B) There is another fic that's been deleted? a while ago. Wei ying had to wear a mask and was told to never reveal his face. He was married to Lan zhan in an arranged marriage but then Lan Zhan was supposedly forced to marry Wen Qing? Wei ying ended up adopting A-yuan and his twin brother.

Idk if i remember correctly (if it's the same fic) but the last chapter i read Wei Ying had to be forced through a sort of cleansing from demonic cultivation and he basically almost died bleeding ( he told lan zhan he was the one he trusted to do it). I think in the chapter count only one or two chapters were left till the end of the fic.

Pheeew that was A. LOT. I am soooo sorry for the bother, but if you could give me a clue however small i'll finally stop thinking about them. THANK YOUUUUUU 🙏 @yeesh97

1A)

FOUND?! You'll See Me Again by Anonymous (M, 12k, WIP, WangXian, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWX is a Niè, Protective NHS, NHS time travels, NHS Is A Little Shit, NMJ Lives, Protective NMJ, Time Travel Fix-It, WWX is a Little Shit, Oblivious WWX)

NOT FOUND! Mulberry seeds by OurLadyoftheRain (G, wangxian, NHS & WWX, NMJ & WWX, Canon Divergence, nie WWX, WWX grows up in the nie sect, POV NMJ, Narration Heavy, Time Travel, from an outsider pov, Time Skips, every day all day is 'love wwx time', WWX & LWJ become friends early, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, POV WWX, POV Alternating)

1B)

FOUND! I think 1B is “A Price To Pay” by wangxianist. It had been at chapter 11/14 last time I checked in. The link was https://archiveofourown.org/works/34649677 and should be available on the Wayback Machine.

NOT FOUND! 🧡 decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort) I think 1b might be describing 2 fics and the second part might be

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2. Hi! I have been searching for a fic I read a while ago, but I only remember small details about it. Wondering if this sounds familiar to anyone: its wangxian time travel fic, Madam Yu is heavily implied to have had a past romantic relationship (or unrequited crush) on CSSR and JFM is implied to have been in a past relationship with WCZ. At one point, WWX & LWJ make a trip to Meishan Yu to meet an elder that helps forge a new spiritual weapon for WWX that will listen only to WWX & LWJ (during this process I think LWJ has to give up/break part of his guqin for some reason?) They fight the war, and then have to deal with WWX's reputation tanking post-war again - which is solved by a suggestion from JGY (something along the lines of "let the public see you as a dad (of a-yuan) and a husband instead of a demonic cultivating war hero"). @kilegriel

FOUND? And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

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3. Firstly I have to say that I love this blog! It's keeping my To Be Read pile very well stocked! 😁

Secondly, there is a fic I found on AO3 around a year ago and no matter what tags I try I just can't find it!

What I remember is that it is modern with cultivation, married WangXian, and that it's the beginning of an apocalypse where loads of people have been turned into puppets. It was supposed to be blamed on WWX but, coincidentally, he falls ill just before the start and couldn't possibly have done it.

Iirc the apocalypse lasts for about a week and turns out to have been caused by something contaminating the water supply with JGS and/or JGY behind it.

It might start with something like "On the first day of the end of the world…"

Does this ring any bells? Thank you in advance! @greywake

NOT FOUND! when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations)

FOUND! When the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation takes a week off by galaxy_in_your_eyes (T, 20k, WangXian, Modern With Cultivation, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, only those that deserve it, kind of fix-it, Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, POV Alternating, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Brief Mentions of Cannibalism, I mean, Zombies, spoiler, We don't see the Zombie Apocalypse, It happens behind closed doors, WWX in quarantine, Wangxian being Wangxian, Mentions of Smut, Established Relationship)

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4. hi! do you guys know the fic where cultivators can exchange hearts? iirc lwj had taken out his heart after the events at nightless city and switched it with wwx's without wwx's knowledge @betafibiiiiiivviiixiiixxixxxiv

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5. Hi, could you guys help me find a fic :)? If I remember correctly, there was one part where Lwj gave a part of his golden core to Wwx and as a result there was a limit to how far they could be separated from one another.

FOUND? when you're doing all the leaving (then it's never your love lost) by tardigradeschool (T, 26k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Sharing a Bed, Sharing Clothes, Fix-It, the inherent eroticism of under robes, Golden Core Transfer )

FOUND? Of all the hands by typefortydeductions (E, 51k, Wangxian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Emperor Lan Xichen, PTSD, Nightmares, Dual Cultivation, Mental Health Issues, Fluff and Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Consensual Non-Con, Bonding, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Politics, Improper Use of the Lan Forehead Ribbon, the get wei ying some sleep agenda, yunmeng trio reconciliation) Has wangxian golden core sharing and the line "there is no separating their deaths now"

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6. Hello! As always, thank y’all so much for everything you do. I was hoping for some help finding a fic. It was a modern AU and Wei Wuxian was having some Gender Feelings, I think is the best way to describe them, and was sort of…jealous? of their very nice cishet neighbor. I think they live in a suburb and WWX gets kind of restless when he notices their neighbor is pregnant and he kinda maybe wants to play around with something like that, and anyway he tells LWJ this and they end up acting out a scene by having ‘normie straight people’ sex (i.e. LWJ basically does what he wants without worrying what WWX might want). There’s also a sex scene in the kitchen involving an apron against the counter by the sink, I believe, but that’s pretty much everything I can remember. Does it sound familiar to anyone? Thanks again!

FOUND! in picture frames; in dirty dreams by el_em_en_oh_pee (E, 17k, WangXian, Semi-Public Sex, Light BDSM, Vanilla Kink, Domestic Kink, Curtain Fic, Kink Negotiation, intersects SLIGHTLY with pregnancy kink and (consensual) feminization, Kitchen Sex, Missionary Position, Slice of Life, Fluff and Smut, a soupçon of gender, Aprons)

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7. Hye there i was wondering if you could help me find a fic where wei ying and the juniors were out on a night hunt and they stayed at an inn. Jin ling said something that hurt wei ying’s feelings, so he went to his room first. When he left, sizhui trapped him against the wall and revealed that the reason they have all the thousands of rules was because it was to make sure that their true strength wouldn’t be seen? He said something about how their eyes turn golden if they use their strength or power? And thats why lan zhans eyes are golden. thanks so much @nanasoo

FOUND! A Righteous Facade by RenaFair (T, 4k, WangXian, JL learns a lesson, protective Lans, mildly dark)

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8. Hi😊. Please I'm looking for a Wangxian fanfic where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are in an arranged marriage and WY was being maltreated in the CR. LXC was the only one who was nice to him at first and LZ insinuated WY was cheating on him with LXC. I remember WY telling him he'll never let LZ touch him or something. I think it was ABO settings

FOUND? To Bring You Back Within My Reach by ablaiseofglory (M, 20k, WIP, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, No dubious consent, Adopted Children, Kid Fic, A/B/O Dynamics, omega wwx, Alpha LWJ, Misunderstandings)

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9. hello! i am looking for fics and i am hoping that you or your followers have idea on what their titles are

A) fic where WWX got into an accident and it was really bad there was a scene where LWJ is talking about learning to love WWX and he doesn't want to unlearn

B) fic where WWX continued to be MXY and he became a disciple at the lan sect

thank you! ☺️

9A)

re:9a, can the requestor say if it's a modern au, secret relationship? I'll look for what I think it is in the meantime

FOUND? Almost Lover by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 37k, WangXian, Angst, But with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, a bad thing happens to wwx, lwj gets very sad, Hospital Scenes, Dubious Medical Science, please look away if that's important, pining for the person you're fucking, Friends With Benefits, Traumatic Injury, Modern AU, mention of past WWX/WQ)

9B)

FOUND? Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX)

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10. Hi there! I’ve got this fic in my head that I can’t seem to find. I think it was part of a series where Wei Ying is adopted by different clans. One of them was a fic where an eccentric cousin of the Lan qiren had been friends with cangse sanren and ‘won her first born in a bet’ and when she died he went out and found him using a compass? I think it had stuff about Wei Ying growing up loving inventing and explosions happening a lot @preciouscommoditybears

FOUND? A Quiet Life of Leisure by nirejseki (G, 7k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, WWX raised in another sect, WWX among the Lan, Alchemy, Explosions, this feels extremely self-indulgent since it's mostly about an OC, but it was what someone asked for, different Jiang sect dynamics)

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11. Can someone help me find these wangxian fics ?

A) Wei ying and the juniors were out on a night hunt and they stayed at an inn. Jin ling said something that hurt wei ying’s feelings, so he went to his room first. When he left, sizhui trapped him against the wall and revealed that the reason they have all the thousands of rules was because it was to make sure that their true strength wouldn’t be seen? He said something about how their eyes turn golden if they use their strength or power? And thats why lan zhans eyes are golden.

B) Its omegaverse and sizhui is jealous when wangxian have their biological baby bc they dont have time for him. He feeds his baby sister and makes her a meal but suddenly she dies. It turns out he replaced the berries with poisonous ones bc he wanted wangxian’s attention for himself as their only child.

C) Wei ying is trapped in CR, specifically in the jingshi. He and sizhui manage to escape from lan zhan, but it turns out sizhui told lan zhan before hand and he drugged him. Lan zhan had been drugging wei ying to make sure that he remains in the jingshi with him and sizhui wanted their family together forever.

D) Jiang cheng, huasang and wuxian go kn a camping/hiking trip? Anyways they take turns driving and the whole time jiang cheng is judging everyones ability to drive, including his. Huasang ran away from dage bc he didnt want to work out or something and jiang cheng has a crush on him (can’t remember) @minivminie

11A)

FOUND? A Righteous Facade by RenaFair (T, 4k, WangXian, JL learns a lesson, protective Lans, mildly dark)

11B)

FOUND? Sizhui's Smiles by RenaFair (T, 11k, WangXian, Possessive Behavior, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Alpha LSZ, Mpreg, Minor Child Character Death, Read the summary between the lines)

11C)

FOUND? Good Days by darkbrokenreaper (T, 9k, WangXian, Domestic Fluff, dark!LWJ, Manipulative Relationship, Dubious Consent, Drug Use)

11D)

riding shotgun by beesinspades (T, 6k, NHS/JC, wangxian, modern, Road Trip, Comedy, Fluff and Humor, First Kiss, Swearing, one braincell trio chaos, LWJ is there because isn't he wherever the chaos is?, JC is #tired, Asexual Character, this is a collab so: with links to art!, Russian Translation Available)

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12. hi!! i’m looking for a fic where wwx has to marry a dead lwj. set in the victorian period (i think) the jiang family lost all of their money and the only way for them to survive was for him to marry lwj’s ghost. soon after he starts investigating lwj’s supposed death and tries to find his ( and lan qiren’s) killer. lwj’s ghost comes to talk to wwx and protects him! i can give more details if necessary i just really want to read it again and can’t find it !! <3 thank you!!

FOUND? lovers be lost (but love shall not) by la_muerta (T, 13k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, 1910s, Case Fic, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Ghost Marriage)

FOUND? 囍 | a ghost wedding by sweetlolixo (E, 11k, Wangxian, Arranged Marriage, Ghost wedding, Pining LWJ, Ghost Groom LWJ, Corpsefucking in the most romantic way possible, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Explicit Sex, Love at First Sight)

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13. Hey! I have been looking for a fanfic, but after almost three hours of looking through ao3, I thought I might have better luck here.

It was about wwx going through increasingly bad bdsm encounters and not receiving the proper aftercare, so he just started acting more withdrawn. lwj notices and offers to care for wwx.

I don't remember if it was complete, but to the point I read, it was just lwj taking care of wwx. Sorry if it is not much to go off 😅 anyways, thanks in advance!

FOUND? like it's the only thing i'll ever do by quothhh (M, 5k, WangXian, WWX/Other (offscreen), Modern AU, Pre-Relationship, Aftercare, Sub Drop, Pining)

FOUND? try a little tenderness by ilip13 (E, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, BDSM, Dom/sub, Aftercare, Subdrop, Reference to bad BDSM etiquette in wwx's past, Reference to wwx's self-worth issues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Little bit of miscommunication in the beginning but they get better at it, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Reference to BDSM scenes)

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14. Hello! Looking for a fic that I think was some sort of sunshot fix it. The scene I recall the most is that wangxian were together and found a-yuan on the warfront and decided to take him in. They were totally going to tote him around with them while fighting in the war, but were more sensibly told to bring a-yuan back to lotus pier. I think yzy or cssr or lwj's mother may have been alive and at lotus pier, so they dropped a-yuan off to be with his grandmother and then went back to fight in the war. Thanks everyone!

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15. Hey, just wanted to ask about a specific fic that I remember, but for the life of me, I can't find at all. It is basically an arranger marriage au of Wangxian, but here Lan Wangji is an immortal who had travelled worlds looking for Wei Ying's soul after his death. There are some shenanigans and canon Wangxian shameless flirting in the mix. At one point Wei Wuxian ends up dressing as a woman when he is first going to meet Lan Wangji to get out of the marriage, but Lan Zhan finds it cute

FOUND? 4018 by sweetlolixo (E, 28k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, ABO, Older LWJ, Immortal LWJ, Pregnant WWX, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Age Difference, Boypussy, Vaginal Fingering, Dry Humping, Knotting, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talking LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Size Difference, Feminization)

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16. I'm looking for a fic that about time travelling. It's were JC wished that WWX did not exist, thinking that it would solve all the issues but in the end everything went to hell. The Wen won the war and JC still lost his core and all cultivators are in hiding or prisoner. Thank you in advanced!🙏

FOUND? The Way It Wasn’t by KouriArashi (T, 72k, WangXian, XiYao, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, (eventually haha), Slow Build, Family Feels, Moral Ambiguity, Eventual Happy Ending)

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17. For the next fic finder, there was one where in the backstory, WWX once called JYL to come pick him up, but she got into a car accident on the way. I can't remember if she survived or was killed, but it led to WWX splitting with the Jiangs. The actual plot is equally as fuzzy I'm afraid, so I don't have a clue what to filter for.

FOUND? Wrong Turn, Right Place by diamondbruise (E, 71k, WangXian, Time Travel, kind of, it’s more reality travel but there’s modern wwx and cultivator lwj, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences)

FOUND? Against Entropy by Duochanfan (M, 40k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, of an underaged character, Amnesia, Drama, Romance, Family Feels, Hurt WWX, Older JC, Homelessness, Angst with a Happy Ending, Protective LWJ, Protective LXC, Supportive LXC, Protective NMJ, Supportive LQR)

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18. Hi I'm looking for a fan fiction where near the end while at Cloud Recess Jiang Cheng is hostile to Weiying and lan shizhui / lan yuan also suddenly remembers Jiang cheng being at burial mound during the 1st seige, he is kicked out but comes across jingshe & seeslan zahn and weiying having sex, possessive lan zahn sees him and looks directly at him almost to show weiying is his and will never be Jiang chengs. @amj33

FOUND? «The Fault In Jiāng Chéng» by Anonymous (M, 3k, wangxian, JC & WWX, not JC friendly, Zǐdiàn Spiritual Tool, Blood and Injury, Sick WWX, Dark LWJ, Dark LXC, Smut, Stabbing)

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19. hello thank all the mods you for your hard work, you’re all amazing and i am so so grateful this blog exists!!

i’m looking for a fic where married wangxian somehow time travel and meet their past selves, who are both shocked that they end up getting married. i remember older wwx being annoyed at his younger self because he can see how he’s hurting younger lwj and older lwj mostly sitting in companionable silence with his younger self, because they mutually understand their love for wwx.

much appreciated 🫶

NOT FOUND! The Young, the Horny, the Jaded and the Jade: Partners in Time by Admiranda (T, 55k, wangxian, established couple, Crossover, road trip with your older selves, teasing your younger selves about their obvious crushes, yin iron does yin iron things, mdzs/cql crossover, adult wangxian, Teenage Wangxian, genius WWX, LWJ adores his husband, we're all in this disaster together, xue yang causes problems, WIP)

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20. Hello again! I've been trying to find two fics for weeks and just can't seem to find them. A) One was an arranged marriage between lan zhan and wei ying that was set up by the jins; wei ying was never part of the jiang and he had some funky death stuff going on in the burial mounds, and took in the wens. The jin made both the wens and the Lans think the other was going to attack and that's why they did the marriage. B) The other fic has wei ying and lan zhan getting together but keeping it secret; I don't remember much, just that in trying to save the wens, jiang change tries to marry wen Qing and madam yu gets pissed off and says that since it was wei yings idea, he should marry her. Wei ying is later crying to lan zhan because both of them know it's the only option they have to save them, so he'll do it. Lan xichen comes across them and realizes they're in a relationship, and decides to marry wen qing himself to fix it - later lan zhan and wei ying reveal their relationship. Thank you so much! @forgottenwhispersinthedark

20A)

FOUND! Fated series by LtLJ (G, 31k, wangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, post-apocalypse, magical apocalypse, hurt/comfort, YLLZ WWX, badass LWJ, canon-typical violence, angst w happy ending, case fic)

20B)

FOUND! ❤️ Gentians in bloom by teawater (M, 251k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, AU after cold spring, Political Marriage, Dysfunctional Family, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, LQR bashing (not really), POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Eventual Happy Ending, BAMF WWX, JC is actually a lot better than canon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, YZY bashing (again not completely))

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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