#he just picks & chooses what parts of himself to put out into the light. cold bastard for the cold bastards. loyal friend for loyal friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months

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call my name and i’ll come running ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru can be irritating, at times. but even if you push him away, he’ll always, always be there for you when you need him.

word count; 8.7k (this was supposed to b a short drabble but i was possessed by the devil halfway through)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, reader n toru have a fight, mild swearing (a couple fucks here n there), hurt/comfort, satoru has communication issues but he’s trying his best, depictions of stalking (reader gets followed by a random creep but satoru comes to the rescue dw), uhh implied thoughts of violence? (satoru wants to Maul said dude but doesn’t), literally just me being in love with satoru gojo for 8.7k words straight

a/n; no thoughts head empty only gojo running through the streets like a wild beast looking for u <33 im normal about him yeah.

“you’re so annoying sometimes, you know that?”

satoru smiles. the sentence isn’t one he’s unaccustomed to hearing.

usually, the words are soaked in an undeniable fondness, as they spill from your lips. rich with exasperated love. one that never fails to have the corners of satoru’s lips curling up, a mellow kind of joy blossoming in his chest.

but now, that fondness is nowhere to be found.

you sound thoroughly exasperated, and a little bit fatigued. more than anything else, there’s a vague irritation behind the tilt of your voice, something almost cold. it makes all the difference in the world.

and yet, despite that, a certain someone chooses to pay no heed to the bad omen.

“aw, c’mon. you know you love me, baby.”

satoru is grinning. lighthearted, awfully sweet. there’s a certain smugness to it, though, one he couldn’t wash away even if he was aware of it; you wouldn’t do so even if you could. that smugness is a part of him, one that you’d usually find endearing.

but right now, it only seeks to further your frustration.

it was a stupid fight, truthfully. completely meaningless. satoru had forgotten to pick up after himself for, like, the fourth consecutive time, and so you grew annoyed. not by a lot, but enough that you felt the need to be firm when you reminded him not to make the same mistake over and over again.

but satoru had only grinned, in that self-satisfied fashion of his, and apologized in a way you couldn’t possibly call sincere. then he did what he usually does — promises to work on it. to not do it again. he never follows through, though.

but even that thought wasn’t anywhere near enough to make you truly angry. what really began to irk you was the fact that satoru wasn’t taking you seriously, even in the slightest.

that’s how he always is, when it comes to this kind of thing. and you try to be patient, you do. you try to be understanding. sometimes you even appreciate that he keeps the atmosphere light, but other times, you just can’t help but feel irritated by it.

and the current situation happens to fall into the latter category.

you don’t care if satoru leaves a candy wrapper or two out, every once in a while. of course you don’t. it’s a silly thing to argue about. but would it hurt for him to just listen to you? to try to put himself in your shoes, for once? it’s not about the wrappers, or the undone dishes. it’s about the way he treats you when you complain about it — like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter. even if it obviously does, to you.

so, gradually, the topic of your little argument began to shift, into a conversation about satoru. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to talk about the things that bother you in a serious fashion. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to take you seriously.

and he just keeps proving your point, with every word that falls from his lips.

at this point, you’re genuinely beginning to feel a little angry. but satoru doesn’t see that as the warning sign it is — he just thinks it’s cute. he’s just been cooing at you, this whole time, despite your numerous attempts to actually explain how much his behavior affects you sometimes. it feels a bit like talking to a wall. satoru keeps on teasing you, even as you try to be firm about your point, and only brushes you off with empty promises to do better and more unneeded comments about how much he wants to hug you when you pout like that.

and you falter, a little. of course you do. you’re weak to satoru. weak to his words, that sweet voice of his, that pretty grin. but that only makes everything worse, because if you let yourself look even a little bit flustered at his comments, he sees that as his cue to continue.

you don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose, at this point. is he doing it because he knows it’ll annoy you, or does he genuinely not understand that you’re upset? you’d like to think that there’s no malicious intent behind it, but can’t he see how troubled you are? you don’t get it. you don’t get him, and that frustrates you most of all. satoru can be so goddamn convoluted, sometimes.

so you simply can’t help but feel annoyed. angry, even. how long have you been arguing for, at this point? you’re not sure. but you feel the frustration inside of you grow, as the minutes tick by, into something you know will eventually explode.

a sigh falls from your lips, deep and exasperated. a little bit exhausted. “i’m serious, satoru. you’re not even listening.”

“i am!” he protests, stubbornly. childishly. “you just look so cute when you’re all mad. not my fault you’re so distracting.”

satoru smiles, voice sugar sweet, but all you can do is frown. does he really think it’s cute that you’re upset? the thought makes you somewhat sad. but you can’t show that, can’t let that part of you win — you don’t even want to think about the possibility of you crying, because of this. yeah, no way in hell.

so instead, you channel it into anger. as the blood inside your veins comes to a boiling point, you dig your nails into the skin of your palms, gnawing at your bottom lip and shifting from one foot to another.

”satoru, i’m —” another sigh, sharp and vexed like the blade of a knife. ”i’m trying to have a serious conversation, here. can’t you see that i’m upset?”

satoru takes a moment to look at you, from behind the black glass of his shades.

he can. of course he can see that. you’re frowning, and there’s a crease between your brows, and you keep huffing and sighing every three seconds — you’re obviously, undoubtedly upset. and satoru wants to take you seriously, he does. it’s just that the part of his brain that only ever wants to coddle and tease you keeps persuading him not to.

he’s not lying, either; you do look cute. almost too cute to take seriously, when you’re pouting so sweetly, a little red in the face from all the frustration bubbling inside your chest. you look so small, glaring up at him like an angry puppy.

satoru can’t help but smile. it’d be impossible not to.

and he will listen to you, will take you seriously. he knows you’re angry, knows you’re upset, and he intends to deal with that properly. but he doesn’t need to do it right now.

just a little more teasing, before he has to stop beating around the bush. satoru dreads it, a little bit, dreads having to genuinely be serious, be open and apologetic. it always feels so strange, so discomforting.

all that stuff can wait until later. for now, he just wants to see you blush a little more, huff and puff at his limitless affection, that he knows you love deep down. where’s the harm?

(and therein lies the problem. satoru is observant, and typically good at seeing the line that he shouldn’t cross when it comes to you. but there are times when he slips up, times when he doesn’t realize that his words have begun to sting. times when the line becomes blurry, because he knows some part of you enjoys the way he babies you, and sometimes it blinds him to the part of you that doesn’t.)

satoru is smiling. it’s the same as always — big, bright, glazed over with honey-sweet adoration. smug and teasing. it’s such a satoru-like smile that it makes your breath hitch, sometimes, makes your heart race with wonder. but now all it does is annoy you. everything you love about satoru is annoying you, right now.

in your eyes, that pretty smile of his seems almost taunting. like he’s trying to pick a fight with you, trying to make you even more upset. you don’t want to blow up over something like this, you really really don’t — but for some reason, you feel dangerously close to. it’s not like you at all.

you bore into his eyes with a cold glare, even though you can’t exactly see them with his shades in the way. posture straight and rigid as you try to make yourself look bigger. you must look at least a little bit menacing, like this. right?

“i’m seriously angry with you,” you say, hoping your voice sounds as austere to his ears as it does to yours. “don’t you get that?”

satoru coos, unable to hold the sound back. he doesn’t notice the flicker of hurt in your eyes, only focusing on how the sunset rays frame your figure, kissing your skin with sun-soaked fervor. you look so pretty. and that angry look on your face is too tantalizing not to tease.

“aww,” he croons, inching closer to you. there’s a teasing glint in his eyes that you can’t see, unmistakably fond. “is my little baby that upset?”

you blink. his voice sounds even more sugar-sweet now, obviously exaggerated. there’s amusement there, too — like this is just one big joke to him. you think he must be doing it to belittle you, to embarrass you. speaking to you like you’re some kind of grumpy toddler, and not a grown adult trying to have a serious conversation with their partner. your blood boils, boils, boils.

— and so the cup overflows.

“oh, go fuck yourself.”

it’s almost in a hiss that the words fall from your lips, cold and harsh; they leave the confines of your throat before you have a chance to reconsider them, sudden and sickeningly heavy. crude, too. you’d never be so crass with him under normal circumstances.

but you’re overwhelmed, thoroughly and completely, and satoru is being particularly infuriating. you genuinely feel hurt by the way he’s disregarding your feelings, and that realization stings more than anything.

so you can’t help but say the words, louder than you meant to, before turning on your heel swiftly and walking out of the room.

you don’t even have time to register what you’re doing, legs moving on their own before your mind can catch up. brisk and heavy steps carry you to the door, all while you furiously attempt to blink away the tears of frustration that begin to form in your eyes.

it only takes a second for you to grab your jacket — then you’re out.

satoru hears the front door close, echoing off the walls of your apartment. you don’t quite slam it shut, but you close it with more force than usual, and he can’t help but inwardly wince.

a moment passes.

then, he flops down on the couch, lanky arms and legs dangling uncomfortably off the edges. the groan that slips from his lips is muffled by the soft cushion as he burrows his face into it, while replaying your interaction inside his mind.

satoru can’t help but feel uncomfortable, with this conclusion. a little bit irked. a vague something rests inside his chest, something he doesn’t quite want to admit to feeling. it makes him feel a little bit sick.

(”oh, go fuck yourself.”)

he can’t recall you ever raising your voice at him like that. when it comes to him, you’re usually so patient; soft, understanding, gentle. for you to have snapped in such a way — to have stormed out of the apartment in your anger — he must have pushed you pretty far.

satoru sighs.

he really pissed you off, huh?

(he can never quite seem to get this right, can he?)

it was never his intention to make you genuinely mad. he just lost sight of the line, for a second. that’s all.

and maybe he was also trying to avoid the issue, trying to avoid actually arguing with you. because he hates it. he hates it more than anything. satoru would much rather see you smile and blush than act all serious and sad.

he just wanted to make you laugh.

was it insensitive? yeah, probably. he just can’t help but fuck this up, it seems. now he’s gone and made you angry — and as much as the sight would usually thrill him, as cute as you look when you’re irritated, a pit of anxiety settles in his gut. everything just feels wrong.

more than anything, satoru feels restless. because, right now, there’s nothing he can do. he can’t chase after you, even if just to apologize — that’d make you even angrier.

he knows he needs to give you space. you were obviously overwhelmed; some fresh air will do you good.

it irks him, though. satoru wants to fix it. he always wants to fix everything, before it even breaks. and even now, all his mind can do is spin in circles, wondering how he could possibly cheer you up.

he’ll just have to apologize, when you get back. and hope you forgive him. maybe he can get you something sweet to munch on, or a bouquet of flowers. would that make everything okay again?

satoru doesn’t know. so he just scratches his head, and tries his damndest not to think of how defeated you looked before leaving.

your steps are heavy, dragging you forward, leading you somewhere you have no knowledge of. it’s chilly out, and the sun is already setting.

everything in the world feels so wrong. like it’s tilted slightly to the left, like the earth stopped spinning around its axis. like everything suddenly lost its saturation.

you just needed to get away from him, for a while. away from that smug smile, that patronizing tilt of his voice. you couldn’t even stand to be in the same apartment as him. it’s not often you feel that way, not often at all.

and it only increases your growing frustration.

you are beginning to calm down, though — you know you are. the crisp evening air and the pleasant mingle of people soothes your muddled senses, smoothing down the crease of your brow and the ache in your chest.

a heavy discomfort, and a growing guilt. that’s all you can feel, as the anger slowly seeps out of you, turning into vapour with every exhale of your breath.

you hate arguing with satoru. you hate it more than anything. the guilt clawing at your chest barely leaves any room for anger — you almost yelled at him. just the thought of doing that to satoru makes you want to cry.

because you love him, at the end of the day, even when he’s being absolutely insufferable. he’s a sweetheart, your sweet boy, always trying to lighten the mood and make you smile. maybe you should have been a bit more understanding; you know satoru’s bad at this stuff, bad with emotions and vulnerability. and deep down, you know he’d never hurt you, not on purpose.

he probably just didn’t realize that you were genuinely upset. it’s a mistake that anyone could make.

but it just makes you feel so frustrated. like he’s not even looking at you. always hiding behind those shades, never opening up. never letting you see him wear anything but a smile. you want him to take it slow, open up to you at his own pace, but that doesn’t make the wait sting any less.

it’s not like you were asking for a lot. first, you simply asked him to pick up after himself. the way you do, the way anyone does. then, you simply asked him to treat you with respect.

a sudden pang of bitterness runs through your chest. sure, you could’ve handled it all better — but he could have, too.

every step you take hits the pavement with an irritated kind of decision. whatever. whatever. for now, you don’t want to think about it — all you want is to walk around and take in the sights, enjoy the peace and quiet.

so that’s exactly what you do.

before you know it, the sun has set, and the moon has risen — shining down and painting the streets in a mesmerizing blue, ephemeral and tranquil. it’s enough to give you some peace of mind, as you lurk around familiar streets, soaking in all the open space. so different from that suffocating apartment, and the man inside it, with that shit-eating grin and those breathtaking eyes.

(he’s called you, a couple times. you haven’t been gone for long — an hour or so, you think, maybe two. some part of you wanted to answer, just to hear his voice through the phone, but the part of you that’s still awfully irritated shut that down immediately. so, stubbornly, you just let it ring.)

the streets are empty, and the sky is dark. the light of all the lampposts illuminate your way, along with the soft flicker of the moon and stars. an endless galaxy stretches out before your eyes, little pale dots of stardust shining like jewels.

an ever-lasting, never-changing sky, that continues on for infinity. limitless. all the space you could possibly want, and then some.

for a moment, you can only look at the glittering stars in wonder, soaking in the feeling of absolute solitude.

— it doesn’t last, though.

“you alone?”

a sudden voice calls out from behind you. close, discerningly so, enough to make you flinch. you curse yourself for not noticing anything sooner, caught up in looking at the starry sky, in angling your phone to take a picture of it.

hesitantly, you turn your gaze towards the sound — wincing under your breath when you see the man a couple steps away from you. he looks a little crazed, you think, shifting from foot to foot and hunching over.

oh fuck no.

great, just what you needed. that’s just your luck, isn’t it? your brain can only spin in circles, trying to get your body to react, to run. to do literally anything except just stand there like a deer caught in headlights.

in your nervosity, all you manage is a painfully awkward laugh, as you stutter out a halfhearted response.

“oh — no, i’m just waiting for my boyfriend!” you smile, unconvincingly. your face must be soaked in unease. whatever he wants with you, it can’t be anything good.

at least you said that one word clearly — boyfriend. you can only hope it’s enough to scare him away.

but the man only shifts a little more, emitting a gruff kind of hum, not saying anything else. your spine tingles with apprehension. every cell in your body wants you to leave. he seems a little intoxicated, you think, and the thought only stirs the anxious feeling in your chest further.

god. why does this have to happen to you? why now?

thankfully, you’ve got your phone in hand. as your mind scrambles for solutions, your fingers tap at the screen, urgently scrolling through your contacts. in such a frightened state, your acting must be positively awful, but you make a vague attempt. not like you’re getting any oscars for this, either way.

“sorry — he’s calling me now!” you stammer out, taking a step away from the man. he doesn’t make a move to follow you, so you take your chances and press your phone to your ear, feet carrying you forward with haste.

in your fear, you don’t think twice about calling satoru — but you can’t help but internally wince at the decision, as the anxious patter of your own heart resounds in your ears.

how are you supposed to talk to him, exactly? what are you supposed to say? hey, i know i just told you to go fuck yourself, but will you hear me out? i need your help.

and you do. you do need his help. all you want is for him to swoop in, to take you in his arms, your knight in shining armor.

satoru’s said it to you, before — that if you need anything, anything at all, you can come to him. that you can always, always lean on him, without exception.

you know that he likes helping you. likes it when you open up to him, when you put your trust in him. when you aren’t afraid to ask for his help.

so despite everything, you hold your phone to your ear, walking away with brisk steps and praying that he’s not petty enough to ignore your call like you did to his.

back home, satoru is still resting on the couch, tapping his feet and trying to distract himself.

he’s a little anxious. it’s dark out, and you’re not answering any of his calls. when you’re out of sight, like this, he can’t help but feel a little helpless — worried about everything that could happen to you. but it’s not like he can force you to pick up.

you’re probably at a friend’s house, or something. telling them all about what an asshole your boyfriend is. as much as the thought stings, satoru hopes it’s true; it’s all he can comfort himself with. anything is fine as long as you aren’t out walking alone, in the cold, in the dark.

entirely caught up in his spiralling thoughts, satoru almost flinches when the phone rings. laying on the table in front of him, just within arm’s reach. it only takes a second for him to react as his gaze flits to the bright screen, and he sees the contact name, the many heart emojis littering it.

with a start, satoru jumps up. his back straightens out, and his hand flies to grab the phone — he’d feel embarrassed at his own eagerness, but right now he just can’t help it. even under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t let the phone ring more than twice, always giddy to hear your voice whenever possible.

this time, however, he does falter slightly.

he takes a split second to simply stare at the phone in his hand, at the affectionate contact name. what is he supposed to say to you, exactly? how is he supposed to act?

satoru doesn’t know, but as if afraid that you’ll change your mind and stop the call, yourself, he opts to simply answer. he’ll just have to figure out what to say on the fly.

(unfortunately, satoru’s instinctual response to anything is either smugness or playfulness.)

“well, well. look who finally decided to pick up.”

you’re the one who called him, not the other way around — but satoru can’t be bothered with small details like that right now. he only hopes you don’t notice the faint nervosity in his voice, the stiffness as he tries to sound unbothered.

you don’t notice anything at all, mind far too muddled, too clouded by fear. all you can do is take a deep breath, desperately trying to grasp control over your wavering voice.

“— satoru?” you call out, voice meek and frail. the man in question notices it immediately, sitting up a little straighter, but before he can say anything you continue. “i’m sorry, i just — are — are you still at home?”

there’s an anxious tilt to your voice, one that’d be impossible for satoru to miss. your words are a little breathy, spoken in a fast tempo, and he feels a sudden dread crawl up his spine.

something is wrong, his senses alert him.

“yeah,” he hums, trying to hide the turmoil in his own voice. “why? is everything okay?”

the line is quiet, for a second. “it’s just —“ an exhale, as you once again attempt to steer your voice in a less nervous direction. “just… some creepy guy tried to talk to me. i told him i was waiting for my boyfriend and now i’m walking away from him but he’s still following me.” another exhale, as you worriedly sneak a glance over your shoulder. ”i just — i don’t know what to —”

“where are you?”

satoru cuts you off, voice eerily serious. his gaze turned cold the moment he heard creepy guy, legs moving him towards the coat rack by the front door as if on autopilot.

he’s already left the apartment by the time you answer, looking around you meekly.

“i… don’t know,” you sigh. “i’m not far. i walked past that one crêpe stand by the park but then i, like… continued up that street? and now i don’t really know where i’m going.”

you continue, a little exasperated as your gaze flits around the dark street. attempting to recall your steps, a difficult task with how on edge you feel. “i’ll try to look for a sign, or something,” you gulp. “… i’m sorry. i just wanted to get away from him.”

satoru’s voice is comforting, when he speaks, eager to console you. grounding and soft. “hey, it’s okay. i’m heading there now, alright?” he smiles, hoping you’ll hear it in his voice. “i’ll be there before you know it.”

you do hear it, and his words ease a little of the anxiety in your chest, despite your fear. “okay.”

the line grows quiet, again, and your brows furrow in worry. “can — can i keep talking to you?” you ask, uncertain. a little pitiful. ”please?”

“of course,” satoru answers, instantaneous. he’s already making his way towards the crêpe stand with decision in his steps, mentally scanning the area ahead. despite his own anxiety at the situation, he attempts to sound as secure as he can possibly manage, desperate to soothe the worry in your voice.

“try to relax for me, okay? nobody’s gonna hurt you. not while i’m here.”

his words are absolute, as he consoles you. he sounds so sure of himself, so much that you can’t help but believe in his words. so you nod, emitting a weak hum when you remember he can’t see you.

“can you tell me what you see, baby?”

“uhh…” you look around, blindly, trying to find some sort of meaningful hint around you. “there’s like… some toy shop?”

satoru only hums. “can you check your location on your phone?”

you blink.

of course. why on earth didn’t that cross your mind before?

“oh — yeah — fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i didn’t —“ you sigh, heavy. “hold on.”

following satoru’s instructions swiftly, your gaze scans over the screen. he waits, patiently, already heading past the park and up ahead. as soon as you succeed in finding the name of the street, you echo it to him.

satoru sighs, a little relieved. “okay,” he hums. “i’m not that far away. i’ll be there soon.” he only hopes his words can soothe your fear, even a little. “is he still following you?”

you glance behind you, and meet the gaze of the stranger. just like you were afraid of, he’s still following you — if anything, he seems to have gotten a little closer. with a jolt, your heartbeat picks up.

“yeah,” you gulp.

satoru’s chest tightens. he emits a low hum. “just hold on. i’ll hurry.”

focusing only on the tilt of satoru’s voice, you try to calm your breathing. you just want to see him. the thought of doing so is the only thing keeping your trembling ribcage intact, at this point.

you swallow a shaky breath.

“thanks, toru.”

a sudden pang of ache sprouts in satoru’s chest, like thorny vines curling around his ribcage. his heart hurts. you sound so scared, so very small.

this is all his fault, he thinks. all of it. he got too careless; none of this would’ve happened if he had only been more considerate. if he had just stopped you from leaving and apologized, or hadn’t upset you in the first place. then he wouldn’t have to hear that scared little voice, wouldn’t have to imagine your body shaking like a leaf in the cold night. so far away from him.

but satoru can’t beat himself up over it, not yet. there’ll be more than enough time for that later. for now, he needs to get to you — that’s the only thing on his mind.

so he lets his feet carry him forward, running towards your location with bated breath. he’s sure you can hear it, through the phone, even though he tries to contain it.

the sound consoles you, if anything. it reminds you that satoru is there, that he’s on his way. that there’s no need to be scared.

but you can’t help but freak out, a little, when you hear the man call out from behind you.

“hey!” he slurs, stumbling towards you with unsteady steps. his voice is loud, angry, and it sends your mind reeling into panic mode.

a flinch overtakes your body, before you stumble forward, walking even faster than before. you’re almost running now, breath hitching as you gulp. satoru hears it all — your panic, the echo of the man. his own tempo picks up.

“baby, calm down, okay?” he consoles you, voice concerned and honey-sweet. “just keep walking. i’m almost there.”

“sorry —“ you squeak out, between flurry breaths. breathing uneven, laboured and anxious. but you try your best to calm down. “‘s just scary.”

it almost feels physical, the way it irks him. satoru wants to pull you close, more than anything, but he can’t. and that just makes the calamity inside his chest grow, clawing at his ribcage as if trying to escape, to go to your side.

(he never, ever wants to hear that kind of fear in your voice again.)

“i know,” he soothes. “you’re doing good, honey. listen — he’s not gonna touch you. i won’t let him. you have nothing to be scared of.”

you nod, even as you exhale a shaky breath. ”i know.”

and you do. you know there’s a truth, to satoru’s words, one that’s never failed you before.

because satoru is your safe space, at the end of the day — he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and sometimes he’s bad with emotions. but he tries, you know he does. and, more than anything else, you know that he’ll always, always be there when you need him. he’ll always be there to protect you.

and a part of you is sure that everything will be okay, as long as he’s around.

(it’s easy to forget how trustworthy satoru really is, how much he cares. how dependable he is. and how serious he can get, when he truly needs to be, despite his childishness. it’s moments like these that remind you of that.)

but it’s still scary, at the end of the day. you can’t help but feel uncomfortable, a little lost in the world. because you and satoru just fought, you just told him to go fuck himself, and yet here he is. running to your side, in the middle of the night, because you’re scared and alone and you need him.

the man continues to shout, behind you, muttering curses you can’t quite make out. you look over your shoulder nervously, steps hurried.

and satoru runs like a man possessed, through the moonlit streets, gaze scanning the area like a wild beast. his most visceral instinct is screaming at him, tugging at his flesh and bones, desperate to protect you. to comfort you. to wash all your worries away.

as he makes a sharp turn, he momentarily stops the movement, halting to look around. he thinks he must look a little crazed, with the moonlight illuminating his eyes, but he couldn’t care less.

especially not when his gaze lands on a certain person, further down the street — small and alone.

your eyes meet his.

with the darkness of the street, it’s hard to make anything out, but the light of the lamppost helps. though even without it, satoru’s sure he’d know it was you, just from the sensation that unfurls in his chest as his gaze lands on your figure.

an audible sigh of immense relief falls from his lips, and his tense shoulders relax, eyes softening just a tad. he hears a similar noise coming from the phone in his grasp, and he assumes that means you recognize him too. not bothering to end the call, he puts it in his pocket, walking over to you with brisk steps.

you stumble towards him, yourself, the worried crease between your brows now smoothed away. the closer he gets, the faster you move, until you can see the blue of his eyes. two pocket-sized moons.

satoru swoops you in for a hug before either of you can say anything.

he cradles you close, awfully close, so close you can hear his heavy breathing against your ear. it tickles your neck, along with his soft hair, and you shiver. his fragrance envelops your senses, a blend between fresh laundry, strawberries and some expensive cologne. your favorite scent in the world.

and suddenly, the world is devoid of danger. nothing can get to you while satoru’s there. all that exists is you, and him, and the soft flicker of the moon.

satoru squeezes you tightly, ensuring himself over and over again that you’re safe. he might be squeezing you a little too tight, but he can’t bring himself to think about that just yet.

finally, that growing calamity inside his chest is satiated. winding down at the feeling of you pressed up against him, the indisputable proof that you’re okay. with you in his arms, satoru feels like everything is alright, again.

the fear inside his chest, so foreign it leaves him shaken to the very core, finally begins to dissipate too. he doesn’t think there’s anything that makes him feel quite as hopeless as the thought of not being there for you when you need him. he never wants to feel that fear again. it’s suffocating. it crushes his lungs.

all he can do is hold you close, his big palm smoothing down your hair, the back of your head, your spine. warm and comforting. keeping you steady against him. he can feel your heartbeat, rapid and anxious, so fast that his heart aches. satoru is eager to soothe you, eager to make it go away.

”i’m here, baby,” he breathes, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head. ”you’re safe now.”

the words are spoken softly, right by your ear, and you exhale a shaky breath. you’re bundling up his clothing with your fists, anchoring yourself to him. after a little while, you let go, opting to wrap your arms around his midriff instead. nuzzling into his broad chest, you try to blink away your tears and contain your sniffles.

you nod against him, and satoru kisses the crown of your head.

and, finally, his gaze strays. it falls farther down the street, until it lands on a certain man — shifting from one foot to another. watching you both in silence.

the calamity inside his chest rouses from its slumber, once more.

satoru makes sure to keep his hands on you, still rubbing your back with one steady palm cradling the back of your head. keeping your face hidden in his chest, safe and secure.

then he raises his head, back straight, full height on display as his eyes meet the stranger’s. he can tell they do, even with the distance, the darkness of the street.

and satoru knows he looks menacing. he knows the light of the lamppost illuminates his figure perfectly, framing his tall stature and broad shoulders. and he knows the moonlight caressing his skin illuminates his face, his cold eyes — blue and uncanny, glowing even brighter than the moon. staring daggers into the man’s soul. if looks could kill, there wouldn’t even be any remains left to find.

the man stiffens, visibly, and satoru delights in it. he doesn’t leave, though, and for a second satoru wonders if he’s really intoxicated enough to come closer —

but, sure enough, all he does is stagger a little. then he walks away, grumbling under his breath, hands in his pockets.

and satoru isn’t satisfied, with this conclusion. not in the slightest. he wants to run up to the man, wants to hold him up by the throat, wants to tell him off. because he has the nerve to terrorize someone like that, stalk them with intentions he knows can’t be anything but revolting. the nerve to do that to you, of all the people in the world —

satoru doesn’t know if he’s hated anyone quite as much.

and a part of him wants to make him cower. make him fear for his life, just to make sure he never does anything like this again. leave him with a fear so great it’ll linger for as long as he’s alive.

(and a more animalistic side of satoru, one he doesn’t want to acknowledge, wants to do things that are much, much worse.)

— but you come first. without question, and without exception. he refuses to leave you alone, and refuses to make you look at the man for even a second more.

so he’ll focus on you, entirely.

he can tell you’re still shaken up, heartbeat pulsating against him, little flutters of life prickling his skin. there’s a desperation in the way you hug his waist, like he could disappear at any moment. like he’ll slip away if you don’t keep him close. the sight tugs at satoru’s heartstrings.

his first priority is to soothe you, always and forever. so that’s exactly what he does.

satoru smiles. it’s small, in the wake of the situation, but awfully sincere. fingers reaching down to trace over your jaw, he gently urges you to look at him; when you do so, hesitant, he cups your cheek with his palm.

your teary eyes feel like daggers to his heart, an unmistakable proof of his failure. his failure to protect you, to keep you safe and happy. but at the same time, he’s glad, from the bottom of his heart — that you’d let him see you like this. even after everything.

you look very meek, blinking the tears away as you look into his eyes. they’re bright, and comforting. you wonder if he left the shades at home, if he rushed over here so hurriedly that he didn’t think to bring them with him. you’re happy, in any case — the effect they have on you is undeniable.

you can’t bring yourself to look away, consoled by the flickers of white inside his irises, like fluffy clouds in the blue sky. ever-lasting, never-changing.

satoru tilts his head, smile sweet and understanding. ”that was scary, hm?”

his voice is tender, somehow so mature. like he’s some older, wiser being, comforting a scared child. it’s so soothing, so very grounding.

squeezing your eyes shut, you can only bring yourself to nod, as you nuzzle back into his chest.

”you’re okay now, honey,” satoru coos, smoothing down your back as you sniffle. an immense softness seeps through his whisper. ”i’ll always be here to protect you.”

there’s a truth to the statement, heavy and pious. like an oath, a pledge, something for you to believe in unquestioningly. you allow yourself to soak in the words, knowing them to be true.

you’re safe, now. there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. satoru’s here, and he’s hugging you, pressing kisses against your shoulder.

but you just can’t stop crying.

when you speak up, your voice is weak, barely above a whisper. close to breaking apart at the seams. too tired after everything to resist the guilt inside your veins, you sniffle, and part your lips.

”i’m sorry i yelled at you.”

satoru stills.

then, his gaze softens, considerably. he hears himself coo, softly, palm smoothing down the back of your head.

his sweet angel. apologizing to him, when he’s the one who started this whole mess. when you’re still so shaken up. because he let you leave the house angry, because he made you angry in the first place. because he didn’t see how important the discussion was to you.

(“you’re not even listening.”)

yeah. he wasn’t. he didn’t really want to.

an acute sense of shame. an intense guilt. that’s what he’s been trying to push down, all this time. that’s the unnamed something.

it’s hard for him. to be as sincere as you, as open with his feelings and emotions. as mature. because even in a situation like this, you can swallow your pride and frustration, and apologize. even when you aren’t in the wrong. you’re always the bigger person, always the one to give in first, because he’s too stubborn to do so himself.

next time, satoru pledges, he won’t let you. next time he’ll be the one to swallow his pride.

because, yes, being vulnerable and admitting that he was in the wrong makes him feel a little like he’s being skewered alive — but you’re important to him. he loves you. and he wants you to know how much he trusts you, how special you truly are.

if he can show you that, by being a little sincere, a little serious, then any discomfort he feels in the process is a small price to pay.

satoru’s lips meet the crown of your head, as he encircles your smaller frame, arms reaching around your neck to pull you close. he rests his jaw lightly on the top of your head, breathing in your scent. ”you have nothing to apologize for, baby.”

a pause lingers between the words he’s already said and the ones he yearns to say, but can’t seem to pull out from within his throat. it takes effort, to squeeze them out; but every time he replays your own apology in his mind, it gets a little easier. he squeezes you lightly before opening his mouth, as if to give him strenght.

“i’m sorry.”

you blink.

for once, satoru sounds sincere when he apologizes — almost painfully so. bordering on something you think may be nervosity. you try to look up, to catch a glimpse of his expression, but he keeps you hidden in the crook of his neck.

”i was being immature,” he continues, sighing. you don’t know if you’ve ever heard satoru sound so uncomfortable. ”you know how bad i am with this stuff. but i never want to — you know.”

he makes a gesture with one of his hands, as if that will say the words for him.

“— i didn’t mean to upset you. honestly.” satoru inhales the cold air, in hopes it’ll make him more honest. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you listen. intently, not missing a word, not a single tilt of his voice. it all sounds so genuine, almost foreign on his tongue. satoru seems to be trying to find the right words, grumbling a little under his breath.

he’s cute, like this. kind of awkward, but that only makes him cuter. you nuzzle closer to him, comforted by his very existence.

”… i’ll work on it,” he whispers, at last. “i’ll listen to you. i promise. i really, really will.”

you think satoru’s voice wavers, just a little, when he says his final piece.

“so please don’t cry.”

this time, satoru doesn’t stop you when you attempt to lift your gaze, loosening his arms around you and raising his head from where it rests on top of yours.

your eyes meet. satoru is smiling, weakly. he tilts his head, looking at you with something you could only ever describe as love.

”okay?”

such a lovely smile. so painfully genuine. his eyes are on full display, shining in the dark of the night, like splotches of moonlight. like someone stole the moon down to earth, and carved out little pieces to put in his irises. an ethereal hue.

he’s so gorgeous. hair just a tad messy, tousled from all the running he did to get here. cheeks a little red from the cold. when he smiles, his eyes crinkle. but he looks almost pained.

(he was so, so worried.)

blinking away the tears clinging to your lashes, you simply stare, entirely mesmerized by the sight. satoru’s thumb goes to wipe at your glassy eyes, smoothing away the drops that threaten to fall. you want to engrave his expression into your memory, so you can never forget it. but it’s just a little too much.

so you hide in his chest, once more. the word that falls from your lips is tiny. “okay.”

satoru smiles, kissing the top of your head with a relieved exhale. bathing in your presence, still reeling from his show of vulnerability. he feels a little like he just cut himself open, let you peek inside his ribcage. the night air stings his skin.

but you’re so warm, hugging him tightly, breathing and heartbeat finally relaxed.

(he doesn’t mind it, not if it’s you — having you look inside his chest. if you asked, he’d let you build a shelter there. right between his fourth and fifth ribs.)

now that the words are out of his throat, they don’t burn at all. satoru feels a little silly, for being so scared to say them out loud. he knows you’d never use them against him.

all you do is snuggle closer, as if silently conveying your forgiveness.

you stand there for just a little while longer, wallowing in the tender atmosphere. finally, satoru makes a move to leave, and you begin to walk back home.

“sure you’re okay now, baby?”

you nod, exhaling a flurry breath. it turns into vapour in the cold of the air, drifting up and dissipating in the expanding starry sky. “yeah. thanks for coming so quickly.”

“of course,” satoru only says, choking back a yawn.

your hands are intertwined, and he’s halfheartedly swinging them back and forth. it soothes your anxiety, and satoru’s protective instincts. you know neither of you will slip away, like this.

you shiver a little, subconsciously inching closer to satoru to protect you from the harsh bite of the midnight breeze. he notices, giving you a glance and a tilt of his head. “you cold?”

“just a little,” you mutter, smiling weakly as you look up at him. ”i’m fine.”

satoru huffs. did you really think he’d be dissuaded by such a weak retort? there’s no way he’s letting you walk around all cold and shivering.

so you come to a standstill, as satoru begins to shrug off his coat. he refuses to let go of your hand for even a second, making the process slower than usual — your heart flutters a little, as his fingers curl around yours, delicately.

when he finally gets it off him, he wastes no time in draping it over your shoulders. it’s big on you, warm and soft, shielding you from the chilly air. satoru can’t help but giggle sheepishly, as he always does at the sight — you look so cute.

“c’mon. let’s go home,” he grins, ruffling your hair teasingly.

satoru doesn’t feel cold, not in the slightest, as he holds your hand tightly. just your presence is enough to warm his bones to the marrow.

the silence between you is comforting and soothing, as you continue to walk. hand in hand, admiring the starry sky. you’re both too tired to speak — but satoru does so, anyway.

“i meant it, y’know.” satoru sounds sleepy, but earnest. ”i really will work on it.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it, yawning softly and stretching his free arm. gaze fixed on the morning star.

“oh.” you pause, squirming a little. sheepish. “thank you. i’m sorry that i — i mean.” a sigh. “i probably overreacted a little.”

satoru shakes his head, waving off your guilt. “nah. you’re right. i never want you to feel like i’m not taking you seriously.”

his gaze meets yours, tentatively. his eyes shine like wedding rings. “you mean a lot to me.”

the sincere words manifest themselves as a heavy pressure to your chest, closing in on your heart as if crushing it. it’s a pleasant sensation, though, overwhelming as it is. you’re a little scared that your knees will buckle if he keeps this up, but even if they do, you wouldn’t want him to stop — satoru’s love is terrifically overwhelming when there’s nothing to hide it, when it’s just love and nothing else.

but you’d never reject it. you’d let it crush you to death with a smile on your face.

all you can do is avert your gaze, afraid that you’ll fall into the blue sea of his eyes if you don’t. heavy thumps of blood resound in your ears as your heart beats, warmth spreading throughout your entire body.

“… you mean a lot to me, too.” you echo, holding his hand just a little tighter. warmth rises to your cheeks. “i just felt really frustrated, i guess. like you were looking down on me. i know you weren’t actually, though.”

satoru chews at the inside of his cheek, almost anxiously. “i know i can be a little much sometimes,” he says, tasting the words on his tongue. “and i appreciate you for putting up with that. i’m sorry i let it go too far. i’ll be more considerate.”

your heart stutters in your chest. you’re not sure what to say — the way he forms his words makes them feel so absolute. and you believe him.

“i’ll be more considerate, too,” you echo, looking down at the pavement. “i shouldn’t have blown up like that.” a pause. you mumble, quietly, a little embarrassed. “i shouldn’t have told you to go fuck yourself.”

satoru breathes out an amused huff, chuckling lightheartedly. his eyes carry a teasing glint when they meet yours. “i probably deserved that. no worries.”

“still,” you pout. satoru giggles.

“we’ll both work on it, then,” he hums, tilting his head to find your gaze. “right?”

you blink. a small smile breaks out across your face. “right.”

satoru swings your hands back and forth, looking awfully happy with himself. you’re proud of him. really.

“oh —“ he says, breaking the sleepy silence once again. “and i’ll stop leaving wrappers around, too.”

this time, you’re the one who huffs out an amused breath. “thank you,” you grin, looking up at him. he thinks the sight is terribly precious.

a yawn leaves your lips, drowsiness sneaking its way into your bloodstream. you’re not sure if it’s due to the dark, or if you’re just a tad exhausted after all the arguing and panicking.

satoru notices, and gets an idea.

“you tired, baby?” he coos, eyes teasing but soft around the edges. “d’you want a piggyback ride?”

when you give him a look, sleepy and kind of exasperated, satoru grins. you huff out an amused breath, just a tad embarrassed, but it only spurs him on.

so he crouches down, one knee meeting the pavement, letting your hand slip from his. you blink, tiredly, at the loss of contact. you can’t see his face, but you know he’s wearing that lovesick, smug little grin of his.

”c’mon. your big, strong boyfriend’ll carry you.”

satoru’s feeling playful, you can tell. that’s usually a bad sign — but you can’t deny that you’re tired. and the prospect of getting carried all the way home is eerily tempting.

your gaze falls on his back, and his broad shoulders. silently, you walk towards him, and wrap your arms around his neck. satoru holds you up by your thighs, and then stands up, jostling you a little; he does so without a hitch, and you’re reminded of how strong he really is. his grip is secure, and you trust him not to drop you, no matter what.

you let out a content sigh, basking in the chill of the midnight air as you nuzzle your cheek against his soft hair. satoru chuckles.

”my sleepy lil’ sweetheart,” he coos, voice a tad raspy. ”lucky thing you’ve got me, huh?”

there’s a softness to his voice, despite the teasing tilt obscuring it. you can only huff out a breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and cling to him tighter.

satoru will get you home safe. he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and he can be bad with emotions — but you can always, always trust him on that.

so, with his coat shielding you from the chilly air, and his back warming you up as he carries you back to your apartment, you allow your eyes to flutter shut; enjoying the cozy feeling his presence brings you.

he’ll always be there when you need him.

#NOBODY LOOK AT MEEEEE i was having a gojo moment ok.#i just think hes. the perfect man. a silly goofy princess 98% of the time but when u need him to be there hes so comforting n secure.#i Need him.#also obsessed w the idea of gojo only calling u ’honey’ when hes being particularly sincere like that does smth to me man.#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader

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dimepdf · 2 years

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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑. + 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. you have Kiyoko and Tanaka to blame for your boyfriend Kenma's raging baby fever part one

pairing. dilf!kenma kozume x reader

word count. 1.2k

genre and warnings. domestic fluff, literally tooth rotting fluff, family fluff, established relationship, parenthood, family fluff, mentions of pregnancy, kenma with baby fever, tanaka and his devil daughter, suggestive ending, NOTE BETA'D | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

"Ah, ah! No, spit it out, booger!" Tanaka demands, snatching his daughter Nami into his arms.

Taking the object she was chewing out of her hands after seeing her pick it up off the ground and place it in her mouth. The toddler writhes in his arms and even snarls as if she were a barbaric monster in resistance to being picked up.

After giving their episode a casual glance, Kiyoko went back to eating unbothered by her husband's and daughter's usual behavior. "And for that reason, Kenma, you shouldn't play zombie video games with a three-year-old."

When the toddler was last at Kenma's house, he let her stay up way past her bedtime so he and Harue could play a few rounds of their favorite first-person shooter game before bed.

Kenma stiffened guilty at the jab, realizing that he might have had some minor impact on the toddler's behavior from that time.

For Kenma, it had simply become normal for him to assume that all kids were like his son and had become desensitized to the violent video games they were playing together.

You replied, looking at Kiyoko and grinning, "I had to persuade this man that GTA wasn't a kid's game." Kenma visibly winced as he thought back to the lengthy conversation he had to have with Harue after the boy had been found in the virtual strip club receiving a lap dance.

"You're supposed to be on my side," he groaned, head leaning into your shoulder. Muttering under his breath about how at least Harue knew when to give a good tip.

It was the first week of spring, so it wasn't too hot to stay inside and whine about the air conditioning, and it wasn't too cold that you needed to put on a jacket to keep yourself from shivering.

You eagerly agreed when Kiyoko texted that you should leave the house for the day for a small hangout at the local park to get some fresh air (mostly so she wouldn't strangle Tanaka).

The boys need some much-needed sunshine, always glued to their screens inside, so you had to pry them away from their video games and drag them to the park in a bribe that you would spend the night the entire weekend and hang out with them.

Harue made use of his time at the park after taking Harue's away his switch and releasing him into the wild. You watched with a smile as he had already gathered a group of friends to run around with at the park.

Kenma was not so lucky at finding entertainment, not knowing how to make many conversations with Tanaka as the two men had drastically different hobbies outside of work.

So he did what he did best: glued himself to your side the entire time, watching the children play while remaining utterly silent and with a bored expression on his face, but it was clear that he was simply just lost in thought.

You choose to ignore him and shift your attention to Kiyoko, who was leaning against the picnic table holding a sizable red Tupperware bowl and a plastic fork. You had no idea what bizarre food combinations she was eating this morning.

She would often talk to you about the strange cravings she had developed after learning she had gotten pregnant.

To the point where you were almost starting to worry about the facetime calls, you would get from her scarfing down whatever she could grab in her kitchen or order from her phone.

"Hey lady, how are you feeling?"

She answers with a sigh."So fucking pregnant but mostly just hungry,"

"Well, you are eating for three now. Gotta feed those two little devil babies in ya." You light-heartedly tease.

Kiyoko hums, rubbing the front of her big belly. "Don’t speak badly of them too much, I'm convinced they smell fear."

★ . . . !

Once you've made it back to Kenma's penthouse, the rest of the day goes on as usual.

You took up your usual spot in the living room and made use of the 85-inch flat screen to catch up on a Netflix show you've decided to binge, the two boys immediately dispersed back to their respective rooms like addicts going back to playing their games.

It was a nice comforting moment alone that you would have until the boys got tired of staring at their computer screens and both scrambled into your personal space to watch the show without much complaint.

While Kenma occupied the other side of you and curled up in your chest, Harue was sprawled out against the couch, his head resting against your thigh. Both boys were the world's clingiest cuddle bugs, convinced they were the same person split into two.

After giving a small grunt and picking Harue up into his arms, Kenma shuffled his feet against the floor and left the room to tuck the child into the comfort of his bed. He returned, slouching back into his place, as you had to hold back your yawn letting him snuggle into you, his head resting against your chest.

He makes a humming sound that almost sounds like he has been holding back on speaking. Over the volume of the show, you hardly hear it. He finally hesitates before asking, "Have you ever thought about having a baby?"

Your brows had actually raised in surprise as you looked down at him after the question. You only needed to notice the slight gleam in his eyes to know everything.

Kenma considered wanting a second child, let alone having one with you. You gently answer back, "Oh, uh, I mean kinda," being careful not to answer wrongfully.

Kenma looks away from you while he plays with the sweatshirt's hem strings. "Kind of?" he repeats again in the hopes that you will clarify.

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't mind it," you sighed, losing all interest in the show. "It's just, I don't know, I prefer the whole tradition thing; getting married for love and then planting roots and starting a big family, you know."

"I could propose to you," Kenma admitted, his face glowing with excitement at the prospect of being married to you. "And then maybe you could move in. I’m sure Harue would love it—"

"Woah, Kenma, slow down," you interrupted, pushing away to give him enough space to sit up as you took his hand. "How about we just take it one step at a time, okay? First, I’ll move in, and then maybe much later we could have the marriage talk alright?"

Kenma smiles softly, interlacing your fingers with his as he brings your hand up to kiss your knuckle. "Okay, sorry, of course, we can take it slow," he agrees with a nod.

"Also, do you realize how much harder it would be to have two kids running around?" you input, snatching your hand away to push at his chest. "I just had to teach you how to do your own laundry last week."

"In case you’ve forgotten, I raised Harue all on my own," Kenma pouts, pushing you back. "And he is a perfectly normal four-year-old," he adds lastly.

"Yeah, I know you did an amazing job, and I am very proud of you for that," Kenma's eyes darken with a glint, the compliment going straight to his dick as he tilts his head to the side, glancing at your lips before smiling at you.

You groaned, head leaning forward into his chest, taking a minute to juggle the pros and cons before muttering.

"Okay fine, but you better get me a pretty fucking ring."

🔖 @yazmunson / @prblmtic / @zuuki / @awkwardaardvarkforever / @jadeisthirsting / @urlocaltannenbaum / @pidwidge / @thisbicc /

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theveryfires · 2 years

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separate ways | eddie munson x reader

summary: we can't choose who we love, and we never mean to hurt those that love us when stars don't align.

an: this is really a eddie x chrissy fic with some very painful moments for the reader. i had alot of fun writing this so i hope you guys like it!

“You love her, don’t you?” Y/n had noticed months ago, the first spark obviously being the talent show. She had sat front and centre for her best friends band, whilst the rest of the school had looked on with horror, y/n had been singing along. But he had barely looked at her, his focus on a perfectly pinned ponytail and gentle smile. Chrissy was sat at the back, pretending to care about whatever Jason was talking about but she was staring at him, a light blush tinging her cheeks that Jason thought he had caused. Chrissy was always the nicer one of the popular bunch, but she still went against everything the Hellfire club believed in. He had always emphasised how important being yourself was, how he didn’t care about the status quo losers and yet here he was falling in love with the head cheerleader.

Eddie knew it was wrong, everything in him fighting against it whilst his heart tumbled out towards her every time she glanced his way. They had one or two classes together, Chrissy was never sat anywhere near him of course but every now and then they were paired up to complete a project together. Eddie had done his usual act, that he didn’t care about school or nothing but she had seen right through him. Chrissy knew he cared, knew he could be gentle and kind, that he wasn’t some big scary satanist like the rest of the town wanted her to believe. Of course she had been scared at first, but he had a way of getting under her skin without even knowing what he was doing.

It all really started to spiral out of control a few weeks ago. It had been raining one afternoon and Jason had completely forgotten about her, probably drunk with his friends in that run down burger stop instead of picking up the so called love of his life after cheer practice. Eddie had just got out of detention, already in his van when he drove past the now drenched cheerleader. He didn’t know what made him do it, he owed her nothing but part of him couldn’t leave her out there in the cold. Chrissy had stepped back a few paces when he pulled up and it made his heart sink, she was scared of him just like everyone else. He got out the van, hoping it would make him appear less scary than if he just wound his window down. “Hi…i uhm, well your place is on my way home if you want me to give you a ride?” His hair was sticking to his face, rain running down his arms as he held his hand out towards her. Chrissy opened her mouth, trying to point out that she lived on the complete other side of town then the trailer park but Eddie beat her to it. “I can drop you off around the corner? So your parents don’t see you with the town freak, if that helps?” It was Chrissy’s turn for her stomach to drop, her chest aching as she smiled softly up at the metalhead. “I don’t think you’re a freak, Eddie Munson.” Something in him snapped that day, maybe it was all the hatred that he had for the cliques of Hawkins, all the hell they had put him through suddenly melted away in that one moment of kindness. Thats what made him love Chrissy Cunningham, she was kind, even to freaks like him. Once they were both in his van, Eddie became aware of how gross it was. Chrissy was sitting next to him but she didn’t look real, sort of out of place surrounded by beer cans and year old cigarette butts. “Sorry about the uh..mess. Pretty girls aren’t exactly my usual ride share.” Eddie had said it before he could stop himself, heart once again in his throat as he froze. But Chrissy didn’t shove him away, she didn’t act disgusted or even ignore him, she smiled. The wide grin and giggle that came with it woking like a balm over Eddie’s various high school wounds. “You think I’m pretty?”

Chrissy had never felt so comfortable with someone. Eddie made her laugh, something no one had managed in months. His radio was on low as they drove through Hawkins, Led Zeppelin barely above a whisper. He was driving slowly, well slower then he usually did, partly so he didn’t scare her but also because he couldnt keep his eyes on the road. She was talking, asking him questions about Hellfire, what he wanted todo after school, if he was going to try get a record label with his band. “Do you really think a label would take us?” She had never seen him like this, the cocky facade forgotten as insecurity seeped into his usually confident voice. Chrissy had rolled her eyes playfully “Are you kidding?! Corroded Coffin are going to be huge, i can already see you now. Record deals, sold out stadiums, the whole rockstar works.” She was animated, moving her hands as she spoke with wide eyes, her voice growing from the usual whisper he was used to hearing. Eddie couldnt help but smile, running a hand through his hair before glancing over at the cheerleader in the passenger seat. “And what about you Chrissy Cunningham? What do you want after your rule at Hawkins High comes to its fairy tale end.” She hesitated at that, her eyes turning to the grey outside world around them. “I don’t know, I always wanted to be a writer growing up, maybe i will do that.” Eddie had sensed the sadness that so quickly had shut her off from him again. Slowly, hesitating and then thinking fuck it, Eddie reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Hey, you’re gonna do something great. The best selling author in New York, all writers live in New York.” Chrissy had laughed at that, but it was quieter than before. All too soon Eddie had pulled up around the corner from her home, but neither let go of each others hands. “Maybe I could visit you, in New York, yknow when Corroded Coffin sell out the garden.” Eddie got giddy at that, their future selves staring back through the windshield. “It’s a date, Chrissy.”

Eddie had jumped out his van once more, running to open the passenger door and helping her down. For a second the two hesitated walking away, sensing that they had started something neither would be able to control. Chrissy felt overwhelmed, here she was in the rain, just like in those silly rom-com movies with Eddie Munson. Quickly, before she could talk herself out it, she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Time might of stopped, the world, the whole damn universe came to a halt in that one moment. Eddie’s face turned bright red, feeling like he was 12 all over again. Chrissy had smiled up at him “Thanks for the ride.” Her words were whispered, and his hands were aching to hold her but she had ran off towards her home before he had the chance. Eddie couldnt believe it, that for the first time in his life someone had made him speechless, and worst of all it was the head cheerleader. “Anytime, Chrissy.”

That brought him back to now, back in the rain but now outside his friends house. Y/n and Eddie had been friends since Elementary, they had done everything together, practically fought through high school side by side. She was everything to him, but they were like brother and sister, at least thats what he had always thought. Now he wasn’t so sure, the pain in her voice still echoing around him as he watched her watch him through the downpour. Y/n was shivering, but she wouldn’t go near him despite his pleading. “What are you talking about?” Eddie knew what she was talking about, he knew she was about to shatter everything. He had known this was coming when she spotted him picking up Chrissy on the corner near her house when she had been on her way to get Dustin from the Wheelers. Their lovesick smiles, it had felt like a knife to the chest, to the heart. “Don’t do that Eddie, dont act like you don’t know what I’m fucking talking about. You and the head cheerleader, sneaking around, you fucking love her dont you!” Y/n couldn’t help the the anger in her voice, couldnt still the heaving of her chest as she glared up at Eddie. They had been through so much together, bullied by the same people that Chrissy considered friends, and here he was, in love with her just like everyone else in Hawkins. She knew she was jealous, she knew this wasn’t fair, but she couldnt help it. “So what if I love her Y/n! So what! Okay yeah i love her alright, she makes me happy okay! Is that what you want to hear? When I’m with her I dont feel like so much of a freak!” Those words settled under y/n's skin, tearing up her insides, burning everything she thought she knew. She was crying, tears mixing with rain, knees weak. Eddie was red in the face, his own words hitting him in the gut as he realised what he had said. But as he reached out for her, y/n stumbled away, shaking her head vehemently. “So what I’m hearing Munson, is with me your a freak and with her your what? Normal? The very thing we have fucking despised since we were kids?” Eddie shook his head, puppy dog eyes wide and shaking with frustration. “Yeah y/n, she makes me feel fucking normal is that a crime ?” A odd calm settled over y/n, like the calm before the storm. There was nothing in her eyes but betrayal, the green eyed monster glaring through her hazel eyes. “I loved you because you were a freak, not despite it. Remember that when she pretends you don’t exist in the hallways at school.” Y/n pushed past Eddie, trying to make her way back inside her home when his hand gripped her arm almost painfully. “For the record y/n, Chrissy never thought i was a freak in the first place.” Eddie let go of her arm, the formally inseparable pair going their separate ways.

Both their bones ached, the feeling of not being friends so alien. Y/n buried herself under her blankets, tears stinging her face as she tried to get a grip. Eddie hit the dashboard of his van, yelling ‘Fuck’ as his hand stung. A polaroid fell down from his mirror. It was him and y/n the day of the talent show, she had made a Corroded Coffin shirt and worn it proudly every day that week to school. Eddie was smiling next to her, arm wrapped around her shoulders and squashing their faces together. In the background Chrissy stood on stage, the talent show trophy in her hands as she grinned to the crowd. Eddie rubbed his face, turning on the radio in an attempt to drown out the entire afternoon. But for once, Journey only made things worse as ‘Seperate Ways’ began to play.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #fluff #angst #this one hurt to write lovelies

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themaladaptivewriter12 · 9 months

Text

Title: Bad Luck Crush

Part 1 of my “The Lion's Den” series!

Parings: None

Summary:

Mirai's crush on the Savanaclaw Housewrden, Leona Kingscholar, leads to a series of unfortunate events, and now on Leona's bad side, his chances with the Lion Beastman are good as gone.

cw: light angst, misunderstandings, light angst, bloody noses mentioned (not too graphic), fist fights (again, nothing too graphic), unrequited crushes (Maybe, who knows)

a/n: This is not a "Bullies to lovers" fic. Just putting that out there. This is more of me just playing around the the fact that Leona didn't like Yuu too much in the beginning, and let's face it he didn't, he tried to fight us after all.

Reblogs are appreciated, just use my custom tag, #TheMaladaptiveWriter12, if you do! (─‿‿─)♡

Cross posted from my Ao3: TheMaladaptiveWriter12

Mirai could remember the first time he really met the dorm head of Savanaclaw, Leona Kingscholar. It was in the Botanical Gardens. Grim and he had been looking for the Groundskeeper when he had accidentally stepped on Leona Kingscholar’s tail, mistaking it for a twig. And when Leona emerged from the bright green foliage, the golden hour painting his skin in the likeness of copper, his piercing green eyes cold like a predator's, and his long silky chocolate tresses messy from sleep, Mirai was smitten. And the most surprising Mirai the most were the fluffy lion ears and tail that adorned the man’s body. He had only seen that type of thing in Anime or in video games, and Mirai immediately wondered what they felt like. Then he spoke with that deep gravelly voice, threatening him in every inch of his life, and Mirai went weak at the knees. Luckily Ruggie Bucchi came along, defusing the situation, letting Mirai and Grim get away without a scratch on them. Mirai wouldn’t have minded taking on the hunk of a dorm head, but they had other matters to attend to.

Mirai chuckled at the memory, his walk through the Botanical Gardens reminding him of the sleepy Upperclassmen. He was currently in Potionology and for the day's lesson, Professor Crewel wanted the Freshman to write a short informational report on two plants from the Botanical Gardens, to familiarize the students of where their potion ingredients came from. There were so many plants they could choose from, so many worth writing about, and since Mirai couldn’t decide, he just picked two that looked the most interesting.

Mirai was the last one left to fetch his samples, Grim, Ace, and Deuce having long left to start their reports in the library, but Mirai didn’t mind, that meant he now had a quiet moment to himself. So now here he was, looking for Hummingbird Mint and Blazing Star, by himself, but luckily for him, both plants were located on the warmer side of gardens, making his search easier.

Mirai found the Blazing Star plant first, it was pretty, and it reminded him of cheerleading pom poms. Mirai got his sample bag and plucked off a flower, dropping it to the bag.

“Okay,” Mirai muttered to himself, “now the Hummingbird Mint.

Mirai made his way down the rows, enjoying the little walk he was taking. It was warm in the region he was in, little butterflies fluttering about. Mirai hummed to himself as he looked, but with all of them being sorted alphabetically, it wasn’t long until Mirai made his way to the “H’s”.

“Hummingbird, Hummingbird, ah, there it is, Hummingbird Mint,” Mirai chirped.

And just as he did the previous flower, Mirai got his sample bag and plucked off and dropped it in the little bag, sealing it up.

“It really does smell like mint,” Mirai hummed quietly, checking off the plant on his clipboard.

Mirai took a leisurely pace as he made his way back to the Alchemy Labs, sightseeing. He never really had time to look at the pretty flowers in the gardens outside of class, since there was always something on his plate. From keeping up with classes and homework, to helping his friends out of tricky situations, and working to be able to survive in a world he knew nothing about, Mirai was fully booked. But surprisingly, Mirai didn’t mind it, it was, dare he say fun. Back at home he would have killed just to get a break or a day off, but here, Mirai didn’t mind his busy schedule.

As Mirai made his way out, he checked the time, he hadn’t realized how long he’d been in the gardens, and now he was borderline late. Switching from his leisurely pace, Mirai started a light jog, speeding across the stone pathway. As he turned the corner, Mirai saw a huge mass in the middle of the path, but it was too late, he was already tripping over it, sending himself and all his things flying into the path ahead of him. Mirai hit the ground with a grunt, the wind knocked out of him.

“Do you runts really enjoy stepping on me?!”

“Wha-”

Mirai gasped as he was yanked up but the back of his lab coat, and thrown onto his back in the grass. Mirai looked up, staring into menacing green eyes.

“W-Wait Leona, I’m, I’m sorry, I didn’t m-mean it,” Mirai rambled, scooting away from the angry lion.

“Uh, huh,” Leona said sarcastically with a sneer, “that’s what you said the last time.”

Mirai scrambled, and dove into the foliage as Leona lunged at him. Mirai wove through the thick leaves, dodging branches, jumping over rocks and sticks, and Leona chased after him, hot on his heels. Suddenly Mirai choked out a grunt as he was slammed into the ground, not even getting a chance to breathe as Leona turned him around and punched him in the face. Mirai grunted upon the impact, pain blooming on his face. Leona punched him twice more before getting up off the Ramshackle Prefect, storming off.

Mirai lay there, staring wide-eyed through leaves at the glass ceiling above. Mirai didn’t know how long he lay there, heart pounding, face hot as he slowly reached up, tenderly touching his swelling cheek, fingers coming back red from the blood that smeared from his dripping nose. Mirai cackled loudly, smiling even though it hurt to do so. Yeah, he was absolutely smitten.

Friday evening rolled around, and that meant sorting out Professor Crewel’s potions and storage closet. Mirai’s thoughts, no matter how much he tried to revert them, were on the Savanaclaw dorm head. He thought about those sharp green eyes that looked at him like he was a mouse, those long brown waves that Mirai wanted nothing more than to brush his fingers through, and his pretty rich skin. He thought about the scar that went down the left side of his face, his deep voice, his sly smiles, his mirthful laughter, and his sloppy way of dress. But it wasn’t just his looks he was attracted to, it was his strong will, his cleverness, his strength, his confidence, and his lazy demeanor that he found endearing, Mirai couldn’t get enough.

“That’s Cumin, not Cinnamon,” Crewel gruffed.

Mirai jumped from his thoughts, face flushing red, “A-Ah, my mistake sir, sorry sir.”

“You’re not doing your best today, Little Papillon,” Professor Crewel scolded. “Bad boy!”

Mirai flushed again, shoulder shooting up to his ears, “S-Sorry sir-I-I mean, Professor Crewel.”

“Come sit, pup.” Professor Crewel led Mirai to his desk and gestured for him to sit down in the chair next to his. “Speak.”

“I, uh, is it wrong to crush on someone for punching you in the face?” Mirai vomited out in one breath.

“W-What?!”

“That answered my question.”

“You told me you tripped into a tree,” Professor Crewel shouted.

Mirai’s face was still badly bruised a dark purple against his pale skin, even though it happened three days ago. So anytime anyone asked, he just told them he tripped over something in the Botanical Gardens, and smashed his face into a tree.

“And get myself and get the guy I’m crushing on in trouble? Hard pass,” Mirai scoffed.

“Who punched you?” Professor Crewel grit out angrily.

“But is it wrong? That’s the question.”

“Yuhara, why in Twisted Wonderland would you fall in love with someone who punched you?”

“Because he’s strong, and he looked pretty doing it,” Mirai flushed.

Crewel just looked lost, and a little concerned.

“Okay, okay, so I had a crush on him before then, but then we got into a semi fight over a misunderstanding, then he punched me, and for some reason the look of pure rage etched on his face and the fierce look in his eyes made my heart skip a beat?” Mirai said, the end of his rant sounding more like a question.

Crewel sighed, exasperated, shoving his face into his hands.

Mirai laughed loudly.

“Why, why, why,” Professor Crewel muttered to himself.

Mirai giggled.

“Who was it?” Professor Crewel sighed, looking at Mirai, head resting in his hands.

“Will you get him in trouble?” Mirai asked, giggling.

“It happened three days ago, so technically I can’t do anything.”

“Leona.”

Crewel groaned loudly, turning his face back into his hands.

Mirai cackled.

“Why did he punch you?”

“Technically he punched me three times, b-”

“He punched you three times?!”

“Details, details. But yeah, but in his defense I accidentally stepped on him.”

“But didn’t you just say it was an accident?!”

“Technically this would be the second time I’ve accidentally stepped on him.”

Professor Crewel groaned into his hands, “What is wrong with you people?”

Mirai laughed again.

“Should I be concerned?” Professor Crewel asked.

“About what? Me or about Leona?” Mirai asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes, and no,” Mirai laughed, “I don’t see Leona going out his way to punch me again, since he got even last time. But me? I’m a lost cause.”

“You’re lucky I like you, Little Papillon.”

Mirai giggled.

“Does this talk mean I can count you to finish the closet, and not to mix the Chamomile with the Pineapple Weed?” Professor Crewel deadpanned.

Mirai laughed with a nod, standing to get back to organizing and taking inventory of the storage closet.

It was Saturday morning, and Mirai was sitting behind the counter at Mr. S’s Mysterious Shop, mindlessly playing with the scale, trying to get it to balance out perfectly. Sam was in the back for now doing inventory, so that meant Mirai was in charge of the front.

There was a chime at the door and Mirai straightened up quickly, business smile suddenly faltering as the object of his desire walked through the shop door with Ruggie in tow.

“Hey, Prefect,” Ruggie greeted, smile falling when he saw the big purple bruise on his face. “What happened?”

“Heyaz,” Mirai waved. “I tripped over something in the Botanical Gardens and smashed my face into a tree.”

Ruggie looked stunned and so did Leona.

“Go on, you can laugh. Ace sure did.”

Ruggie burst out laughing, clutching his stomach, “H-How do you m-manage to, to do that?!”

“Natural talent,” Mirai said with a wink. “So what can I help you with?”

Ruggie ordered a large amount of meat, some bread, cheese, some drinks, and a box of donuts. Mirai was ringing the stuff up when he found the price for the steak in the system and the price for the steak on the packaging didn’t match.

“On sec,” Mirai said, turning around, shouting, “Hey Sam?”

“Yes, Little Imp?” Sam called back.

“I’ve run into an issue with pricing, it doesn’t match!”

After a couple of seconds, Sam came out from the back room, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Now let’s see if we can figure this out,” Sam said looking at the pricing.

Mirai listened intently as Sam explained what had happened, a simple misprint, but he also explained how Mirai could find the right pricing if he ever got stuck in a situation like that or similar. As Sam explained Mirai could feel those cold piercing eyes on him again. Subtly, Mirai darted his gaze to the little desk mirror on the counter. Leona was looking at him. From this angle, Leona couldn't see himself, nor the Prefect in the mirror, but Mirai could see Leona. His deep green eyes were narrow, staring bullets into his skull, and Mirai couldn’t help but wonder if he actually was still mad.

“Here you go Little Imps, sorry for the wait,” Sam said apologetically, voice startling Mirai from his thoughts. “The donuts are on the house.”

Mirai helped bag, passing it off to Ruggie, who happily took the box of free donuts. And as he did so, he still felt those eyes on him until the pair left.

Monday rolled around, and that meant gym class with Coach Vargas. Mirai didn’t like gym class, he never liked it. It was too much work, too humiliating for a dumb grade, but today, Coach Vargas decided on bringing out the soccer balls, which meant they got to choose who they wanted to play with, what they played and how they played. So Mirai, Ace, Deuce, and Grim all decided on a simple game of passing the ball back and forth. It was almost therapeutic passing the ball to each other while they joked around with each other, talking about anything or anyone. And the best part of it was that they were getting a passing class grade for the day just for fooling around.

Mirai laughed as a group of guys, along with Coach Vargas, ran by playing a serious game of soccer. They were all sweaty and red in the face, and Mirai couldn’t understand why they would pass up such an opportunity to not do anything and get graded for it.

“You wanna play, Deuce?” Ace asked.

Mirai looked back at Deuce who was staring intently at the game.

“A-Ah, no, well, k-kinda,” Deuce stuttered.

“Aw, then go play,” Mirai said, feeling a little guilty. “Don’t let us ruin your fun.”

“Nah. And besides, it wouldn’t be fun without you guys.”

Mirai’s heart warmed at his words.

Ace laughed loudly, “Ew! Enough with the sappy stuff! Gross!”

“Hey,” Deuce shouted, “Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

Mirai laughed as the two bickered back and forth.

“Okay, okay. How about this,” Mirai said, breaking the two up, “We got ten minutes of class, so how about a game of keep-away until the bell rings?”

“Two on Two?” Ace asked.

“Mn, but to make it fair, Deuce, you gotta take Grim.”

“What?!” Deuce shouted.

“Mrah?!” Grim yelled.

“Deucey, your athletic ability is enough for two people, and I can’t play well, to even the playing field, me and Ace will take you and Grim on,” Mirai explained.

“I guess it does seem fair,” Deuce muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

“And besides, Grim plays very well, for a cat. It’s his inability to work with others you gotta watch for.”

Ace cackled and Grim and Deuce balked at Mirai’s words.

“Ready, set, go,” Mirai said in one breath, taking a head start, kicking the ball away from the group.

“Hey,” Deuce and Grim shouted.

Ace laughed, running after the group.

Before they knew it, Coach Vargas blew the whistle, signaling the end of class, and Mirai offered to put the ball away.

“You sure?” Deuce asked.

“I’m just putting it in the shed,” Mirai said, waving Deuce off, “Be back in a minute.”

Mirai jogged across the field to the equipment shed. It wasn’t far from the locker rooms, so it wasn’t a problem really. Mirai pulled open the shed door, and of course there were soccer balls everywhere.

“Can’t they just put them on the rack?” Mirai muttered angrily. With a tired sigh, he got to work.

It didn’t take too long, but Mirai managed to put all twenty-six balls on the rack. As Mirai pushed the rack in place, a volleyball from another rack fell from where it was precariously stacked against the wall. Mirai glared at the ball, just wanting to change out. Maybe he could chuck it back up there, then call it a day? Mirai grabbed the ball, taking a step back and then shot the ball up onto the rack. The ball, in fact, did not make it on top of the rack. Mirai flinched as it bounced off the rack, sending the ball back his way, and the rack toppling over and falling into the corner. As the rack fell, clattering into the back wall, there was a shout. Mirai stopped dead in his tracks because volleyballs were not supposed to talk.

“What in-Ima kill whoever did that!”

“Uh oh,” Mirai winced. He really was becoming more and more familiar with that voice.

A mop of brown hair shot up from the corner, a pair of lion ears stood upright with alert, and with a growl, Leona shoved the rack, sending it flying across the shed. Mirai flinched, ducking with a shout, as the rack flew by, smashing into the back wall, volleyballs flying and bouncing every which way. When Mirai cracked an eye open, Leona was fuming, green eyes glaring his way.

“H-Hey, Leona,” Mirai stuttered, “H-How’s it going?”

Leona growled deeply, baring his teeth. “You,” Leona shouted, climbing from his spot in the corner.

“Gotta go,” Mirai shouted quickly, chucking the ball in his hands, and just his rotten luck, it collided into Leona’s face. Leona groaned with a curse, falling backwards into the corner, holding his nose.

Mirai sprinted out of the shed, and back to the locker rooms where he quickly shucked off his gym uniform, pulling his school one on.

“What’s the hurry man?” Ace asked as he lounged on the bench, scrolling through his phone. Grim and Deuce stared curiously at Mirai.

“It seems the universe hates me and I really don’t wanna die today, so Ima get a head start,” Mirai rambled, getting his things.

“What are you-”

There was a bang on the far side of the locker room, before a furious voice roared, “Herbivore!”

Mirai jumped out of his skin, “See ya!”

Mirai opened one of the windows and jumped through, sprinting as far away as he could from the locker room.

Twisted Wonderland seemed to have it out for Mirai, testing his limits by putting him on a rigorous trial that consisted of Mirai being in horrible situations with the Savanaclaw dorm head, Leona Kingscholar. First there was the lunch mishap where Mirai accidentally bumped the third year, causing Leona to drop his grilled cheese sandwich, and it was the very last one. Then there was the mishap in the hall where Mirai dropped a stack of Professor Trein’s textbooks on Leona’s foot, then there was the time where Mirai dropped a can of soda, causing it to explode, sending it flying down the hall in right onto the ground at Leona’s feet, where it then spat sticky purple liquid all over his vest and shirt. Mirai felt horrible about all of it, it all probably taking a toll on the Beastman as much as it was him.

Mirai was currently in Potionology, and Professor Crewel was explaining the day’s lesson plan, and unfortunately, Mirai was lost in thought. He felt horrible about his streak of bad luck with him and Leona, and to top it all off, he was still crushing on the lion. Mirai supposed his chances, assuming even if had a chance to begin with, were gone. Mirai sighed tiredly, heart in his stomach.

“Oi! Are you gonna start already or are we just gonna sit here all class?”

Mirai jumped, slipping a bit, but never falling. Of course the object of his desire, which was also the source of his suffering, was standing in front of him, lab coat and all.

“W-What, what are you-”

“You weren’t listening were you?” Leona deadpanned.

Mirai flushed, shaking his head guiltily.

Leaon threw his head back, groaning exasperatedly, muttering curses to himself. “Ya’know, I could just let you fail right here?” Leona gruffed.

“Sorry,” Mirai muttered, eyes downcast.

“But I need this grade too, so Ima only explain this once. Listen carefully.”

The lesson was simple really. They were paired with an Upperclassman to make a simple swamp potion. Leona kept the pint sized cauldron warm as Mirai fetched the ingredients, Frog’s Breath, Mucus of a Forest Lizard, Toadstool Mushrooms, Algae, Toad Venom, and Mandrake Root.

First they added some water and waited for it to boil, after that it was time to add the ingredients.

“Lizard Mucus,” Leona droned, “add it.”

Mirai nodded, pouring in the viscous mucus, scraping it out with a spoon.

“Toadstool.”

“How many?” Mirai asked.

“Three.”

Mirai used forceps as he dropped in three mushrooms

“Toad Venom.”

Mirai poured in the milky white liquid, the contents of the pot taking on a white color, the liquid becoming thicker.

“Frog’s breath,” Leona sighed.

Mirai picked up the beaker filled with foggy smoke, its contents swirling around as Mirai turned about the beaker. He didn’t know how that was even in there, or how he was supposed to even add it to a liquid, but Mirai stopped questioning things around here a long time ago. Pulling the cork off the beaker, Mirai quickly tipped the glass, and as if it was a liquid, the fog poured from the beaker into the cauldron. Mirai stared wide eyed as the smoke cascaded down into the potion.

“That actually worked,” Mirai whispered in awe.

Leona snorted a laugh, “Why wouldn’t it?”

“This definitely isn’t possible where I’m from.”

Leona went silent, a look on his face that Mirai couldn’t decipher.

“So,” Mirai said, “what’s next?”

As Leona instructed, Mirai added the Algae, and the Mandrake Root, and now their potion was done, judging how it matched the color, which was a dark green, the texture, which was slimy, and the consistency, which as a thick viscous one, just like how textbook described.

Mirai got sad at the last ingredient, the Mandrake Root, knowing that those roots were previously alive at some point, with little faces, and running legs.

“What’s the matter? Got some in your eye?” Leona gruffed as he poured potion into a beaker.

Mirai shocked his head, keeping his head down, eyes glaring at the potion.

“Ya tired?”

Mirai shook his head.

“Then what’s up?!”

Mirai was quiet before he sighed, “I-It’s not fair.”

“What? You poutin’ because you wanted mix?!” Leona asked befuddled.

“No! It’s not fair that those poor Mandrakes had to die,” Mirai cried, eyes welling up with tears.

Leona stood there dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say or do. The Prefect was actually upset over the Mandrake Root.

“Good boy,” Professor Crewel praised, “You two did well-wh-what’s wrong, pup?”

Mirai shook his head.

“Kingscholar,” Professor Crewel growled.

“Can it, Crewel,” Leona huffed, “He’s cryin’ over the Mandrake Roots.”

Professor Crewel’s angered expression dropped into a sympathetic one. “Little Papillon, we’ve been over this before.”

“I-I know,” Mirai whimpered.

Professor Crewel sighed, placing a hand on Mirai’s head, “Since you two passed, would you like to hold one until class ends?”

Mirai looked up at Professor Crewel hopefully.

“Speak.”

“C-Can I?” Mirai asked.

“Yes you can,” Professor Crewel said walking off.

There was a loud screeching from the back room, and the lab went silent, multiple students jumping in their seats, and not long after, Crewel returned, red pumps clicking on the stone floors, as he made his way back to Mirai and Leona with a small Mandrake squirming in his hands.

“Here,” Professor Crewel said, slowly handing over the living plant.

“Thanks, Professor Crewel,” Mirai mumbled, taking the root.

As Professor Crewel handed it over, its distressed squirming calmed down as Mirai held it, its screaming calming down to little chirps. Crewel scoffed at its behavior, leaving Mirai so he could check on the rest of the class.

Mirai held the Mandrake with a hand under its arms and his other under its legs, and it continued to chirp as Mirai sat down at the lab table, setting the Mandrake down. The root stood up from its sitting position, slipping over its long root-like feet as it tried to walk on the smooth surface. Mirai chuckled as he lay on his arms, resting on the table. Leona sat down on the other side of the table, eyes transfixed on the walking root.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Mandrake act like that,” Leona gruffed as the Mandrake chirped, playing with the Prefect’s hand.

“You just gotta be nice, is all,” Mirai muttered, voice sounding stuffy from crying.

“That really bothered you?” Leona asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

“Yeah,” Mirai whispered, “There’s just something about knowing that the Mandrake here is just like the one I had to use in a potion. I don’t know, it's just…”

Mirai sighed, running a finger across the leafy top of the root, listening to it croon at the petting.

“But it’s just like our food, ya know,” Leona said, “Chicken, bacon, hamburgers, fish, it all was living.”

“I-I know, but I just, It’s just, I don’t know,” Mirai sighed, “It just feels wrong to me, like, it’s not fair.”

Leona hummed quietly.

The mandrake tottered around the table, slipping and teetering back and forth. Mirai stuck out a finger, brushing against the root, and Leona stuck out his hand as well, reaching for the Mandrakes head. The Mandrake jumped at his presence, slipping and scurrying to hide behind Mirai’s arm. Leona growled, his expression something close to a pout.

Mirai breathed a laugh, moving his arm, “It’s okay. The big bad lion won’t hurt you.”

“Oi,” Leona shouted.

Mirai held the Mandrake up to Leona. The Mandrake wasn’t too happy about it, but it didn’t protest as Leona ran a clawed finger across the root’s tufted head. The Mandrake chirped at the touch, nuzzling the lion’s finger.

The bell rang, signaling the classes end, and Mirai sighed.

“I’ll clean up,” Leona said, “you can put the plant back.”

Mirai nodded, a small smile in thanks as he got up to give the root to Crewel.

Somehow, there was a horrible mishap on the second level exterior hallway causing it to now need extensive cleaning. Mirai volunteered, and Ace, per Riddle’s demand, did as well, to help clean up after classes. Professor Trein even went as far as bribing the students by telling them that the first several students who volunteered got a reward dished out by the Headmage himself. So here Mirai was, mopping the stone floors, humming to himself, while Ace wiped down the columns, grumbling, muttering curses under his breath.

“Why do I gotta do this?!” Ace huffed, chucking the sodden dishrag down onto the floor, the cloth making a wet splat sound.

“Would you rather be cleaning at your dorm?” Mirai asked, “Wasn’t Riddle in a bad mood today?”

Ace cringed, picking up the rag again, “Still doesn't mean I wanna spend my time cleaning.”

Mirai chuckled, shaking his head and went back to mopping.

It got hot after a while, and Mirai tossed his blazer off, setting it on one of the clean railings, and Ace did the same, rolling up his sleeves, getting back to work. One of the third years called for a break, leaving to go get a soda, and Mirai, Ace, and a couple of others raced to the archways, sticking their heads out like dogs in a car, enjoying the weather.

“Man, this is nice,” Ace sighed.

“Yeah,” Mirai sighed.

The pair sat side by side, looking out at the courtyard below. It was relatively empty, but the lack of people made it so serene and peaceful. Many students around this time were either in a club activity, eating, studying, or just enjoying life. The wind blew the leaves on the trees, creating a calming sound that relaxed the Ramshackle Prefect. It made him a little homesick. He missed the summers in his world. He missed the Summer Fairs in America, eating cotton candy, candy apples, corn dogs, popcorn, hot dogs, and drinking blue raspberry slushies. He missed betting with his friends on who’d throw up first after eating a load of greasy fair food and going on a number of fast rides together. Maybe he’d get some ice cream later?

“Okay, let’s finish this up,” Mirai sighed, stretching.

Mirai went back to mopping the floors, making sure to get up whatever it was that exploded all over the hallway. Ace scrubbed the doors with a coarse hand brush, and there were a couple of other students washing the walls, and others washing the carpets. But with their group effort, they were able to get the exterior hallway cleaned in under two hours.

“Nice job everyone,” a Pomefiore student with long platinum hair gushed, “Such beautiful team effort!”

“What should we do with the water?” a brunette asked, ignoring him.

“I don’t know,” a blonde third year student said, “toss it out the window.”

Everyone looked skeptical, but when the blonde picked up the bucket and dumped the dirty water off the side, and nothing happened, everyone else grabbed a bucket. Going down the line, the brunette dumped his bucket, then a strawberry blonde, then a short freshman with cat ears, then the Pomefiore student, then Ace, and lastly Mirai.

With a grunt, Mirai sat his bucket on the ledge and tilted it, dumping the dirty sudsy water out. As he poured, there suddenly there was a startled screech from below, and everyone sped to the edge, sticking their heads out to see what happened. Stories below Mirai’s archway was Leona, soaked to the bone, and seething with rage. Mirai gasped as their eyes met, his hands slipping, spilling the rest of the water, the bucket falling right on the lion’s head with a loud thunk.

Mirai and the rest of the students were speechless as they stared down at Leona who was growling, baring his teeth at everyone, mostly Mirai, up above.

“I’m gonna kill you, Herbivore,” Leona screamed, “Ya hear me?! Ima kill you!”

“Shoot,” someone whispered.

And like that, everyone dispersed, sprinting from the exterior hallway.

“You’re gonna die man,” Ace hissed.

“I know,” Mirai hissed back.

“I wasn’t here, I wasn’t here, you guys don’t know me, I don’t know you,” the short cat student babbled, terrified.

There was a bang and the doors at the end of the hall flew open, revealing a sopping wet, fuming Leona, and the group stopped in their tracks, frozen in fear.

“You,” Leona seethed.

“Run,” the blonde hissed.

You didn’t have to tell Mirai twice and he booked it in the other direction. Leona passed everyone out, hunting the Prefect down.

“He’s fast,” the strawberry blonde said.

“He’s dead,” Ace deadpanned.

“Let us pray to the great seven that he’ll make it to see the sun again,” the Pomefiore student said, bowing his head, clasping his hands together.

Mirai weaved down the halls, pushing through doors, slides on the corners to make it out of the building. And to make matters worse, he could hear the aggravated haggard breathing coming from Leona getting closer and closer to him, his loud footsteps getting louder and louder. Mirai found an open classroom as he turned a corner, slipping inside, driving behind a row of desks. Leona wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it, entering the classroom after him, and Mirai knew that, but he also knew if he played his cards right, he could slip out while Leona looked for him.

Suddenly, the sound of the door shutting, the lock snapping in place had Mira frozen, his heart sinking into his stomach, the sound echoing in his ears. He was dead meat, wasn’t he?

“You’re not getting out of this one,” Leona growled.

Ice cold with fear, Mirai crouched down, crawling down the steps away from the sound of Leona ragged breathing. As Leona went right, Mirai went left, making his way down the lecture hall. Mirai made it to the middle of the room, and peaked from behind the desk. Leona was on the other side, looking behind the desks. Mirai took the chance to scurry across the room. Mirai continued, crawling on his hands and knees. He passed another row, and didn’t see Leona, and the same outcome for the next three rows. Mirai made it to the bottom of the lecture hall, crawling out from behind the front row of desks when he saw a pair of green eyes staring back at him.

“Get over here,” Leona yelled, running towards him.

Mirai screamed, sprinting back up the stairs, but didn’t get far as Leona dove after him, sending the two of them rolling down the stairs. Leona ended up on top, wringing the Prefect up by the collar, and Mirai threw his arms up, shielding his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mirai chanted over and over, breathing haggardly.

“You ain’t sorry,” Leona growled, “You’ve been doin’ this all week.”

“I’m sorry,” Mirai gasped, “I-I-, It, It was an-an accident.”

“You expect me to believe all of that was an accident?!”

“Y-Yes, yes! It was an accident,” Mirai gasped out.

Leona growled, throwing Mirai down on the floor.

“Whaddya gonna do to make up for it?” Leona growled.

“Wh-What?”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rearrange your face right now.”

“I-, a-anything, anything,” Mirai gasped out, arms still crossed over his face, “Anything in the realm of reasonability.”

Truth be told, Mirai wasn’t guarding his face for protection, not anymore, he really was covering the deep blush that colored his cheek, too deep to be from running for his life. His heart was pounding for many different reasons, as was the cause of his heavy breathing.

“Whaddaya mean?”

“L-like I’m not being your doormat,” Mirai huffed, moving his hands, “or your foot rest. You might as well get it over with and punch me.”

Leona stopped to think for a second before speaking, “This weekend, you’ll be my assistant. You’ll do anything I tell ya to do, and Ion want any lip from you.”

“Why would you want that?” Mirai scoffed, “Ruggie not enough for you?”

“Nah, I just wanna see how long it takes until someone like you breaks.”

Mirai sneered at him, his teeth grinding behind curled lips.

“Take it or leave it, Herbivore.”

“On my hours,” Mirai spoke again, standing to look the Beastman dead in the eyes.

“Huh?” Leona asked, looking a bit taken aback.

“I don’t have the liberty like Ruggie to come to you at your beck and call. I can’t afford to skip classes, and I can’t afford to miss my shift with Sam. I don’t have the liberties like the rest of you.”

Leona looked surprised at Mirai’s confession. Not many besides Ruggie were brave enough to make demands like that, but what also surprised him was the Prefect's determination.

“Deal or no deal?” Mirai asked.

“Fine,” Leona gruffed, “But don’t think you’re gonna have it easy, Herbivore. I’m not letting you off the hook until I see fit. The moment you mess up, you’re gonna have more than a black eye to worry about.”

“Give me your best shot,” Mirai smirked.

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tainted-by-skeletons · 15 days

Text

Reader X Sans X Grillby (Part 4)

NSFW Warning

What's getting him horny now?! Is he a sadist?! Oh God. This was a huge mistake. A sadist and a monster is a very terrifying mix!

“Haaah!~”

I wasn't wanting to get beat up that night, but Sans wasn't very powerful. If he wanted to hurt me he'd have to put in a lot of effort. So the fear wasn't overpowered by my lust.

“Hey. Grillby. I think he's had enough.” Sans told us suddenly.

No! You choose now to be a wet blanket again?!

“Ohhh…” Grillby sighed. “Do you think I'm being too hard on your friend?”

“Nah. It's not that. I just think you should take off his shirt now. And maybe we can make him sit with us like that for a while.”

“What?!”

“Ooohhh Saaans~ You're finally joining the fun. I'm so happy.” Grillby said as he slid his hands up my hips and took hold of my shirt.

“A-aah!”

He pulled up on the shirt with such force I couldn't keep my arms down. And he successfully undressed me. I was now standing in only my underwear, socks and shoes. Sans made an expression of slight interest at the sight of my naked chest, and casually put an arm on the bar and leaned over a bit. Still very obviously checking me out.

“Wha-ha-ah! W-what’s the deal with you?! Why are you- l… looking at me like that…” I asked shyly.

“What. Have a problem with it? I can stop and you can put your clothes back on. Maybe I was right. Maybe we shouldn't try to force anybody tonight.”

“Rrrr! If you think you're getting revenge or somethi- Hey!”

I forgot Grillby was behind me. He picked me up easily and sat me down on one of the bar stools.

“Now be a good boy. Maybe Sans will strip down too.” Grillby offered.

“Yeah. Tell me you want to see me naked and I'll do it.” Sans told me.

“What?! You're kidding.”

I knew he just wanted to see me squirm. And I knew I couldn't muster the courage to say it without faltering. I had to choose between my pride and my penis. The correct choice was obvious to me.

“C-can I- er. Uh… I really want to see you naked. Sa… p-please.” I whispered.

“Oooh. What was that? Were you wanting to say my name?”

“Uh!” I quickly turned back to my drink. The condensation dripping down the glass reminded me it was nice and cold. So I took a sip to cool my hot and bothered body.

“Do it. Say my name.”

“S…sans…” I murmured, eyes still fixed on my drink.

A flash of blue light appeared on my left side. Before I could figure out what it was, my chair gave out from under me somehow. I fell onto the floor.

“Look at me and say it.”

I looked up and Sans hooked his pink slipper under my chin. Forcing my head up at an uncomfortable angle.

“Sans!” I panted.

*Tszzzz*

“Fuck!”

Sans and I turned to see Grillby leaned against the counter tripping over himself doing… something. Sans looked over and I stood up to see what it was. Grillby ran to the back of the bar behind a wall. Sitting on the bar was a small blob of something orange-ish red and kinda black. I reached over to touch it and...

“Don't. That's magma. Heheh. I guess Grillby was drooling. Like… literally drooling at us.”

I snickered at that just as Grillby rushed back into the room with a large silvery towel. He put it over the magma as a small fire had started on the table.

“Rraaagghhhh.” Grillby growled.

I had never seen him so mad. Before that night I hadn't seen Grillby showing much emotion at all really.

“You're really fired up today.” I accidentally joked.

“Pftt Hahahaha! Nice one man!”

“Ah shit. Heheh. I didn't mean to make a pun.”

Sans was far from his sadistic, horny mood now. I wasn't getting anything else out of him. I sighed and turned to Grillby. He looked furious. He pointed to Sans and said,

“You. Strip. Now.” In a terrifyingly demanding voice.

Sans simply shrugged.

“Eh. I don't like to break promises. Guess this might as well happen tonight. Sorry Y/N. Hope this doesn't make things awkward.”

Sans hopped off the bar stool and slid off his jacket.

“Heheh. Don't worry. You can go back to your own place after this and drink until you forget it.” I offered.

“And what about you?” Sans asked as he pulled up his shirt. Showcasing a set of thick ivory ribs and… a blue jello-y looking torso underneath it?

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh.”

“Hey. Don't get all flustered yet. I haven't even gotten to the good part.”

“Wh- uh.”

I was shocked to hear that Sans had confidence in his package. He slid off his pants and showed me exactly why. Underneath his pants were no underwear. Which I didn't understand since he had a somewhat normal body, but he was also sporting a mostly erect penis.

Aggghhh! He's huge! That's not fair! I can't believe of all people he'd be the guy with a big dick!

Sans' member looked about five inches. Which isn't impressive, but the girth was insane. I could tell he was still not fully up yet either. So it had to be six or seven inches at most.

“Oh God…” I muttered without thinking.

Sans' penis twitched at my accidental compliment.

“Aw Jeez. You're makin’ me blush.”

“Errr uhhh. I just uhhh- I didn't know skeletons would have those.”

“Yup. You look like you don't believe it. Are you wanting to come make sure it's real?”

“Well now that you say that~ I'm almost convinced it is fake! I better check.” I said, nodding.

“You might have to get in line. I think it's only fair if Grillby checks first. You okay Grillbz?”

Grillby was standing dead still, staring at Sans. He didn't seem like he had that much alcohol before, but he was clearly plastered. I couldn't think of any other reason he would be acting so differently that night.

“Um…” Grillby shook his head and looked up at Sans’ face. “Yes. Sorry. You're just so… captivating.”

“Ah!-”

Now a compliment like that got Sans going. He stuttered nonsense and looked down to the floor. Only to quickly notice that his dick had swelled in appreciation of the compliment.

Good to know. Sans has a bit of a praise kink. I wouldn't expect such a laid back, lazy, kinda sloppy guy to be a sadist with a thing for praise. I'd expect that from Mettaton or something.

Grillby passed me and took hold of Sans' shoulders. He slowly slid his fingers down Sans' arms, down his blue jelly torso, and paused just above his dick. Knelt on the floor, Grillby started gently running his fingers up and down the thick shaft.

“I can't believe you've been hiding this from everyone. Scared you're gonna break somebody with it?”

“Mnn…Heheh. It can't be that big.”

Sans was maintaining his confidence, but it wouldn't last very long.

“Oh that's riight~ My little skeleton has never seen a pussy before.”

“Hey. Don't call me-”

“Pft. Wait, really? You've never seen one at all?” I interrupted.

“Hey! It's not like I could have just-*gasp* G-Grillby! Aaahhh~”

And Sans was interrupted once again by Grillby now putting his mouth around Sans' cock and slowly sliding forward towards his ecto-torso. Sans stumbled backwards but Grillby quickly put his arms around his ass, holding him up. Sans yelped softly as his bright blue butt was suddenly squeezed and rendered immobile. The expression on Sans' face was so passionate I could only assume he had never received a blow job before. I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I went up to the two, and moved next to Sans. He watched me with a mix of fear and embarrassment on his face. That expression only became more apparent when I put a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards mine. I wanted to see how he'd react before I did anything.

“W-w-wai- aaah!~ Y/N. Ah! Grillby!~ Haaahhh-mmn?!”

And then I leaned in and kissed him.

#undertale #fanfiction #x reader #sans x reader #sans #undertale fanfiction #grillby x reader

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dumbgaybrunette · 2 years

Text

Housebroken

Part 2 of the Sloane/Announcer fic

Part 1 Here

Warnings:

Emotional manipulation, indoctrination, coercion, kidnapping, porn with some plot, shameless smut, cunnilingus, tribadism, xenophilia, dubious consent, voyeurism, impact play, implication of amputation (fingers) and implied tooth removal.

Tobby belongs to @6robotmonster6

The Announcer belongs to gatobob

All was still as Sloane heard muffled, drowned out voices on the edge of her consciousness.

She didn’t want to open her eyes, not yet. She was tired.

“…by himself.”

“….good taste.”

“…sleep.”

Whoever was speaking, was opening their mouths a lot without saying much of anything, it all became white noise to Sloane. Her ears rang as she finally decided to blink her eyes open.

Everything was bright, bleary and blurry in front of her. She knew she wasn’t home, only remembering bits and pieces of the gentleman, his bite and how she fell asleep.

She made a small noise as her eyes adjusted to the harsh light of the room she was in.

“She’s awake.”

An unfamiliar voice said.

The voice was gruff and deep, Sloane looked up from where she was seated and found three men in suits and earpieces eyeballing her. She went to get up, but something was holding her arms and legs down.

She began to panic, her eyes going wide as she began to struggle.

This earned a laugh from one of the men,

“Looks like we’ve got a fighter!”

“She’s cute, maybe we’ll see her in a stream.”

“Nah, the boss singled her out himself, she’s not gonna be in a stream.”

The men laughed and jeered amongst themselves, making Sloane’s blood boil.

“What the fuck are you three talking about? Where am I?”

Now wasn’t the time for her usual naïve façade, she had to get the hell out of here. And with her desperation and lack of knowledge, she had every right to be a bitch at the moment.

The men eyed her up and down, not answering her, but choosing to change the subject.

“Don’t thrash around too much, you’ll pop the stitches in your neck. Besides, the boss will be here soon, so we don’t have to tell you jack shit.”

Stitches? Now that he mentioned it, Sloane did feel a dull sting where her neck and shoulder met. So he did bite hard enough to make her bleed…

The memory made Sloane shudder in embarrassment.

After a moment of silence, she heard the door open. The men parted like the Red Sea and looked to their shoes as the gentleman from the night before stepped into the room.

Sloane’s blood ran cold when she saw him. Trim, smug and handsome. She wanted to scream at him until her throat was raw, wanted to tear him to shreds, but fear made a lump in her throat as her limbs quivered beneath their restraints.

“Look who’s finally awake! Did you sleep well, Sloane?”

His voice was much too cheerful for a time like this.

Sloane didn’t say anything, she didn’t want to run the risk of yelling or invoking his ire in any way. She just shook her head.

“Oh, poor thing.”

The gentleman had a cane. He didn’t look like he’d be old enough to have one, Sloane’s guess was that he used it to beat people.

“Let’s go. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

With a wave of his hand, the three men surrounded Sloane as the gentleman watched. They put handcuffs on her wrists and ankles before releasing her.

To Sloane’s surprise, she was dressed to the nines. Louboutin red bottom heels and a black dress that could easily be mistaken for a negligee. She almost smiled to herself until she realized her ribbon wasn’t on her neck.

No…

No!

“Where’s my ribbon?”

Sloane asked, sounding more scared than she’d like. The gentleman cocked an eyebrow.

“It didn’t compliment the clothes I picked. Why? You’re not being ungrateful, are you?”

Her stomach lurched. To them it was just a dumb piece of red ribbon around her neck, but to Sloane it was everything. Her mom, despite shoving her into medical school and subjecting her to a lifetime of pressure, gave Sloane this ribbon when she was young. It was small, menial, there were a hundred ribbons just like it at the craft store-but it was hers.

Sloane wanted to cry, but if he saw her tears, it would mean that he had won. So she swallowed down the lump in her throat and shook her head.

“No, the dress is nice. Thank you.”

“Great!”

The gentleman beamed, beginning to walk out. Sloane followed, the chains binding her jingling as she walked carefully.

The corridor was long, sleek and elegantly decorated. Sloane didn’t have an inkling as to where she was. Why was she even here?

“I run a very tightly-knit business here. You’re lucky it was me who found you instead of one of my employees.”

As they walked, Sloane saw people stop what they were doing to regard her and the gentleman. It was subtle, but she could tell that they were all afraid of him.

“Good evening, Mr. Hana.”

“Excellent choice, Mr. Hana.”

The dickriding was on another level with these people. Then again, Sloane was doing the same just to not get on his bad side.

Mr. Hana.

At least she can put a name to his face now instead of the gentleman or sir.

Sloane stayed quiet the rest of the walk, alone with this Mr. Hana. He then opened a pair of double doors and motioned for her to step inside before him. With a polite nod, she thanked him and walked in as he closed the doors behind him. The room was bare, safe for an area rug, a chair and a surveillance camera in the corner. In the dim light she saw someone else in the room.

He was shorter than her, but taller than the gentleman. His eyes were golden and his hair was dyed blue in some parts. Sloane wasn’t afraid, but something felt off about him. It wasn’t until she got a closer look that she realized his fingers were cut down to the second knuckle, safe for the thumbs.

“I have a proposition for you, Sloane.”

Mr. Hana said as he took his seat, crossing his legs elegantly.

She must have looked confused because he barked out a laugh.

“Work with me as bait for more products, I’ve seen your work and I must say, I’m impressed.”

Sloane looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“And if I refuse?”

Mr. Hana’s grin only widened.

“Then I’ll have Tobby kill you. It’ll save me the trouble of hosting a stream if I record it.”

The man with golden eyes must be Tobby. He didn’t look threatening, if anything, he looked neutral, if not a little mousey. But there was something Sloane just couldn’t put her finger on. He had these strange markings on his cheeks, some sort of fashion choice. The two things more outlandish than that were the cat ears clipped to his head and the large metal collar that embraced his neck.

Was this some weird fetish thing?

Sloane heard of people wearing ears and tails during sex to act like an animal. Apparently it enticed some people. Maybe Mr. Hana was one of these people, she didn’t know!

“Choose wisely.”

Said Mr. Hana, his hand reaching into his pocket to hold a remote which caused Tobby to visibly flinch. In his other hand he held a box and popped it open. There, resting on luxurious red satin were metal claws and what appeared to be pointed bits of titanium, like the ones used for police dogs’ teeth. Then it hit her. These were prosthetics for Tobby. Prosthetics likely used to tear and rend flesh from bone. Sloane swallowed, not having much of a choice.

“I accept. I will work with you.”

With a nod, Mr. Hana waved Tobby over towards him.

“Kneel. Both of you.”

The man did as he was told, Sloane couldn’t help but look as they both got down on their knees. He was pretty well-endowed. His ass was curved perfectly, she wondered how it would look if he was walking away or if she was fucking him from behind. She pushed down the perverted thoughts and almost did a double take when she noticed a bobbed tail. She’d laugh if it wasn’t literally fused to his skin. This was real. This wasn’t a weird fetish thing, he was something inhuman.

Sloane’s pulse quickened. There was no way, this wasn’t supposed to happen. This was all some prank, there’s no way something supernatural was happening while she was getting kidnapped and indoctrinated. Death by Tobby was sounding pretty good right about now, but that was hysteria talking. Sloane had to shake her head to snap herself back into reality. She saw the gentleman slide the titanium fangs into Tobby’s mouth, slotting them perfectly in the soft, vacant spot where it looked like his original canines got pulled out.

For a moment, Mr. Hana gently stroked Tobby’s cheek, smiling softly at him as Sloane awaited further instruction.

“You’re very obedient. And you’re great at what you do, Sloane. But we have a pecking order here.”

Her eyes went between his legs, a tent rising in his trousers.

“This will hurt. You won’t die though, I just wanted my darling cat to have a taste of what I had last night.”

Blood rushed to Sloane’s face as she noticed Tobby’s golden eyes on her. This was just going to be sex. She could deal with being a homewrecker once her survival was a hundred percent guaranteed.

“Kitten, do what you want to her. Nothing fatal, ‘kay?” Mr. Hana winked, Sloane’s head was spinning. What a creep, wanting to watch them. And kitten? Sloane would have giggled if there wasn’t so much tension. Her arms and legs were still bound, and within seconds of the command, Tobby was on her. He was heavy. She could see how toned his arms and legs were and how easily he was pinning her down, it was enough to make her blush harder if such a thing was possible. She must be beet-red with shame and shyness right now.

“You’re soft…”

She almost jumped at the sound of his voice. It was low and husky, but also somehow haunting. He sounded like the autumn wind, like the echo of someone speaking into a hollow gourd. He must have hurt his voice somehow. Tobby reached down and pulled her dress down, causing Sloane’s ample tits to become exposed to the cool air. He gazed at them, giving them a squeeze as she helplessly laid there with bound hands. She couldn’t help but let out a small noise at the sudden attention. His hands roamed her bust, tracing over the curve of each breast, one of his fingers resting on her beauty mark before squeezing once more.

Tobby was rough with his hands, like the men she previously ensnared. But that didn’t mean that Sloane didn’t like a little rough play. She felt his knee go between her legs, parting them as she felt his dress pants brush against her clothed heat. He played with her tits for a good while, twisting her nipples and playfully watching the flesh ripple with the smallest movements of his hands.

With a grin, Tobby slid the dress off Sloane’s curvaceous body, leaving her bare before the two men. Safe for a black thong covering her mons.

“Did she not put up a fight with you too?”

The bobcat asked the man seated in the chair.

“Not at all. She was like a lamb to the slaughter”

Mr. Hana’s sneer made Sloane’s heart ache. She only gave it up because she had a thing for redheads, plus, she knew he had money. But her mind halted at the sound of Tobby unbuckling his pants. Heat crept up her chest and face, complimenting her pale flesh.

“On your knees, slut.”

Sloane arched an eyebrow at that, but did as she was told, struggling a bit with her bound extremities but eventually kneeling before him, arousal pooling between her legs as the thong stuck to her pussy lips. She wondered if he’d be big, if his…ilk had a different cock. If he truly was a cat, the barbs would hurt like a bitch. But her eyes widened to see something she didn’t expect.

Oh.

Tobby’s mons was trimmed, groomed perfectly as his own arousal was making itself known. He was wet, his tdick standing at the ready, pulsing with desire. A perverse part of Sloane wondered how it would feel inside of her, how he’d moan while rutting into her, but now she had to be on her best behavior and not jump his bones.

A hand went to her hair, his cut fingers carding into her auburn locks before balling it into a fist and pulling her in to start sucking. A yelp escaped her, then quickly became muffled as her lips wrapped around him.

He wasn’t tugging to the point where he was ripping her hair out, but it did hurt and it was hard to get comfortable. Sloane’s mouth sucked him in gently, her tongue lapping up his folds and onto the underside of his member. A hiss escaped his lips. He seemed to have liked it, so she hummed against him contentedly-sending vibrations between his thighs. His grip never relented though, and he began to thrust and roll his hips into her mouth as she worked.

She could feel the man in the chair’s eyes burning into her, she might as well give him a show. As she moved her head in tune with his thrusts, she arched her back to make her ass pop out as an invitation. She couldn’t see him, her mouth was occupied and her head was held in place by this guy’s death grip. So she continued to work his little cock as she would any other, this wasn’t the first time she’s eaten pussy, so she wasn’t awful at it, but Tobby would have to be the judge of that. There was a moment of silence until hot, stinging pain cracked against her exposed ass. She jumped, of course, her teeth accidentally grazing Tobby to which he shivered and shoved himself in deeper.

“How many pussies have you eaten to pay rent, Sloane?”

She wanted to yell at him, to give him a smartass response and tell him to mind his own fucking business, but her mouth was occupied.

Another harsh impact, this time on her back. And another, and another. It was hard not to jump, but she steeled herself as she felt the skin on her back, shoulders and ass grow red and irritated, she was fairly certain he was using his cane.

“Keep your posture up, a good whore focuses on the task at hand.”

She shouldn’t be enjoying this, and she’d never admit that she did. She could feel her thong completely soaked, some slick beginning to drip down, threatening to drop onto the floor.

“She likes this, I can tell.” Tobby rasped, rutting into her mouth even wilder now, both his hands behind her head as his ears were flattened against his skull in anticipation.

With a tap between her legs, Sloane let out a squeak and couldn’t help but writhe against the cane for the half-second it was there.

“Well would you look at that?”

Mr. Hana said, showing off his slicked cane to Tobby.

“I’m surprised you’re being so gentle with her. Have you grown soft, pet?”

Sloane could practically hear his eye roll. But she preferred him to have his fun this way as opposed to making her suffer. She’s already been through enough. Tobby was imposing, Sloane may be taller than both men, but he had more weight and muscle than her or sir. She didn’t want to invoke his ire.

Sloane was yanked from her thoughts again as Tobby pulled away from her lips, a string of cunt juice and saliva still connecting her to him.

Her heart fluttered when he ordered her to lie on her back, absentmindedly spreading her legs without even being told to do so. Off went the thong and she was completely bare before the two men spectating.

There was a hand at her throat, then two, she didn’t budge. Then she felt Tobby’s warm, hard cock press against her cunt and she rolled her hips onto him teasingly.

The man tightened his grip around her neck, mirth coursing through Sloane as he rutted against her, air getting trapped in her throat. She was wet, she was ready, she still rubbed herself against him and allowed herself to be used for Mr. Hana’s viewing pleasure. Then with a small movement of his hips, Sloane soundlessly opened her mouth as he pushed himself inside. She’s had bigger in her time, but the way he moves into her had Sloane’s legs shaking almost immediately.

Fuck me.

She could die happy right here, her ample tits bouncing with each thrust, the crushing weight of Tobby’s grip on her neck, it was lust in its truest form. Sick thoughts began to plague her mind as Tobby growled under his breath. He could tear into her neck and rip her throat out, he could cave her skull in by cracking it against the floor, he could beat her until she was unrecognizable. Then Sloane’s vision began to get spotty and her eyes refocused, she was close.

Fuck me.

She thought;

His grip loosened, and Sloane fervently took in gulps of fresh air, trying not to cough. Tobby smirked at that and took her face in his hand, tilting her neck up. There was a brief moment when he locked eyes with Mr. Hana, who nodded at his lover. Without further ado, Tobby leaned in, confusing Sloane, and bit down into the apex where her neck and shoulder met, matching the bite Mr. Hana gave her last night. She couldn’t react to the pain in a proper way, she didn’t scream, didn’t kick or claw at him with her manicured nails. Instead, she surprised the both of them by tightening her legs around Tobby like a vice, her eyes rolling into her skull as she came around him. There was a strangled moan, and a splash of liquid, making a small puddle on the floor. She felt him jolt inside her and huff out a quiet breath as he pumped into her one last time before withdrawing.

Blood ran onto the rug from her neck, getting Sloane’s hair wet as she awaited further instruction.

“You did well.”

She beamed internally, she did good.

Without missing a beat, she gazed up at the redhead and grinned,

She could get used to this line of work.

#this is really smutty and self indulgent #be warned #sloane #oc #tobby #other people’s ocs #nsft #ren hana #tpof spoilers #the announcer #dilf ren #my writing #tpof #tpof announcer

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finniestoncrane · 2 years

Note

t4t riddlebird lets go

you bet bb 💚💜 there's not a single part of my being that could believe that they were cis and weren't soulmates lmao it's t4t lovers to the end

good morning

just a lil morning scene between them so we can really see how much ed leans into hybristophilia because he does he really does also canon, never heard of them but they sound horrible? i'm a writer on gotham now, we're going by my hcs just shhh pretend, you're thinking about it so like don't think about

minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff, mentions of violence, murder, guns, kissing, dry humping, bit of pain kink, obviously hybristophilia too

Oswald was spoiled rotten and he was kept ever smug in the knowledge that he might have warned Ed not to give into his demands so early in their relationship. He knew he was difficult to disagree with or say no to, but rather than offer any reprieve, he let himself be served and serviced by his wonderful, concerningly patient, boyfriend.

He rolled over in the plush bed, opening his eyes and squinting while they adjusted, the long figure in front of the window taking shape as the light became less of a burden on his vision. There stood Edward, unclothed completely apart from his glasses and his clean, white briefs, his smooth chest close enough to smell as he bent down to put Oz's breakfast tea on the bedside table for him.

"Good morning, Oswald." His tone, a little brusque, caught Oz off guard in comparison to how angelic he had looked just a moment ago, bathed in the light of the day. "Although, it's closer to the afternoon now. Did you know, that if you wake up early, you'll increase your productivity and it positively affects your optimism for the day ahead?"

"Is that why you're so cheerful all the time?"

Ed turned to walk away, but Oswald reached out his hand, warm against Ed's clammy wrist, and pulled him back around, easing him into the bed beside him. He made no eye contact with him at first, choosing instead to gaze upon his almost entirely hairless chest, running his hands along the flat of his rib cage, breathing dreamily, content to just have someone so beautiful to look at. And, wincing at the realisation of how weak he was for him, Ed leaned into the tender, physical affection. With one hand at an angle, head resting on his hand, the other found it’s way to Oz’s side, rubbing it over the top of the soft sheets, feeling the heat that radiated from under them.

“Why anyone would ever want to get out of bed is beyond me. Especially if you were in it with them.”

Oz leant in to kiss Ed, hands gently picking his glasses from his face and setting them behind him on the table. He pressed his nose to Ed’s cheek as his hands made their way lower, warm hands trailing down his cold spine, making their way into his tight pants and cupping at his cheeks, grasping them firmly as their lips met again. In this familiar, entangled embrace, they shared their most tender moments. It was less of a torrid affair in the morning. Something about the sunlight made them both so gentle, loving. But the caress was proving too much for Ed, who had begun to grind himself into Oz, moans pushing past both of their tongues, breaking the kiss up.

“What are you going to do today, Oz?”

“I mean, is now the time to nag me to get out of bed? Or-”

“No, you know what I mean.” He sighed heavily, separating their lips and pressing a kiss to Oz’s cheek, a line of precision-tainted kisses following down his neck and his collarbone, further still to where Ed lay his head onto Oz’s chest, soft and unbound. As he spoke, he let his lips pass over Oz’s nipples, hardening from the tease.

“You know what I mean. What are you going to do. Today. Oz.”

“I’m going to be bad, Ed.”

“Mmmmm.” A satisfied moan, vibrating through Oz’s ribcage, electric energy sending goosebumps over his arms.

“In fact, I think I’ll be evil.”

Less noise from his loving boyfriend, who was now firmly pressed to his chest, kissing and sucking and biting at the flesh. Oz strained to talk past his own pleasure, but continued for Ed.

“I have some meetings to attend, some people to threaten. It’s even possible I might break a few fingers if the mood takes me.”

“W-what else?”

“Not enough? Hm…” He ran his fingers through Ed’s soft hair, gently tugging at it as his hands reached the ends, palms clinging softly to create just a little pain, a sensation enough to have Ed tensing, body half on top of him, cradling him in an embrace as he ground his body against his side.

“I suppose I might also see to that young man at the restaurant down town, the one who forgot his upkeep last week. Oh, the things I could do to him. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Mm…yes I would, Oz…please.”

“I’m going to shoot him, Ed. I’m going to shoot him and toss him in that filthy river. The solution to all life’s problems.”

“Oh, Oz…” he stifled a moan as he bit down harder on Oz’s nipple, thrusting himself against his hip and thigh, desperately mewling at the friction between himself and the ethereal, villainous creature that lay beside him. “That’s so horrible. Tell me more, please.”

Oz teased at Ed’s hair once more before dragging his finger nails, sharp and yet ticklish, down his neck, clutching at the shoulder muscles that twitched at the touch, pressing sharper at Ed’s whimpers.

“I’m just going to be so mean today, Ed.” He spoke in a softer, almost taunting tone, speaking to his greatly intelligent lover as though he were a pathetic, stupid child. “I’m going to be the biggest, baddest man who ever walked the streets of Gotham.” He was very aware of Ed’s impending climax, somehow able to bring himself to orgasm with Oz’s words alone as he pressed himself hard against him, rubbing and thrusting and using his body. Oz pressed his hands against Ed’s rear again, finger slipping between them to gently press and rub at his entrance, breath hitching at the warmth, at the drool that instantly fell from Ed’s mouth, open in ecstasy. “And anyone who gets in my way, will meet their fate at my hands.”

“Mmph…Oz…Oswald…you’re so…I love it when you…I’m uh…oh dear…”

“I’m not afraid to get dirty, remember.”

At the pressure of Oz’s finger crooking inside of him, the threats of violence and the friction burning against his wonderful, disturbing partner, Ed felt himself losing control, spilling out, cumming in his pants. He whimpered, embarrassment throwing a shade of red onto his usually pallid cheeks, uttering soft apologies to Oz as he buried his face further into his chest. Kissing between his sorrys.

“It’s alright, Ed. But if you don’t let me go back to bed now, you’ll be on my list.”

#finnie writes #oswald x edward #riddler x penguin #riddlebird #nygmobblepot #riddler #the riddler #batman #edward nygma #friends being friends #edward nigma #edward nashton #gotham #gotham riddler #gotham pengpuin #oswald cobblepot

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carmenlire · 9 months

Text

Been Like This Part I

read on ao3

Alec walks into the bar and the weight on his shoulders seems to weigh a thousand tons, pressing down, and vaguely Alec wonders if he shouldn’t just go home and collapse into bed. Maybe then he’d finally feel weightless, if just for the half hour it takes to fall asleep.

But no, there’s something that’s pushing him into Hunter’s Moon tonight. Alec carries a strong dislike for most people– all those except for the precious few in his inner circle– but right now he feels a want– a need– to be around others without expectation.

He doesn’t necessarily want to talk to anyone. Really, just the very thought is exhausting, seems beyond his capabilities after a long week of talking to people constantly, ten hours a day, all the more tiresome when the conversations are nothing but impatient entitlement on their side and aggrieved irritation on his.

Distantly, he thinks that it should probably be a little worrying that his job, his dream that he's worked so hard for, is nothing but another source of annoyance and anxiety now.

It’s quiet for a Thursday evening. There’s just a smattering of people in the place. A couple plays pool on the far end, a group of friends are having a raucous time at a table in the corner. Alec smiles a little when one of them shouts something unintelligible just for them all to start laughing.

Alec can’t help but think that, from the entrance at least, it sounds so genuine.

Making his way to the bar, he has his pick of seats. There’s a woman at the end, a small collection of empty margarita glasses keeping her company. Alec figures that he’ll have his own assortment of glass soldiers standing watch by the end of the night.

The stool he chooses has scuffed leather when he pulls it out. It’s a little worn, light scratches here and there. Still, it feels wonderful to sit and to know that he doesn’t have to get up for however long he wants.

Truly, work has been exhausting this week. So many customers, requiring Alec to run in a dozen directions to put out a hundred fires. A cold is going around that’s left him short staffed the past several days. His bean supplier canceled his order without notice, leaving him in a serious lurch this morning.

The voice of the customer who yelled at him just a couple of hours ago-- because he made her plain iced americano without milk-- is still ringing in his ears.

Flipping the sign over to closed this evening had felt like nothing short of a victory. Letting the two remaining staff go home early to clean up by himself had been relaxing even if it had taken the last little bit of energy he’d managed to conserve.

There’s something soothing about being alone in his own space– Alec’s built Lightwood Coffee and Co. from the ground up. It’s his baby first, last, and everything in the middle. The couple of hours it had taken to clean up, go through inventory, and prepare for tomorrow had been the best part of his day, really.

Still, it was exhausting, the simple tasks that had once been filled with passion and excitement. Everything was so dull now, so rote.

In the back of his mind, Alec worries if it’s the coffee shop that’s lost its shine or if it’s just his life in general, color leeching out of everything he touches.

His thoughts have been maudlin all day, really for the past few months.

And now, here at Hunter’s Moon, Alec has no grand plan except to have a few drinks and try to not be so human for the rest of the night.

Something not quite a person, but not so far gone as to actually betray what he feels like– a little off center, stretched a little too thin, trying a little too hard to put on a convincing visage of responsible, perfectly functional adult.

Alec zones out for a few minutes before the bartender makes his way over to him. His overall expression is mildly standoffish, though his face is neutral as he stills in front of Alec and asks, “What can I get you?”

There’s no smile and Alec’s left with the vague feeling that nothing he could do or say would phase the bartender. Alec can relate.

There’s no offer of a menu and Alec doesn’t ask for one. “Can I just get an amaretto sour, please?”

The bartender’s brow raises imperceptible but he just nods, replies, “Sure thing,” and is turning his back before Alec can say anything else.

The drink’s placed in front of him just a moment later and at the first sip, Alec relaxes. It’s good– damned good.

Alec isn’t one to drink much and he’s never been to this particular bar before, though he passes it every day on his way to work. If the drinks are this good every time, then he might just need to become a regular on those days where he wants to blend in with everyone else and disappear for awhile in a simple pleasure.

The first drink is gone in a few efficient swallows. Maybe Alec should be concerned at how easy it’s gone down but it feels like the first time all week that something’s been able to give him an ounce of ease.

The bartender makes the few steps over to him, pauses but doesn’t say anything, just looks at Alec with that brow raised in question.

Alec nods.

The second drink is just as smooth as the first, the sweetness with the slightest bitter note hitting just the right spot.

Idly, Alec wonders if he’s going to get drunk tonight. Truth be told, he’s not much of a drinker. He enjoys the odd night out with Jace or Izzy, has been dragged into a poker night at Simon’s place a time or two where the bottles of cheap wine seemed to pour endlessly.

Still, he doesn’t make a habit of it. Well aware– too aware some might say– of how slippery of a slope these things can be, an underlying paranoia always keeping him in check. Just in case.

It’s during the third amaretto sour when someone sits a seat down from him. Alec doesn’t pay much attention, nothing more than to hear the rough scrape of a stool sliding over the floor, an impression of another man settling in after a day of work.

Briefly, Alec wonders if the other customer’s day was as grueling as his. He finds a well of sympathy at the notion.

Deciding to give the stranger the discretion he’d want, Alec’s attention shifts to other patrons. Crossing the line into tipsy, he’s an eager if apathetic people-watcher.

The group of friends in the corner have found a deck of cards somewhere and are having– what sounds like– an amazing time. Alec would like to imagine that they do this every month, in a similar way to the way he attends his poker nights, the weekly movie nights he has with Jace and Izzy.

It’s a warming thought for all that it strikes a pang of loneliness.

The movie nights have been a bit hit or miss lately. Izzy has been swamped with grad school and Jace is spending so much time with Clary that he’s rainchecked more than once.

Alec skipped a poker night a couple of months ago because one of his evening staff called off and one thing led to another and he hasn’t been to Simon’s since.

Once the streak was over, it was too easy to keep ghosting, the fatigue that’s been riding him into the ground making it too easy to beg off.

And, well, now Alec feels like something has slipped through his fingers, like he’s lost a chance, like he– well like he shouldn’t, can’t, just pick things back up.

It’s absurd, he knows. He’s been friends with Simon since college. Life happens.

Still. Alec has a deep, innate fear of being presumptuous, of overstepping bounds that he didn’t even know existed.

Simon hasn’t (re)extended an invitation and so– Alec doesn’t go over.

The coffee shop takes so much of his attention and it’s become matter of habit to simply go home at the end of the day.

It’s part of the reason that he decided to walk into this bar tonight. Alec isn’t adventurous or spontaneous. More than that, though, he had needed a diversion, felt the need for something else itching just under his skin, tickling his ribs.

Alec’s not one for flights of whimsy but the idea of breaking up the monotony had wiggled its way into his head sometime this morning, in between scalding himself on the edge of a tray of scones and getting berated for not having elderberry syrup. He needed to get away and for once, the idea of slipping into bed after a shower hot enough to burn his skin just didn’t seem like enough.

Maybe it’s the itch for diversion, a desire to not be so alone manifesting as a sad man drinking alone at a bar with nothing but strangers for company.

Alec still feels like it’s better than the alternative, though, and decides not to think about what exactly that says about him or his piss-poor excuse for living lately.

Throughout the past hour or so, Alec’s butt has grown numb and his back aches something approaching awful. These stools were not ergonomically designed and Alec’s a little too tired to keep from slouching in a way that’s a little painful and definitely damaging to his spine.

He lingers over the third drink until it’s watered down, trying to simply exist in a moment that he tells himself he wanted.

If he’s being honest, it’s not really satiating whatever inclination he’d had. Now Alec is still just as tired but the alcohol is already leaving him with a headache, leaving his head feeling the kind of fuzzy that just vaguely pisses him off.

He’s still debating between ordering a fourth drink anyway, staring into the dregs of his glass, when he hears a voice from his left.

It’s smooth, just a little low. “Penny for your thoughts, darling?”

The gentle tease in the words makes Alec smile while still looking down where he's tracing a scratch on the bar. Without quite being aware of it, he murmurs, “I’m not sure if they’re even worth that much.”

Sighing– with more than a little bit of drama to attest to the cup or two of amaretto he’s downed– Alec looks up just to blink, the sight before him arresting.

The man who’d asked the question is wearing an easy smile. His eyeliner is just barely smudged at the edges. His blazer is a deep maroon and the shirt is unbuttoned enough to share a tantalizing stretch of skin.

He looks friendly, Alec can’t help but think.

Waiting until Alec makes eye contact with him, the man’s smile deepens just enough to crinkle the corner of his eye.

“Well, I’m sure that’s not true.”

Warmth simmers in Alec’s chest at the quick rebuttal. He finds himself smiling, in turn. “And what makes you so sure?” Alec can’t resist asking with a raised brow.

To most anyone else, the question might come off as surly, combative. Luckily for Alec, it’s taken as it’s meant– a little too genuine with humor to cover the worst of it.

The stranger gives him an obvious once-over, lifts his own martini glass in a semblance of a cheers. “You’re too handsome for them to be worth any less,” the stranger replies, a not-so-subtle wink serving as punctuation.

Alec can’t help a laugh at that and the shyness strikes them both.

This certainly isn’t what Alec imagined when he walked in here. It’s unexpected but. . . not unwelcome, he decides after a moment of internal musing.

Choosing to blame the liquor, Alec leans a little closer to say, “Then your thoughts must be worth a fortune,” and he’s gratified to get a surprised laugh in return.

“If only everyone thought the same, darling,” the stranger. He hesitates a bare moment before reaching out a hand for Alec to shake. “My name is Magnus. Who might you be?”

Alec doesn’t hesitate to return the handshake, sliding his hand against Magnus’s.

There’s no shiver, no sharp intake of breath. No, Alec just shakes Magnus’s hand, feels the easy warmth against his own, the suggestion of a callous against the edge of his palm.

“Alec,” he offers after a long moment of the two of them just holding hands, not moving. His voice is low, hoarse around the vowels.

The bar seems quieter than it did a moment ago. Behind them, there’s still the din of conversation, the clacking of pool balls across the room. The chorus of a terrible Top 40 hit from 1997 is just barely audible.

Right here, Alec feels more in tune to the moment than he has in– perhaps longer than he’s comfortable admitting.

“Alec,” Magnus repeats. In his echo is both a statement and a question. Alec doesn’t know the answer to either so he just says nothing.

Magnus’s thumb sweeps gentle once, twice, over his knuckles before he lets go.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Alec says, latent confidence in his tone.

“Likewise, I assure you.” Magnus crosses his arms over the bar, head turned toward Alec.

His expression is hard to read for all it projects interest. The small smile at the corner of his lips has yet to fade. “What brings you here this evening, Alec?”

The question is to be expected. Alec still has to take a moment to find his answer.

He debates blatant honesty with pulling a punch or two. It might be nice to confide in a stranger, though Alec’s never quite known where the line should be drawn for appearances.

After a few moments of silence where Magnus doesn’t seem to grow annoyed or impatient or disinterested, Alec settles on being a bit more honest than he might otherwise be.

Alec is just this side of tipsy and unlikely to ever see Magnus again after tonight. Maybe giving oxygen to the tangle of weeds growing in his chest will help him. If nothing else, he supposes, it can’t hurt anything. If Magnus listens to whatever the fuck he has to say and runs for the hills, then at least Alec will be able to close out his tab and go home and forget this ever happened all the sooner.

Mirroring Magnus’s pose, Alec slumps a little more over the bar. His gaze flits from Magnus’s shoulder, to his pocket square, up to his mouth, and finally to his eyes.

Magnus’s eyes are a deep brown. Alec knows they hide more than they reveal. If he’s not mistaken though, warmth in the form of kindness lurks in them.

“I think I hate my job and everyone annoys me. I’m so tired and nothing helps. I feel– stuck, I think, but hell if I know what to do about it.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything for a moment, though his expression has shifted into something surprised but not unpleasantly so. Gently, he offers, “You and every other thirty year old, I’m sure.”

Alec grimaces. “Is it supposed to be this pervasive, though?”

Magnus laughs and this time it’s almost caustic. “Unfortunately, Alec, I don’t think it can be any other way.”

“If you tell me that’s just life, I won’t be responsible for my reaction.” Alec’s voice is dry, though he can’t keep the very real kernel of resentment out of his voice.

Now it’s Magnus’s turn to grimace. “I wouldn’t dare, darling, believe me.”

For some reason, Alec does.

He reaches for his glass, drinks the watered-down remains, places it back down and feels the sounds of glass hitting wood somewhere in the hollow of his ribcage.

Nibbling on his bottom lip, Alec wonders if he should ask the question burning the tip of his tongue. Like most of his decisions tonight, it boils down to might as well.

“Does it get better,” he asks, genuinely curious. “How?”

Magnus tilts his glass in a slow circle, seemingly captivated by the way vermouth and gin catch the light. His words are slow to come.

Alec’s torn between surprise that Magnus– who after just a few minutes introduction, had given the impression of having all the easy answers Alec’s desperate for– is taking his time to find the right words and appreciation that he would take a stranger’s question with the gravity Alec needs right now.

“I don’t know if it gets better,” Magnus admits and seems chagrined to do so. “I think it gets easier, though.” Taking a quick sip of his martini, Magnus gestures towards Alec. “Worries over something might ease just for something else altogether to take its place. You might become confident in one area just to decide to reach for something new or more or different. Once you conquer something or wrestle it into submission, the next thing grabs your attention. And thanks to past efforts, current issues won’t seem quite so dire. At least in my experience.”

Mulling over Magnus’s words, Alec finds himself nodding along. “I guess I can see that,” Alec admits. “Doesn’t really make me feel better right now, though.”

Magnus’s expression turns sympathetic. “I understand, darling. Anything particular with work and the general populace or just overall disgust at the end of a hellish week?”

Alec actually takes a minute to think about it. He’s a little surprised to realize that, “It’s really just general tiredness, I think.” He doesn't mention that the general tiredness has been his constant companion for the past few months.

Humming in commiseration, Magnus nods absently. “The end of the week does tend to make everything that much worse.”

Alec snorts a little. “Now that I know full well.”

The two sit in companionable silence for a few minutes.

Alec’s decided not to order another drink. The conversation with Magnus has him feeling more energized and awake then he was just a few minutes before and he doesn’t really want to add any more alcohol to the weird, unsettling mix of tired and maudlin that’s trying to settle in his stomach.

The abrupt sound of Magnus’s empty glass hitting the bar pulls Alec from his brief reverie. He looks over to see Magnus studying him, eyes intent but the curve of his mouth is pure invitation.

At least to Alec’s amaretto-soaked mind.

In the time it takes to blink, Alec’s meeting Magnus’s gaze. He can’t decide what he’s seeing– interest? Challenge? Pure polite humoring?

Magnus swings his chair to the side until he’s fully facing Alec. Resting his left arm on the counter, Magnus tilts his head to the side. “I don’t pretend to know everything you’ve got going on or the severity of it. What I do know is that I can offer a distraction. If you’re willing?”

Alec blames both his alcohol blood content and the way the light hits Magnus’s earring for the way he turns in his chair, too, leaning in far too close for someone of such short acquaintance.

He blames his well-established lack of any sense of self-preservation in the face of a pretty man when he replies, voice low and rough and just a touch too soft, “Do you want to fuck me, Magnus?”

He’s close enough to truly appreciate the way Magnus’s eyes widen at the words, to feel more than hear the small little intake of breath, to see the way Magnus’s eyes dip to his mouth for a second that lingers.

Magnus doesn’t pull away, though, and so Alec doesn’t either.

The space between them can be measured in heartbeats; a slow, steady pulse of temerity.

Magnus’s voice is low and rough and just as soft as he eventually replies, “I don’t think so, Alec. Not tonight, at least.”

Alec finds a world of possibilities in the curve of that smile.

Alec thinks that some part of him must feel the sting of rejection, the humiliation of presumption. It’s hard to feel any of that, though, when Magnus is still watching him with that same mix of bemusement and patience and interest, like he might not know Alec now but he doesn’t mind staying long enough to get a better understanding.

Blinking slowly, Alec allows himself to truly study Magnus.

He’s handsome and Alec likes the glint of intelligence in his eyes, even at so late an hour and after a few drinks. Magnus has been nothing but kind, a welcome respite, a breath of fresh air.

“Okay,” he breathes, his own smile growing into something tangible. “What kind of distraction did you have in mind then?”

Something in Magnus’s posture relaxes at the question, a tension easing out. He nods once, as though resolute, and stands up.

Alec moves his chair to keep Magnus in front of him until his back is to the bar. Magnus holds out a hand and Alec takes a moment to appreciate the way Magnus’s rings emphasis the slimness of his hands, complementing his dark nail polish.

“A distraction demands a change of scenery.” Magnus nods his head back towards the front door of the Hunter’s Moon. The light in his eye is one part challenge, two parts whimsy.

(Alec doesn’t know it now but it’s another part hope with the smallest streak of uncertainty.)

“What do you say, darling?”

Alec places his hand in Magnus’s without a second thought, the only thing running through his mind is the surety that he doesn’t want to let whatever this is ghost over him. He doesn’t know what it is but it feels fleeting– for once, for the first time since he maybe opened the coffee shop, Alec wants to reach out with both hands and hang on for dear life.

He’s halfway to standing, when he realizes, “Oh shit, we need to close our tabs.”

Magnus laughs, something gentle and teasing. He waves Alec’s concern away. “Don’t worry; It’s already taken care of.”

Alec frowns a little, wondering, but Magnus’s pull is irresistible.

He waits for the bartender to shout them back when he realizes that they’ve left without paying. Alec doesn’t hear anyone calling out and when he looks back, the bartender is just picking up their empty glasses with a roll of his eyes.

It’s the most expression Alec’s seen on his face all night.

Deciding not to worry about it, Alec turns back to where Magnus is leading him out of the bar.

Magnus’s hand is warm and when he looks back to make sure Alec’s still with him, his eyes shine with the same warmth that’s been directed at Alec all night.

Alec squeezes the hand still holding his. “Lead the way.”

#will i ever write part 2 it's anybody's guess #malec fic #my writing #been like this

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

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The Stark Legacy (12)

Waking, beginning of Book 2: Mind (see previous or series)

Summary: After injecting herself with dermal Extremis, Samantha Stark returns to the compound on a mission no one knows about.

Warnings for slightly judgmental Bruce, mention of needles, but I think that's it. Rated Teen/Mature so 15+ only, please.

Book 2: Mind

CHAPTER TWELVE—July 2038

The bus to New York was overly air-conditioned to counteract a hot summer outside. Sam pulled down the baseball cap she’d pilfered from Cooper and Annie’s room and pulled her long sleeves over her hands. Everything was pins and needles even when she sat still. She shouldn’t have dropped the nerve dampener.

She’d woken up on the floor of her lab five days ago. While unconscious, she had vomited, but since she hadn’t eaten her penne, it was only bile. When she sat up, Sam found all her hair had fallen out into a pile underneath her head, but it was all her hair, her whole body, eyelashes and eyebrows too. The monitoring cuff was still attached to her hand, but she had ripped the cord out of Missy’s tower at some point.

That didn’t matter, however, because while Sam was out cold on the floor, Missy had found the compatible neural regeneration virus among the samples. She’d have to test her own skin and DNA later, side effects be damned.

Sam harvested enough of the virus and prepared to travel.

Then she looked in the mirror, finally. That was quite horrifying. She’d looked like a bizarre, animated mannequin. She would have to spruce up a bit, and luckily, a girly girl with a makeup fetish lived downstairs.

Sam attempted to draw on approximately fifteen sets of eyebrows, but she always looked shocked. She gave up and let Missy map her face to show her exactly where to put them and in what shape. The worst part was not touching her skin after the makeup was on. Her skin crawled, and Sam found it difficult not to scratch her face and head. There was hope the hair loss was temporary, however, because after just four days the prickles of new growth returned. Missy made note that the follicles within the dermis must not have died but simply been temporarily overwritten in function. There was so much observation that would have to wait. Sam Wilson had already waited long enough.

The bus stopped at the outskirts of Avengers’ Compound property, and Sam descended the stairs shakily. She was glad to be rid of the staring passengers, for as much as she’d tried not to look suspicious, choosing navy sweatpants, light sneakers, and a shirt, she still stood out for being covered up on a hot day. Once off the bus, Sam pulled out her Stark smart pad.

“Missy?”

“Yes, Samantha?” her AI replied in the communication earbud.

“Be ready to execute program Blindspot.”

“Sorry, Sam, Tony isn't here,” Bruce said when he saw her walk in. He did a double take at her completely buzzed head, even though most was covered by her cap. It wouldn’t be possible to hide the hair she used to have under that hat. “What did you do?!” Before she could even walk across the room, he corrected himself. “I mean, it looks… you're really making a statement. Are you?”

“No, Bruce, the bus was cold. I just tried something new, and it turns out it's not really my thing. Now I have to buy a few more hats,” Sam joked, smiling as she looked over the gear on his work table. She didn’t dare pick anything up for fear he would see her shaking. “So what are you up to?”

As Sam scanned the mirror image of his projected screen, Bruce continued to stare at the young woman’s sheared head. “Your Dad is gonna freak out.”

She didn't skip an instant. “Hopefully he will never see it. I just need you to give me a new project, and I'll be out of your hair.” She frowned, adding, “pun unintentional but pretty good…”

Bruce began to unclench. After all the pictures Nat showed him of Sam’s different hair styles and colors over the past few years, this was the most…what should he call it? Adventurous? Angst? Wrong? Just as practically terrible as it was wonderfully hilarious?

“You couldn’t have just called?”

Sam’s voice got a little deeper. “Would you have picked up?”

Dr. Banner knew he’d been distant. He now went months at a time without so much as checking in. That’s what everyone did to her eventually. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of extra time, Sam. This,” he gestured to his work, “it's complicated. I’m barely muddling through—”

Sam noticed a bit of formula that intrigued her. He was still trying to harness the energy of the infinity stones in a controlled environment, pairing them to be precise. The problem seemed to be what carrier mechanism to use.

Bruce saw how Sam studied the screen and started to tilt the monitor away from her. “That’s not…You shouldn’t have anything to do with that—”

“Ya know, if you could,” Sam interjected, looking away, fumbling with junk on the counter,, “use the mind and soul stones to recreate Vision. Aunt Wanda would love that. But he would only be a close approximation, assuming you have as much footage of his mannerisms and speech pattern. Oh, but that would be Jarvis.” Sam slipped Missy into the pile while she replaced each piece sloppily. “There is still the possibility you would generate an alternate personality, like a psychopathic robot killer, oh wait…Tony did that. Wanda may kill literally everyone if you dangled him in front of her enough.” She had to walk a fine line between irritating Bruce, but not angering him, and giving him more to think about on top of all of his current work.

“Sam, how do you know anything about,” he waved his arm into the paused screen, “this?”

She was no actress, but she had the brainpower to over-analyze most of her performance and correct herself. “That's why I'm here, Bruce, because I'm drowning in a bunch of information I already know, and I want, I need something new!” She removed her cap and rubbed the exposed stubble of hair in frustration, and demanded, “so for the love of all innovation, can you throw me a bone?” Sam saw a tiny light come on at the base of her tablet. Blindspot had started. Missy was in action. However, she hadn’t intentionally distracted the doctor with her itchy head.

Bruce blinked. Everything about Sam was a minefield for him. She was the perfect representation of what he wanted and could never have; a perfect little girl, smart as a whip, grown into a curious young woman, but she was brutally human: fragile, mortal, emotional, sensitive, cocky, and awkward. She was the more dangerous version of Tony Stark because she was genuinely likable. It made Bruce Banner all the more terrified of killing her--or rather of Hulk killing her--as he almost did once.

“Well, I could,” he started mumbling, grabbing his tablet, “give you access to some files… Sam, I don’t know.” He stopped. Years ago he could barely look at her without a cold wave of guilt pumping in place of his blood. He had been so convinced that he would never, ever hurt her, but how was Hulk supposed to know that? Sam was the closest thing he had to a daughter and felt nothing but blessed that she shared interests with him. She was a lot nicer to him than Tony, but Bruce didn't know how to work right beside her. “Can you just wait until Tony gets back and ask him?”

“Sure, I can wait another 13 years and see if he cares by then…”

“I…” Bruce removed his glasses, more stressed by the family dynamic than the galactic problem in front of him.

“Because you love me, Uncle Bruce?”

“Let me think about it—”

“I could help with…” Sam coached, but she cut in too soon. Bruce's energy changed without any physical movement, and suddenly, Sam was positive he was about to throw her out of the building. She had to get to work before Missy’s program was detected, or Hulk killed her for being annoying. “Or I could leave you with your thoughts while I get us some coffee,” she said, retreating to the exit. No stimulants, she reminded herself, especially now. “Treat you to a fizzy water with lime,” she yelled as the door shut behind her, pausing to make sure no smashing noises followed.

With any luck, Bruce had thrown himself back into research or was distracted by what he should do with Sam. He couldn’t be casually paying attention to anything else. However, there had to be footage of Sam going to get coffee and sitting down in the more private residence kitchenette for Missy to loop. There would be no one there because of the training exercises being run in the Eastern Hall and its adjacent field. Thank you organized, calendar-keeper Friday.

After Sam had remained comfortably seated, half-obscured, at the far corner of the kitchen countertop, at the edge of the security camera’s field of vision, routinely lifting her mug to her face and placing it back, she heard a small tonal signal. Missy was looping the footage. She could go to the infirmary without being seen. She rounded a corner just as the nurse left Wilson’s room. This sneaking around reminded her of plundering the medical building, and she’d studied just as hard to ensure this was successful. Nurses made rounds every half hour or so, but since Falcon’s condition had not changed in weeks, it was likely no one would be back for over an hour. Sam didn’t need that long, but it was reassuring.

This time no music playing in his room. The only sounds were his various monitors.

He looked skinnier; his cheeks sunk over the past weeks and while not visible at the moment, she was sure his arms and legs had begun to atrophy. Looking at him laying there in the hospital bed, Sam thought about the possibility that her experiment wouldn’t work. She could have done all the testing in the world, and it might still not work on Sam Wilson. Could she take that risk? She had no right to choose for him, technically alive but officially brain dead as he was. Sam Stark knew what she would choose to do, but she was not Sam Wilson.

If she was a soldier who’d seen all Falcon had, if she had a team of friends, if she had the important job of defending the world, if she had the possibility of flying and fighting again, even the possibility, would she take the risk? He had chosen, years ago, to use experimental flight equipment in combat. He had seen that equipment kill his friend Riley and still flew with EXO-7. He’d been injured in the wings before and still flown, still strapped himself back in for another mission. So his answer seemed even more obvious, but the pit in her stomach remained.

Little Sam took Big Sam’s hand once again, ignoring the pins and needles running all over her skin with the contact. Her twitching made his lax hand twitch too. She could feel the calluses on his palm. He would be mad at how ashy his knuckles had become.

“If this doesn’t work,” she whispered, “for whatever reason, or it’s not what you want…” She looked at his unmoving face with the rhythmically fogging mask. “I swear to you I will make it right, but for now, however, I need you to wake up.”

“Four minutes,” Missy’s automated signal warned in her ear.

Samantha pulled out the lipstick tube she had hollowed out to hide the vial for Wilson. Sorry, Annie, she thought, I’ll replace your Berry Kiss shade later. Sam grabbed a needle and dosed Falcon’s IV, watching for a reaction as long as possible. No immediate signs of allergy or cardiac distress. No blood pressure drops or spikes on his monitors. No rise in brain wave activity either, but she only had a few minutes to watch.

“One minute,” Missy signaled, followed by second beeps. Samantha hauled ass on her choreographed path for Missy’s visual coverage and grabbed her still-warm mug off the countertop, sitting as still as she could until the beeps stopped. She took a long, casual sip, finishing the remainder. She counted to five, looked out the window, and slowly swirled her finger around the mug’s rim. It was a move she’d planned, thinking it was a carefree gesture that would really sell how long she’d taken to drink one cup of coffee. She was very proud of her performance.

When she returned to Dr. Banner’s lab with a seltzer, he was not even there. She hadn’t seen him in the hall. She hadn’t passed anyone coming back. Sam didn’t know whether that was common during training in this facility since she hadn’t spent significant time inside it in the last decade. It was probably for the best; the fewer people to see her hair the better. You’d think there would be a better physical presence. They rely too heavily on technology. But Sam knew she couldn’t hang around to figure it all out. She could monitor Sam Wilson’s progress, if any, from Missy at her home.

She found her tablet where she’d hidden it, still face down. Sam quietly said “subset beta five ex” to unlock the phone, but nothing flashed across the screen. Instead, Missy’s calm tone promptly replied “download complete.” And they’re not even that safe with all the technology they do have. To be fair, however, both Sam and Missy were born of the Stark family and their minds; why would the Avengers need protection from them? The Avengers had no idea who they were…or what they could do.

Bucky stared down Sharon Rogers. They stood in the kitchen, unwilling to let the other do the harder task of cleaning the dishes after lunch.

“You’re our guest. If you’re going to do anything, it’s dry,” Agent 13 insisted.

“It’s your home. You do everything else, so you can let me do this one thing.” Bucky looked at Steve as if the giant blond man could help him change her mind.

“This is the most,” Steve snorted, “domestic thing I’ve ever seen, Buck. Are you even good at washing? We wouldn’t want you to rust.” Steve was confident that his seat at the table was a safe distance from his best friend’s clenched metal fist.

“Shut the hell up, jerk. I’m trying to be nice. Give me the plate, Sharon,” Bucky added forcefully.

She handed it over as if the flatware were a live weapon, backing away towards Steve. She muffled a giggle, interrupted by the phone ringing before she could sit down. Her husband enjoyed the seclusion and formality of a landline, a holdout from his youth. Sharon waved Steve to stay seated and grabbed the receiver.

“Hello,” she answered, “Bruce slow down—”

Steve instinctively tensed while Bucky dropped a cup into the sink. Sharon’s face dropped into mission concentration.

“Alright, they’re on their way. I’ll be along later.” She hung up. “Go, boys, I’ve got those. Sam’s awake.”

Bucky didn’t even dry his hands. Steve was out the door after a peck on Sharon’s cheek.

Bucky paused in the hall to yell back, “I chipped your glass,” adding a guilty “sorry” before shutting the door with his dripping hand.

“I am not going to be pushed around in a damn wheelchair,” Sam Wilson roared at the nurse. Steve stepped closer to help his friend up. “If you put me in that chair, Rogers, I will break both of your super legs. I’m on your right, mother—”

“Ok, pal,” Steve cut in, “how about I walk with you outside for a bit.”

The nurse leaned over to Bucky. “Irritability is pretty normal for a while after a head injury,” she whispered, “but maybe the fewer people the better for a little longer. See how he does.”

Bucky nodded, and the nurse waved her colleague out of the room. “Enjoy your walk, sir. We will resume your tests later.” Falcon almost snarled at the poor woman.

Bucky stood between the newly-wakened Avenger and the staff. “Are you gonna break my legs, too?”

Wilson fumed but tossed his arm over Roger’s shoulder. “Anyone asks, you tell them I’m drunk and that’s why my ASS IS HANGING OUT,” Falcon spat at Bucky as they passed him into the hall.

“Inside voices, please,” Steve asked politely, his ear close to Sam’s potty mouth.

But Wilson didn’t stop. “Your sheets are scratchy,” he continued to yell down the corridor. “Anyone ever heard of lotion?!”

Bucky didn’t get the chance to follow. Bruce trapped him in the infirmary, mumbling something about integration failure.

“Barnes,” the doctor started, eyes flicking over his glasses, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Please, don’t make me dress him, or supervise him, or do physical therapy with him. Please.”

“What? No,” Bruce removed his glasses, finally relaxing his arm chronically bent to hold his work tablet at eye level. “Are you still going to Wakanda? I have a passenger for you.”

A/N: Yay, Big Sam is back! As always, thank you for reading, and I'm hoping to have the next several chapters formatted soon for tumblr.

[Ch 13: Deflection]

[Main Masterlist]

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flownwrong · 1 year

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Ten Characters, Ten Fandoms, Ten (haha no) Tags

more tag games! I was tagged by @prince-of-elsinore forever ago and just got around to it. thanks elsi!

1. gerri kellman, succession

stone cold bitch, smartest person in the room, crazy hot lady, probably the single most entertaining character for me to watch in the whole show. what can i say, she's just neat.

2. tim gutterson, justified

he don't miss MY HEART! deadpan, competent, and secretly a disaster. what more to want in a character. i love this boi, not one boring second on the screen.

3. harry du bois, disco elysium

no gifs for this one, but there's something wonderful about a character who's both been wrecked by life and poor choices to the point he completely lost sight of meaning or purpose AND is put in a clean slate position when he can experience the world and very intense events around him with childlike wonder. the way i played him was an (un)healthy combo of falling into old patterns and choosing to turn to light and open himself to it whenever he can, and he turned out to be an extremely cathartic vessel in this story and in my own processing.

4. charlie kelly, it's always sunny in philadelphia

my favourite rat boy. i appreciated how despite being the pinnacle of insanity he is also one who delivered most of the poignant, truly emotional points in the whole show for me. probably my favourite actor/part combo too. gj both charlies

5. casca, berserk

if we take the pre-eclipse arcs, she is actually one of my favourite women to be written by a man. a surprisingly deep figure that swerves away from cliches every time she approaches them, making choices when nobody expects her to choose for herself. "nobody lies their way into a body with this many scars," indeed.

6. jocelyn carter, person of interest

the counterweight of mundane in an otherwise very not mundane setting, a display of being a human with boundaries and restricted possibilities among people who move and operate on an entirely different plane, an overall bulldozer of human perseverance in the face of something incomprehensible. she's an all around good egg.

7. misato katsuragi, neon genesis evangelion

[claps misato on the back] this girl can fit so much trauma in her. her unique place in the story of cracking facades all around resonated most with me, layers and layers revealed and stripped off her persona to the point where there's a very real, struggling and lost core left that has to step up and take responsibility or perish. even as everything falls apart around her, she commits to moving further and further, and i loved watching it.

8. david ward, i am in eskew

not much of a character at all, but a magnificent device to explore the feelings of total alienation, detachment and otherness both through his place in reality and his place in unreality. he doesn't fit in either but he makes important choices in the face of the latter, patching up holes in himself even if he can't ever get whole again. a kind of alice in wonderland but horror experience.

9. francis crozier, the terror

very high on my list of extremely flawed characters you come to love not because they get rid of the flaws but because they learn to shed them in the face of harrowing experiences to uplift and help others. does not help at all that he's portrayed by king jarred harris who embodies this development perfectly. a++

10. sidney freedman, m*a*s*h

i forced myself to not cheat by picking hawkeye, but then it was no competition because sidney is by far the rarest kind of character i get to see. like how often do you get a psychiatrist/therapist on screen that doesn't cringe you out and oddly resonates with how you wish to see healing and help represented, all that despite being from a 50 year old show and using methods of its time? there's so little stigma or distance to be found around sidney, and so much acceptance and belief in people he tries to help. i want to carry this with me in my work if my becoming a therapist plan pans out.

i am Not Sure anyone in my circle escaped this, but in case someone did, i would love to see @blueniverse42's, @thegoodthebadandtheart's, @andreydaddanos's and @harpernovakaine lists!

#tag games #fandom

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metalliceyepoker · 2 years

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Since no one made a choice and choose a skittles in my last post, which is this, I decided to pick the black pearl. Black pearl, is the heaviest angst. See for yourself. This the sequel of this.

The song I listened to while writing this:

Tw: mentions of major character death (you), Suicidal thought

A full month of standstill.

How long?

It has been a month since he incinerated your body.

He missed the first two meetings in a daze.

When he didn't show up for the third, Mother dearest paid a visit.

A slap. A fresh new scar on the cheek from those darned golden claws, another addition to his already fucked up face.

Jerking awake in the bloody, tethered mess that was his body.

'Listen to mother' this, 'Be a good son' that. Threats. Pain, pain, PAIN PAIN PAINPAINPAINPA-

He didn't bother to patch himself up. The damn bug eventually did the job, anyway.

Couldn't even follow you to the afterlife.

The stuck up cunt wrinkled her nose, commenting on his 'personal hygiene', how he's not qualified to be a Lord with such neglect, better yet, they could put a stray lycan in his place and no one would tell the difference. Damn doll screeched, cackling at the comment, the sound ringing behind his eyes, his neck, his entire goddamn skull, the pain riding up and down, and up and down his spine. Moreau soon joined with that disgusting laugh of his, equally revolting as his face.

But his own eyes were dull. Unfocused. No clever rebuttal, or even a quip.

The giantess arched her brow, but her attention got quickly occupied by the black harpy's presence.

He didn't hear a single word out of that cunt's mouth.

He didn't remember walking back to the factory, or coming into his workshop.

He didn't remember when he picked up your bloodied t-shirt, color already fading from the countless times he rubbed it between his fingers.

He bunched up the front and buried his nose in it, taking a deep breath.

It no longer smelled like you. Only dust and blood.

He didn't cry. Because Lord Karl Heisenberg does not cry.

What bullshit. He didn't know how.

The only emotion he was fluent in was the anger. But for some reason, your death didn't bring it out. Without it, he was mute, no way to express his suffering.

So he sat. With your t-shirt still clutched in his bare hands.

For a month, not a single soldat was made.

Lack of maintenance led to machines breaking down, conveyors long stopped moving, bodies dangling from above. Backup generator kicked in, providing the place just enough amount of electricity to keep the lights on. Bodies in storage must have rotten down to the maggoty pile by now.

But he couldn't care less.

What did it matter? Say he does take down Miranda. If he does, and that's a big if. What then? All he could think about was to get cooped up inside the factory, as he's done for decades.

Decades. He's realized now, that all he's done before you came along was being holed up in this place, either experimenting on the bodies or plotting his revenge. This? This building? It was nothing but a workplace. Outside, inside, he had known no rest. He had to keep moving, keep thinking, keep working, lest he lost his goddamned mind, just like his 'brother and sisters'.

Your presence changed that. Just your arms around him liquified the tense muscles. Peck on the cheek as you passed by, and his frown smoothed out. He even got a proper bed for you, which, in the end, benefitted both of you as soon as you introduced him to the concept of 'spooning'.

Your jokes and helping hands. Rosy cheeks when he ruffled your hair once. His tools neatly cleaned and organized after his absence. That little paper-wrapped sandwich you slipped in his coat pocket, and later, a bottle of cold beer on the table. You somehow handing him the right tools and parts when he couldn't for the life of him figure out what was missing. Coming home to try out the new dish you made that day.

Home. At some point, it was no longer just a 'factory'. This was his home. A home he shared with you.

His grip on the shirt tightened, although the face remained blank.

'Go on without me.'

Your last words on that table, as he let you down one last time.

He tore the operating room to pieces, the pillars gave, ceiling fell down, the entire room collapsing in on itself. When he crawled out of the debris, he sat on the pile for hours.

Go on without you. How? How? You changed his life forever. You changed him. How was he supposed to live out his life now? How could he dream of a future, when everytime he tries to picture it, he only ever realizes that you were his future?

You brought a meaning to his life. His revenge had a purpose. With you, he was invincible, any and all pain, he could endure.

He put up with his siblings, the unholy tasks from Miranda, the witch herself, the godforsaken heap of shit that was this village, all so he could witness the one sight that made it all worth it, your smile. You were enough for him to soldier on, even in this hell.

And oh, what a surprise, he was okay with that. Never in his life had he known contentment, nor were he okay with being under Miranda's thumb for another decade, but with you by his side?

He could tolerate everything a lot better than before.

Maybe the witch noticed the change in his demeanor.

Maybe that's how she found out about you.

'Get the fuck away from me!'

Your petrified form, eyes showing nothing but terror.

His fault. It was his fault.

You showed him a glimpse of heaven and he sent you straight to hell.

A string of blood dribbled down his chin from where he bit down on his lip. He moved your t-shirt away from the dripping blood, even the very thought of tainting your possession with his presence too sickening.

'Go live your life.'

"I have no life, Buttercup." Your nickname echoed in the empty room. That was the last time he ever uttered that word, he decided.

Along with your name.

He had to start working again. He'd work, scheme, and wait, as he's done for years. And take his best shot. Either the bitch goes down or he does. Didn't matter. If Miranda does go down, however, he'd look for a way to join you.

Or maybe you'd not want to see him, even on the other side.

But what other choice did he have.

He carefully folded your t-shirt, and put it in the metal box that he took it out of. All of the reminders of you were there, the shiny bracelet he made for you twinkling, like the way your eyes did when he first showed it to you, with pursed lips and a hand rubbing the back of his neck like there's a stain he had to get rid of.

He clicked the box shut.

#karl heisenberg #lord karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x you #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #song: Little One - Highly Suspect #angst #heavy angst #writing practice #my writing #writing prompts #sequel #black pearl

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scienceoftheidiot · 2 years

Note

For the OTP Ask Game::

2. // 4. // 11. // 20. // 41.

(if you don't like the one picked - swap it out for a number you wished I put here 😂)

As usual I'm going to answer for my original story characters Desden and Diane - if you want to know more about them, I put a couple of character info on my pinned post here ^^

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare?

They're both prone to nightmares but the one who has them most often is Desden - only he doesn't really wake up in a manic state, because he's 1) used to it 2) has a light enough sleep that he is fully awake quickly - also if unsure of either state, he'd rather not move an inch. Diane's the one you have to be careful with because she WILL fight you if she's been having a bad dream and is startled awake. Luckily she's also tiny compared to Desden. He will just touch her to bring her back to herself, just one hand, on the shoulder or the belly or any place he can reach without getting punched in the nose, talk to her in a soothing voice, and wait until she sounds like she knows it's him to cuddle her back to sleep.

4. Which one is more protective? Who needs to be ‘protected’?

Fun part is : the answer to both of these questions is Diane. She can be overprotective over Desden (nothing like what's going on with Laurence (Desden's sister) though, Diane knows he can handle himself in everyday life, he's not a kid). She's easily triggered into "protecc" mode by outsiders, but she trusts Desden when he tells her to calm down. She will never admit it, but she also needs to be reassured and told she's safe and there's no better place for her to feel safe than in Desden's arms, so ^^

11. Do either try to hide their emotions if upset? Can the other still tell?

Desden is a litteral open book. He can be of bad faith and say people misunderstand him or deny it but really, no, everything's written on his face - he blushes pretty easily, too (and he knows it and it makes him crazy).

Diane is a little more subtle than that and you'd think she'd manage to hide better considering Desden is blind, but nope. Once he knows her enough, he always knows when something is wrong, actually sometimes better than others. No supernatural in that, he's just pretty observant.

20. Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship.

This one

41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering?

Desden. Anyway he wouldn't be able to put one arm through Diane's jacket, she's so small compared to him. Also this is exactly what I wrote in this prompt if you want to know how it goes (of course Diane will deny being cold ! of course !)

Anyway thank you so much for sending those, they were so much fun!!! I'm always happy to just talk about my babies :D

#replies #ask game #otp #oc #residentdormouse

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vinivre · 5 months

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It was going to be the same, as it was every year. Reaping day. She was in her room pacing. What was she to wear on this fine day? It almost made her laugh thinking about it. Dressing up nice once again for the choosing of children to die.

It had been her second year as the Victor of the Hunger Games. Embrode was eighteen now. It was the last year for all of her school friends to be in on the Reaping Day. After this year they would be ready to go on with their lives and watched as their younger siblings and soon their children be chosen.

She had finally picked a dress and had quickly stepped into it and put the sleeves over her shoulders when there was a knock on the door and before she could tell the person to leave, that she was getting dressed, the door opened. Embrode turned around quickly to meet the dark brown eyes of her boyfriend, Kestrel. Her eyes went wide, not suspecting him to be around for he should have been getting ready for his last year to be part of the Reaping. There was only a silence between them for a while, he was just looking over her, slightly in awe of how beautiful she looked.

“Zip me up, will you?”

She finally broke the silence with that question which had Kestrel silently walking over and his cold fingers finding the zipper and slowly moving it up along her back. His fingers then went to her shoulders, his lips pressed against her neck gently. Embrode turned around and put her arms around him. This was the second time they went through this. His sadness always seemed to grow during this time, for Embrode would be leaving again. It always seemed she was never around anymore–which she was not. Kestrel did not seem to know how to speak, he only expressed himself with the small touches to her skin, his fingers tracing down her arms and entwining their hands. Jasper was the one to always break the silence.

“If only Reaping Day was two weeks later, then you would not have to endure it once again.”

Her eyes looked over him and her free hand rested against his chest. He needed to go ahead and leave. Without any words she kissed him gently on the lips and led him out of her room to the door. It was a silent exchange of goodbye and I’ll miss you. Then he was gone and she was left at the door frame watching the unknown people on the streets make their way to the center of District Eight.

The ceremony was just like every other ceremony. She knew it too well now, growing up with every word repeated each year on this day. IT seemed to go by quickly, which was grand, she was beginning to have her stomach churn. Here comes another year of watching children die because she was not a helpful mentor. Even her own mentor, the ass he was, said this to her. Their first meeting was pleasant enough, for knowing that she may die but he was one to just be thankful he was still alive and had a wife to love. She looked over to him now and he sat there with no expression on his face, it was neutral.

It did not take long to pick the girl who would be heading off to the Capitol to die, some thirteen year old girl with long, light brown hair that swished as she walked up the stage, fear in her eyes. Embrode tilted her head, eyeing her. She was not as small as she looked when walking up to the stage. She could have a chance, possibly. Jasper hoped. Then it was the boys turn. She was looking out into the sea of all the boys in their age groups. So many, but only one would die. IT was harsh to think that way but it was how it was, they would die. Only one would live.

“Kestrel Elestren”

The name echoed through her mind. It was so familiar and it took her a few moments to realize, Kestrel Elestren was her Kestrel, the love of her life. Jasper stood up and she felt a hand grab her wrist to pull her down but she did not waiver. A hurried whispered from Cecilia to her to sit but she simply pulled at the graspon on her wrist She watched as Kestrel walked up to the stage. Words were spoken but his eyes met her’s and every bad feeling and emotion came to her, a clump in her throat making her unable to breathe.

It could not be real. Two weeks, if it had only been two weeks later!

She calmed down, which had the hands that kept her still to retract. Her next movements were swift, going past the peacekeepers to the room she knew Kestrel would be in. She opened the door and closed it quickly, arms wrapping around her and that had sent her emotions raging again, she was sobbing into her boyfriend’s shoulder. She had the possibility, a great possibility of losing the love of her life.

“I’ll make it out, Embrode. Everything is going to be fine. Just–go to the train…I’ll see you there. I need to talk to my family. Embrode–it’s going to be okay.”

He seemed so strong now, at the moment she was breaking. He guided her to the door pressing a kiss to her forehead and she stood there, lost. Her feet took her home to pack for the train and just not thinking about how Kestrel would be there on the train with her, preparing to die. Kestrel would die.

#bry's oc things

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stylezxsilvermoon · 1 year

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blue ice | chapter one: a melancholy night

❝I could tell you what you wanna hear 'cause the truth is always in the way I never wanna live in fear I don't wanna hold back all the things I need to say❞

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

CHAPTER ONE: A MELANCHOLY NIGHT

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

A/N: This story holds acts of mature content and psychopathic behavior, this is your one and only warning of such behaviors and acts, this story has been written and fleshed out through the dark escapades of my mind and those throughout the brigade, welcome to my madness, welcome to my light, welcome to my cursed darkness.

Second of all: If you have not read the first chapter with the character casts lists, I recommend you go back a step and read that, it is very important to the story.

**This Novel is a Larry Stylinson LGBTQ+ crime-romance-mystery novel, with acts of homosexual parts practically embedded into it, if it is not your cup of tea, kindly move along**

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone ANY of the actions in this book or relate them to the characters in real life in ANY way, please do not think I am misrepresenting the people behind the characters in such a way.

For my sanity and others: If anyone chooses to read this for a second, third, fourth time etc., DO NOT LEAVE SPOILERS FOR FIRST TIME READERS IN THE COMMENTS, any comments of those will be removed.

Author

The lands of the lost and the isles of the forgotten bustled with business as if they had never before. The storm of unforgiving merciless proportions ripped through the lands of the cold climate, desperately looking for relief and solace, here lies their souls of those who sought to fight another battle, in the aftermath.

In Doncaster, UK, the police station that has solved many crimes that would have stayed and collected dust in the crime unit’s file room. But, just as fate may have it, one soul picked amongst the rest sought to catch the one thing that kept him human. That reminded his own flesh and blood his heart was beating.

Louis Tomlinson.

The sound of a fresh new case breaking the brigades of the station is what breaks him out of thought, sitting pretty, and searching for any new perpetrators to catch in the act, is where it all begins.

Louis ponders to himself as to what it might be, stepping slowly out of his train of thought, perpetually forever in wonder of what might happen next. His past slowly seeping into his future as if it was drops of poisonous honey dangling on the edge of the tongue of trepidation.

He swallows thickly, taking in the atmosphere as sweat begins to gather on his brow, despite being on the force of public justice for so long, he still gets the thoughts of what could be lurking around the next corner of each case in the back of his mind.

Always wondering, always thinking of the next heart shattering, mind boggling case that could fly through those doors. The hunger for something new always plagued him with a taste for justice and vindication, proving he was the best of the best was simply what he did, best.

Though Louis wasn’t cocky, he was giving to people in his life. And even to those he would never see the day after, he always made sure to put kindness forward. Even if he had to deal with the short end of the stick most of the time.

It's late in the night, heavy permafrost coated snow is pelting against the windows disturbing his thoughts, but welcoming them, nevertheless. As a few files of picturesque crimes float through Louis’ head like sugarplums dance through the mind of any other person not collaborating with cold killers and cutthroat assassin’s day by day.

But that’s what his line of work was, at the end of the day. It wasn’t to see the pretty side of people in their everyday lives, it was to see them at their most vulnerable, or most emotional, or simply nothing at all.

On this scale of justice, it was hard to weigh through the rights and the wrongs, that’s why the department had always followed by the book. The rules of life will always tell you what is right and what is wrong.

It was simply mind over matter this time.

Louis rubs his eyes tiredly after a long shift, desperately longing to get to his warm bed at home after searching through evidence of a perpetrator caught just a few nights ago, looking through each and every detail like a scatterplot that could scatter the mind, but Louis was talented, though he knew his limits.

Searching for his things to head home after a long day at the job, Louis looked to his certificate of authenticity of his private investigator legitimacy, he enjoyed the sight of it, knowing if nothing, above all else, he had something to his name that was tangible, palpable.

Louis’ mind raced quickly with the thoughts of each case thrown at him on his mind. But all would be washed away as soon as he walked through the station’s door, he thought to himself.

“Heading out for the night, investigator?” Detective Juniper said with a smirk, knowing Louis’ shift by heart, but yet teasing him about it mercilessly, for work banter, as she called it.

“Seems to look that way, I’ll see you bright and early Juniper.” Louis said, his voice wavering mid-sentence, his tired eyes drew out an ocean of sadness and droughts of rain and dry eyes as they looked to everyone at the station, the good and the bad, though Louis saw them all the very same.

“As to you, Louis.” She said simply, wavering with nothing else from that moment on, Louis was officially off-duty from the moment his feet crossed the skids pads of the salted sidewalks. Looking to the dim light of the police department station’s sign lifted some type of strange weight off of his shoulders as he continued on. He breathed an open breath in the darkness, with nothing but himself and the wind with him now.

His air floated heavily through the wind out of his lungs and out into the atmosphere. And, sometimes he always wondered, where would the wind take him, if he were to float into space simply, subconsciously without a care in the world, he tempted the thought for a moment, then... he let it fly.

But Louis knew he had to stay focused, and alert, no matter how delirious his nights and days might have gotten.

And with that, he marched to the end of the parking lot, labeled ‘staff only’. As his grey Mercedes-Benzes calling his name as the car jolted to a start with the click of the car alarm. Followed by Louis opening the door without haste; desperately clawing himself away from the bitter below zero temperatures that coaxed its way deep into the skin of his face.

With windshield wipers on, and darkness cascading through the pale moonlight, he was off with not a trace.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Louis raced down the freeway as fast as time would allow for making quick time of when he had left the station. While waiting in the traffic, he fumbled with the cars radio. In search of something to fill his numb empty mind with substance. Just something to fill the silence, he mumbled to himself.

The radio went static as it searched for a signal as Louis’ mind buzzed with excitement. Suddenly it roared to life as a newscaster was introduced onto the radio station with the latest breaking news.

“The case of the Lythorn’s killer in the south of Britain has caused the entire coast to go into a frenzy. With police searching for the killer, a new case has arisen seemingly out of the blue. Reports say, the faceless killer may be willing to make a name for themselves. Authorities say they are recruiting Private Investigator Louis Tomlinson and Detective Juniper Young to gather more information on the heinous murder and the suspect at large. We will provide more information when information is provided, back to your regularly scheduled programming.” The news woman said on the channel seven radio station as the radio switched back to some boring jazz music that was on previously.

Louis smiled a bit at his name and his partners being mentioned on the radio, but his smile vanished at the scenario of the names being mentioned, in the case of the Lythorn’s killer.

Though the police in that department had given Louis and Juniper almost nothing to go off; strangely he was positive they would find something more the next day when they traveled to the city itself.

The thick fog along with the chilling snow that continued to pile down on the road Louis was driving on made it hard to focus on anything else. Much rather to avoid skidding onto a patch of black ice. Louis huffed as he arrives smoothly at the driveway of his house, seeing the lights already on was peculiar but familiar all the same.

Louis wasted no time hustling to the door to avoid the dangerous frost awaiting to freeze him completely. As he keyed the door the contents of his house behind it revealed his boyfriend Milo sitting on the living room couch, eyes glued to a good book he had been reading a few weeks prior.

“Milo, I’m home.” Louis said quietly, as not to disturb his shy lover but only to alert him of his presence.

“Hey Louis, I missed you baby.” Milo said quietly as he shut the book he was holding in his hands and set it on the coffee table, the orange lights of the lamps in the living room made Louis’ skin look as if it was shining pure gold. It made Milo want to dance in that light, to swim in it and to taste it. As Louis came closer to him, slowly peeling off each layer of clothing that protected him from the cold. Now rather keeping him from being skin to skin to his boyfriend.

Now clad in a tight fitting soft-to-the-touch long sleeved t shirt, Louis exhaled a labored breath as he hung his coat up in the closet next to where he was standing.

As Louis inched closer to the couch Milo was seated on with a smirk on his face, each of the two men laid a chaste kiss on each other’s lips as Louis easily crawls next to Milo, right where he should be in his mind, and his heart.

“Missed you more.” Louis mouths quietly in a whisper as they kiss in the silence, the sounds of the winds breaking through the atmosphere outside is the only thing in the silence that can be heard.

“How was your day at the station investigator?” Milo questions sweetly as Louis looks to him with an enthusiastic stare.

“Hm, tiring, to say the least,” Louis says with a huff of air as Milo laughs and throws his head back with delight at the pout on Louis’ face.

There’s a long pause as Louis enjoys Milo’s warm skin to the touch of his still, frost bitten skin kissed by the cold snow lying just outside their windows.

“Love?” Louis questions, his words becoming a chore to his ears as he realizes the heavy weight of his words and the effect on the situation.

“I have to head out tomorrow, for a case in this town called Lythorn. There’s a murder case the department wants me Juniper and I to help the police department there with it, since they haven’t done too much of anything about it.” Louis says solemnly as Milo looks to him with questioning and worry, as he thinks of who’s to know what lies in the unknown and foreign city, which makes his imagination wonder to great lengths it will take to solve the case.

“But you just came home.” Milo whines as Louis swats his arm playfully as he laughs a hearty laugh out of pure sarcasm.

As they looked to each other in the silence, Milo wondered if Louis would return, home to him safe in one piece, he wondered. He had seen much to many stories on the news of detectives going missing in result of sketchy crime investigations, he certainly wouldn’t want the same to happen to Louis.

He simply shivered at the thought as his imagination took this moment to run away with his inhibitions and better judgement, Louis looked to his dulcet expression as he looked to him with worry all the same, Louis knew of the dangerous tasks he would be sent off to do, but at the end of the day, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Will you come back to me, my love?” Milo said out of the blue, Louis nodded, although they were heartbeats apart, Louis could never feel so far from him.

Milo and Louis had always been close, experiencing everything together. But something always felt like it was missing, and that piece called their whole castle of romance to fall apart and be forced to its knees.

And that thing, Louis had come to known all too well, was love.

Strangely he had never felt that with Milo, perhaps it wasn’t the right time, or he wasn’t ready for the deeper connection that Louis craved. But one thing about him, was that he kept it all hidden, fearing he would cast him out and break his heart was all too much that he couldn’t handle.

That’s what Louis was good at, staying inside of his comfort zone, at least in love. It was known to his mind you would only get anywhere if you stepped out of that cocoon of knowing, or prediction and safeness. But if he only knew how to break free from the chains.

If only, his heart hoped.

In his line of work, it was easy to push your limit. Let alone to jump into the unknown… but when his heart was on the line, he simply never knew where to turn to, and his fears seemed larger than life.

Sometimes it felt as if he was out of touch with reality, in a strange way.

Louis’ relationship with Milo had never been easy, being with each other from such a ripe age of sixteen had always caused problems, but nothing of which they couldn’t figure out.

But alas, even if all was right with the silence in the night, as they slept in the same bed Louis would always feel as if something was missing, and he had not known as to what.

Milo was a loving man, and he had cared for Louis in ways no one else ever could, or even knew how to. But there were other sides to Louis Milo did not know of, and possibly that he would never dream of at all.

As Louis learned more about how the human brain works and how we manage to process and create master plans in our small little heads he wondered how loving Louis was missing from Milo’s head, Louis sighed as he inflicted his own self pain at the thought, and he wouldn’t even tempt it, afterward, all he knew of was the silence, there was no light. It was as if they were living on the dark side of the moon.

Constantly searching for the light in the world, and always finding it was nowhere to be found.

Of course, Louis had always been shrouded in darkness, in order to corrupt the bad, you must become the dark.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Louis

The darkness outside seemed cold as I cascaded into the darkness once more, off in search of another mystery with no name to match the faces, I sighed to myself at the circumstances as I stood up straight and began my conquest of the ages.

I looked to the large alarm clock outlining the time of day in dark red letters 6:00 AM the clock read as my mind began to switch between the tasks that needed to be done before I took my leaving swiftly at dusk.

I padded across the wooden floors before returning briskly to the master bedroom of Milo and I’s shared apartment, few hours had passed as I paced back and forth in the confides of the living room deciding the course of action for the case of the unknown mysterious killer of the town Lythorn.

I looked to Milo’s sleeping figure and the covers thrown askew on the bed as he had left them. I kissed his forehead as he stirred in his sleep before my eyes, I seen his eyelids flutter for a brief moment before being met with his honey brown eyes and dark brown hair strewn across the pillowcase in contrast to our white sheets.

“You’re leaving already?” Milo said in a husky whisper as I nodded to him, he looked up to me as he sat up from the bed and the ivory sheets slipped off of his upper body gracefully as a hushed gasped escaped from my lips. He was so very beautiful, I thought to myself, but why didn’t I feel the way I was supposed too about him? I questioned myself yet again, if only I knew the answer.

“Yes M, Juniper and I have to beat the big snowstorm that’s rolling in.” I said playfully as Milo’s body fell back onto the mattress dramatically as he released a breath of air in the silence.

“I suppose so, be safe Lou.” Milo said as his eyes pleaded with mine as I was left speechless.

I did what anyone would do in this situation, as time was ticking and I was left speechless, I simply walked away, with only my heart to my name in search of a mystery.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The ride was quiet, as the sun peaked across the hills of the town’s opening and the wind bustled and whistled across the landscape.

The snowfall was heavy and unforgiving as the townsfolk walked across the icy sidewalks with pride in their strides, but also with casual caution carrying them along with the winds. The people of this town seemed to be of no alarm to the state of emergency that was going on around them, something told me this aura of unusual crime was nothing but.

Lythorn was nothing I didn’t expect it to be, but strange, nonetheless. The nippy weather casted shadows on the seemingly empty ghost town, but it was bustling with people in town square, shadows crossed the bleak sunlight that peaked through the clouds as the roads were bustling with traffic, people travelling in and out of the city. I looked around at the strange winter haze as it created an odd shadow around the town’s aura.

Everything looked bleak as we pulled into town square trying to avoid the people and the constant chatter and odd stares that the people who inhabited the town gave us, Juniper wearily gauged the emotions of the town itself and the people living in it as we weaved our way through the heavy traffic as the thick snow poured down making it impossible to see a few miles in front of you.

But that didn’t stop us as we stopped the car as a police detective of the Lythorn Police Department flagged us down as I expected them to. Juniper and I looked to each other one last time before we opened the car doors and shut them behind us as the investigator motioned us to the departments headquarters to escape the blinding snow.

As we all rushed into the small detective office headquarters the detective shut the door blocking out all of the blinding blizzards of snow winding around us.

“Nice to meet you both, you must be investigator Tomlinson and detective Young?” He questioned as he shook both of our hands as we nodded.

“Wonderful, I’m detective Zayn Malik, I’ll be filling you in on the basic information on the case you’ll be investigating.” The detective said, which name to my information was Zayn, nodded to us as we all collectively huddled in closer to take in the secretive information.

“The people of Lythorn are absolutely terrified of the supposed ‘murderer’ making a name for themselves here, and we haven’t got not a crumb of information of their name, sex, or identity, if found guilty are responsible for over twenty murders this year alone. The police can’t seem to get their heads out of their asses to figure out what’s going on here. That’s why we’ve hired you.” Zayn explained as we nodded with the information we were receiving. My mind began to wonder as to why the police and detectives here weren’t able to find much of any information about this sleuth killer. Were they lacking the correct information, or was the killer just that good?

“But the main reason we’ve asked you here is for a pending crime investigation, one that was previously a cold case but… thanks to new evidence has been blown wide open once again.” Zayn said nonchalantly once again, my mind buzzed with more questions that seemed plausible to answer at this time. I was eager to know more about this case. The more I knew, the less time it would take to crack the code to whatever strange lock and key the killer has all of their secrets under.

“This information is on a need-to-know basis, I presume?” Juniper asked as detective Malik nodded nonchalantly.

“A girl, by the name of Anna Blokes has been killed, and not recently, I am afraid.” He began his story of a cautionary tale to what I had not known, I only nodded and stayed silent to intake more information.

“She was killed exactly ten years ago, and now the killer that took her life seems to be on the prowl again. You see, with all the new attention on her case, the killer seems to be gathering quite an idea of what we’re after, them. And that’s precisely why this is a dangerous game we’re playing; the public continues to demand more information as the killer seems to be getting closer and closer.

“Have the police tried doing a dangerous suspect search, or set out an amber alert?” Juniper asked as Zayn looked puzzled for an answer to her question. I wondered if the people of this town were aware of the danger of what was going on around them.

“Well, you see Detective Young, any time something like that occurs, the suspect ends up killing off one of our key leads in the case. Even cold killers themselves cannot escape this ruthless killer.” Zayn nods as his facial expression goes cold, and the room goes dead silent for a few beats as Juniper, and I question the case completely in the silence. How would the killer even know of the suspects in the investigation? They had to be someone on the inside.

“Have you ever suspected someone on the inside had something to do with this whole ordeal?” I said shockingly as detective Malik looked puzzled to say the least, maybe they had not thought of that possibility, though I had hoped with all of my hearts we had not fooled ourselves into the biggest murder scandal of the decade.

The detective pauses to answer; and it almost seems undeniable that we had a real mess on our hands. It was clear as day, to my eyes at least. And then, suddenly, a woman bursts through the door of a hallway leading to somewhere inside the department’s headquarters in a hurry, she holds a key to the case that I figured wouldn’t have flown through the door on the first day. But it wasn’t easy news to handle, and it was a tough pill to swallow.

“Detective Malik! There’s been another murder!” She shouts as she has the fresh print crime scene photos in hand. Zayn motions to her as he spreads all of the new photographs on the table as they send a chill down my spine.

For a moment I paused and looked around me to evaluate if the reality around me was real, because it didn’t seem to be in that moment. I caught a glance of the photographs as they were graphicly shocking and patiently surprising. My body seized on the very first day of a 10-year-old murder investigation, now reopened, there was a killing, and somehow that worried me more than finding the suspect, it worried me because of the contents of the photos, and what they meant from here forward.

And what’s more worrying, is this face seems to look familiar.

author’s note: How do we like my new novel “blue ice” so far? What do we think is up the sleeves of the sly detective and investigator duo?

Secondly, will Louis solve his relationship problems with Milo or is there relationship better left in the past? And what do you think the crime scene photos look like? Who has been killed?

Comment your theories and predictions, what do you think will happen next?

All the love, Louiscarrotsxoxo

link to blue ice masterlist

#larry stylinson fanfic #blue ice #louis tomlinson #harry loves louis #harry styles #louiscarrotsxoxo

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dmc-tings · 3 years

Text

The Lord's with an S/O (who just found out about their powers)

Alcina Dimitrescu

Noice 👌🏾

But what did you do for this woman to spare you?

She's like... the biggest man hater anywhere

So... if your a guy, you are lucky boi (or if you identify as a guy)

Or perhaps your a lucky lady?

I feel like she won't discriminate if she feels like your important to her

But for whatever reason she CHOSE YOU

So take that as a win

Sure, she's a vampire and has to eat people

Which was something you didn't know

But she doesn't eat in front of you

Even lying to the point of telling you she's drinking wine

You get curious, of course

So when she leaves to "take care of business", you look onto her glass or cup

You see red

"Ok... but it dont smell like wine..."

You take a sip, only to spit it out right away

Retching with disgust, you tasted blood

Your not an idiot, at least not fully anyways

Alcina rushed back, hearing you gag, thinking one of her daughters were bothering you

Only to see the sight in front of her

You looked at her in fear

Which hurt the tall woman's non beating (?) heart

You backed into a corner, thinking the worst

Looking for a makeshift weapon, you grabbed a spoon

To which made the Lady shake her head

"Love, you know I wouldn't-"

"Your a damned liar!!" You barked weakly, "W-what the fuck are you!?"

She sat calmly in the chair in front of you, gesturing for you to take a seat as well

You hesitated, but did comply, not letting go of your weapon (the spoon)

She huffed sadly, normally this behavior would have sent her into a rageful fit

But this is YOU we're talking about

Her little muse, the only mortal that makes her truly happy

"My Love, please calm down."

When you showed no sign of relaxing, Alcina took her glass in her hand, swirling the blood

Then takes a small sip, and lighting a cigarette

She offers you one

You cringe, and with that she pulls back again

After taking a puff, she begins to explain

Mother Miranda, the other Lord's, the creation of her daughter's, the Village, and everything else, prior to your showing up

After she finishes, you lower your loyal spoon

Drinking in all of the information

You looked up at her

"So that's why your so keen in keeping the girls away from me..."

The large woman nodded, looking at you

You bit your lip, but let go of your spoon, placing it back into the table

Alcina looked at you, watching you relax

You nodded a calm understanding

"Well seeing as I know what's going on now... is Mother Miranda going to-"

The Lady Dimitrescu, shook her head

"She has allowed for me to keep you. As long as you only stay in the castle... seeing as that the village is too dangerous. And I don't want you mixed up with the rif-raf."

You smiled and sat in her lap, (cause you can do that) and planted a kiss on her cold cheek

She let out a pleased humm, and returned the kiss

"Just... next time, if you choose a weapon, Love, make sure it has a SHARP end."

Salvatore Moreau

You had known Moreau since before Mother Miranda made an impact on his life

You saw less and less of your significant other

He would disappear and cut your alone time short, whenever the woman called

You were saddened when he finally told you that you couldn't see him anymore

But that's didn't stop him from speaking to you through whatever door, that separated you both

He didn't keep you locked up, but he would lock whatever door was between you

So you couldn't see the monstrous transformation, causing him pain

All you knew is that his voice was becoming more and more disgruntled

As said, you knew Salvatore before this

He was a handsome and intelligent man (despite what's written in Miranda's notes)

And to hear your man become... so in thralled by this other woman, made you suspicious

One day, you both were speaking, with a door between you, as usual

Unbeknownst to Salvatore, you were picking the lock

Eagar to see him

He never noticed the change in your tone, when you got it unlocked, nor the click of the lock

Shoving the door open, and pushing Salvatore back

The male let out a yelp, trying to rush in to the nearby darkness

You stepped through the threshold, eyes blazing and searching

You scanned the room and finally landed on a heap of a shivering... beast?

"Moreau? Is... is that you?" You crept closer, and gently put a hand on his back

"D-dont look at m-me...." he shivered, trying to hide himself

Horrified, you took his face on your hands

"I-is this... the work o-of-"

He cut you off, "Do-dont. Mother loves me... she does... I know she does..."

You felt tears pour down your face

You couldn't bring yourself to speak

That vile woman, had destroyed your dear Moreau

The man you knew and loved was beaten and broken into this sobing heap before you

He looked at you, and reached up to wipe your tears

"Oh... please don't cry... thi-this is her will..."

You shook your head, "what kind of will is this, Salvatore? To turn you-"

He pulled away from you, snarling, "I KNEW YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND!!! Mother loves me, and i-"

You slapped him, your tears stopping, "What kind of man have you become?!"

Disgusted, not with his appearance, but his sniveling attitude

You left

But... not unaffected by what happened to the man you cared about

You left... everything behind, the Village, your family...

Salvatore Moreau never left your thoughts and you never left his

It was a bittersweet life, but you were glad to leave what was happening behind

Angie and Donna Beneviento

These two kept you in their estate

Though Donna hid Angie from you, worried that you wouldn't understand the need for her doll

She also kept the pollen from her plants away from you

You were the first person Donna could talk to, without her illness bothering her

No need for Angie!? And this person don't care!?

Fucking Jackpot!!!

Though Angie does get a bit upset that she don't get to see you

That's about to change

You and Donna where sitting in the backroom, overlooking the waterfall

Enjoying an afternoon tea

"Dear? How are you feeling today?"

Donna looked at you, taking your hand in her's giving you a smile

"I am well." She reassured you, giving your hand a squeeze

Then you sneezed, surprised cause your allergies hadn't started up, due to the lack of pollen

And the abundance of snow and cold

Donna gasped, looking over her shoulder

"Angie, n-"

Angie revealed herself, giggling and plopping herself in your lap

You froze, "A-a doll? Donna... is this a gift?"

You never really liked or disliked dolls

Angie gave another giggle, "No, stupid! I'm Angie. Donna's most favorite doll. And a friend."

Your eyes widened at the living doll, "Uh... im-"

"I know who you are!!" She floated infront of you now

"And we like you!"

Donna was quiet, not surprisingly, but you reached out for her

She gently took your hand in her's

"Donna. Tell me whats going on. Please."

Donna nodded, quietly starting to explain.

The gifts from Mother Miranda, the plants, the pollen and finally Angie

You looked at the floating doll, who was nodding her head along, with Donna's words

Then finally, you pulled Donna closer to your side

"You don't ever have to hide things from me. I never had a problem with the other ways that you cope, Donna."

Your encouraging words sent the woman into tears of joy

She buried her face in your chest

You smiled at Angie, who patted you on the forehead

Karl Heisenberg

You sat in the smaller, (safer) part of his factory

It was a part he had built to keep you safe

From what?

You had asked Karl several times, on different occasions, what was he building

"Its none of your concern." He waved a hand dismissively, "Whats for dinner?"

You always had huffed out whatever meal you made for the pair of you

Karl was always one of three places: meeting his "family", in the factory, or right next to you

The "family" was always thrown into air quotes

You knew he disliked his "family"

He announced his leaving out again, not telling you where

But leaving nonetheless, as usual you waved him off

But today was different, you WERE going to see what the hell was in that factory

Not paying attention to the warnings he gave you, you made your way down

Once at an elevator, you pressed the button

It came up and you were met with a large, large portly man

"Why if it isn't Heisenberg's little kitten."

Shocked you jumped back a bit, but then inched your way inside

"Its alright. I mean you no harm. Come, come."

You stood next to him, "Uh... who are you?"

"You may call me The Duke." He hummed, "But what are you doing here? Don't you know it's dangerous to play here?"

You lifted your chin, "I can handle myself. Thank you."

The Duke gave a small laugh, as you pulled the switch, but didn't speak again

Hitting the bottom floor, you disembarked, waving goodbye

You noticed a door and pushed through

Only to be met with a metal drill nearly splitting your face in two

With a strangled yelp, you lept backwards

"HOLY SHIT!!! WHAT THE HELL-"

"Who's in my damned- KITTEN!?"

You heard Heisenberg's voice above you and looked around frantic

"Karl! What-"

You didn't get to finish, the same monster came at you again

Dodging to the side, only barely missing getting drilled

Running in to the labyrinth, you were soon cornered

You shook with fear, hearing more monsters come after you

Closing your eyes, waiting for the blows to take you to the Great beyond

Your waiting was cut shirt hearing a series of clang's

You moved your hands and opened your eyes

Seeing Karl, standing in front of you shoving all the monsters back...

But he wasn't touching them....

"What... how-"

"Dont just sit on your ass, get up!" He barked, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind him

Once back in the safe zone, you slapped him, breathing heavily

He took it, it was a well deserved slap

"E-explain yourself!"

He sat heavily down, telling you everything.

The reason for the factory, the monsters in it, his powers, Miranda's plan, even pouring out his emotions about it all

You finally understood and took his hands in yours, kneeling down infront of him

"You idiot. All you had to do was talk to me. Not be a "big tough guy" about it."

You kissed his rough hands

And he chuckled at you

"Always understanding. Thanks Kitten."

#lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #Salvatore Moreau x reader #moreau #salvatore moreau #angie beneviento #angie and donna #donna beneviento #angie and donna beneviento x reader #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader

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