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coralhoneyrose · 1 year

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Speak What Your Heart Wants You To - (m!Chrobin One-Shot)

Plot Synopsis: When Robin sacrificed himself to defeat Grima, Chrom never gave up hope that he would find him again. Now, reborn half a millennium later with no memories of his past life, Chrom may finally have his chance. Also known as: a Reincarnation AU in which Robin is a historian working as a museum curator, and Chrom has a *very* personal investment in learning more about the newest exhibit.

Originally posted on ao3 with f!Robin for Fire Emblem Awakening's 10th Anniversary. Tweaked to create an m!Chrobin version for anyone who prefers that iteration of the pairing.

Rating: Teen

Tags: Reincarnation, Modern AU, Flirting, Fluff, Humor

Words: 9,751

Chrom raises his coat collar to fend off the damp nipping at his skin. Along the streets, redbud trees and daffodils have conspired to coat the sidewalk in a thin crust of pollen, yet an uncharacteristic chill has sunk its teeth into Ylisstol—as if the city has forgotten that it’s already mid-spring. The hulking shadow cast by Ylisse’s National Heritage Museum does nothing to aid in chasing away the cold. Chrom waits against one of the granite pillars at its entrance, hands shoved deep in his pockets, removing them only to check his wristwatch for the fifth time in as many minutes.

When he first heard word of the new collection debuting at the museum, Chrom was ecstatic. ‘Ylisse’s Star-Crossed Lovers as You’ve Never Seen Them Before!’, the flier promised. He withdraws it from his pocket again, thumbs skimming over its many creases from all the folding and unfolding he has put it through. The collection boasts of newly uncovered love letters exchanged between Exalt Chrom and his husband, as well as their personal journal entries, and a never-before-seen sketch of the Exalt in his youth.

As far as Ylissean historical figures go, Chrom’s namesake is considered one of the greats. Remembered as both a fearsome general and progressive policy maker, artifacts detailing the Exalt's life would make for an interesting exhibit on those grounds alone. It is his love story, rather than his political achievements, however, that made him popular outside of academic circles.

Exalt Chrom and King Consort Robin’s relationship had all the makings of a beautiful tragedy—a chance meeting between fated enemies turned lovers; a desperate fight to save the world; a daring, heroic sacrifice; and the unfaltering hope they would one day meet again. The story is a favorite among the Ylissean people, and has been the subject of many modern retellings and theatrical performances in the centuries since. Chrom himself is enamored with the heart-rending mystery surrounding the two, though admittedly, his interests lay less with the ruler whose name he shares than with the brilliant tactician the man loved.

Chrom has never been able to put words to his interest in King Robin. The fascination is so out of line with his other interests, for things like fencing and swordplay—his passions have always been mired more in the physical than the academic. But something about Ylisse’s grandmaster is magnetic to him. His story plucks Chrom’s heartstrings and makes him ache—shoots him full of a sense of nostalgia for a life he never lived, where heroes fought dragons and maybe fell in love with them too.

It hadn’t been hard to learn all there was to know about the tactician: despite the king consort’s popularity, there was infuriatingly little known about his personal life. No portraits of him had survived, nor were there any known accounts of the time before he began serving the Shepherds. The majority of King Robin’s writing that had been uncovered was focused almost exclusively on military strategy, and while it was enough to prove him every bit deserving of his title as Ylisse’s High Deliverer, it did not divulge much about who he was as a person.

For that, one had to turn to cursory mentions of the tactician in documents written by his contemporaries, and as dissonant as their portrayals of him could be, Chrom had still read them all. Reports from Plegian and Valmese war generals portrayed the tactician as callous, cunning and ruthless…but the diaries of Ylisse’s Shepherds spoke of his sunny nature, his vibrant curiosity, and his quiet compassion. The accounts all seemed to be at odds with each other, a point which many historians found vexing. He was calculating, he was selfless. He was secretive, he was loyal. Amongst these myriad facades, who was the true Robin of Ylisse?

Personally, Chrom liked to believe that none of the records were more accurate than the others. People were complicated, he reasoned. Why couldn’t these writings be a window into the many masks worn by a man who once had the fate of the world resting on his shoulders? Facets of a jewel whose luster was only achieved through ruinous pressure. Ultimately, though, Chrom’s perception of the tactician is just one theory among many—with as much claim to credence as any other. There is no way to know what Robin was really like...or at least there hadn’t been, until now.

When the new exhibit was announced, it stoked Chrom's hope into a frothy and frenetic thing—ignited a livewire curiosity within him. The collection promised personal letters and journal entries written by the tactician himself, afterall. It was the first opportunity the public would have to get a glimpse into the workings of the king’s heart, rather than his mind.

And so Chrom had pre-ordered a ticket for the exhibit’s grand-opening. He arrived early, and had packed a lunch in his satchel so that he could stay until closing, dissecting every stroke of the man’s quill. After years of admiring the tactician, finally, finally, he would get to know him. He's irrationally excited to have the chance.

Ylisstol’s clock tower chimes, the toll of the brassy bell sending a flock of pigeons skittering into the sky and tugging his eyes from the flier still gripped in his hands. It’s 10 o’clock.

On the other side of the glass doors, a security guard strides forward and turns a key, and just like that, the museum is open. Immediately, Chrom pulls open the door and fumbles his way to the ticket check counter. He was not the only one awaiting the museum’s opening, and behind him, a thin crowd of eager patrons push their way forward as well.

With his entry granted, he scurries between the arrowed signs pointing in the direction of the featured exhibit. His shoes clack against the tile with each step, echoing enormously beneath the vaulted ceiling. Without the brisk outdoor air, his palms grow clammy, half from nerves and half from excitement. What if the letters wind up proving that the version of Robin he’s spent all these years building in his head isn’t what he was like at all?

…But what if he was even better?

Chrom rounds the final corner, only to freeze in the center of the archway leading into the display room, legs pinned in place. He blinks, scrunches his eyes closed, and blinks again.

There, centered on the exhibit wall for all eyes to see, hangs a highly detailed picture of his own naked body.

His first thought is that he must be asleep. He’s having that awful nightmare where you show up to work, or the gym, and realize you forgot to put on any clothing. With how long he’s been nervously anticipating this exhibit, it’s within the realm of possibility for it to serve as the setting in one of his dreams.

But no, that can’t be right, because the version of himself that came to the museum today is fully dressed. When he looks down at himself he can see his coat, his button down and his dark wash jeans. It’s just the Chrom in the picture on the wall that’s not wearing anything.

It’s a drawing, he realizes a moment later, as his mortified mind struggles to make sense of the scene before him. More specifically, it’s a black ink figure drawing, the parchment discolored with age. It portrays him completely bare and hoisting a set of scales into the air. The only saving grace the drawing offers is the ancient sword clutched in his other hand—placed at such an angle to conveniently block anything especially unsavory from view.

Chrom stumbles as more museum visitors arrive, pushing past him to make their way into the exhibit. Legs still jelly-like, he wobbles forward to get a closer look. A plaque inlaid beneath the poster reads:

‘Estimated date ~995, War recruitment poster depicting Chrom of Ylisse, then the nation’s Crown Prince and military general, posed with the exalted blade, Falchion, and a set of scales. The poster is believed to have been commissioned by his faithful knight, Sir Frederick, in an effort to raise troop morale and increase public support of the war effort.’

Chrom’s throat constricts as he risks another peek at the poster. It’s not a drawing of him at all, then, but of the exalt he was named after. He’s seen portraits of Exalt Chrom from later in his life, and has received many a comment or jest about the similarities in their appearance. But the picture before him goes beyond a mere resemblance; they don’t just look alike, they look the same. It’s uncanny. No matter how he looks at it, that’s his face—his body. He knows because he sees them in the mirror every morning when he wakes up and every night before bed. They look back at him in the reflection of every window he passes. The only difference as far as Chrom can tell is that his own arm doesn’t bear the brand of the exalt.

His ears catch the sound of snickering and when he glances to the side, he sees two women pointing between him and the poster, breathless giggles spilling from behind their hands. Chrom’s face burns as he turns away, retreating into the high collar of his coat like a turtle into its shell. He’s not just flattering himself into thinking there is a resemblance, then. Clearly the people around him can see it too.

Nerves still in a frenzy, Chrom moves to the side of the room where he is less likely to draw attention and tries to catch his breath. He came to the museum with the intention of paying the poster little mind, but ignoring it now feels next to impossible. He just wanted to spend a peaceful day pouring over King Robin’s writing! At this very moment, his journal and letters are here, being viewed by other museum patrons who cannot possibly be as passionate about him as Chrom is. And yet here he is, cowering in a corner—too embarrassed by a 500 year old drawing to enjoy them properly.

Chrom squares his shoulders and tries to silence his shrieking modesty. If he can just keep it together long enough to snap a few pictures of the writings on display, then he can find a spot in the museum far away from that drawing to read them over in peace. With newfound determination, he edges his way around the room in search of the written documents.

His pulse hiccups with the first parchment leaves he comes to, but calms again when he sees the sign off at the bottom: ‘With all my love, Chrom’ —a letter written to Robin, rather than by him. It will no doubt make for an interesting read later, but for the moment it’s not Chrom’s priority—he yearns to see the words Robin wove together himself.

The next letter on display proves to be much the same. As does the one after that…and after that. He nearly gasps in relief when he finally spies the king consort's crabbed print and angular quill strokes across the double pages of a decrepit journal. Hastily, Chrom snaps a picture and continues his tour around the exhibit’s perimeter in search of more.

Except that’s it. Everything else on display was written by the Exalt to his husband, rather than the other way around. Chrom loops through the exhibit a 2nd time to be sure, and then a third, ducking his head each time he passes the poster of Ylisse’s previous Crown Prince. But that’s all there is...just one journal entry, and no letters from Robin at all. His stomach tosses in disappointment.

Chrom thumbs the exhibit flier from his pocket again, running a nail beneath the text that proclaims that letters written by the famous lovers will be featured in the exhibit. Lovers plural. It doesn’t make sense—he’s certain the article he read detailing the initial discovery of the artifacts spoke of letters from the king consort as well. So where are they?

It’s possible that upon verification, those documents turned out to be illegitimate…but without a means of confirming that was the case, the question of why they’re not displayed is going to eat him alive. Someone must be able to tell him what happened to them.

Chrom’s eyes drift to the bottom of the flier, where a small line of print denotes the name of the museum staff member that curated the exhibit. He stifles a breathless chuckle, and wonders if it’s too fatalistic to believe the gods could be sending him a sign.

Their name is Robin.

۵ ۵ ۵ ۵ ۵

Robin cracks his neck and stretches both arms overhead, chasing stiffness from his limbs. There are no windows in the museum’s archival room, and the fluorescent lighting is already starting to strain his eyes, but despite the complaints of his body, Robin’s mood couldn’t be more chipper.

It’s April 19th: the day marking the grand-opening of the new exhibit in Ylisse’s National Heritage Museum, and the first collection he has had the privilege to curate since receiving his promotion a few months prior. It had been a tremendous honor to be selected for the task by the museum board: the two lovers of Ylisse’s Golden Age were prominent in pop culture to this day, and any exhibit featuring them was likely to draw many visitors through their doors. He was flattered to have its curation entrusted to him.

And now the day that all his hard work culminated in had finally arrived. No more overtime hours and scrounging to meet deadlines: he’s validated all the documents, ensured the displays will keep them protected and pristine, and written all the tour guide scripts. All that is left is to soak up the public’s ensuing praise and relish the role he was able to play in bringing these writings to them.

It fills him with a bittersweet sort of pride. For so many months, those quill strokes and ink blots existed as a very private part of his life—known only to Robin and the ghosts of Exalt Chrom and his husband. Robin knows their words and their shape on the parchment like the veins that twist his body. He hopes that the people of Ylisse will love them as much as he has come to.

If he’s being completely honest, it is the poster of the Exalt whose presence in his office he will miss most. Robin is aware, intellectually, how ridiculous it is to harbor something akin to a crush on a deceased historical figure, but, well, he has eyes, doesn’t he? He can hardly be blamed for appreciating the Exalt’s assets. And Robin has spent enough time looking at that poster to know he has plenty.

Reading the man’s letters did nothing to efface those feelings, either. Gone was the stern, stoic facade the young king showed the rest of the world. Instead, the Exalt’s letters to his husband revealed a devotion that burned so ardently, one might think the quill strokes were char marks. His words to his lover were deeply intimate, but also surprising in their humor and levity. It was clear that for all the desperate passion they’d held for each other, their relationship had been built just as much on friendship. Robin can’t help but feel a little jealous.

Mostly, though, he is proud of his restoration efforts and of being able to bring a sample of the letters to the public. After so many years spent studying the reign of Exalt Chrom, having a personal hand in the exhibit has been nothing short of a dream.

A tap on Robin’s shoulder severs his line of thought. Miriel, another of the museum’s curators, stands beside his desk, adjusting her spectacles. Since Robin’s promotion, Miriel is no longer technically his superior, but the woman is still his senior, and Robin has yet to fully make the transition to thinking of her as a colleague rather than his boss.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to like this,” Miriel warns him, thin lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well, good morning to you too, Miriel,” Robin teases, unperturbed. “What exactly am I not going to like?”

“I’ve just received a call from the front desk,” Miriel tells him. “A man approached them saying he has concerns regarding the artifacts on display in the new collection. He asked to speak to you by name.”

“What?!” Robin rockets from his chair, and just like that all of his cheer is peeled away.

“But why?” he demands. “I’ve verified all the records; I’ve inspected every item a million times over. They’re authentic—everything checks out! What reason could he possibly have for us not to display them?”

“You needn’t tell me all of this,” Miriel assures him. “I’ve watched you prepare the exhibit myself—you’ve been exceedingly thorough. Whatever concerns this man has about the artifacts’ validity, I’m certain you’re more than equipped to address them.”

Robin purses his lips. Miriel’s praise is not easy to earn, and her endorsement of Robin’s competence soothes him considerably. It also twists the instinctive flood of worry he felt into annoyance instead.

“Why do I need to speak to him at all, then?” Robin counters. “It’s not my duty to entertain the doubts of every self-important ass who walks through our doors. And I don’t appreciate him casting doubt on my ability to do my job. Why should I give him the time of day?”

Miriel sighs. “Under normal circumstances, I’d be inclined to agree. Unfortunately, it would be imprudent for us to simply turn him away. His family is the museum’s top patron: thus, we’re obligated to at least make a perfunctory showing of listening to his complaints.”

Robin pauses a beat, surprised. “...This man is one of the Shepherds?” He mulls this over for a moment before deciding he’s unimpressed. “That just makes him a rich, self-important ass.”

“Philanthropic,” Miriel corrects pointedly. “Can I be secure in the assumption that I needn’t ask you to mind your language while meeting with such an esteemed guest?”

“I won’t be rude to him unprovoked,” Robin assures her blithely. Miriel raises an eyebrow, clearly aware of the danger lurking in that qualification.

“Hmm, right. Well, I shall leave you to gather whatever materials you may need in order to reassure this inquisitive patron of ours, but I would advise against keeping him waiting much longer. His is often the impatient sort.”

“Keeping him waiting?” Robin asks. Miriel nods.

“Upon hearing his name, the front desk took the liberty of sending him back.” She gestures towards the door leading out of the archival room and into the main hall. “He’s waiting out there now.”

“Shit,” Robin says, with feeling. Miriel’s responding smile is grimly sympathetic.

“Naga be with you,” she says, before picking her way to the back doorway and into one of the restoration workrooms further within.

Robin huffs out an incredulous laugh as he watches her go. Just his luck that one of the Shepherds would take issue with their newest exhibit. In all the years he’s worked there, he’s never heard of someone showing up unannounced and demanding to speak to a curator like this.

Grumbling, Robin rifles through the papers on his desk in search of the documentation he will need to prove the artifacts’ authenticity. Of course, now that the exhibit is open to the public, much of it has been filed away in the titanic archival shelving units.

With an impatient huff, Robin hauls a footstool over to the shelves to retrieve the file. He skims over the names printed on the lip of each folder, and of course the one he needs is nestled on the very top shelf. Even with the boost from the stool, he still can’t quite reach.

Robin curses his short stature under his breath before straining onto his tiptoes. If he’d been born just two inches taller this wouldn’t be a problem. With his arm extended as high as he can reach, his fingertips just manage to brush the manila folder’s edge.

“Aha! Got it!” he declares triumphantly, yanking it free.

The motion shifts his weight too suddenly. Robin feels the stepping stool wobble beneath him, and his stomach lurches as he tips backwards and loses his balance. At the last second, he careens his body to the side, avoiding a disastrous collision with the shelf behind him. Instead, his back thumps heavily against the dusty linoleum floor, the papers from the folder flying up in a flurry around him.

“Ow!” Robin groans, rubbing at the back of his skull. “Gods, ow!”

The metallic squeal of a door hinge tears across the room.

“Is everything alright?” a deep voice calls out. His stomach sinks: that has to be the man Miriel warned him about.

Dimly, Robin thinks that this is the very last position he would like to be found in by someone who already doubts his competence. He makes a valiant attempt to sit up, but the back of his head pounds, and all he manages is to groan again.

“Gods, are you hurt?!” the voice calls. Footsteps reverberate through the room and then a man pokes his head into Robin’s field of vision.

For a moment, he wonders if he hit his head harder than he realized and if he’s now having some sort of hallucination. How else is he meant to explain that he is staring up at a living, breathing version of the man on the poster? Because that’s him—it’s most certainly him. Robin knows because he spent the last several months staring at that face for hours every day...to validate the drawing’s authenticity, of course.

And yet he finds himself with the treasonous thought that the man before him is even more arresting than the drawing of the young exalt. The stark fluorescent lighting, which is supposed to be unflattering for everyone, drips angular shadows along the strong line of his jaw and the tendons of his neck—pools them in the cupid’s bow of his full lips. His hair is no longer the color of brittle parchment and sun-bleached pigment—it’s royal blue. And his eyes. They’re the azure of a midnight sky, riddled with stars—so bright and dark at once the room around him is tinged sepia by comparison.

“C-Chrom?” Robin asks, the name slipping out before his befuddled brain can think better of it.

“Oh! You—you know my name?” the man asks, sounding just as confused as Robin is.

“Uh…lucky guess,” he replies. The man’s lips pull up into a hesitant smile, and Robin forgets to breathe for a moment. That’s not something he’s ever seen the man on the poster do. It’s disarming. A moment later though, the man’s brows knit back together in concern, his smile sliding away.

“Are you alright down there?” he asks, and despite the pounding in Robin’s head and heart, he laughs a little at the absurdity of the question.

“Oh yeah, I’m great. I was just taking a nap.”

The man (who really is named Chrom, apparently) rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I suppose that was probably a foolish thing to ask,” he admits with a chuckle. “Here, give me your hand.”

He offers his own to Robin as he speaks and Robin takes it, letting Chrom haul him to his feet.

For one blistering moment Robin is standing much too close to him—close enough to see Chrom’s individual eyelashes—and then he’s scrambling backwards, putting space between them. Chrom seems impossibly unphased by this accidental violation of his personal space, peering at Robin with a curious sort of concern.

“Should I call for a healer?” he offers.

“No, no, don’t worry about it. I should be fine,” Robin dismisses quickly. It’s embarrassing enough that this man found him fallen flat on his back without making more of an event of it by summoning a healer.

“Are you sure? If you were hurt, then you should really—”

“I appreciate the concern, but really, I’m okay. It’s just a little bump,” Robin assures him, and it’s true—already his thoughts are coming clearly again. He presses a finger to the back of his head experimentally and the spot is tender, but only dully so.

“Alright, if you’re certain…” Chrom smiles tentatively at him again. “Err, I’m sorry. You know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

Robin pauses. Telling him who he is will mean he has no escape from whatever criticism he’s here to saddle Robin with. But the man is already in the archival room—at this point Robin can’t see any means of getting out of the conversation anyway.

“...I’m Robin,” he says finally. Realization passes unfiltered across Chrom’s face.

“Ah, Robin! Then you must be—”

“The exhibit curator, yes. That’s me,” he replies. Robin crosses his arms and pops a hip, trying to regain the air of confidence he had before tumbling off the stepstool. “I’m told you have some sort of issue with the new collection? I can assure you, I validated every artifact on display myself, but if you don’t believe me, then I’m happy to show you the, uh…documentation.”

He loses steam towards the end when he realizes that the documents in question are scattered on the floor around him—a fairy ring of papers with the two of them standing at the center. When he looks back to Chrom, however, he’s surprised to see his cheeks have gone pink.

“No, no! That won’t be necessary—it’s not that sort of an issue at all! I think you have the wrong idea.”

Robin frowns. “Then you didn’t want one of the artifacts taken down?”

Oddly, this question also seems to embarrass him. It’s amusing watching how quickly Chrom’s expression shifts—every emotion written plainly across his face in real time.

“Err, well…I mean, truthfully, I do want one of them taken down. B-but that’s not what I’m here about!” he insists quickly. “I actually wanted to ask you about some of the artifacts that aren’t on display in the collection, i-if that’s alright.”

Robin sifts over his words, recalibrating. Chrom’s uncanny resemblance to the drawing on the poster has thrown him off balance, and this confrontation is not going how he anticipated it would. Then again, it probably wasn't feasible for Robin to have predicted that the complaining museum patron who wanted to speak with him would look just like the drawing of Ylisse’s very hot exalt from 500 years ago.

But he does, and since it seems like he’s not actually here to be an ass to Robin about his ability to do his job, the least he can do is hear him out.

“Alright, sure,” he allows. “I’ll answer your questions if I can.”

“Ah, thank you, Robin.” Chrom says his name like it’s the easiest thing in the world—like he’s said it a hundred times before. It’s insufferably charming.

He stoops to help retrieve the papers from the ground before continuing. “I was wondering if there were more letters in the collection than just what I saw in the exhibit. I thought I remembered the excavation report saying that letters written by the king consort had been discovered as well, but…” he trails off uncertainly.

“You’re right,” Robin acknowledges, kneeling to gather the papers with him. “There were more letters found than just the ones on display. Quite a number of them, actually. Written by both the Exalt and the King Consort.”

Chrom’s head whips up to face him. “Really? What became of them, then?” Breathless enthusiasm shimmers in his gaze, like he’s clinging to Robin’s every word. “Were you unable to authenticate them?”

“Ah…no,” he laughs, “they were legitimate. The museum board just didn’t feel they would be appropriate for the exhibit.”

Chrom’s face pinches up, puzzled. “I…I don’t understand. If they’re real, then why wouldn’t they be appropriate to display? What was wrong with them?”

“Nothing was wrong with them, exactly…” Robin says with a shrug. “They’re just much too risqué to display in a museum that families and children visit.”

A whole range of emotions flit across Chrom’s features.

“Gods, you’re—you’re being serious, aren’t you?” he sputters, flushed to his ears. Robin tamps down a fast-budding laugh. He almost can’t believe this grown man could look so horrified at the prospect of adult content existing in letters between lovers.

“Completely serious,” he assures Chrom, his voice as even as he can manage. “I mean, it’s not that surprising, is it? Most of the letters were written when the two were secretly engaged but forced to spend time apart for diplomatic work. They had to express all those pent-up feelings somewhere.”

Chrom considers this for a moment as he hands the papers he gathered back—some of his initial alarm seems to have faded, though his cheeks remain insistently pink.

“I suppose when you put it that way, it makes sense,” he admits. “Still, it’s a shame the letters couldn’t be displayed because of it.” In a mutter Robin isn’t sure he is meant to hear, Chrom adds, “…I rather wish the poster had received that fate, instead.”

Robin shifts his weight—fixes Chrom in a narrowed gaze.

“What’s wrong with the poster?” he asks, a bit defensively.

“W-well, it’s just so…revealing!” Chrom groans. “I’d think that wouldn’t be appropriate for families to see, either.”

Robin huffs out a laugh, recalling Chrom’s words from earlier. “So that’s the artifact you’d like to see taken down, then? Plenty of famous artwork and sculptures depict naked bodies. Honestly, this one is tame, comparatively—you can’t even see his genitals.”

“I—I know that!” Chrom protests quickly. “It’s just that it’s—w-well…it’s embarrassing for me.”

Robin snorts, disbelieving even as he begins to understand. “Embarrassing? You mean because you look like him?”

“Ah, so you can see it too, then!” Chrom says, as if this settles the matter.

“There’s a resemblance, sure,” Robin acknowledges, and if that’s the understatement of the century he’s not going to admit it. “But no matter how much you may look alike, it isn’t actually you. That poster is more than 500 years old. Something tells me you weren’t alive back then to pose for it.”

“But imagine for a moment that it was reversed,” Chrom presses. “If you walked into a museum and saw your own likeness up on the wall like that, wouldn’t you want it taken down?”

Robin mulls it over only a moment before answering. “Well, I do think I would be embarrassed at first, yes—”

“See?” Chrom declares, victoriously.

“—But ultimately, I would recognize that my embarrassment was unfounded and, frankly, ridiculous. And I certainly wouldn’t deprive the public of their right to view a priceless historic artifact solely to preserve my ego.”

Belatedly, Robin realizes he probably shouldn’t be so brusque to one of the museum’s top patrons while he’s on the job—even if everything he’s saying is true. But to his surprise, Chrom doesn't bluster or snap in response to his admonishment. Instead, his brows pull low in consideration.

“That’s—hmm,” he breaks off, shaking his head. “I…hadn’t thought about it that way, but perhaps you’re right. I suppose the way I’ve been approaching it is rather selfish.”

“Well, it’s an understandable initial reaction to have,” Robin allows. “But…yes, it is. So I’m glad you’re coming to see it my way.”

Chrom laughs, and it’s a low, rich rumble of a sound. “You don’t hesitate to speak your mind, do you, Robin?” he asks, a twinkle alight in his eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Robin acknowledges. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. I’m much the same way, myself," Chrom says. "If anything, I find your directness refreshing.”

Robin raises a brow. “Don’t think you can flatter me into taking the poster down,” he warns. Chrom laughs a second time and Robin wonders if a sound can be addictive—marvels at how he can see himself chasing after the chance to hear it again.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Chrom assures him. “Truly, that wasn’t even the reason I asked to speak with you in the first place.”

“Ah, that’s right. We’ve gotten off track haven’t we?” Robin muses, remembering Chrom’s initial question. Now that Robin has his bearings about him again, he takes a moment to brush the dust from his fall off his shirt and trousers, laying the stack of papers on his desk before turning back to face Chrom with a more analytical eye.

Chrom is, in some ways, the type of person Robin would expect himself to hate.

Even if he didn’t know that Chrom was one of the Shepherds it would be easy to guess he comes from money. He wears simple, well-tailored clothes—the kind that don’t have to do anything flashy to stand out because the quality speaks for itself. And with a face that sculptors would clamber to cut from marble, it would be easy to assume he’s used to having everything in life handed to him. Yet there is nothing pompous or entitled about the way he carries himself. Instead, Chrom exudes an air of approachability. Everything about his posture is warm, and open, and reassuring. There is nothing but sincerity in the soft set of his eyes.

Robin doesn’t know what to make of it. He wants to know more.

“Tell me something, Chrom,” he says, and he’s surprised by how naturally the name slips from his lips. “What made you come asking about the rest of the letters in the first place? You implied you’d looked through the excavation report on them—that’s not exactly light reading. Are you a historian yourself?”

“A historian? Gods, no,” he chuckles. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be cut out for that at all. It’s really just the one era of Ylisse’s history that interests me. Not even the whole era. Just one historical figure.”

Robin nods in understanding. “Right, I suppose it’s natural to be curious about the person you were named after.”

“Err, no, actually,” he says, scratching his head. “I’m more interested in King Robin.”

Robin blinks at him. “The Exalt’s husband?”

“Well, he wasn’t just his husband, he was also an amazing strategist and—” he catches Robin’s bemused expression and immediately breaks off, “Err, sorry, of course you would already know all that.”

A laugh tumbles out of him. “I do, but it’s unusual to find someone so committed to singing the king consort’s praises—most people are a lot more interested in the Exalt. Information on King Robin is hard to come by, after all. And I suspect many people don’t care to try and take apart how complicated he was, either.”

“Then they’re missing out. The complications are what make him so interesting,” Chrom says, and Robin can see the way his whole body coils with excited energy—a magnetic sort of enthusiasm. “That’s why I was looking forward to this exhibit in the first place. Much of what we know about King Robin is so focused on his military tactics—and I like reading about those as well, but it’s not the same. I was hoping to finally have a chance to learn more about who he was as a person.” His eyes fall to his feet, a chink of vulnerability in his self-assured demeanor. “Er, sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble. Perhaps it’s odd for me to be so invested in it…”

Robin shakes his head. “You forget you’re speaking to a historian. That doesn’t sound odd to me.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Not at all,” he tells Chrom. “I think that’s what brings history to life, isn’t it? It’s one thing to think about these faceless dolls or toy soldiers acting out stories from our past. But it’s another to experience those stories when you feel like you know its players as people. It’s the little details—like that their favorite color was blue, and they had a bad habit of breaking training dummies—that’s what makes them real to us. And then you’re not just learning the story of a stranger, but a story about an old friend.”

Chrom beams at him. “That’s exactly what I mean. Though I couldn’t have said it so eloquently, myself.”

Robin considers him for a moment—his gentle smile, the earnesty burning in his impossibly blue eyes. At some point they must have gravitated nearer to each other without realizing it, because they’re standing much too close to each other for strangers. Yet Robin finds he has no desire at all to back away.

“...You know Chrom, you’re rather full of surprises,” he muses. “When my coworker told me that one of our patrons wanted to voice their concerns about the new exhibit, you were definitely not what I was expecting.”

Chrom grins at him roguishly. “No? What were you expecting?”

“Mmm, well—for you to be considerably more of an asshole, for one,” Robin says, and a laugh bursts its way out of Chrom in response.

Miriel’s voice surfaces in the back of Robin’s mind, nagging him about watching his language with their ‘esteemed patron’. He normally wouldn’t speak like this to a guest, or anyone he had just met for that matter. And yet somehow it feels like—

“W-well,” Chrom clears his throat. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you from your work…”

“Oh. Right, of course,” Robin murmurs. “If I’ve answered all your questions then you’re welcome to be on your way.”

Chrom glances at the door, and Robin curses the corner of his heart that wistfully insists Chrom looks disappointed.

“Right. Well…I guess I’ll be going then,” he says. “I appreciate you taking the time to see me, and…I, uh, well…” He shifts back and forth on his feet, bites his lip, runs a hand through his hair—a bundle of directionless energy. “I really enjoyed talking with you, Robin,” he finally manages.

It’s the sound of his name in Chrom’s voice again that snaps his resolve into place.

“Do you want to read the letters?” he blurts out. Chrom’s fidgeting stills very suddenly.

“The—the letters?” he asks. “You mean…the ones that aren’t on display in the exhibit?”

“Yes, I—I can’t let you handle the real ones obviously, since they require special clearance, but I have scans of them that I can print out if—if that would interest you.” The offer spills from his lips before he can stop himself.

“You would really be willing to do that?” Chrom asks, unguarded awe in his voice. Robin nods, then barely suppresses a gasp when Chrom bridges the scarce space between them, clasping their hands together.

“Thank you,” Chrom says, smiling effusively. “You’ll have to let me make it up to you. I’m not sure how, exactly, but—”

Robin’s eyes dart to their joined hands. “You could buy me a coffee…” he offers.

At his words, unfettered surprise splashes across Chrom’s face and panic promptly ribbons around Robin. Maybe he was misreading Chrom’s cues—for all he knows Chrom’s already seeing someone. Or maybe he’s this friendly and physical with everyone he meets.

“Er, that is—only if you want to,” Robin adds quickly. “I won’t withhold the letters from you if you say no.”

“N-no!” Chrom exclaims, “I mean—yes! I do want to. I’d…like to spend more time with you,” he says, and it kicks Robin’s heart into a gallop. “Should we go now?”

Robin laughs incredulously. “I’m in the middle of a work shift right now,” he reminds him.

Chrom deflates. “Ah, that’s right."

“—But I have my lunch break in about an hour. If you don’t mind hanging around in the area until then, we could—”

“Yes!” he says, instantly brightening. “I can look around the museum in the meantime.”

“Okay,” Robin agrees, failing stupendously to stop a grin from splitting across his face. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, then?”

“Yes, I’ll—great! This is great,” Chrom says. He squeezes Robin’s hand before releasing it, tossing a smile his way as he moves to the door. “I’ll see you then!” Chrom assures him, and Robin pretends not to notice how Chrom almost trips over his own feet on his way out.

It’s only when the door has clicked firmly behind him that Robin allows himself to collapse into his desk chair, face in his hands, heart in his throat, and an embarrassingly high-pitched noise escaping from behind his lips.

۵ ۵ ۵ ۵ ۵

Chrom has never been a patient person, but he thinks this might be the longest hour of his life. He wanders around the first floor of the museum, hesitant to stray too far in case Robin arrives early. None of the exhibits he passes can hold his attention, though, and he soon gives up in favor of settling on the stone rim of a fountain in the atrium.

He intends to do a first pass through the journal entries he’d snapped pictures of earlier, but for the first time in his life, King Robin’s words can’t hold his interest either. Looking at them only makes him think of the Robin he just met. What are ink strokes, after all, when compared to the way this Robin’s eyes glimmered like fireflies, and lantern-light? How they had shimmered with his wisdom and wit?

And in an hour, they’re going to get coffee together.

‘No, he said I could buy him coffee…’ Chrom corrects himself, ‘and that means it’s a date, right?’ He hopes so, anyway.

Gods, he is out of his element.

Though Chrom is not a complete stranger to romantic feelings, he would hardly consider himself an expert on them, either. The crushes he’s harbored in the past were warm burbles of shiny, carbonated feelings. They sparked up, briefly made a mess of his chest, and eventually sputtered out again. They had never been like this—where he met someone and immediately felt like he’d injected stardust in his veins. Like he’d doused himself in wildfire and now every breath burned with it.

As far as he can tell, there is no reason for Robin to be affecting him so strongly, but nothing in his body seems to care about the lack of logic to it: Chrom walked into that archival room, and when he helped Robin to his feet, the earth’s axis shifted underneath him.

Ultimately, Chrom passes the time until Robin’s lunch break pacing and tossing coins into the fountain—wishing on every one that this day will end with the promise that he can see him again.

When the clocktower tolls the hour, Chrom pauses his pacing just in time to discern the staccato of footsteps from down the main hall. Robin emerges from around the corner, bundled in an unusual, violet coat and wearing a crystalline smile that could take Chrom apart.

“Hi again,” Robin greets him, and Chrom doesn’t even bother to conceal his eagerness as he bounds over to him. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“No, not at all!” Chrom assures him. Now that he’s near him, Chrom can see the rosiness to Robin’s cheeks—hear the breathlessness in his voice. His pulse flutters with the thought of Robin hurrying down the halls to find him—that he might have been looking forward to seeing Chrom again too.

Chrom half stumbles in an effort to get the door, and Robin offers a grateful grin as they make their way out into the crisp spring air. At the bottom of the steps, Robin lays a hand against his arm, gently leading him down the eastern-facing street.

“I take it you have somewhere in mind?” Chrom asks.

Robin nods. “There’s a café a few blocks over that I often stop at before work. I thought it would make for a nice destination, if you’re alright with a little walk.”

“Sounds good to me,” Chrom replies. Truthfully, he’d been too excited about the fact that he was going somewhere with Robin at all to have put much thought into the specifics of the location.

“Great!” says Robin, “The coffee is what I usually go there for, but they serve sandwiches too, if you’re hungry.”

“I actually packed a lunch, since I was planning to stay at the museum all day,” Chrom admits. “But I’d gladly go for something warm to drink.”

Robin’s eyes twinkle. “Packed a lunch, hm? And here I’m the one used to being the token, over-zealous history nerd.”

Chrom chuckles, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “Ah, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I’m really not usually this enthusiastic about these sorts of things.”

“Right, I remember. Just the one historical figure from the one era,” Robin recites. “What sorts of things are you typically interested in then?”

So, Chrom tells him. About his love of fencing, and his interest in medieval weaponry (“That’s history too,” Robin teases), and the volunteer work he’s taken to doing with the local fire department. Normally, he’d feel self-conscious rambling so much about himself, but Robin interjects with questions and encouraging smiles that make the words melt off his tongue like warm honey.

With the arrival of afternoon, the high-hanging sun has smudged out much of the morning chill. Tulips and violets lining the sidewalks stretch skyward, their dew-kissed petals winking as they pass, and Chrom wonders at how in just a few hours, the flowers have learned to bloom so much brighter.

After a few more blocks, Robin lays a hand on Chrom’s arm again, beckoning him towards a homey-looking café. Windchimes tinkle as they push through the door.

“This is it!” he declares.

Chrom spends a breath looking the place over. The floors, walls, and furniture are all eclectic shades of burnished, warm wood. It’s cozy, and lush: hanging plants and clusters of succulents adorn every open corner and counter, as if someone changed their mind halfway through designing the café and thought to make it an arboretum, instead. The likeness to a greenhouse is furthered by the large, street-facing windows which allow sunlight to seep in, draping everything within the cafe in a cast of soft gold. It's not hard for him to imagine why Robin would like it here.

“Hey there, Robin!” A barista calls from behind the counter. He looks right at home among the plants, a mellow smile stretched wide across his face and his messy, dark green hair blending seamlessly with the canopy of leaves. “This isn’t the usual time we see you.”

“Hi, Stahl!” Robin waves. “Yeah, I’m here for my lunch break today.”

“Looks like you brought a friend too!” the barista observes, aiming his easy smile Chrom’s way.

“Ah, hello,” Chrom says, reaching across the counter to shake the man’s hand, “I’m Chrom.”

“I’m Stahl! Nice to meet you, Chrom,” Stahl says amicably. He shoots Robin an amused look. “Hey, Robin, isn’t Chrom the name of your favorite history guy? You know, the one you’re always gushing about being so charming and handso—”

“Ha ha, very funny Stahl,” Robin interjects, his voice suddenly sharp. “Now, are you going to take our orders or not?”

Stahl makes a placating gesture and gives a good-natured chuckle while Chrom glances between the two of them inquisitively. “Sure, sure,” he says, “What can I get for the two of you?”

Once they’ve secured their drinks and claimed a table, Robin hefts his satchel into his lap.

“Let me give these to you before I forget,” he says, removing a neatly bound stack of papers from within. “I laminated them so you could mark them up if you want—that’s what I always do when reading historical documents for the first time.”

Chrom leans close, breathless as his eyes skim over King Robin’s familiar handwriting on the first page. His fingers graze Robin’s as he hands them off, and it’s only when Chrom hears his sharp inhale of breath that he thinks to become self-conscious about it. Rather than jumping away, he intentionally lets his hand linger there, prolonging the contact a moment more.

“Thank you, Robin,” he murmurs. “I truly appreciate this, and I can’t wait to read them.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” Robin assures him. “They’ll all be published in academic journals eventually, but this way at least you won’t have to wait a few more months. You know, since you’re evidentially so eager to do some sordid reading.”

Chrom blinks at him, then down at the stack of laminated letters. He’d almost forgotten the reason they couldn’t be displayed in the first place. Red claws its way across his cheeks when he thinks of Robin printing out such passages specifically to give to him.

“Err, w-when I said I couldn’t wait to read them, I didn’t mean—! I-it’s not because they’re—” he breaks off, taking stock of Robin’s growing grin, an expression he’s all too familiar with, though he’s used to seeing it on the faces of his family members.

“You’re teasing me!” he accuses incredulously.

“Maybe a little bit,” Robin admits through budding laughter.

“I don’t believe it.” Chrom shakes his head, fighting off a sheepish smile. “Am I truly so easy to get a rise out of?”

“Oh, very much so,” Robin assures him, “it’s great fun watching you get so flustered.”

“Is it, now? Then how am I to know that you’re not exaggerating the content in these letters for the sake of teasing me as well?”

The Exalt and King Consort always struck him as fairly serious people, after all. Surely, they wouldn’t have written anything as embarrassing as Robin implied. Bent on proving as much to himself, Chrom’s eyes skim over the front page in the stack and settle upon a sentence at random.

‘I miss you with all that I am, my love. Come nightfall, my hands rove over my skin—a feeble attempt to mimic your tender ministrations, while I muffle my cries in— '

His head snaps back up to find Robin smirking at him, openly amused.

“…O-okay,” he stammers, “I stand corrected.”

“I tried to warn you!” Robin laughs. “Though, it’s not all so sensual, just…a lot of it. But there are plenty of passages in there that are more lighthearted, too. Here, let me show you one of my favorites.”

They pass the next half hour like that, huddled over the pages together, exchanging impressions and eventually meandering into other topics, as well. Talking with Robin is effortless—but even more than it’s easy, it’s enrapturing. Robin is brilliant and witty and opinionated. Chrom could spend a lifetime just listening to him share his thoughts on everything from coffee beans to the monarchy.

After what feels like only minutes, Robin glances at his watch, the laugh on his lips dampening.

“Gods, is it already that late?” he murmurs. “We’ll have to start heading back.”

“Already?” Chrom asks. He takes a sip of his coffee, hoping to hide the disappointed tilt of his mouth with the mug. He’s been so busy talking to Robin that it’s still largely untouched and only lukewarm.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Robin says. His eyes settle on Chrom’s mostly full mug as he deposits it again on the table. “Ah, did you not like your drink?”

“No, I did!” Chrom assures him quickly. “I just liked talking to you more.”

The words slipped out before he could think better of them, and for a horrible second, Robin’s face is blank aside from a bright brush. Then he breaks into a breathtaking grin.

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to do this again sometime,” he says. Chrom feels almost lightheaded with relief. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Their easy banter from the café continues on the walk back to the museum, but it’s tinged with a heaviness that wasn’t there before. Chrom knows the return journey will be too short, just like every other stage of the outing has been. As they approach the steps that lead up to the museum doors, he tries to make sense of the near apocalyptic pounding of his pulse.

They’ve already spoken loosely of intentions to see each other again—that’s as much as he’d dared allow himself to hope for. Yet the thought of allowing Robin to walk away from him at all tangles his stomach in knots and shakes him to his bone marrow. It feels like a cataclysmic mistake.

The two of them dither at the bottom of the stairs, huddled close to keep from impeding the path of other passersby.

“…I suppose it’s probably about time for me to head back in,” Robin says, scuffing a boot against the ground. He looks almost as hesitant as Chrom feels.

“R-right, I suppose so,” he echoes, straining to keep his tone casual. “Thank you again for the letters, Robin. And—er, yes. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m glad I could help,” he replies, offering a tremulous half smile. “…Well, I guess I’ll see you around, then. Goodbye, Chrom.”

Robin turns towards the museum door.

Something about the scene before Chrom—Robin’s face angled away; wind-tousled, white hair and a violet coat; the word ‘goodbye’ in his voice—it all sends a frantic panic lancing through him. Chrom can’t understand it; can’t understand why all of his instincts are warring so hard against letting the other man go. But before he can think better of it, he’s darting forward to catch Robin's hand.

“Robin, wait—!”

He freezes immediately, and turns back to Chrom, bearing no trace of surprise—like he’d been waiting for Chrom to stop him.

“Y-yes?” he prompts, and it’s hope, definitely hope, that colors his tone. “What is it, Chrom?”

“I—” Chrom’s thoughts spin and trip over themselves, clumsy in their desperation. “C-can I kiss you?” he blurts out.

Now Robin looks surprised. A flush crawls into his cheeks; his eyes widen into two perfect pools of gold. And gods, what if Chrom just ruined any chance he might have with him by rushing things? What if this scares him off? What if—

Robin laughs and steps closer. His hand dances up to trace the curve of Chrom’s cheek and his mind goes blissfully blank.

“I…wouldn’t usually do this,” Robin admits, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his unbearably enticing mouth.

“Neither would I,” Chrom breathes.

He stoops and softly presses their lips together, all the same.

It was just supposed to be a kiss. Just the fleeting meeting of lips to see him off.

It wasn’t supposed to be the ground opening beneath him and a split in Chrom’s mind that could swallow him whole. It wasn’t supposed to be the flood of a thousand memories—a whole lifetime pushing its way back into his bones.

But it is. Because he remembers.

He remembers plucking Robin from golden-green grasses—helping him to his feet beneath a brittle spring sky.

He remembers Robin’s sword at his side. Lightning in his eyes and at his fingertips. Shucking blood from his own blade and always, always knowing he’d be safe so long as Robin was the one watching his back.

He remembers quiet nights tangled in each other’s arms—and less quiet ones too, when the softness of their hands and mouths coaxed plaintive sighs from love-bitten throats.

He remembers their daughter swaddled tight against Robin’s chest. The blown-glass butterflies tinkling along to the lullaby Chrom would listen to him sing every night.

Chrom remembers everything.

He remembers Robin’s silhouette against the burning dawn—his outline flickering and turning to violet ashes in the wind. How he had clasped Robin’s hand to his heart and clung to it until there was nothing of him left to hold…

…And he remembers the 45 years of aching and searching and praying that followed.

“R-Robin!” Chrom gasps. That single word, his name, is the same one that he spoke earlier, but now it means something different. Now it means everything.

“C-Chrom?” he whispers, and Chrom can hear it in his voice—knows that Robin remembers too. “Chrom—is this—?”

“It’s real,” he assures him, “Gods…this is real.”

Relief and belonging and the feeling of being absolutely complete all surge up within him as he clutches Robin near, holds him to his heart, kisses his tear-tracks. “Robin,” his voice breaks, “my love.”

Robin croaks out a tear-choked laugh and flings his arms around Chrom’s neck.

It’s too much. A whole lifetime of loving and longing is coursing through him, and his legs buckle with it. They both sink to the ground, still wrapped up in each other—struggling to find space to breathe between the laughs and sobs and kisses.

“I never stopped looking,” Chrom tells him, pressing his lips to each of Robin’s fingertips in turn. “Robin, even in this life, I—I think I was still looking for you. I just didn’t know it.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long, my love,” he replies, and before Chrom can answer, Robin kisses him again, hard enough to make his head spin.

“It’s okay,” Chrom whispers, when Robin has finally freed his lips. The words are a promise to himself as much as to him. “Everything is okay now. I don’t know exactly what we’re meant to do from here, but I know we'll figure it out now that we’re together.” Chrom chuckles despite himself. “Gods…it turned out just how you said, didn’t it?”

“And how’s that?” Robin asks softly.

Chrom smiles at him, tirelessly tender. “We met again in a better life.”

Robin’s response is his lips sealed to Chrom’s again, the kiss salty with the taste of their tears. When they break apart, Robin leaves their foreheads pressed together, fingers tracing down Chrom’s cheek, re-learning the shape of him.

“I may have been right about that, but it seems I was wrong about what I said earlier today,” he admits with a grin. “That poster really was a drawing of you. No wonder you were so embarrassed.”

A laugh thunders through Chrom’s chest—he almost can’t believe the absurdity of it all. To think that ridiculous naked poster Frederick commissioned so many years ago would be what helped lead him back to his other half. That after decades of searching, and centuries apart, his knight’s misguided attempts at boosting troop morale would bring them together again. Though truthfully, Chrom supposes, it isn’t just the poster he has to thank for that. It’s also—

“Gods,” Chrom gasps in horror as realization dawns on him. “Oh gods, this is a disaster…"

“Chrom?” Robin tenses, hands clutching him tight. “You’re scaring me, what’s wrong?”

Chrom takes his hands tightly in his own, squeezing each of them as his face warps into a grimace.

“Robin…forget the poster,” he says. “We need to burn those letters.”

#Chrobin #m!chrobin #chrom x robin #chrom fire emblem #robin fire emblem #m!robin #fe13 #fe: awakening #ao3 fanfic #I didn't have anything new to post for Awakening's anniversary this year but #I'd been meaning to get around to gender swapping this one for a while so #here it finally is :)#It was also the first one-shot I ever wrote #And sorry in advance about tumblr's less than ideal formatting for longer fics #my fics #One-shot

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yeehawbvby · 1 year

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Made a new friend in my Sims 4 x Stardew save

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boobtoucher89 · 11 months

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a question about furby boom and sleep masks

hi!!! i recently got a furby boom, and i’ve seen some people use the sleep masks from the furby connects with them. can anyone confirm if the sleep masks actually work on furby booms? i have tried to research but i have not found anything >_>

#furby #furby community #furby fandom #furby boom #furby connect #furby 2012 #silly spellcasting #i’m sorry if this isn’t the right way to format a post like this #even though i’ve been on tumblr for years i never actually make posts myself #thank you in advance for your advice furby friends #if the masks do work i would love to get one for cupholder

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majormeilani · 2 years

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dj grooves centric story for once. takes place post chapter 2 or possibly even post game.

Title: Curtain Call (Part 1)

Summary: DJ Grooves has many things in his life that he regrets. Overcome with remorse and grief for his past actions, DJ Grooves makes a bold decision to leave the studio... but he doesn't intend on coming back. Will anyone catch on or will this be his final curtain call?

Word Count: 10k+

content warnings: heavy mentions of suicide ideation and depression, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, nightmares, cigarettes referenced, injuries mentioned.

this story will be a multi-parter. i highly recommend heeding any warnings i have placed before reading as this story will cover the topic of suicide and mention and reference it many times. please take extra care reading. (though a happy ending is planned so keep that in mind)

cur·tain call

/ˈkərtn ˌkôl/

noun

the appearance of one or more performers on stage after a performance to acknowledge the audience's applause.

"they were taking a curtain call together"

~ Oxford Dictionary

DJ Grooves found himself standing in the studio's lobby. He couldn't recall how he got there but as he looked around, there was no one else in sight to even ask such a question of. As he stood in the lobby, everything felt relatively normal but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was… off. So, he thought to take in the room a bit. To try and recall why he ended up here in the first place.

He took a glimpse around, briefly surveying the room he was all too familiar with having entered and exited many times before. The place where he walked each morning to greet his beloved Moon Penguin actors. The place where he fought with The Conductor many times before; always over something asinine or silly that could be resolved if the two didn't disagree all the time. The place where he remembers seeing a glimpse of the little darlings for the first time but being so caught up with his rival he hadn't paid much mind to them at first.

He felt himself sigh as he tucked his hands in his pants pockets at the thought, staring at the ceiling above. After a moment of searching over all the ceiling's light panels as he thought about the kids, he found himself walking towards the reception desk. He cruised his hand along the edge of the counter, feeling for the rough, chipped edges from wear over time; reminders of the years he spent at the studio and the numerous arm-leans he'd made upon said counter.

He glimpsed where The Receptionist usually stood, which was currently vacant. And to the desk plants that he'd tend to every morning when he came in for his shift. He took in the smallest details that usually went unnoticed by anyone else but they always meant so much to him.

He stared up at the western movie posters above The Conductor's side of the lobby. The posters of movies passed and reminders of the owl's low running well of ideas. As DJ Grooves admired them, he found himself chuckling lowly at them, finding them a fun little dig he could always make at The Conductor. Of course, he always meant it as a joke. The Conductor had won numerous times over him before, despite his lack of inspiration. He almost wondered how he'd managed to do it every time and he genuinely believed that he'd been cheating all this time, never understanding any other reason why.

DJ Grooves' eyes wandered to the array of shimmering gold trophies that sat encased on The Conductor's side of the lobby. He approached it with the soft clamp of his platform shoes upon the tiled floor. He studied the layers of unswept dust that rested upon the gleaming treasures and gently caressed a feathered palm over the cool glass, brushing some of its own dust away for a better view inside the case. The mark his hand left in the dust made a small window for him to view the trophy and the plaque that detailed the words: "Best in Picture: THE CONDUCTOR."

He brushed his hands together to rid them of the dust that coated his feathers, the particles drifting loosely and fading into the air around him. He sneezed softly to his sleeve before adjusting his shades and looking up at the trophy case again.

His brows scrunched together as he surveyed the other trophies, his eyes focusing on the single silver trophy his rival had in the top case. The silver in which the trophy was plated shined even brighter still than any of the other trophies he'd ever received himself; his own array of trophies paralleling his rival's but in the opposing metals.

DJ Grooves turned now to look towards his own trophy case on the opposite side of the lobby. He drew himself away from The Conductor's trophy case and stood for a moment, staring over at his own trophies. The silver trophies he had greatly outnumbered his only gold trophy in the case but all seemed to glitter much duller than his rival's did. He looked to the benches, usually occupied by Express Owls every morning. The crate that lounged in the studio in the same place it always did, usually surrounded by his Moon Penguins who chatted away there every morning as well. He saw his space themed posters hung above his trophy case, one poster astray from the other three, just as he remembered it being.

He looked at each of the studio lobby doors, every one marked with the same emblem of a bird's skull. Even the mat by the front door, tramped with years of desert sand, was marked with the same logo. The logo was also proudly displayed on the trophy cases and the wall behind the reception desk. The one that marked that this was, without a doubt, Dead Bird Studio.

Which of course he knew it was. But still, he couldn't recall why this studio felt… different. Everything was the same as he remembered it, down to the little details.

DJ Grooves tilted his head in thought and then glimpsed over at his own trophy case again; the case all the sudden much emptier than the last time he looked at it. His eyes widened in confusion to see all his hard work had disappeared so quickly. Thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, he moved aside his sunglasses to rub at his eyes and blinked a few times at the sight again. Still, the case was empty.

Empty, except for one trophy on the center top shelf.

DJ Grooves gasped and stumbled towards the case to gather a better understanding of what was going on. He looked frantically from each of the case's shelves, no other trophies in sight. What was going on? He felt so confused.

Then he felt eyes upon him. Many eyes upon him. All staring directly at the back of his head. He felt his body grow stiff with sudden anxiety, the feathers on his neck prickling slightly and he turned to see what was behind him.

Behind him stood a large group of birds. The Express Owls. His Moon Penguins. The C.A.W. Agents.

And The Conductor, who stood at the very center of the group. The group approached DJ Grooves in amass as the penguin turned to them and they now effectively surrounded him where he stood by his trophy case.

DJ Grooves felt his heart drop but also felt slightly relieved to see some familiar faces. He brought a charming smile to his face and waved gently to the group before his hand fell loosely at his side as he took in all of their expressions. None of them looked happy with him at all; many were wearing scours and grimaces on their faces, eyebrows scrunched together, their eyes staring daggers at him. Some had their arms or wings folded or their hands placed on their hips. While some had their hands clenched by their sides in fists or fidgeted them angrily. A few even tapped their feet against the tile or tapped their fingers along their folded arms, as if impatient or annoyed at him.

This made a lump grow in DJ Grooves' throat as he looked at everyone. He tried to swallow but found it hard to do so, almost feeling like if he moved too much he'd anger the group further. The group in which he didn't understand why they were all looking at him in such a way in the first place. He tried to come up with what to say, bringing his hands together at his front and clasping them in nervousness.

"... Well, hello, there, darlings--" DJ Grooves started to say, nearly choking the words out as the angered stares grew more intense at him and made him fall silent again. He felt his feathers raise again as anxiety built in his chest.

He blinked a few times behind his shades, feeling his heart starting to drum in fear as he side-stepped backwards a few inches and felt his back collide with the trophy case behind him. The group copied his movement and closed in on him more, now completely trapping him in the lobby corner next to the crate that was nestled there and leaving him nowhere to run.

"Ay cannae believe ye would do somethin' so diabolical, Groooves," The Conductor growled, throwing his arms down violently at his sides.

"You're h-honesty so repulsive, Mr. Grooves. I didn't expect anything less of you, though," an Express Owl added, their anger outweighing their typical nervousness as they pressed their hands to their hips.

"Yeah, boss. How could you do such a horrible thing? Those kids loved you!" a Moon Penguin screamed at him as well, their hands locking into fists.

"I never thought you'd take revenge that far!"

"You're a criminal! A heathen!"

"We should have you arrested for what you've done!"

"You're vile! A murderer!"

DJ Grooves felt his heart start pounding harder and he moved his hands up to reflexively protect himself as he looked at the angry group that was now shouting at him. What?! Murderer?

"What'do'ya have'ta say fer yerself, Grooves!?" The Conductor shouted at him.

"Wh… Wha… What is going on?" was all DJ Grooves could find himself uttering, confused and frightened as he looked among the entire group.

"Don't you realize? You've killed those kids! And for what?" a Moon Penguin screamed at their boss, slamming a foot forward angrily. "Some stupid useless trophies!?"

"...Wha-- What do you m--…?" DJ Grooves started to say before he looked down and noticed that his hands were now stained a deep crimson red.

A sharp horrified gasp escaped from him and he shook his wrists, as if trying to shake the blood off, like he was merely shaking water from them. He then rubbed his thumbs over his palms and digits, trying to brush the blood off further as he stared at his hands.

His eyes widened as he studied the dull color and he stiffly lifted his arms out by his sides, looking down at himself. He noticed the same red was stained all down his front and pants, as though he'd just recently committed a bloody murder. His hands went to clutch the upper arms of his jacket and his breath held all the sudden as he noticed the trail of bloody footprints on the floor that he'd left behind from when he'd crossed the lobby. His breath felt shallow as he stood still and wide-eyed, glimpsing around his surroundings.

He noticed now that the walls were now splattered with blood and from what little of the lobby that he could see beyond the crowd, the doors and counter were bloody as well. As though a brutal fight had taken place moments before. His beak gaped at the sight and his mouth quivered as if he wanted to say something.

"Was it worth it, Grooves? Was all this really worth it…?"

The Conductor had spoken up, tone scolding and sarcastic, causing Grooves to look at him again.

"Well, turn 'round then, lad. Turn 'round 'n admire tha glory of yer labor."

The Conductor gestured an arm out angrily towards the trophy case behind DJ Grooves.

DJ Grooves grew dizzy at the mere thought of turning around but felt as though he was being forced to, like an invisible hand was gripping his head and turning his neck. He whirled around to behold the sight of a bloodstained trophy case, flooded with golden trophies. The case that was once nearly empty and dusty was now completely full of golden trophies and covered in blood. Each plaque read his name "DJ Grooves," but each one had also been vandalized to say "MURDERER," "CHILD KILLER," "MONSTER," and the like. Calling out truly who owned these trophies.

"No-- no, no, no, NO, NO--" DJ Grooves began to shout, staggering back with a bloodstained flipper clamped over his beak

DJ Grooves backed away from the trophy case in horror and shook his head in disbelief until he felt something sharp poke against his back. He flinched forward in pain before turning violently to face the group again, shrinking inwards and gasping fearfully as a new horrifying sight unfolded before him.

The group of enraged birds now all drew their arms and wings from behind their backs. They all now wielded a knife in each of their hands, each weapon already red with blood. Signaling they had been the weapons that DJ Grooves had already used to enact the deed. The Conductor had his knife pointed straight out in front of him, aimed towards Grooves' heart, the weapon likely what had given him the sharp poke.

"Isn't this what ye wanted, lad? Everythin' that ye've ever wanted?" The Conductor mused at him with an almost devilish smile with a tilt of his head, almost like he was relishing at the pain and remorse his rival was in.

"I-I-- I didn't want this-- I didn't want it like this," DJ Grooves stammered, his legs suddenly collapsing beneath him as he fell hard to his knees and landed bent over to the floor, hands planted out in front of him. He stared at the blood that marked the floor beneath him, feeling like vomiting as he now had a closer look at how fresh it still was.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" the penguin pleaded relentlessly through a choked voice, hands closing into tight fists, shaking his head as tears began to bead in his eyes, his shades sliding down as he hung his head.

The sound of footsteps approached him.

DJ Grooves felt the heel of a shoe press hard against his forehead and the owner of said shoe pushed enough to force his head back up, effectively making Grooves' head tilt up to look at the group again. The Conductor was the one delivering the push and DJ Grooves looked up at his rival through one tear-blurred eye, his shades having slid down to the tip of his beak to reveal his eyes to the owl. The Conductor now wore a heavy scowl on his face as he stared down at the pathetic penguin before he spoke up again:

" 'Sorry,' don't cut it, lad," The Conductor said sharply before he delivered a harsh shove with his foot against DJ Grooves' head.

The force of Conductor's kick had enough strength behind it to shove DJ Grooves backwards towards the trophy case and caused the penguin's head to smash through the case's glass window. Shards of glass exploded and rained down around DJ Grooves and lodged themselves in various parts of his head, neck and shoulders. He howled in pain, shutting his eyes tight and raised his arms to try and protect himself, to no avail. He then felt weight of some kind drop upon him and though he tried to fight back and kick his legs, he felt something cold and razor sharp stab into his abdomen and rip out again. He felt like he couldn't move his arms all of a sudden. The pain stunned him and he could only make a choked sound as he found himself surrendering as he felt a knife pierce into him again. Then again and again and again. Each new sharp pain now crawling up his chest.

He cried out in guttural agony as his tear filled vision blurred into darkness.

…

And then he woke up.

DJ Grooves jolted awake in his bed, the force of his night terror causing him to sit up sharply and move to shield himself. He shifted his sleep mask that he wore to sleep off his eyes quickly and stared widely into the warm darkness of his room. He sat still, trembling for a moment and clutched his head as he breathed heavily and quickly, trying to regain his sense of reality. His hands soon went to his upper arms, hugging himself in an attempt to calm his busy mind. His heart was beating so fast but he felt dizzy like he almost might faint.

The nightmare felt so vivid, so real. He even felt the lingering sting of the imaginary injuries he'd just received. Once he felt more grounded, he felt a hand over his neck and shoulders, trying to massage away the sensation of broken glass shards. He quivered as he wheezed in each breath, trying to regain his composure and felt over his stomach and chest for the stab wounds his mind made him feel as though he'd just received. Feeling no such injuries made him breath a sigh of relief which, however, quickly dissolved into sobs. There he sat, crying into his hands.

This wasn't the first time that he'd had a nightmare so vivid, so horrible, and he doubted it would be his last.

… Especially because it paralleled what he'd already tried to do in real life.

And though the kids told him they had forgiven him for what he had done, he couldn't forgive himself for what he'd done. He deeply regretted having threatened to mess about with time and for trying to kill the two of them when they wouldn't let him. All because he'd gotten caught up in his own desperation, his own suffering, that he didn't even realize he was inflicting it onto them. And how sorry he felt and how remorseful he felt but knowing deep down that a sorry was never enough.

And how tormented he was by all of these nightmares and guilt for having done it. How disgusted he was with himself for blaming them for hurting him when he was the one hurting them more. How angry he was with himself for having taken so long to apologize to the kids after the matter from his own stubbornness and rationalization. How he knew that all of it had been his fault and the kids would have been happier and better off if he'd never done it in the first place.

He couldn't even imagine what the kids were now tormented with because of him. What nightmares he'd given them. What pain that he'd caused them in all his selfishness.

He felt like he deserved to be punished.

How this all was beginning to culminate into one terrible decision he'd tossed around in his mind before but always managed to shove away.

… How all of this made him want to die.

DJ Grooves felt a deep pit in his chest ache as he cried and thought, pulling his legs to his chest and gripping his sheets tighter than ever before. He sat for a moment, curled up in that sad little ball, the thought of death coming to mind again and again. And how he knew it's what he deserved.

Suddenly he felt his tears start to fade and then he felt emotionally numb all of the sudden as he sat still, sniffling on his bed. His shoulders sank and he raised his head from his knees and stared out at the dimly lit wall of fake trophies in his room, tears still stained into the feathers on his cheeks. Momentarily he felt as though he couldn't move and was stuck in his own head. He was lost in thought as he continued his blank stare.

Maybe it really was his time.

Maybe he would do it. Maybe then all this suffering would finally stop. Maybe then he wouldn't cause anyone anymore pain.

But… how was he going to do it…?

DJ Grooves sat for a moment longer then leaned back and flopped back down on his bed again, the whole bed shaking from the force. He lay now, staring at the rich red canopy above his bed. He stared with dull eyes at the red fabric and he thought about a way that he could make it so no one would have to worry about him and wouldn't even know if something happened to him. He shifted his arms to lie outside of his sheets and across his chest.

He could always take a simple way out but-- he didn't want to cause anyone else any more problems, feeling as though he would burden anyone who came across him after the fact. He'd especially hate for the kids to be the ones to find him like that-- he already had caused them enough grief and pain. They didn't need him to cause them anymore.

DJ Grooves closed his eyes as he thought, searching through his memories for a solution.

He remembered once reading a news story a long time ago about a bird who just wandered away. One hour the bird was milling about town and the next they were gone into the night. They just seemed to wander off and disappear, never to be found again.

He'd even heard stories about other penguins way back when, wandering far away from their homes to die. But those stories were so uncommon and always seemed like myths-- they were like a legend amongst Moon Penguins. There was even a childhood game of dares about it. Something about seeing who could run away the furthest without getting scared and running back.

He remembers seeing the game in action and saw other penguin chicks had dared each other to run as far as they could from home but they always chickened out at the last second. He even remembers playing the game once himself as a small chick. He'd convinced himself he was brave and nothing could scare him and declared he'd run further than the others. He remembers waddling further than his peers had, which had caused them to come running after him and urging him to come back. His childhood friends feared that something might happen to him or he might disappear-- or what his parents might do.

His breathing hitched slightly and he ground his beak at the thought of them.

But… maybe that's what he would do. Make it seem like he'd just disappeared. Make it seem like everything was normal and then "disappear" suddenly without a trace.

He wondered if it would work but many things still worried him. What if someone caught on to what he was planning to do…?

Maybe he could come up with a convincing enough lie and enact his plan without fail. He had to find some excuse to leave the studio and have no one following him. Something that wouldn't raise suspicion or cause anyone to think to intervene.

He reached underneath his pillow to retrieve his gold watch that he always kept there and watched the clock display's seconds tick by. It was nearing 3 AM. In a few hours, he knew The Conductor was going to be getting up to prepare for his day, always being the first bird awake in the studio.

He laced the watch around his wrist and sat up on his bed, moving from his sheets and settling on the edge of his bed. He closed his eyes for a moment and clasped his hands as he decided what to do.

… Well, the first step was he had to make himself look normal, right?

He opened his eyes and turned slowly to look at his clothing rack.

He then stood up and moved towards the rack and dressed himself up like normal. Iconic red coat; blue starry pants; red platform shoes. He set to work preening himself as well so no one would think something was amiss, tucking his favorite hair pick into his afro like he always did, in case he needed a good preening at a later time. Even though this one would likely be his last, the more he thought about it. He looked at himself in the mirror and faked a smile and proud posture. Dressing up and faking a smile was the easy part.

The rest would be more tricky. He looked to his work desk where he last left his clipboard and scooped it up. He flicked on his desk light, the light from it sheer and piercing for his eyes to adjust to. DJ Grooves squeezed his eyes shut briefly as he searched with just his hand for where he left his sunglasses on the desk. Once he felt them under his hand, he picked them up and opened them with the help of his beak and placed them onto his face. His shades helped to block out most of the bright light, to his thankful relief.

DJ Grooves gave a read over what he already had written prior, lots of scratched out ideas and small sketches he had scribbled over or crossed out for idea planning. He flipped through each page slowly and traced with his eyes what was already written and drawn. His brows furrowed at the sight of all his discarded ideas as there were far too many things he just didn't think were good enough.

But none of that mattered now, did it?

Impulsively, he tore the pages from the clipboard instead of unclipping them and dropped them into the trash. The pages drifted slowly into his waste bin and he watched them fall with a bleak stare. It's where they belonged, anyhow. The others around him throughout his life had made it very clear his ideas were garbage and so was he. So, it's where they belonged.

As he sifted through the other pages, he even stumbled across a few scribbled drawings and writing that were not his own, likely from Hat Kid and Bow Kid having snuck into his room at some point. He felt a jabbing pain in his chest at the sight. This solidified his guilt even more and he found himself tearing the pages from the clipboard as well, yet crumpled them now as he threw them away too. Tears threatened to creep into his eyes once more but he fought them away again.

He was now staring at a blank notebook page in front of him as he held the clipboard with shaking hands. Normally, it was common for him to see a blank page like this, instead as an opportunity, but this one felt empty in a different way. Empty in the same way as the hollow pain he felt in his chest.

He turned the pen he held in his hand to a writing position and slowly, he lowered the pen to the page and began to write. To make the process more comfortable, he lowered the clipboard onto his desk as he wrote.

He began to write a letter of sorts. It was a letter that no one would read but he began to pour his heart out onto it anyhow. He recalled every regret, every mistake, every pain that he caused. All the failures he made. All the let downs he'd caused. Everything he knew he needed to apologize for and everyone he felt he needed to apologize to. Even though he knew none of them would ever read it. And he knew exactly how to make sure of that.

Once he finished writing, he carefully unclipped the page from his clipboard and gave it a read over. When he was satisfied with its contents, he set the page onto his desk and grabbed one of his golden calligraphy pens and gracefully signed his full legal name; first name, middle name and last name. Then he gently blew upon the ink to help it to dry.

As he waited for the ink to dry, he gave his letter another read. The ache in his chest squeezed as his eyes came to read his signed full name, one he only ever used for legal documents. It felt strange to sign his name on a document that no one would even read. But, in a way, it was necessary.

Now with the ink sufficiently dry, he folded the letter into thirds and pulled his desk drawer open and took out an envelope. He gently tucked the letter into the envelope and sealed it shut. Then he turned over the letter and scratched down a return address from a different location and the recipient's address as that of Dead Bird Studio with his name, as though the letter was addressed to him by some foreign party.

He studied his work in the light of his desk lamp. This would surely suffice.

DJ Grooves glimpsed to his wrist watch, then his bedroom door. Now all that was left was to break this "life changing news" to everyone before he'd be gone from the studio forever.

And, really, as they say, what they don't know-- won't hurt 'em.

… Right?

DJ Grooves remained in his room over the last few hours, putting together his plan to leave the studio, rehearsing his own lines over and over. What he would say and what he would do in various different circumstances. It was almost like planning the movie of his own demise. Poetic almost in a sense.

In the meantime, he'd started putting together a suitcase of things in his room as though he was packing for a trip. Since, part of his plan was making it seem as though he was getting ready to leave for something business related, then follow through with the rest. It wasn't too typical for him to leave the studio for business reasons, aside from going to the Moon to shoot movies and attend to his still bustling club. But he'd come up with the idea of a sort of film committee trying to get in contact with him for an interview, since his recent win of breaking his huge streak of losses the second time came this year around, it seemed like the perfect cover.

He clutched the envelope he'd drafted hours prior in his hands, brushing a thumb over his own handwriting. His eyes read his own words on the envelope one last time. Swallowing now felt difficult and he took in the deepest breath he'd ever taken in a long time. And yet, it felt like he couldn't breathe; this was really it. The beginning of the end.

He turned and looked at his door. Then with stiff footsteps, he made his way to his door. Then out of his room. Then down the hall.

Though when he'd planned out this idea in thorough detail all night, he didn't plan on his heart dropping into his stomach as he walked the halls of the studio towards the lobby. The way his footsteps seemed to echo off the empty walls. The way every door carried him further and further. The empty movie sets and props along the way. How he knew the kids had crossed these halls just the same in trying to put a stop to his madness many nights before. And the sound of the elevator as it clunked violently, ascending to the section closest to the front of the studio.

He also didn't plan on the pounding in his chest to increase the closer he got to the front of the studio. And he didn't plan on seeing the relieved faces of his Moon Penguins in the lobby, making that sad pit in his chest that was nearly choking the life from him deepen ever more. In how he knew he didn't deserve any of their joy in seeing him after all the pain he'd caused.

Nevertheless, the typical greetings came in flood:

"Mornin', Grooves!" a Moon Penguin said, adjusting their shades.

"Good morning, boss!" one typically stoic Moon Penguin said and beamed at him.

"Good morning to you, boss. Looking sharp and handsome as ever," another one complimented, seeming just as overjoyed to see him.

DJ Grooves forced a modest chuckle and smile at their praise and waved a hand at them in playful dismission.

"Oh, you're too kind," he said, the letter still clutched in his hands. "Good morning to you darlings as well."

"What's that in your hand?" a Moon Penguin asked, looking at the envelope in his hands. "New script you're working on?"

DJ Grooves' posture stiffened slightly at the question, one which he knew he would have to answer but part of him couldn't believe he really was going to answer. He took a deep breath and opened his beak to speak before he heard the front doors of the studio open and his gaze snapped to those who entered. It was The Conductor with the two little darlings trailing behind him. They seemed to be discussing something but it was definitely a playful conversation as the two girls were both seen giggling at each other.

The Conductor was also joining in on the laughter the girls had even saying, "good one, Lassie!" as though one of the girls had told a joke. Though the owl seemed to stop the moment that he saw Grooves looking at him. His yellow feathers even raised slightly as if he'd been caught off guard, a nervous habit he knew the owl to have. The girls also stopped laughing and looked DJ Grooves' way, a slight weariness to the looks on their faces.

The fear in their expressions jabbed DJ Grooves in the heart again. He averted his gaze back to his Moon Penguins. The Moon Penguins exchanged a look between each other and looked down, knowing it was a bit of a sore spot still for Grooves, even though they'd seen the three of them make up.

"... Hi," the penguin heard a small voice say to his left.

This made him jump slightly in surprise as he didn't expect anyone to pop up beside him. He looked down to see Hat Kid was the one that was addressing him and she'd walked over to him quite quickly, as she was across the lobby moments ago.

"... H-Hello, there, darling!" DJ Grooves said, forcing himself to speak in a cheerful tone as he clutched the letter to his chest. He noticed Bow Kid hadn't followed her friend like usual, the girl having stayed where Hat Kid presumably left her.

Bow Kid was standing in the doorway of the blue double doors to The Conductor's side of the studio and peering at her friend and Grooves. The bow wearing child seemed more nervous and unsure of DJ Grooves still. Nevertheless, she smiled softly in the penguin's direction once she caught him looking her way. Bow Kid then wavered Hat Kid to follow, seeming as though urgent of something.

Hat Kid smiled up at him softly before she noticed Bow Kid ushering her. Then she waved at DJ Grooves before she trotted after Bow Kid and The Conductor into the owl's side of the studio. DJ Grooves watched her go and the blue doors shut behind her, his shoulders sinking slightly at the sight. His Moon Penguins adjusted their shades and a few more birds entered the studio's lobby; more Moon Penguins joined with their boss and Express Owls headed into their side of the studio.

"So… as you were about to say about that paper, boss…?" a Moon Penguin spoke up finally to break the awkward silence that had been spelled into the air.

DJ Grooves put a fist to his mouth to clear his throat then stood taller to put on a proud excited front. He now raised up the letter he held in his hand to show to the small group that was gathered in front of him.

"Well-- as I wanted to say, I was gonna ask you darlings to meet me in the boardroom for a meeting to talk about this. I've got some exciting news to share and I want everyone to know about it! Meet me there at 9 o'clock and we'll discuss," DJ Grooves said, sweeping his hand over the small crowd. "Spread the word to the other studio members, won't you, darlings?"

The Moon Penguins seemed to look a bit shocked and confused amongst themselves but before anyone could ask anything else of DJ Grooves, he'd already excused himself through the studio doors. They noticed something was a bit… off, about DJ Grooves' behavior but tried not to think too much of it. Most chalked it up to him just being excited.

The group shrugged at each other and some proceeded to call the other Moon Penguins or let the ones entering the studio know about what today would entail. The meeting was in thirty minutes so there would be plenty of time to get everyone onto the same page and hear about this supposed "exciting news" that Grooves had to share.

DJ Grooves had walked to the studio's planning boardroom by himself. He stopped at its door, using his studio key to unlock it and he pushed the door open, peering in. He flicked on the lights, the bulbs flashing briefly but illuminating the entire room. The room felt cooler than the rest of the studio and was completely empty, the chairs in meticulous order from the last time the room was used, probably at the insistence of The Conductor.

He looked at the planning boards that were laid out in the room, their surfaces smeared with whiteboard marker dye or chalk dust that hadn't properly been wiped away. There were also a few papers pinned up on one of the bulletin boards and a few pictures of some kind. He slowly closed the door behind him with his back as he leaned upon it. The door locked shut with a distinct click, as some of the studio doors locked automatically when not in use.

DJ Grooves stood for a moment, again running through his mind what his plan was and what he was going to say. He muttered to himself how he'd present the news and pantomimed the gestures he would make to not call any attention to what he had planned to actually do.

Though he tried to make himself confident about everything, he started thinking about how things went in the lobby. How the Moon Penguins seemed relieved to see him. And how… how he saw the worry the kids still felt in his presence.

His breathing pace started to increase the more he thought about the brief encounter in the lobby with the kids. The looks on their faces when they saw him again was burned into his mind. How Bow Kid didn't even approach him at all. And the way Hat Kid tried to be friendly with him in pity; pity he'd brought onto himself.

He felt his legs giving way as he slid down the door to sit against it now with his knees out in front of him. He whipped his sunglasses off his face and buried his eyes against the back of his hand as his tears came back again. His elbows were propped on his knees and his entire body shook again as he began to sob.

"You're such a fool…" he told himself. "An utter moron. What were you thinking? W-Were you even thinking at all...?" He gestured out to the empty boardroom with his hand and the letter he'd written as if he were speaking to someone other than himself.

"You're such a worthless loser…"

Even if there were someone there, it wouldn't matter. No one would argue with him that he wasn't a fool. He began to have a breakdown again and cried as quietly as he could but the pain in his heart was unbearable.

He sobbed harder than he'd intended and buried his beak against himself to try and calm himself down. His cast would show up anytime soon and he hated to worry them. He also couldn't let them catch onto his lie; he had to calm down. He started trying to self soothe by doing a few breathing exercises and grinding his beak together gently. For the first time in years he felt like he needed a cigarette to calm down but he knew now wasn't the time.

Then he heard the sound and felt the rhythm of someone knocking at the door behind him. This startled him and made him gasp sharply and hold his breath but it was apparent that whoever was there knew something was up. Or one of his crew members had shown up early. DJ Grooves froze in place and waited a moment, hoping that whoever was at the door would go away.

Instead, DJ Grooves heard someone beat on the door again with a fist and felt its rhythm on his back. Whoever was at the door knew someone else was in the room, or at the very least was checking for if the room was free.

DJ Grooves moved away from the door as quietly as he could and turned, seeing the shadow of someone's feet underneath the door. The penguin tried to steady his breaths but that was made difficult for how hard his heart was pounding. He wiped at his tears as well with his sleeve and replaced his sunglasses on his face.

"Someone in there?" a voice from beyond the door said, tinged with a familiar Scottish accent, which was slightly muffled but still identifiable.

DJ Grooves knew immediately it was The Conductor at the door and the penguin crawled away from the door as he heard the sound of someone turning the knob aggressively. There was a scoff from beyond the door and DJ Grooves heard the sound of keys on a ring being sorted through.

DJ Grooves looked around the room in panic for what to do and proceeded to dive underneath the boardroom table. He crawled a few feet further under the table and glanced back at the door, trying to even his breathing. He watched as the door shot open and the legs of his short rival were the only thing visible to him. The penguin sat and watched as the owl walked the length of the boardroom table and heard him begin to pull one of the planning boards on wheels after him. DJ Grooves tried to cover his beak to muffle his breathing but then he realized in his scuffle of trying to decide what to do, he'd accidentally left his written letter behind on the floor. Alarm leapt to his senses but he'd hoped that The Conductor wouldn't pay any mind to it. He prayed quietly to himself he wouldn't, anyway.

But of course, perceptive as always, The Conductor managed to fixate on the letter on his way to the door with the rolling planning board. There was a growl uttered from the owl.

"Bleedin' peck necks… always leave'n this darned studio a mess…" The Conductor mumbled as he bent down to pick up the letter.

DJ Grooves saw The Conductor knelt down and reached for the envelope and tried to remain calm as the owl picked it up. The penguin tried his hardest not to make his presence known but as The Conductor turned the envelope in his hand and began to read it, a whine the penguin had been holding escaped. He saw the feathers on the owl's head raise at the sound and dread filled DJ Grooves' senses as he was now certain the owl had heard him and knew he was there. Nothing ever seemed to escape the owl's superior hearing.

Soon enough, The Conductor was staring down the underside of the table and upon seeing DJ Grooves beneath it the owl said:

"... What th' hell are ye doin' under there, Peck Neck?"

DJ Grooves just froze and stared back at his rival, not sure how to respond or what to even do. He felt like he was prey that had been caught by a predator and fear made its presence known on his face. DJ Grooves gave a meek smile at being caught and a weak laugh as he tried to think about how to play this off.

"... I was just… trying to prank you, darling!" DJ Grooves exclaimed as enthusiastically as he could manage, raising his hands to do jazz hands at him for extra emphasis. The feathers on the back of his neck stood up and he chuckled awkwardly.

The Conductor's feathers lowered at the other's confession but DJ Grooves couldn't read exactly what his reaction was to his lie. He watched the owl look at the letter skeptically again before The Conductor's nose scrunched and he threw the envelope in the penguin's direction, the corner of it striking him in the chest.

"God, yer pranks 'ave got'n worse, I swear," The Conductor said before he rose up from the floor and went about trying to roll the planning board out the door again. Of course, this task wasn't easy, considering the trouble of opening the door and rolling it from the room by himself.

DJ Grooves picked up the letter and breathed a relieved sigh before crawling out from under the table. He tucked the letter in an inner pocket of his coat and actually came to assist his rival in moving the planning board out of the room. DJ Grooves went over and held the door open for the owl with a smile, which The Conductor responded to with a suspicious look. But neither of them said anything further to each other and DJ Grooves leaned against the open door as he watched The Conductor go.

The penguin let out a shaken sigh when he was certain that the owl was far enough away. A frown now replaced his fake smile.

He would have to be more careful. He almost got caught. He wondered how much The Conductor had heard before he came into the room. He really hoped The Conductor thought he was just being "foolish" or "weird" like he always did. Though, given DJ Grooves' past actions, he knew the owl had become more suspicious of him. He stared blankly at the latch in the door frame that locked the door, thinking over what had just transpired.

DJ Grooves was soon pulled from his thoughts as a few Moon Penguins had begun showing up now and he looked up as they approached. He hadn't even realized how quickly time had passed until he glanced at his watch. There was only ten minutes left until the meeting time.

He looked up to greet his Moon Penguins as they entered, smiling brightly at them as they all piled in and they found a seat around the boardroom table. After the first group was settled, DJ Grooves reached up to the top of the door and made it so the door propped itself open for anyone else who entered for the meeting.

The boardroom was now filled with chatter as the Moon Penguins began to talk amongst themselves. DJ Grooves walked down the table towards his seat, soaking in the conversations that surrounded him. Some were discussing what they thought the meeting was going to be about. Some discussed some ideas they had for next year's movie. Some just talked about what they were going to do later that day. All of their guesses were wrong, however, DJ Grooves had gathered.

He sat in his seat with his hands clasped as he waited for the rest of his cast to show up. His heart began throbbing again. He fidgeted with his hands nervously on the table. It was like he was preparing to mark off the next thing on his mental checklist; this entry would likely be named: "Lie to everyone about what's going to happen."

As the time drew even closer to nine o'clock, DJ Grooves noticed the sound of voices in the room had grown louder and looked up from his hands to see all the seats at the table were full. The boardroom was so full, there were even some attendees to this meeting who had to stand. DJ Grooves even noticed a few Express Owls he'd worked with a few times before were in attendance, including a few who were there during The Big Parade and the fight with the kids. He shuddered slightly at the thought.

The moment the clock struck nine, the room began to settle down and all eyes were focused on DJ Grooves and his place at the end of the table. The penguin raised his head to meet eyes with each and every one that looked his way and he put on a smile. A few birds there reciprocated a smile of their own and DJ Grooves stood finally, everyone giving their full attention to him.

"Thank you for coming to this meeting, darlings. Sorry it was on a little short notice but the news I'd like to share with you came on short notice too," DJ Grooves started his speech.

The reaction he was met with of the attendees was inquisitive looks, a few seemed troubled but others seemed to perk up and were eager to know what news DJ Grooves had brought to them. There were even some who looked at each other and seemed to silently converse through those looks but most focus remained on DJ Grooves. The penguin continued:

"As you all are most certainly aware, we managed to finally win the Annual Bird Movie Awards. I can't thank you darlings enough for all your hard work-- I wouldn't have been able to do it without your help. We broke the decades-long winning streak of The Conductor for a SECOND time and I'm so honored to have you working alongside me. But it seems I'm not the only one who recognized this amazing feat--"

DJ Grooves now reached into his coat and retrieved the fake letter. He felt himself breathe before he climbed upon his chair and stood with one foot on the table as he held the letter high on display for every bird to see. He heard gasps from around the room. He gestured widely with his free hand.

"A film committee sent me this letter and they actually want to meet with me to have an interview about it! It'll be broadcast live on television for all the world to see and I'll be sure to mention you all and the hard work that went into achieving this!"

The room erupted into loud cheers, whooping and applause. DJ Grooves briefly felt the euphoria from their praise; despite everything, the sound still sent a rush of it over him. It did every time. Though, he soon felt sickened with it. He knew their praise wasn't going towards anything in the long run and not towards anyone who truly deserved it.

Still, he feigned a bow, smiled and waved at everyone in attendance as he received their praise. He had to let them know he appreciated it.

Soon enough he raised his hand to call the room back into silence, which followed shortly after.

"Although, I will unfortunately have to leave the studio for a few days and that means we have to get a few things in order. That also means what will be done with my club in the meantime and how we'll go about that."

A Moon Penguin raised their flipper in question and DJ Grooves addressed them with a, "yes, darling?"

"Will anyone be coming with you?"

DJ Grooves stood rigid for a moment at the question. Usually, he would bring someone else to a trip like this but-- this was one he wouldn't return from, of course. Not that any of the Moon Penguins or anyone other than him knew that.

"No, darling-- it's on such short notice I'd hate for anyone else to have to rush to join me," DJ Grooves said, placating everyone with a gentle 'ease down' gesture when he heard a chorus of disappointed "aww's." He was relieved when everyone seemed to buy this reasoning despite their disappointment.

"When do you leave, boss?" one Moon Penguin chimed in slight sorrow, leaning forward in their chair.

Finally, a question he could answer that he'd prepared for.

"Actually, I depart tonight," he said, with a humorless chuckle, rubbing his neck as he shrugged. "I have to drive to the place by my car and it'll take me a few days to get there."

There was a bit of chatter amongst the room again as everyone tried to absorb this news. DJ Grooves realized he was still standing on the table and hopped down before settling in his own chair again. He gently brushed the dirt he'd tracked off the table and this time an Express Owl addressed him:

"What's the name of this film committee anyway?"

"Oh, darling-- it's the uh," He looked at his letter as he suddenly forgot the name he'd made up. " 'The Bird Film Honors Committee,' " he stated back proudly, realizing how fake that all sounded out loud.

The room seemed quiet for a moment, but given DJ Grooves' presentation of the name, no one thought to really question it. Or at the very least, no one had likely ever really heard of such an organization before. Though given DJ Grooves' unfortunate track record when it came to winning awards, maybe this committee was unheard of by them because it was only the second time DJ Grooves had managed to land a win.

The rest of the meeting was spent with any other questions that DJ Grooves answered with confidence, the sealed letter clutched in his hands the entire way through. Questions about what he might wear. How long it would be till he came back. What else would he do in the city in which the place was located. If he would send them any correspondence back in the meantime.

DJ Grooves said that there wouldn't be any filming at the studio during this trip, which he said to be taking place over the course of a few days, give or take. Once he was finished answering everyone's questions, he dismissed the group off to what was essentially a small vacation for them. He tucked the letter into the inner pocket of his coat again for safe keeping.

A few Moon Penguins even came to his side and shook hands with him in congratulations or gave him a hug, wishing him all sorts of good things. Every gesture of affection made his heart swell slightly, knowing it'd be the last that he'd ever received from his beloved Moon Penguins. He held them just a little longer, just ever so slightly tighter. He wanted them to have, at the very least, one last fond memory of him before he'd disappear forever from their lives. The Moon Penguins all seemed to take this affection well, not seeming to pick up on anything else amiss. They all expressed that they would miss him and be awaiting his return with eager excitement.

Once everything was said and done, he was the only one left in the boardroom and he carefully went about straightening the chairs at the table to their original location. He listened to the sound of the other bird's voices from the hall as he did so, the discussion now had evolved to what they would do while their director wasn't in the studio and other typical day to day conversation.

There also was also the case with his club he'd neglected to address, being so caught up in the questions about the trip itself that he'd nearly forgotten about his club. Luckily, he knew just the penguin to take care of it for him, a penguin he'd known for a very long time. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and opened his contacts, the name "Amor" was near the top of the list and he tapped upon it, waiting patiently for the penguin in question to pick up.

Unfortunately, there wasn't an answer from that Moon Penguin and instead the voicemail message played. Thus, he waited for the tone and he left a message for them to answer later:

"Hey, Amor, if it's not too much trouble, would you mind coming down to the studio later? I have something rather urgent to ask of you--" He paused, longer than he'd really meant to as the reality of this all began to set in. "... It's about the club. Call me if you can; otherwise meet me here by at least by 5pm. Thank you, darling."

DJ Grooves hung up and breathed a deep sigh as he watched the display on his phone dim to black. DJ Grooves rubbed his hand over his forehead, feeling slightly feverish and achy from the stress of it all. He walked to the door of the boardroom and gave the room one last glance, feeling a cool gust of the A/C from within blow over him one last time. Then he switched the lights off and shut the door behind himself slowly till he heard it click.

He placed his palm against it with a soft sigh before he turned and started for one of the water coolers he knew the studio to have. All the crying he'd been doing was dehydrating him and he needed to drink something to alleviate some of the strain on his body. It was getting harder and harder to hide his own pain from everyone but he had to do this.

He noticed a few birds in the hall looking his way as he passed through. Some were Conductor's Express Owls who hadn't attended the meeting but most certainly heard the news. A few acknowledged him with a nod but some gave scornful looks, knowing he probably deserved whatever they had thought about him at that moment.

DJ Grooves grabbed himself some water and walked back towards his room in the studio. After he took a long moment to gulp down the cold water, he crushed the paper cup in his hand and threw it away where he'd thrown everything else the prior night.

Then he started putting together another bag of random things, as if continuing to pack for his trip in case anyone else came by his room with any inquiries. He busied himself with pairing outfits he wasn't going to wear and meticulously folding clothes to pack away. He began to rummage through his drawers and grabbed random objects to throw into his bag.

With all this rummaging, he stumbled upon a lighter that he'd once used, one from back when he used to smoke. It was a gold Zippo style lighter, fashioned from real gold. As he turned it gently in his hand, he found it was still engraved just as he remembered it. One side of the lighter boasted itself with the Dead Bird Studio emblem and the other he noted as being the same as the star emblem on the back of his coat. It was a thoughtful gift from a friend years ago. She'd helped him win his first gold trophy. His heart squeezed at the thought. She was someone he'd never properly apologized to in their falling out.

Instead of putting the lighter in with the rest of his randomly chosen cargo, he tucked the lighter into his pocket.

Then he rummaged further in his drawers, uncovering another sight he hadn't seen in a long time. It was a cigarette pack that he found in the back of his file cabinet behind several folders of things he'd saved over the years. The box was a cerulean blue with a white top and the seal was broken, showing he'd probably neglected to discard it when he began to kick his smoking habit. Though as he picked it up, he noticed that there were still 12 cigarettes left in the pack.

Remembering his craving earlier for one made his mouth and throat feel the familiar dryness he felt every time he'd taken a drag before. Though they were horrendous for him, he couldn't help but feel slightly nostalgic for the taste. A warm, bitter, dusty-earthy flavor that he used to smell on his own clothes many years before he'd called it quits. He placed the pack into his pocket as well, saving it to be his companion for later when he left the studio.

DJ Grooves continued to sift through his drawers over the next few hours, most everything else not catching any of his interest. Once he was finished rummaging through everything, he sat on the floor in front of his desk on his knees staring at the suitcases he'd packed to fullness. He sighed deeply at the sight.

This was really it, huh…? Everything was already set in motion and he was heading towards the point of no return.

DJ Grooves felt tears coming to his eyes again and his brows furrowed. Then he moved to wipe his eyes before he froze when he saw someone standing in his doorway--

… and that someone was Conductor.

#a hat in time #ahit #dj grooves #the conductor #hat kid #bow kid #moon penguins #express owls #(and a brief oc moment appearance ft amor)#there will be more to come of course i have plans where to take this #also on my ao3 same user as here #my writing #it's formatted better on ao3 but yeah.#sorry in advance......#long post

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softpine · 2 years

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when i finally finish this next story post you’ll understand why it’s taking me so absurdly long despite me working on it a little bit every day

#due to the format it might actually be my longest post yet #it wouldn't make sense to break it in half #but i'm sorry in advance for your fingers having to scroll past it jfksjdskj #actually no i'm not sorry because why are you following me if you don't read my story tbh #i'm not saying that in a rude way just like. confusion #i gotta stop feeling bad for long posts #they're so much fun for me and i'm not gonna stop doing them so #anywayyyyyyy #i'm working on it!! i'm trying! i've been super busy lately :/#nonsims

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siriuslovebot · 10 months

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˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪ 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒇 ➸ 𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 ˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: smut (18+, minors dni!), oral (f!receiving), shy!reader, unprotected sex, praise kink (kinda), some teasing, dirty talk, etc.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: sirius really likes it when the reader wears his clothes.

𝑨/𝑵: hi everyone! i’m very excited for my first post on this blog. please go easy on me as i’m a bit rusty when it comes to writing (also this is completely unedited, so apologies in advance for any mistakes). i’m still deciding how i want to format these posts, so forgive me if it’s a bit of an eyesore. i also accidentally posted this on my main at first, so if you saw that... no you didn’t ;) as always, lowercase is intended. feel free to send me a request if you like. feedback is always appreciated!

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 3.1k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

“is that my shirt, dove?”

the low, silken gravel of his tired voice startles you as you sit perched in the little window seat of your shared bedroom, the window thrust open to let the night breeze in.

“hmmm?” you muse, distracted as you slowly paint a top coat on your toenails. you fan them with one hand as you glance behind you. sirius stands in the doorway, lithe figure leaned against the frame as he watches you. his shirtsleeves are rolled up over his forearms, hair skirting his shoulders messily, eyes foggy from a long day at work. a soft smile plays over his lips, quieter than his usual wide, wolfish grin.

he nods towards his shirt draped over your frame, the fabric pooling around your hips to expose the fabric of your panties. “been looking for that all over,” he says simply.

you make a sheepish face, twisting the cap onto the bottle of nail polish. “‘m sorry,” you mutter, smiling apologetically. you turn towards him, bare legs dangling over the edge of the seat. you are a sight for sore eyes; his gaze trails over your exposed skin, eyes darkening as they trace your figure draped in his shirt. a warmth blooms in your stomach as you watch him watch you. the look is familiar–though it never fails to send your chest aflutter.

“want me to take it off?” you ask, mostly because you’re at the point where it’s getting hard not to squirm beneath his hungry gaze. the silence is deafening, unspoken words bubbling to the surface. you have the sudden feeling that sirius may not be as tired from work as you thought.

“not at all.” there’s that mischievous glint behind his eyes, darkening the clear grey to a stormy shade. you sit another second, skin burning as his eyes rake over you, and then you stand and pad over to your vanity.

sirius should be getting undressed, preparing for bed. he’s too busy watching you. his eyes skirt over the curve of one bare shoulder as you return the little bottle of polish to its rightful place. you swipe a hand through your mussed hair, trying to ignore his attention. he always knows how to get you squirming, the easiest ways to set your cheeks alight with embarrassment. he lives for it, watching his shy girl crumble between his fingers.

it seems he can’t contain himself any longer as he approaches you, fingers sidling up beneath the hem of the shirt. his lips are on you in an instant, pressing gently against that irresistible patch of exposed skin on your shoulder. a sigh falls from your lips and you melt into his touch. you close your eyes. his calloused palms knead over the flesh of your hips, earning a soft groan from you.

he smirks against your skin. “quiet tonight, hmm?” his breath fans along your neck as he kisses up towards your ear. goosebumps rise on your skin, a shiver threatening to snake down your spine.

“it’s late,” you mutter. there’s a knowing second of quiet, both of you knowing you’ve fooled around much, much later. you’re flustered, trying to deflect his teasing words. the butterflies fluttering in your stomach have long since morphed into flames, burning like your skin as you wait for his next move.

“you want me to stop?” his whisper is soft, the undertone of huskiness becoming feather light. you shift, eyes meeting his in the reflection of the vanity. his eyes are clear, curious. you know he’d stop at the word, no questions asked. but he knows you better than that, knows the way your legs twist together at the feeling of his hands holding you firmly means you don’t want him to stop. sirius wagers you would beg him not to stop, if he wanted you to.

“no,” you shake your head. there’s that grin again, and his lips are back on you. a sharp breath slices the air as he nips at your skin with his teeth. “sirius–”

his grasp tightens at the gasp of his name. he chuckles quietly, snaking a hand up over your stomach. the rough pad of his hand finds your breast, kneading it in his palm whilst his other hand holds you firm against him. he’s hardening behind you, bulge pressed against your scantily clad frame. his gaze is still trained on you in the mirror, dragging over the lush sight of your flushed face, your lips parted in small pants, the dark look in your eyes. he loves watching you fall apart at his smallest ministrations. more than half of his pleasure comes just from working you up like this, pushing you to the brink without even trying.

“please,” you manage, voice constricted as you writhe against him. the ache between your legs is incessant, throbbing as you watch his salacious expression in the mirror.

“please what, my lovely girl?” he sucks a dark mark into the soft patch of skin behind your ear, earning a cry from you. he rolls your nipple between his fingers. you chew on your bottom lip, hips rocking as best they can despite his hold.

“sirius–”

there it is again, his favorite sound in the world. but he doesn’t give in so easily. you know better.

“words, please, darling,” he mutters. the arm caged around your stomach loosens for a second, his flat-palm tracing down your stomach. he’s approaching the place where you need him most, but he’s not going to give in until he gets what he wants.

you whimper at his teasing, head falling back to rest on his shoulder. “please,” you rasp desperately, “just touch me.”

“ah,” he tuts at you, “but i am touching you…” the jest in his voice goes unnoticed by you, your head swimming as he inches closer and closer to your center. you wonder, in the back of your foggy mind, if he’ll give up without those magic words, if he’ll send you off to bed with soaked panties and a fluttering stomach. surely not…

you contemplate being a brat, refusing to tell him what you want just to see how far you can push it. but you know he’s tired, and the need growing in your center is becoming almost unbearable. you let your pride crumble and you force yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror. “your fingers–your mouth, merlin–” your voice is choked as he smirks and gives in, his middle finger delving into your slick to circle around your engorged clit.

“there’s my obedient girl,” he says approvingly, the praise in his voice like music to your ears. you cry out, voice cracking as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves with expertise. he knows your body like the back of his hand, knows exactly what drives you crazy. the pad of his finger dips further down, swirling through the mess of juices shining on your lips.

mewling moans tear from your lips as he works you towards the edge. his lips are attached to your neck, abusing your skin to the point of saccharine tenderness. rosy marks bloom over your skin. his hand falls away from your breast to toy with the hem of the shirt, lifting it up in the front just enough so that he can watch himself pleasuring you.

“fuck, take it off, please,” you plead, hips bucking against his hand.

he shakes his head, releasing another patch of bruised skin with a hearty pop. “can’t,” he says, “wanna fuck you in it…” he mutters, voice low. he drags his teeth over your shoulder again, and then his fingers are slipping out of your panties. you whine at the loss of contact, your thighs clenching together automatically at the lack of stimulation.

he pats your bum gently, head nodding in the direction of your bed. “go on, dove,” he says, “lay down f’me…”

you do as he says, your heart thumping in anticipation. your legs are already quivering, weakened from his skilled fingers. he’s taking his time, watching as you sprawl back over the mussed blankets, frame draped in his clothes. he’s never been so enamoured, the sight of you wearing something of his just furthering his claim that you’re his sweet little angel. only, it makes him want to fuck you like you’re his little slut, makes him want to split you open on his cock and make you cry for hours and hours.

you get comfortable, spreading your legs to reveal the soaked-through fabric of your panties. he groans, running a hand through his dark hair before he begins unbuttoning his shirt. the dark fabric is discarded quickly, though he doesn’t bother removing his trousers as he kneels on the bed between your legs.

“sirius…” you breathe, aching for him by now. he’s observing, hands gently massaging the skin of your legs starting at your ankles. you squirm, following his gaze to the fabric plastered to your core. a second passes, and he dips his head between your legs, hands splayed over your thighs to keep your legs apart. a shrill cry comes from you as he licks a long stripe up your center, tongue gently flicking around your clit through your underwear. “please!”

he smiles, against you. “so sweet,” his voice comes as a whisper. you tremble as his eyes meet yours, the stormy grey churning with lust for you. teasing you, he places tiny kitten licks against your center, just enough friction to have your hips rolling up into his mouth. but he’s stronger than you, and he’s got you right where he wants you. he has a knack for turning you into a whining, wriggling mess, drunk on his touch.

“i– fuck, i can’t take it,” you hiss through clenched teeth at his teasing. you watch him through hooded eyes, biting on your bottom lip so hard that it hurts. he catches your eye, swirling the flat of his tongue over your clit. your back arches off of the bed, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

“poor baby,” he says, tongue swiping over his swollen lips. he sits back on his knees, using one hand to flick open the clasp of his belt. “shall i send you off to bed, then? let you get your beauty sleep, hmm?” his eyes flicker with amusement. his other hand rubs soft circles into the silken skin of your inner thigh. you breathe sharply at the needing ache between your legs. you need him inside of you, badly enough you feel as if you could burst into tears.

“no, why would i–” you start, shaking your head. he narrows his gaze at you, a warning. you know what he’ll do if you act like a brat, and although you’d enjoy it you don’t think you have the energy tonight. he pats your thigh softly, then finally, painstakingly drags the zipper of his trousers down.

“be m’good girl then, yeah?” he prompts, moving closer as he palms his bulge through his boxers, then drags the waistband down just enough to let his length spring free. you hum at the sight, licking your lips as he swipes a thumb over the angry red tip, spreading a bead of precum over it. he spits into his hand, pumping the moisture over his cock before positioning himself above you. two of his fingers push the fabric of your panties out of the way, and he drags the cockhead through your folds, coating it in your arousal.

a high-pitched, breathy noise graces his ears as his length drags over your clit. you bring your hand to your face, pushing your sweat-slicked hair off of your forehead. he breathes sharply above you, brows screwing together as he nudges your entrance with his length.

“need you, siri,” you say, pleading. “need you inside me so bad…”

“i know, dove,” his voice is soft as he leans down, peppering kisses over your face. “been dying to stretch you open since i got home.” he pushes into you, a chorus of pleasured sounds destroying the quiet in your bedroom.

you cry out, the feeling of him pushing into you driving you mad. it’s been ages since you last had him inside of you, and there’s a sliver of pain as he bottoms out inside of your dripping cunt. waves of pleasure accompany the sting of the stretch, and your eyes flutter as he rocks slowly into you. he’s watching the way his cock splits you open, low grunts coming from deep in his chest. he shifts, one hand pressing on your lower stomach, thumb swirling over your clit. you cry out, head falling back onto the pillows. the other hand lifts one of your legs, pushing it towards your chest.

“oh my fuck–” you cry out, hands reaching for him, fingertips finding his as they dig into your fleshy thigh. he holds your leg there still, hooking one finger with your own without even thinking. his pace is steady, and his cock is dragging deep against your walls. you’re fluttering around him, doing your best to keep your eyes open and drink in his blissed expression.

“look at you,” he grunts, brows pulled together as he snaps his hips into yours with particular force. “makin’ a mess everywhere, dove…” the fabric of his trousers and exposed patch of pubic hair are both shining with your juices, and you’re sure there’s a damp spot pooled on the sheets beneath you. he’s eyeing your swollen cunt, his thumb massaging a steady pattern into the bundle of nerves. you clench around him involuntarily, your insides so swollen and tender that you imagine you can feel the ridges of his veins pulsing against your walls.

your orgasm approaches unrelentingly. he leans back onto his heels, the angle causing the head of his cock to prod at the spongy flesh of your sweet spot. stars bloom at the edges of your vision, and his name breaks from your lips in a hoarse cry.

“siri, i’m close,” you sob, your voice shaking. you feel his hips snap against yours, skin slapping in the quiet night as he drills you into the mattress. you bunch his shirt up in your free hand, wringing the fabric desperately as you hold onto him with your other hand. the fabric smells of him, like cigarettes and cologne and something woody, and it drives you even closer to the edge. he’s taking over your senses; the sight of him hovering over you, muscles in his abdomen clenching and rippling as he fucks into you is enough to make you scream on its own.

“oh, is m’good girl gonna come for me? gonna make a mess of my cock, are you?” that silken voice drowns out everything else in the world. sirius is the only thing on your mind, his ministrations setting your body aflame. pleasure courses through your veins, spreading through your whole body until it’s all you can do to keep yourself from screaming until your throat goes hoarse.

you cry for him as you come, your entire body seizing and shivering as he guides you through your release. “that’s it,” he says throatily, “oh, you’re doing so good f’me… look at this sweet little cunt pulling me in…” he’s groaning at the feeling of you tightening around him, closer to his own orgasm by the second. you’re still shaking, riding the waves of one of the longest orgasms of your life, and you’re sure a second one is piggybacking on this one, not far from sending your body into violent tremors.

“siri, it– ah, it’s so sensitive,” you breathe, voice weak. he’s continued his pace both inside of you and on your clit. he’s determined to drain ever ounce of pleasure from your body that he can, his eyes watching your cunt weep around him with pride.

“you can take it, dove,” he soothes, voice soft. “just one more f’me, can you do that? make me happy, love, just one more…”

“one–one more?” you breathe, jerking as he slows his hips, allowing you to feel him inside of you more intensely. your mouth falls open involuntarily, your features crumbling into pure bliss as he nods. his movements grow more erratic as his release approaches now.

“one more,” he repeats, leaning down over you to place a gentle kiss on your lips. his tongue drags over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. the kiss is messy, teeth gnashing and tongues swirling as he fucks you with renewed vigor. the coil in your stomach tightens again, and his movements quicken.

you’re both drenched in sweat, shaking, as his pubic bone drags over your clit. both of his hands are now pinned to the mattress, caging you in on either side of your head. your hands slide over his ribs, up his back, nails biting into the skin as your second orgasm washes over you.

he’s not far behind, hips meeting yours with a force that is almost painful, though you’re far too distracted by the fireworks blooming behind your eyelids. you feel him spill into you, hot seed pouring into your soaked cunt and making your thighs shake. his groans are hoarse, a couple grunted curses and growls of your name joining your chorus of moans in the room. he sits up once you’ve both ridden out your high, heads swimming as he watches his cum spill from between your legs when he pulls out.

“my lovely girl,” he mutters, swiping a finger through the mess between your legs. the mix of your arousal glistens on his finger, the sight making your head spin as he brings his digit to your lips. you open your mouth, tongue darting out to swirl around the pad of his finger. you moan at the tang of your mixed release spreading over your tongue. he chuckles, leaning over to swirl his tongue against yours in a heated kiss. you’re panting when he finally pulls away, nipping at your jawline before he sits up, stretching his arms above his head. the sight of him, shimmering with sweat, scratches adorning his ribs and shoulders, hair curled up around his hairline and ears from the humidity, makes your stomach do flips. you shift, leaning up on your elbows as he pads away from the bed.

“where are you going?” you wonder, frowning at his departure. he’s in the bathroom, the sound of the shower quickly following his footsteps. a second later, he returns to the bedroom.

“gotta get cleaned up, darling,” he says. he tugs on one of your ankles as you lay there, and you oblige despite the fatigue in your limbs. “c’mon, let’s get this off.” he tugs at the hem of the shirt as he directs you into the bathroom.

“can you wash my hair?” you ask, yawning as he pulls the shirt over your head.

“‘course i can, dove. now, in we go...”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader smut #sirius black fic #maurauders era #smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #slb.works #marauders era #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #marauders smut

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zhongrin · 4 months

Text

i'm having my period and i'm soft rn so ー imagine cuddling with zhongli after it's raining outside. i'm also too lazy to pull my usual post format and my taglist sorry i'm on my phone rn hskdkshdslk

tags ー modern!au, domestic fluff, dragon!li

you've taken the liberty to open your shared bedroom's windows wide. there's a relaxing music playing on the radio by the bedside. the sun is shyly hiding behind leftover rainclouds, the occasional cool wind visiting your bedroom to gently caress your skins. occasionally, you hear the sound of vehicles passing by and the neighbor's kids chattering as they take a walk down the blocks.

soft silken bedsheets and countless pillows are strewn around you as your husband spoons you from behind. the scent of tea and the soil, happily celebrating after the sky gifting them with a shower, envelops your senses just like the warm arms glowing with geo lines draped around your waist. your legs are lazily entangled with his, his long hair tickling your skin. scaly tail swiping and flopping against the mattress occasionally, and sometimes you hear zhongli's horns thumps against the headboard as he shifts. you think you should get a new bed; maybe one with soft headboards so your husband wouldn't accidentally chip his pretty horns.

the mugs of hot chocolate and the book you've long since abandoned hours before sits on your nightstand. instead, your entertainment is replaced by the absentminded hum of the radio and the occasional mundane words exchanged between the two of you: "let's make the hot chocolate with marshmallows next time." "you're so warm and comfy, dearest." "did you take out the trash?" "ow. move your leg please. no, the other one."

you wish you could save these peaceful days into an album to revisit it again sometime in the future, but alas the human technology has yet to advance to that point.

"i love you."

you blink lazily and grin, before shuffling to crane your neck sideways, lips puckered. you feel and hear your husband shift behind you, the scent of his shampoo filling your scent as he delivers a loving peck onto your waiting lips, tasting like honey and sunshine.

"i love you more."

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #rin writes

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

Note

Hi Neil, sorry in advance if this is too personal: I've been following your blogging in various formats since way back during the beginnings of the Journal and I now sort of suddenly realised that in recent years (?) there has been no mention of your youngest daughter. (I have the impression you have also stopped referring to your children by name, so I won't either.) Given that, if I remember correctly, she even took over your blog once, I just went "oh, that's right, long time no see". Not really an ask, as I don't want to pry too much. I just hope there was no horrible reason for this distancing (the internet can be a horrible place). Hope they're all well. And you, of course.

I'm off across the seas currently for Thanksgiving with both of my daughters, and the younger one who once took over the blog is waiting for me downstairs. We are about to go vegetable shopping. She's still hilarious, but now has her own social media, and, like all my older kids, would rather not live in the shadow of a famous father.

Last night, her big sister posted a photo of the two of us together, and one of her friends wrote back shocked with a "You know Neil Gaiman??". Holly's reply "He's my Dad". (My suggestion was "We used to live together." Well, I thought it was funny.)

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dreamerinthemoonlight · 7 days

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Genshin Cuddles HCs (Cyno, Tighnari, Xiao)

I am having a huge burst of creative energy. I should be going to bed but NO! I will think of cuddling with the genshin boys. This is going to be weird. Awake me takes no responsibility for what sleep deprived me does. Reader is assumed to be short because I am and this is a self insert, hehe; slight angst in Xiao's (I mean, it's Xiao)

A/N: Good gods, I really was tired when I did this. I had next to no formatting, a childish Authors note. To anyone who read this on my other blog, I am really, really sorry. I won't promise it won't happen again, so I'll apologize in advance for any future instances of sleepy posting.

I did my best to extent Tighnari's a little. Our fox-boy deserves more than a few sentences

Cyno x gn!reader, Tighnari x gn!reader, Xiao x gn!reader

Cyno

Mr. Serious Mahamatra is actually an amazing cuddler

He's a settled person so he's not going to fidget and squirm. He could probably cuddle for hours if you both had time.

Spooning is very much a favorite. Especially if you've had a long day, the two of you will lay in bed. He'll press himself against you back, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips into your hair. Even though he's one of the smaller Genshin guys, he's warm and radiates this steady, grounded energy. Being the little spoon makes you feel safe and cared for. More often than not you fall asleep when spooning.

On the other hand, when Cyno gets home after a long mission, you'll curl up on the couch with his head on your chest

After the darkness that permeates his job, your heartbeat represents light and life and goodness. He values the time spent listening to your heartbeat just as much as he values rules and justice. It's a balance he needs and he knows it.

Tighnari

You know how kittens will curl up in little piles, facing each other and all and it is really, really cute?

Yea, that's you and Tighnari

You'll kinda burrow into each other and he'll wrap his tail around your legs

He'll even yet you scratch his ears while he pets your hair. No sleeping really ever happens like this, but it's so relaxing you might as well have taken a nap

If you're cuddling because you had a really bad day, you two might spoon, or you'll sit on his lap while he holds you and lets you pet his tail.

If you happen to fall asleep while cuddling his tail like a stuffed animal, he's fine with it, but is glad there's no one around to take a picture because that would just be embarrassing.

Xiao

Xiao is probably so touch starved it's stupid

Once he starts getting physical affection and serious cuddles, he realizes that he actually really needs it not that you mind

Like Cyno the type of cuddles depends on the situation

He's not as into spooning, though it does happen especially late night when you're tired and ready to sleep. I think he really wants to be able to see your face and even in Teyvat physics don't really allow for that when spooning

Instead, when you're the one who needs comfort and touch, you snuggle up to his side and he wraps his arm around you. As usual he doesn't say much, but with Xiao, he really lets his actions speak for him

When he needs the comfort, he tends to want you on his lap where his can bury his face in the crook of your neck. He wraps his arms tight around you like he's scared to let you go.

It's all you can you to stroke his hair or gently rub his back. Just like his actions speak louder than words, your actions are more likely to reach him than platitudes, though you make sure to use your words as well. He really could use them

And sometimes you're just in the mood to cuddle at which point it depends on when and where. His head in your lap, yours in his, honestly, all he cares about is being able to see your face and be in contact with you

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skalfy · 4 months

Text

A Poorly Planned Escape

Misa x Reader, ~2k words, part 1/?

hey so I wrote this and I thought why not post it. I've started writing the next part already, so I'll probably post that as well if there is any interest. It didn't start out as being about Misa, but I got partway in and thought "yeah that's definitely about Misa" so here we are. Don't be confused by María, it should become clear that it's misa, not one of the other marías lol. Also my spanish is limited to two semesters several years ago in college, so all dialogue is written in english, but in my mind they are speaking spanish.

I've written things before, but not like this and not posted, so apologies in advance for things like messed up formatting. Also not proofread, but such is life. Enjoy!

no smut, but some general descriptions of people hooking up

You weren’t sure what you had been expecting as shouldered your way into your flat, hands full of leftovers your mum had insisted you take back for Alma, your girlfriend. Probably her form on the sofa, tv bright with one of the Spanish reality shows she preferred. Maybe even a dark, quiet room if Alma was out with her friends, something she seemed increasingly inclined toward the last few months. You certainly weren’t prepared for the sight that did greet you.

Your girlfriend was draped rather artfully across the plush sofa, head thrown back and eyes shut, a position not unfamiliar to you. In fact, the only thing really unfamiliar at all was the stranger who knelt between your girlfriend’s legs. Her smooth, broad shoulders and bowed head obscured the rather intimate details of what was taking place, but between the sounds and the way Alma’s fingers were gripping the stranger’s dark hair, it wasn’t hard to guess. You were frozen in the doorway, watching the ripple of muscle under tan skin as she slid her palms up to your girlfriend’s hips to hold her down, pressing her firmly into the couch. You wondered for a moment what hands that big might feel like against your own hips, shaking your head suddenly when you realized the absurdity of that thought.

After a deep breath to compose yourself, you kicked your heel firmly back into the door, slamming it shut behind you. Both bodies stilled, but it only took a moment before Alma’s head snapped up and her eyes met yours. You turned away, willing your shoulders to stay down and relaxed as you walked to the refrigerator.

“Sorry to interrupt, but my parents say hello. I’m putting the leftovers from dinner in the fridge, please have some. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.” You said, back still turned and only a slight waver in your voice. “I think I’ll head out and stay with one of the girls tonight, just need to grab a few things.” Alma didn’t reply.

As you walked into your shared bedroom, you heard a soft voice ask “your roommate?” Alma didn’t reply to that either.

When you emerged a few minutes later, overnight bag over your shoulder, only Alma sat on the sofa. She had clothes on now, shorts she must have been wearing before and a hoodie of yours that had been across the back of one of the sitting room chairs. You resisted the urge to snap at her to take it off.

“I just don’t understand, Alma. I know things haven’t been great, but why didn’t you just say something?” Even as you spoke you knew it didn’t really matter. There was no going back from this and you didn’t need your feelings hurt by whatever reasons she gave. You sighed and turned toward the door again. “I’ll call you to sort things out once I’ve calmed down.”

You thought she wouldn’t say anything at all, but as your hand grasped the doorknob, she finally spoke, “Are we done?”

“Yeah, Alma, I think we are.” You pulled the door open and left.

When the elevator doors opened at the ground floor of your building, you were surprised to see a familiar figure. She was fully clothed now, but the broad shoulders and thick, wavy hair were unmistakable to you. She half turned as you stepped into the lobby, dark eyes meeting yours. You expected her to look away, but instead she held the eye contact. She was striking--beautiful, but intimidating, all heavy eyebrows and unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry.” She said, still not looking away.

“Did you know she had a girlfriend?” You asked.

“No.” She shook her head.

“Then it wasn’t your fault.” You gave a half smile. “I thought you might be trying to escape my wrath, but it looks like you didn’t get far.”

At this she finally looked away, shrugging a little uncomfortably as she answered, “My phone is dead, and I-- well, I’m still figuring the escape out.”

“I can give you a ride home.” You spoke without thinking, regretting it when the silence stretched afterwards. “I’m leaving anyway, and I promise I won’t try to kill you or anything.”

“If you’re sure, I’d really appreciate it.” She said, a smile breaking across her face, “I wouldn’t blame you if you tried to kill me just a little bit, though.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at her face. The bright smile had turned it from intimidating to adorable, and you were having a difficult time collecting your thoughts with those particularly lethal dimples shining at you. You flashed her a soft smile of your own and gestured to the door.

“Come on then, follow me.”

Once the two of you were seated in your car, you plugged her address into the nav, then scrounged up a charging cable and passed that over to her. Fortunately, her home was near the friend you intended to crash with, so your extra passenger hardly took you out of your way at all. You sent a quick text to your friend letting her know you’d be at her place in around 30 minutes, then put your phone down and backed out of your spot.

The first couple minutes on the road were quiet, just the muffled sound from the city around you mixed with the playlist you’d started and turned down to play quietly. As you sat at a traffic light, you turned for a moment to the woman sitting next to you.

“You know, we haven’t actually introduced ourselves.” You told her your name, then held out your hand for a handshake with mock seriousness. She grasped your hand firmly, mirroring your serious expression and replied,

“I’m María, it’s nice to meet you.”

That opened up the conversation, and the two of you began to chat. It was mostly surface level, but you found yourself actually enjoying it. María was witty and interesting, but most of all she seemed to truly want to listen what you had to say. She was impressed when you described how you had moved to Madrid from London for work right out of uni, explaining that she had at times considered leaving Spain for her own job, but had worried about unfamiliar places and languages. She understood what it was like to live a plane ride away from family, with her parents back in Tenerife. You were happy to ply her with questions about her beautiful homeland, mentally planning a trip there after hearing about the gorgeous beaches and scenery. It wasn’t until María asked her next question that you realized there was a new predicament you were in.

“I think you mentioned dinner with your parents, are they visiting?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “they are here for a week, along with my sister and her husband and their daughter. They aren’t really here to visit me, but it’s a nice bonus. I’m actually taking my niece to-- oh fuck!” You cut yourself off with the exclamation.

“What, what’s wrong?” María asked, startled.

“I was supposed to take my niece to a football game this weekend, she is a huge Real Madrid fan, loves women’s footy. Except I’m now realizing this is a mess, because the only way I could get tickets was a favor from Alma. Her company has a box, and I begged her to get two seats for Luisa and I, but now even if she still lets me use them there’s no way we can sit with all my ex-girlfriend’s coworkers. If I know her at all then at least half of them will have heard all about this by lunch tomorrow, and I don’t think I want my eleven year old niece there to find out how much of the truth she tells.” Your eyes suddenly stung as you tried to take a deep breath. “Sorry, I just realized I’m not sure I can take getting cheated on and being a shitty aunt all in one week.”

“Please don’t apologise for being upset, clearly the only person in this car who should be allowed to say sorry is me.” You managed a sniffle and a small smile at her words. “Also, I definitely can’t fix the first part,” this caught you off guard and you couldn’t stifle a surprised snort, “but I think I can help with the second.”

“María it’s okay, you don’t owe me anything. Plus the game has been sold out for weeks, it’s El Clásico, I already tried to buy tickets before I asked Alma in the first place.” You could feel your voice wavering and fought against the tears. María was quiet in the seat next to you as you pulled up outside her building. You shifted into first and turned the car off, then felt a hesitant hand cover yours on the gearstick.

“I can get you two tickets if you want them, I promise. I work for Real Madrid and there are tickets set aside for us.” She sounded almost desperate.

“I can’t ask you to do that--” you started, then she cut you off.

“I wouldn’t have used them anyway! Please let me do this.” You looked at the big hand on yours, then up at her face. “Not for you, but for an eleven year old girl who loves women’s football.” She had you there and she knew it.

“Yes. Yes, fine!” You smiled at her. “Thank you, María.”

She smiled back at you, then lifted her hand from yours, reaching it up to thumb away the rebellious tear that had made it onto your cheek. You acted on instinct and reached both of your arms out to her shoulders, pulling her into an awkward hug across the car’s center console. She didn’t seem to mind the uncoordinated attempt, accepting it with grace and tucking your head neatly into her shoulder. As she held you there, the most ridiculous thought of the night crossed your mind. Why had Alma cheated on you with María? She wasn’t Alma’s type at all, she was yours.

The two of you separated after another moment, and María pulled her phone out.

“Can you text yourself so I have your number? That way I can let you know where to go to pick the tickets up.” You nodded and did as instructed, sending yourself her name, then replying with yours so neither of you would have any trouble identifying the new number.

“Please let me know if I owe you anything. I know you said the tickets are set aside, but if they cost you then please let me at least cover that.” You got the sense that she would be the type to not mention that if it were the case.

“They normally don’t charge me anything, but I promise I’ll tell you if they do.” She met your eyes and winked-- whether that meant she was trying to reassure you or just that she wasn’t going to make you pay either way you weren’t sure, but you let it go. “One more thing, does Luisa have a favorite player? No guarantees, but I might be able to leave something for her with the ticket agent. The players are usually happy to do something like that.”

“Only if it’s no trouble.” You leveled her with a glare. “She’s always on about Hayley Raso and Linda Caicedo, so either of them’s probably a safe bet.”

“Only if it’s no trouble.” She agreed, with what she must have thought was an innocent expression on her face.

“Please get out of my car before you offer to do anything else for Luisa that will leave me severely in your debt.” You pointed out toward her flat then made a shooing motion with your hand. She huffed out a chuckle then opened her door.

“Thank you for the ride… and for not killing me when you had the chance. Look out for my text!”

With that she hopped out and shut the car door. You watched as she walked up to the building entrance, turned and waved, then stepped inside. After a deep breath, you turned your car back on and drove the last few minutes to your friend’s house.

#woso x reader #misa rodriguez x reader #woso fanfics #woso #woso community #woso imagine

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devildom-moss · 6 months

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I recently finished reading the third season of OG!OM and I had a miniature idea... How would Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos react if amab!MC told them that when the problems with the three worlds were resolved, he would like to marry them? (I may write with mistakes because I am using a translator, I apologize in advance ☆ｏ(＞＜；))

Thanks for the ask. I wrote based on the assumption that Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos are already in an established relationship with MC where marriage is a possibility, (but honestly, it'd probably be fun to write a less serious version, too). I don't know if these are headcanons or just poorly constructed shorts in headcanon format (oops), but I hope you like it.

M!MC tells them he wants to marry them when the three realms are at peace (Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos)

(MC/reader referred to as "man" "husband/future husband" "boyfriend" "fiance") (Diavolo will only be in red for ease of reading in this post primary colors woo)

(Lucifer x m!MC) (Diavolo x m!MC) (Barbatos x m!MC)

(Suggestive in for some parts)

Word Count: +1,900

Lucifer

You told Lucifer you wanted to marry him during one of his softer, more vulnerable moments: when you woke him up after he fell asleep during a long night of paperwork, exhaustion widening his smile upon seeing your face; on one of those rare mornings when he allowed himself to laze around in bed, pulling you in close and savoring the feel and scent of your body; or one of those other long nights when Lucifer’s breath hitched and the sweetest noises left him – it was all for you.

“When things are peaceful –” “Things are never peaceful with my brothers around.” “– when the three realms are stable and at peace, then, we should get married.”

“Oh?” he asked you with a gentle chuckle.

He didn’t believe you at first – not because he had never thought about marriage before. Lucifer assumed it was more likely that you wanted to tease him than that you would beat him to a marriage proposal. His adorable, handsome, wonderful boyfriend would never surprise him by doing something so endearing and unexpected. It just wasn’t – shit! Is he really proposing to me?

Lucifer waited for a teasing “just kidding” or some kind of retreat on your part. When it doesn’t come, his eyes widen, and the heat rises visibly on his cheeks. You really want to be his husband? He already suspected as much, but to have you take the initiative and ask him to marry you was more than he expected.

When Lucifer falls, it’s hard and deep. He knows you so well. He’s so certain of his love that it doesn’t even cross his mind that it could be too early in the relationship to get married.

He glosses over the entire “when the three realms are at peace” thing, because he’s too pleased. Lucifer buries himself in the nearest part of your body he can get to – likely your chest or neck. In part, he’s trying to hide the grin on his face and the blush on his cheeks, but even with his face hidden, you can see the pink tint painting the tips of his ears.

“We already have a pact, and now you want my hand?” he murmured against your skin, sounding almost shy. “Yes. When things are –” “Why w–” “Would you stop fucking interrupting me when I’m in the middle of proposing?!” “Sorry. Do it again. I’ll behave.” His eyes softened seductively. “Asshole.” “Only when you top – and only if you’re being degrading. Usually, I’m your adoring partner.” “Do you want me to propose again or not?” “I do. Try again.”

“Lucifer, when the three realms are united, will you marry me?” Lucifer stared at you, patiently. “Well?” “Why wait?” “What do you mean?” “Why wait for peace and unity? It doesn’t matter what state the realms are in. I want to be with you. I want to be your husband, and I want you to be mine. Marry me now.”

Lucifer would be so earnest and make his argument sound so logical – but maybe it’s easier to justify something you want, too. “I’m serious. I have faith in us – in Diavolo’s plan – but if anything happens, if it takes a long time, I don’t want to wait. I want you to be my husband.”

He would kiss you tenderly and hold you close until you agree not to put off your wedding for some indefinite amount of time. He’ll be ready to go tomorrow morning if that means he can start calling you his husband sooner. How did your proposal to Lucifer turn into a proposal from him?

He’s so possessive and pompous, of course he would be excited to make you his in a more official setting.

Diavolo

You would tell him when he was already on cloud nine: after another successful event that had incorporated elements from all three worlds or after a business deal that would further entrench the Devildom in human-world culture. He had just furthered his goals. You were proud of him. You loved him, and you knew you were going to stand by his side as he achieved his dream for peace and unity, so you told him, “When you succeed – when the realms are united in peace, I want to marry you.”

“Hahaha. You’re full of surprises.”

Diavolo laughs, but it isn’t to mock you. He’s delighted by the proposal – well, admission. He’s gotten requests for marriage before, but he’s never been so happy to hear that someone wanted to marry him. It was unexpected, but he adores that you can surprise him.

It isn’t lost on him that you didn’t actually ask him to marry you or that you were willing to wait an indefinite amount of time. Who knew how long it would take him to realize his dream, but you believed in him enough to wait. The fact that you just told him what you wanted without asking him felt like you were giving him the space and time to think about it, come back, and meet you with his own feelings about marriage. Maybe he was reading into it too much, but he didn’t feel pressured, and that was a comfort. You made him feel so free, supported, and loved.

Of course, he would love to make you his – give you the whole grand royal ceremony, mark you as his partner for the whole world to see, and give you the title of “king” to match his own (because in this speculative future, the throne is his by then; he’ll have earned it.).

You both understand why it would be best to wait for his success. It can be difficult enough to get approval and ensure your safety when everyone just thinks the Demon Prince has taken a human man as his lover. Marriage might cause more instability.

Furthermore, although he doesn’t expect his workload to disappear once peace is achieved, Diavolo hopes that ensuring peace takes more effort than maintaining it. If he’s going to marry you, he wants plenty of down time to travel with his new husband after the wedding. He wants enough free time in his day to cherish you and remind you of the love he holds for you. He wants to make sure he can kiss you, and hold you, and make love to you to both of your hearts’ content. (In other words, if Diavolo commits to being your husband, he needs to meet his daily physical affection quota or he will pout for a week.)

After taking a minute to process your words, Diavolo would pull you against him and press his forehead to yours. It wouldn’t matter if you were in public, either (not to Diavolo, at least. Barbatos would scold him about it being “inappropriate” later.). With a soft, sweet smile, he would tell you, “I better work harder then. I don’t want to keep you waiting too long.” Even if everyone was staring in your direction, he would take that moment to lean in and kiss you tenderly.

Suddenly, Diavolo would feel his ambition renewed. He’d even feel motivated to get home and start on some important plans and initiatives – unless you wanted to go home with him; in which case, he would take you to bed and resume his work in the morning. Nothing could light a fire under him like his beloved partner.

After your proposal, he may occasionally flirt with you by calling you “my fiancé” or “my future husband,” but he’ll only do that in private.

Barbatos

There is no ideal time to drop the news on Barbatos that you want to marry him, which probably plays to your benefit when you tell him while he’s working. You were shadowing him – probably assisting in the kitchen or giving him a hand with some light chores (dusting, organizing, laundry, etc.). “When Lord Diavolo succeeds in uniting the three realms, do you think we could get married?”

Barbatos’s eyes would widen, and he would stop his work for a second. Even if he had used his powers, he never would have believed that this would be the path you would follow. Barbatos took in a deep breath and released it along with the tension in his body before he resumed his work. “No.”

It was your turn to pause. You hadn’t expected such a flat-out rejection, and it hurt. “Oh.” “I’m sorry, MC.” “No, it’s fine. . . but, do you mind if I ask you why not? Are we – do you not love me enough for marriage?”

Now, Barbatos felt hurt. It’s not that he didn’t love you deeply; in fact, Barbatos imagined his love for you was more eternal than most marriages claim to represent. He would vow his love to you under the moon and swear to that celestial body that his love would outlast it. The truth was much sadder.

Barbatos has a duty to serve Diavolo. It seems like the logical conclusion that he would never commit to marriage before Diavolo’s goals were achieved. You were willing to wait, but Barbatos knew that, and he was reluctant to let you.

Without using his powers, Barbatos has no idea how long it would take for that to happen. In the meantime, he wants you to enjoy life. He doesn’t want you waiting around for him for decades or centuries (because he has no intention of allowing you to limit your life to normal human lifespans). If you want to get married, and he doesn’t feel able to do that for you, Barbatos would rather see you marry someone else – certainly, you have no shortage of suitors. (We can all ignore that this is an idiotic reason, right?)

However, the main reason he turned you down is because he believes you deserve the world. Even after the realms are stable, Barbatos will still be bound to Diavolo. Maintaining that peace takes effort as well. Furthermore, Barbatos enjoys his work, and he would never give it up. His time for you would always be lacking. Surely, you would expect more from him after marriage. That wasn’t something Barbatos could give you.

He would tell you as much. “. . . That is why I must decline your proposal.” “Why? Because I’d have to wait, and you would still work for Diavolo?” “Those are not ideal conditions for a husband. You deserve more.” “First of all, we fuck under your boss’s roof. Second, we are different species from different realms. Nothing about our circumstance is ‘ideal.’ Third, I love you, and I love how our relationship works. I would never take you away from Lord Diavolo’s side. I just wanted to cement my love for you with a silly little ceremony – it’s not that important. I will stand by you, and I’ll love you then as I do now – regardless of marriage.”

Barbatos could feel his face flush with heat. He was overjoyed and overwhelmed. “We have yet to even form a pact.” “Yet? And we don’t have to have a pact if you don’t want one.” “Goodness, you are far too accommodating. May I make a proposal of my own?”

Barbatos would pull you into his arms (he had ceased working altogether after “your boss’s roof.”) and whisper into your ear. “I was wrong. I want all of you for myself. Wait for me. When success is in our grasp, I will mark you, and seal our pact. After that, I’ll make you my husband.”

He’ll sound so tender and seductive. So of course, it’s the perfect time to tease him by saying, “Then I can fuck my husband under his boss’s roof.” “Not if I take you out in the garden. After all, you look stunning in the moonlight.”

#requests #moonly-hides #lucifer #diavolo #barbatos #m!mc #ask #obey me headcanons #I think? I'm calling them headcanons okay #I hope that I wrote Lucifer as the most down-bad pathetic whimpering baby boy like he deserves #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos

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roseofdarknessblog · 6 months

Text

Long way ahead (Postwar!Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Word count: 3 160

Disclaimer: english is not my first language, I apologize in advance for any mistakes

Summary: After years of fear, pain, and fighting, you and Levi finally have the family both of you always dreamed about.

This story can be read on its own or as a part of my little post-war series: Learn to live again

Long way ahead

The day was beautiful, and the weather almost too perfect. The sky was clear and the sun was shining down on you. On all the Scouts, who once again found themselves outside the Walls in Titan territory. It was supposed to be a so-called training mission.

Everybody was meant to survive and come back home.

It was all going so well. Just until it wasn't. Just until the Female Titan showed up and brought death and destruction with her. In one moment, you were all trying to protect Eren. Petra was right next to you and Eld right in front of you. Oluo and Gunther to your left and behind you. And in the middle, between all of you, was Eren.

You all changed the formation multiple times, just like you were taught. Everybody was as aware of their surroundings as possible. Nobody wanted to die.

Despite that, they were all gone in a blink of an eye. Your squadmates were brutally murdered right before your eyes. Just seconds before the Female Titan threw you against the tree as well.

You didn't even have time to scream out. When your body collided with the tree trunk, pain took your ability to speak and breathe. It felt as if all of your bones broke at the same moment. Shooting out at least one of the hooks of your ODM gear was impossible. You were barely conscious after you hit the tree.

You didn't even notice your body falling. Only when you hit the ground and the air was knocked out of your lungs once again. You didn't even know how, but one of your blades, which was in your hands just seconds ago, went into your left thigh. Hot blood was spilling out of your wound, turning your white pants dark red.

You've never felt pain like that before. Never in your life. Every fiber of your being felt like on fire. Breathing was unbelievably hard. Even the shaking of the ground beneath you, as the Female Titan continued running made you feel immense pain.

What happened to Eren?

Where was he?

You and the others were supposed to protect him. He was humanity's chance to defeat the Titans.

Eren had to survive at any cost.

Eren...

A simple blink was all it took for the scenery around you to change. Suddenly, you weren't in the forest anymore. When you looked up, you saw the sky once again. And Levi with Hange. They were kneeling beside you, both of them looking at you with so much worry in their eyes. Levi... his features were unrecognizable under all the fear. His face was completely pale, his lips pressed into a thin line.

You've never seen him this scared. Never before. And probably never after.

„Don't you dare!“ he hissed through gritted teeth, his hand gently stroking strands of hair away from your face. „I don't want to be alone again,“ Levi whispered, making sure nobody heard him. Except Hange, who was trying to slow down the bleeding from the wound on your thigh.

„Sorry...“ you got out, almost choking on the blood you suddenly needed to spit out from your mouth. Levi swiftly turned you on your side to help, making you cry out in pain so loud even your own ears hurt.

Levi leaned closer to you, rubbing your back while you were coughing and spitting out blood onto the ground in front of you. „I'm taking you back home and when you'll be able to walk again, we're getting married,“ he whispered, not caring if Hange heard what he said.

You were barely able to stay conscious and make out what he was saying. Keeping your eyes open was too tiring, too painful. Everything hurt so much, even the feeling of the wind on your cheeks. Despite that, you found Levi's hand and gave him a small nod.

When Hange moved a little, their body shielding you from the rest of the Scouts, Levi bent down even closer and pressed his lips to your temple. You smiled at him ever so slightly, feeling your eyes closing against your will.

His beautiful face was the last thing you saw. His silky black hair and stormy blue-grey eyes. The way he was looking at you as if he was trying to engrave the picture of your face into his brain.

After your eyes opened again, you were back inside the Walls. Lying on a wagon right next to Eren. Your hand was shaking when you reached out towards him. But before you could touch his shoulder, Eren looked in your direction with eyes full of tears. You didn't understand why he was crying but you were simply too weak to ask.

And just like that, he was gone when you blinked. You woke up somewhere else once again – on the skeletal back of the Founding Titan, that was headed straight at Fort Salta. Many different variations of the Nine Titans were all around you. Your comrades were fighting against them.

Just when you heard someone call your name in the distance, a familiar crying noise stole your attention. You weren't in pain anymore, but standing up and actually walking was somehow still not possible. All you could do was look around and search for where the crying was coming from.

It sounded like... like a baby.

„Y/N!“ someone called your name once again. However, all you were able to care about, was the baby. Where was it? And why? Why did somebody bring a baby to a place like this? „Y/N!“

You looked over your shoulder once again, finally finding the crying little human. A black-haired baby in a pastel yellow blanket with sunflowers was in the arms of a blonde girl. She couldn't be much older than ten or eleven. Around her stood a bunch of Titans you've never seen in your life. Three different versions of the War Hammer, one Jaw Titan, and something that was supposed to represent the Beast Titan.

The baby in her arms was... yours.

When you wanted to say something, talk to the girl... to Ymir... you couldn't get a word out. You couldn't scream when she started walking away, taking your daughter with her and commanding the Titans to finish you off.

You couldn't draw your blades, because you suddenly didn't have them. Nor your ODM gear. All you could do was scream after Ymir even if no sound came out of your mouth. You screamed and screamed until your lungs felt like on fire and until the Titans got to you.

At that moment, you finally woke up. Gasping for air, you sat up and looked around yourself, almost immediately hearing the soft cries of a newborn baby. In the dim light of your bedroom, Levi was sitting on his side of the bed, looking at you with concern written all over his face.

„I tried waking you up but...“ he shook his head, looking down at the little black-haired baby wrapped in a pastel yellow blanket with sunflowers. „Wanna talk about it?“

„No... no, better not,“ you got out, trying to slow down your breathing. Your whole body was trembling from the still to realistic nightmare, as you moved closer to Levi and looked at your daughter. „She's hungry again?“

„Probably. I changed her diaper and tried rocking her back to sleep but it seems like she needs you,“ Levi said, his expression softening immediately as his lips pressed a loving kiss to the baby's forehead.

„Okay, fine. I'll feed her, you can go back to sleep.“

He shook his head, waiting for you to make yourself more comfortable. Only then did he carefully hand you the tiny, not even two-week-old newborn baby. Such an ordinary thing helped you calm down completely and return to reality. The weight and warmth of your baby in your arms and against your chest.

She was here – safe and alive. With you and Levi, her parents.

No Titans.

No Founder Ymir.

Nothing and nobody from your previous life, only you three.

„I'll stay up with the two of you,“ Levi said and kissed your forehead as well.

So while you nursed the baby, Levi kept you company. Even if he only sat there in silence, listening to the soft whispers addressed to your daughter in a hushed and sweet voice. Upon seeing her and Levi, all remains of the nightmare disappeared.

Nothing was real... not anymore.

Titans were gone and you survived.

When Levi's squad died because of Annie, you did not. You became the only survivor of that encounter, even if you made it out alive by a whisker. But you did. It took months until you recovered but... you did.

And now nothing from those times was real anymore. All of those memories were just... well, just memories. Nothing more and nothing less. They happened, they shaped you into the person you were today, but that was it. They no longer had the right to control your life.

„I can't even remember the last time I had such a horrible nightmare,“ you said after a long moment of silence when your daughter was finally fed and seemed satisfied once again. Resting in your arms, she kept looking up at you with her stormy blue-grey eyes. So similar to Levi's. „I don't know why it happened now, what could have triggered it.“

„Don't think that's important,“ Levi said, leaning closer to you. He very gently took the baby's hand, caressing her little fingers.

„She's the only thing that matters now.“

„Exactly,“ he agreed, looking at her with so much love and adoration. She was barely two weeks old but had her father wrapped around her finger.

Levi would do anything for his precious daughter, that was more than certain from the very first moment he saw her. All of his doubts about him not being a good enough father were pushed aside when he held her in his arms for the very first time. You were still in pain and just so exhausted from birth itself, but you remembered that moment very clearly. He was so spooked out, not sure how to hold a couple of minutes old baby. He was scared of unintentionally hurting her somehow. But at the same moment, his eyes were full of pure love and tears. And he didn't even try to hide them. It didn't matter that the hospital staff or you would see him shed a couple of tears. All that mattered in that moment, was the baby in his arms.

His baby.

The baby both of you waited so long for.

She was finally here and she was even more perfect than you dared to dream during your pregnancy.

Looking back, giving birth was the hardest thing you've ever done. From all the things you had to go through since you were born in the Underground, bringing your daughter into the world was the most incredible, but also the most painful and brutal thing that you've experienced.

Despite that... all the difficult days throughout your pregnancy and birth, she was more than worth it.

Seeing Levi become a father was for sure the most beautiful thing you could have experienced. Once Humanity's Strongest was all soft and loving towards the tiny little human he and you created. You knew he had a soft spot for kids, it was very obvious from his actions throughout the years.

But finally seeing him with his own child was something completely different. Hearing him talk to her, seeing him hold her for hours every day... It was so obvious that he never wanted to put her down. He was close to her at all times, always watching out if she needed anything. Even the softest little cry from her made Levi come over and check if everything was okay.

He was totally in love with her.

„It doesn't seem she wants to sleep,“ Levi said, while you leaned against him to rest your aching body a little. You were still slowly recovering and getting used to being a mother. And every day it was getting better and better, easier and more natural.

„Staring at her parents in the middle of the night is probably much more fun. Am I right, darling?“ you asked the baby, smiling at her lovingly.

„Just when I finally learned how to sleep through the night, somebody had to ruin it,“ Levi smirked, furrowing his brows at the baby accusingly. You chuckled quietly and kissed the top of her head, which was full of silky black hair. The Ackerman genes truly were strong. „I'll have to open the tea shop next week again.“

„Yeah, you should. I'm sure people will understand why we closed down for a little while but...“ you shrugged, giving your husband an innocent little smile.

For the past few weeks, there was a piece of paper taped to the door of your tea shop. It was the easiest way how to inform your customers, that you'll be back shortly. This time with a brand new little helper.

Since Levi wanted to help you as much as possible, he decided to close the tea shop shortly before you gave birth. The last few days were probably the hardest ones, so Levi decided to stay close and watch over you. It was nice, you welcomed his presence and the overall calmness of those days before your lives changed forever. You really got the chance to soak up all the last bits of your marriage while it was still just the two of you.

During your entire pregnancy, he tried to be by your side as much as possible, to ensure that you were doing okay. He never said it out loud, but he was terrified that something might happen to you or the baby. He was scared of losing the family he wanted for so many years.

The birth was long, chaotic, painful, and messy. It didn't go the way you hoped it would. Despite that, Levi never left your side. Not even for a single second. He held your hand, helped you breathe through every contraction, and kept reminding you how amazingly you were doing. He kept your mind busy, far away from fear or anxiety, and replaced them with nothing but pure love.

„When are we going to tell the others that we had a baby?“ you asked, watching your daughter trying to grab onto Levi's finger. It was obvious that she wasn't sleepy at all and all of you were due for a long night.

Falco, Gabi, Yelena, and Onyankopon were the only ones, who knew about your daughter. Only because they lived closest to you. Armin and Connie last came for a visit when you were five months pregnant. Because you were still barely showing, it was easy to hide your belly under certain pieces of clothing. Since then, you haven't seen any of your friends and only kept in touch by writing letters.

Keeping your pregnancy private gave you and Levi a strange feeling of peace, you truly wouldn't trade for anything.

„We'll let them know soon enough,“ Levi said, resting his head against yours.

„I know we don't have anywhere to hurry, but I'd like them to finally meet each other. In a way, they're like family to us, too.“

„They are,“ he agreed almost immediately.

After a little talk, you both agreed that you'd invite all of them for a visit in a week or two. For now, staying in your own little happy bubble was all you wanted and needed. You both knew, that your baby won't be this small ever again. So soaking up every single moment was very important.

„I love this. All of this,“ Levi whispered in a calm relaxed tone, kissing your temple while he took the baby from your arms. He very carefully snuggled her against his chest, stroking her back.

„Does being a father feel like you thought it would?“

„It's even better if I'm being honest,“ he smirked, smoothing the baby's hair down on the back of her head. „But sometimes I still don't get how we got here.“

„What do you mean?“

„You were barely seventeen when Furlan brought you home for the first time.“

„When he begged you not to kick me out,“ you teased him, laughing quietly at the old memory of your life in the Underground.

To your surprise, Levi chuckled himself, also thinking about how your very first meeting went. How you knelt in front of him because your injured ankle hurt so badly you weren't able to stand. Blood was dripping from your nose and your knuckles were all busted open from your sad little attempt to beat up the men who were hurting you. When you and Levi first met, you were a complete mess and if it wasn't for him and Furlan, you wouldn't last much longer. But they took you in and made you a part of their gang.

Many months later Isabel joined the three of you. At that moment you felt like your new family was finally complete.

And the rest... the rest is history. A collection of happy, sad, and painful memories.

„We've come such a long way since those days,“ Levi said, both of you watching your baby peacefully resting against Levi's chest. It didn't seem like she was missing something in that moment. The presence of her parents gave her the most important things – safety and love.

„And now we have an even longer one ahead of us,“ you added, leaning closer and finding Levi's lips in a sweet long kiss. It didn't matter how many times in your life you've kissed him. Every single time your lips touched, it felt like the purest magic. Even after so many years, you were head over heels for him. „And we'll walk down that road together.“

„Together,“ Levi agreed, his lips lingering close to yours for a moment before he kissed you again. Slowly and with so much love, it almost took your breath away. He never was a many of many words, because his actions always spoke louder.

„I'm glad we had to wait so long for her. At least she now gets to grow up in a much safer world than we did. She'll never know the pain and fear we had to go through.“

Levi opened his mouth to say something but eventually didn't. Instead, he closed his eyes and rested his head against yours. The baby in his arms made a few sweet noises when you rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head.

After Levi started humming a familiar melody quietly, her eyes slowly started to close. And yours as well.

Everything was okay.

Everything was finally as you always wished it would be.

Just you, Levi, and the purest outcome of your love, safely living in love and harmony.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #aot x reader #aot x you #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin

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danikamariewrites · 7 months

Note

hi i absolutely love your writing, like i go through ur page everyday, like i have my notifications on so everytime you post i click so fast 😩🤞like you’re a celebrity in my eyes and i get so giddy when you post.

I think i sent in a req w feysand x reader where they’re on the battlefield. They’re in formation and standing ready to attack. Reader sacrifices herself by using a hidden power that no one knows about, she rivals even rhysands power and no one expected her to have this much power. she winnows closer to their enemies and rhys and feyre screams for her to run back or get away. Reader looks at them with sorrow, love and determination a last time and let’s her power loose, oblitirating all of the enemies before the war even starts. By some miracle she survives but is so close to death and nesta saves her. Reader is unconcious for almost a week before she wakes up and they all talk and reunite, angst to fluff pleaseeeee🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

i don’t remember if i sent this in or if i’m bugging out but pls ignore if I already did🧎‍♀️❤️

Sacrifice

Feysand x reader

A/n: thank you anon, ur literally going to make me cry and boost my ego plz 😭🥹 I hope you like the fic

Warnings: angst, near death experience, fluff at the end

You heard Cassian calling for soldiers to fall in formation. Taking a deep breath you exit the tent you share with Feyre and Rhys. Your mates. Tears line your eyes as you think about this morning with them. How you’ll never see them again.

You send a prayer to the Mother, begging her to watch over them when your gone. You thought back to your conversation with Nesta last night.

“If something goes wrong I need you to help contain it.” Nesta shook her head in disbelief at your words. “Why have you never told anyone about your powers?” “I never had it under control. I pushed them down all my life but I think I can take them out.” The look Nesta gave you would send a normal person running. But you knew deep down that look meant she was scared for you.

“Y/n, what do I even tell them if they ask about your powers?” “I don’t know. I won’t ask you to lie for me. Can you tell them I love them, and that I’m sorry.” Nesta flings her arms around your neck, squeezing you to her body. “Just try. Try to live.” “I will.” You whispered against her chest.

You watch the soldiers hurrying to get in line on the ground and in the sky. Cassian’s red siphons glinted in the sunlight as you smiled sadly at him. Besides your mates and Nesta you’d miss Cassian the most. You two always had the best inside jokes.

You kneel on ground outside the tent, unsheathing your sword from your back and unlatch your shield. Lifting your sword you drive it into the hard earth and hang your shield from the hilt. You’re not going to need it. Besides, Rhys and Feyre would want to have it.

Making yourself unseen you weave in and out of the lines of soldiers until you make it to the front where your mates won’t see you. You stare down the line at them. They look so stoic and determined. They’ll get through this, they’ll win this war like they have before.

First is the magic. You let both sides do their thing, watching the world around you rumble with warring powers. The enemy side starts to slowly advance. Now is your opportunity.

You winnow to the middle of the battlefield. Rhys is banging on your mental shields, “What do you think you’re doing!” Slamming your sheilds up you push him out. The opposing side starts to run at you. Feyre let’s out a blood curdling scream and Rhys grabs her by the waist, keeping Feyre from running to you.

Turning to face them you see their distraught faces. You give them one last smile, sending love and adoration down the bond. You turn back to the army now sprinting at you. Digging your feet into the dirt you hold your hands out by your sides.

Closing your eyes you dove deep down into your power. You have been building it up for a year for this exact moment. To wipe what was left of Koschei and Hybern from Prythian. To show General Morgana she has nothing left but a useless cause.

A silvery-purple light flecked with swirls of night shine from your palms, then radiating from your entire body. You didn’t let go until the first soldiers were steps away. Realizing the mistake they made. The ground shook causing the soldiers to collapse but you stayed standing.

Locking eyes with General Morgana you saw her face contorted in shock and panic. You smirked at her. You let your power rip from your body. Violet night consumed the soldiers, ripping them limb from limb until they were nothing but ash on the wind.

You threw your power out as far as you could. Decimating more half of Morgana’s army. Good. Your mates would live.

Your power slowly faded around you. The beautifully grim night falling with you. You couldn’t feel anything. Not even the numbness that you were sure was taking over your limbs. All you knew was that you were falling. The trip to the ground beneath you feeling endless.

As your head bounced the last thing you saw was all out war, then nothing.

—

When the fighting was over Nesta was the first one off the battlefield. She came flying into your tent scaring the shit out of two young healers. They tried to ask Nesta to leave and she responded by basically growling. The poor females backed off letting Nesta kneel by your cot.

Madja’s apprentice, Adria, glared at Nesta over your body. Her signal to let Nesta explain what she was doing in here scaring her healers. “I can help.” Adria nodded.

Nesta laid her hands on your stomach, summoning her silver flames. Days ago the two of you discovered your magics complimented each other. Nesta could balance out your chaos. She felt your magic calming as soon as hers touched it.

Your shallow breaths changed to even one’s as your chest started visibly moving. Nesta let out a sigh of relief as she felt you come back from the brink of death. She slumped back on the floor and Adria announced that you were stable.

Feyre and Rhys shoved the tent flaps open, storming in ready to demand answers. Once they noticed the calm atmosphere Rhys immediately went to Adria asking her what was going on.

“She’s stable but won’t be up for some time. Y/n will need lots of rest given the amount of power she used. And you can thank Nesta, without her it would’ve taken us double the time to save her.” Feyre looked at her sister. Nesta didn’t know if she should be offended or not by the look of shock Feyre gave her.

Within the hour you were moved back to your room in the House of Wind. It was eight days by the time you finally woke up. Rhys and Feyre had tried to stay with you the whole time but they were needed around the city and dragged off to meetings on other courts.

Your eyes slowl6 blinked open as you took in the familiar sun lit room. Nuala entered with a tray in her hand dropping it immediately when she saw you sitting up. Soundlessly she ran off to alert Rhys and Feyre.

Minutes later you heard thundering footsteps racing down the hall. Your mates came to halt in the open doorway, silver lining their eyes. Without thinking Feyre launched herself at you, practically laying on top of you as she embraced you.

“You idiot! You stupid, stupid idiot! I’m so happy you’re awake!” She pulled back from you to look at your face. Hers looked like she hadn’t slept in days, worry lining her beautiful features. “Please never do that again. I don’t want to lose you,” Feyre quietly pleaded with you.

“Never,” you whispered. Rhys came into view, plopping down next to you in bed laying a smacking kiss on your cheek. Exhaustion was clear in his face as well. “Not to dampen the mood but we are going to have to talk about your powers.” Feyre smacked his arm. “Can you not kill the mood for five minutes?”

You giggled at your mates arguing. Using all your strength you snaked your arms around Feyre’s waist. Showing her it was ok to put her weight on you. Rhys ran his fingers through your hair and rested his lips on your forehead. Feyre tucked her face into your neck as you all sat in comfortable silence.

You’d have to thank Nesta when you were eventually allowed out of bed. This is just the start of their doting and mother hening. You didn’t mind though. You were just happy that you could be here to be doted on by your mates.

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sadquickchristmassnowman · 6 months

Note

hey so i’m new to the community fandom and i really love trobed. i was wondering what was your trobed centric episode masterlist like? or if it’s possible, is there a way to send me the post? sorry i’m new to tumblr so i’m still learning how this app works. if you see this, thanks :)

hi, welcome! I've found that community tumblr is probably my favorite fandom space I've ever been involved in, and I hope you've had a good experience so far. I totally get the New App Learning Curve thing, I'm historically very shit at learning how to use new apps, even though I'm "young" (20), but I eventually got it and you will too, Trust 👍👍👍

anyway, Yes one of the first things I did on here after joining was make a trobed-centric episode masterlist for someone who was asking lmfao. since it was one of the First things I did there's some formatting and other things I'd do differently now, and I've actually been looking for an excuse to go ahead and get that done, so. here we go.

the trobed-centric episode masterlist (revamped)

1x05: advanced criminal law

plot B

abed takes the "friends mess with each other" rule too far; he creates a whole fake language and spends a lot of money on trying to convince troy that he is an alien

"from now on, abed, friends don't mess with each other"

(this is the first time they do their signature handshake)

1/5 gayness, pretty platonic

1x10: environmental science

plot B

it's the "somewhere out there" episode what more do I need to say

3/5 gayness, something's happening fs

1x11: the politics of human sexuality

plot C

abed keeps beating troy in athletic competitions, making troy feel threatened. he eventually admits that abed is the better athlete and they make up

2/5 gayness, pretty platonic but it has its moments

1x22: the art of discourse

plot C

troy and abed work to complete abed's list of quintessential freshman year of college experiences list

2/5 gayness, they repeatedly put completing the list above looking cool in front of women

1x25: pascal's triangle revisited

plot C

troy is moving out of his dad's house and wants to move in with abed, but abed says no because he's afraid being that close and spending that much time together will result in constant annoyance, and will destroy their friendship

troy realizes that "too much of a good thing can be bad" and instead agrees to move in with pierce

1/5 gayness

2x02: accounting for lawyers

part of plot A

jeff gets sucked back into his old life as he reconnects with alan, a coworker from his old law firm. troy, abed, and annie try to gather proof that jeff's friend is the one who got him fired in the first place

more trobedison centric, and is actually the first episode where the three of them are established as a Trio™

"all I heard was suck" "YOU CHLOROFORMED THE JANITOR" "I usually have one foot out of reality and even I'm freaking out right now"

1/5 gayness, pretty platonic. they're the sillies ever I love trobedison

2x06: epidemiology

part of plot A

it's the zombie episode, come ON

trobed have coordinating costumes but troy bails during the party because he doesn't want to look lame and nerdy in front of women, which hurts abed's feelings

abed sacrifices himself to save troy once they are the last two standing during the "rabies pathogen" breakout

"I love you" "I know" (oh my GODDD sedate me)

5/5 gayness. you get it.

2x09: conspiracy theories and interior design

plot B

the original blanket fort 💯💯💯

2/5 gayness, just guys bein silly (and in love???)

2x15: early 21st century romanticism

plot B

troy and abed fall for the same girl and decide to take her to the valentine's dance together, after which she can decide which one of them she wants to date

she picks troy, but troy gets upset that she didn't pick abed (because why wouldn't she pick abed, he's so cool) and breaks it off almost immediately

I"happy valentine's day" "it is now"

5/5 gayness jesus christ this one is INSANE

2x18: custody law and eastern european diplomacy

plot B

britta likes troy and abed's new friend, lukka, who she finds out is a literal war criminal. she keeps this information from troy and abed because she doesn't want to ruin their friendship with him, but they find out eventually

2/5 gayness they're attached at the hip in this one

2x19: critical film studies

random moments

this episode is more focused on jeff and abed, but there's a lot of classic Troy Gets Jealous™ moments so I decided to include it. plus the end tag is them randomly having dinner together at the fancy restaurant (a date 😔)

basically troy is afraid that jeff is a cooler friend to abed than him

3/5 gayness even though they barely interact, troy is so silly

2x20: competitive wine tasting

part of plot B

I almost didn't include this one, and it's not even on my original list, but whatever

troy pretends to be traumatized, originally to seem less shallow in his acting class, but he keeps it going in order to attract britta. he tells abed about it and abed Does Not Like That At All

"troy. nothing good can come of this"

I wouldn't call abed being jealous a Rare Occurrence but he generally conceals it way better than troy does

2/5 gayness, could be interpreted as abed just worried about relationships forming under false pretense, but to Me he's jealous

2x22: applied anthropology and culinary arts

plot C

pierce buys the rights to troy and abed's handshake (a la Indecent Proposal) which "corrupts" it

"pierce tainted our special handshake with his blood money and now we can't get the magic baaaack :((((("

eventually they do indeed get the magic back

3/5 gayness idk there's something about the way they interact in this one that is inexplicably gay to me lmao

3x01: biology 101

plot C plus random moments

"speaking of figuring things out, me and abed have an announcement" "..." "troy and I are living together :D"

cougartown gets moved to midseason, then cougarton abbey ends after 6 episodes, abed's routine keeps getting thrown off, and troy is just extremely supportive and protective throughout

4/5 gayness troy loves him a lot!!!!!!

3x03: remedial chaos theory

random moments

(I know this ep is listed as 3x04 on streaming services but in canon it takes place here and on the dvds it's listed as 3x03. there's a joke about it in the episode too if you didn't know. anyway)

"troy and abed's new apartment!!!" "bienvenido a la casa chez trobed!" "wanna stay up all night talking in our bunk beds?"

all their pictures on the wall and their matching suits lol

the end tag "evil troy and evil abed" & troy's soft "what's wrong :("

3/5 gayness they're lowkey married your honor

3x05: horror fiction in seven spooky steps

random moments

troy's whole story he tells where they Literally become attached at the hip

"my partner"

troy dancing while abed's humming daybreak

2/5 gayness

3x06: advanced gay

plot B

troy deciding whether he wants to do plumbing or air conditioning and deciding all he really wants to do is watch tv with abed

gay symbolism? gay symbolism? gay symbolism?

4/5 gayness mostly for the conversation at the hawthorne wipes gathering. I could write an essay on just that

3x07: studies in modern movement

plot A

annie moves in with troy and abed. very trobedison centric

"kiss me woodsman troy!"

3/5 gayness once again casually in love they're soulmates your honor

3x09: foosball and nocturnal vigilantism

plot B

annie breaks abed's $200 special edition dark knight dvd set on accident, trobedison shenanigans ensue yippee!!!

"awww is that the grappling hook I got you for christmas???"

3/5 gayness for the same reasons as before

3x10: regional holiday music

part of plot A

literally putting this on here just because of the christmas infiltration rap (and baby boomer santa)

3/5 gayness it's glee club what can you do

3x11: contemporary impressionists

plot A

(once again, I know this episode is listed as 3x12 on streaming services, but in canon it's supposed to chronologically be here, and is listed as 3x11 on the dvds)

the study group helps abed pay off his debts to a celebrity impersonator website by playing characters at a bar mitzvah (after troy scolds them for trying to ground abed in reality)

they have an argument at the end ugh

3/5 gayness troy loves abed a lot and abed doesn't realize that he's doing something wrong

3x12: urban matrimony and the sandwich arts

plot C

(see the above disclaimer about episode order)

troy and abed decide to be normal for shirley's wedding rehearsal

troy and abed being normal 🤝

4/5 gayness they blow off a girl to be weird again

3x13: digital exploration of interior design

plot C

blanket fort: redux (oh god)

vice dean laybourne escalates what started as a minor disagreement in order to drive a wedge between troy and abed. it works

5/5 gayness, if a sitcom doesn't have the two codependent fanonical gays go through an unnecessarily dramatic "break up" then I don’t want it

3x14: pillows and blankets

plot A

🎶troy and abed are in conflict🎶 *cries*

pillow fort vs. blanket fort

they eventually make up but not before they hurt each others' feelings a Lot

5/5 gayness the dramatics jesus christ

3x16: virtual systems analysis

random moments

so this episode is more focused on abed and annie, and troy and abed actually don't Technically interact with each other very much at all, but. you know

abed kinda freaks out when troy and britta go on a date because it "messes with the fabric of the group" (🤨 I know what you are)

troy calls annie to "check on abed" boy you are on a date with a woman

4/5 gayness just from subtext you get it

3x17: basic lupine urology

random moments

troy and abed play detective as they try to figure out who sabotaged the group's biology project

"we can't both do the zinger"

4/5 gayness no explanation

3x19: curriculum unavailable

random moments

the study group is expelled from greendale and abed gets arrested for spying on campus, so he's supposed to have a psychological evaluation

troy is just very protective of him in this episode, plus the flashback clip where he and Annie are comforting him as he's freaking out about daylight savings

"our adventures are VERY manly"

4/5 gayness

3x21: the first chang dynasty

random moments

oof baboof with you two! (all the plumber shenanigans are hilarious)

mostly putting this one on here for the goodbye scene at the end of the episode, though. god

"he said, 'I know you hate when people do this in movies.' sorry I got emotional"

3x22: introduction to finality

plot B

abed "goes crazy" without troy (who's off at a/c repair school)

when troy comes back he prioritizes abed over britta (who he supposedly has romantic feelings for)

"I miss abed so much" "you're afraid you'll go crazy without troy"

4/5 gayness one could say they're a little codependent

4x03: conventions of space and time

plot A

troy gets jealous of (read: goes "psycho girlfriend on") abed's new inspector spacetime superfan friend toby

britta, even as troy's literal girlfriend, calls abed troy's boyfriend and supports troy through the whole thing

"for the first time in my long history of being locked inside things, I knew someone would come" let me just put my head through my wall really quick

5/5 gayness even though troy has a whole gf. that's how gay this episode is

4x11: basic human anatomy

plot A

troy and abed pretend to switch bodies, like in freaky friday, in order to help troy process his feelings about his relationship with britta

5/5 gayness holy SHIT y'all. I could write thousands of words on this episode. it is so hard to justify troy's actions in this one without reading him as a closeted gay person not lying

5x03: basic intergluteal numismatics

random moments

including this one because of how abed comforts troy and pushes him around in a wheelchair for the entire episode

3/5 gayness it's the casual married-ness again smh

5x04: cooperative polygraphy

random moments

this is another one I didn't include on my original list but I decided fuck it

the bit uncovering the actual origin of their patented handshake is so funny "I can't even look at you right now" "then you should know I'm crying"

also just the. look on abed's face when troy agrees to go on the trip at the end. "cool. cool cool cool." "that's a lie" UGHHHHH

4/5 gayness again. so typical

5x05: geothermal escapism

plot A

do I need to say a word

ouch ouch ouch OUCH

5/5 gayness especially the deleted dialogue from the last scene (I've posted it before but lmk if you don't know what I'm talking about. disclaimer it makes me want to launch myself off the empire state building)

alright. there it is folks. I was going to make another subsection of other random iconic trobed moments and cite the episodes they're from but basically every single episode has at least one, so that list would be Way too long to qualify as a supplement to this one lmao. however! if you have a Trobed Moment™ stuck in your head (or any Moment for that matter) and you can't remember which episode it's from feel free to ask me, I'm confident that my internal community database will be able to Remind You. anyway. hope this was helpful. bye

#did this instead of my heaps of missing homework assignments #I completely overbooked myself this semester but It's Fine haha #anyway #community #nbc community #community nbc #abed nadir #troy barnes #trobed #troy and abed #community tv #community encyclopedia

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