#I’m sorry if it got lengthy and was basically word vomit I did this on my phone at 12am or so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teklarn · 3 years

Note

hi, this is my first ever ask so I'm not sure I'm doing this correctly, if that's the case I'm sorry; I don't know how tumblr works just yet >:')

would it be possible for you to write something about bakugo, pining incredibly hard for fem!reader and initially hating how strongly he feels about her? because they're not even friends, they only exchange few words occasionally and she doesn't even glance at his way whereas he slowly finds himself unable to divert his eyes from her during classes? shes always with damn deku and his friends and doesn't even seem interested in him at all but his heart can't ignore the way she looks at him proudly whenever they spar together, the way she sends him small confident smiles as they fight each other with all they have; so he thinks that maybe, maybe he might have a chance. basically bakugo liking reader so much he's completely lost in self-hatred because he always thought feelings were for weak romantics and not great people like him, but everytime he sees reader doing some badass things (again, like sparring with him and basically matching his skills etc...) he's reminded of how badly he likes reader? but when he finally accepts he's fallen for reader, after ignoring and trying to forget about how she makes him feel, he masters up the courage to confess? and it's a very clumsy confession because he's awkward and has no idea how to deal with those feelings? and he tries so hard to make reader realise he's never been more serious than now? and reader is startled and speechless before rejecting him? and at that point he's just completely humiliated, so he nods and walks away.

it might be a little dramatic but I've always been into unrequited love and one-sided pining. thank you, its okay if you don't want to write about this, i'll understand <33

𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓵 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾

character(s): katsuki bakugou x fem!reader (my hero academia)

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

a/n: AHHHHH this is so cute <33 honestly this is super exciting for me and this ask made me so happy, lovey. i’m fairly new to tumblr, i’m usually just a reader but i wanted to migrate here from wattpad so this made me so happy. here u are my love <33 i hope this lives up to what u wanted !! :)) a bit lengthy, but i had a lot of fun writing it !!!

summary: bakugou finds he’s rejecting his feelings for you in fear of becoming weak, however he just can’t seem to ignore you.

genre: fluffy, fluffier than the clouds istg, however the clouds are sprinking a little teeny weeny droplet of angst.

warnings: cursing (bakugou, duhh), one-sided pining (on bakugou’s part) second hand embarrassment (on bakugou’s part bc we can all agree he’s a complete idiot when it comes to trying to get someone’s attention), just bakugou being a jackass, i gave the reader a quirk

word count: 3,859

(pls excuse any typos or mistakes, i edited to the best of my ability but i miss some things sometimes !)

- - -

part 2 is here my loves <3

brutal. it was utterly ruthless. he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think right. his hands were already exceptionally sweaty, but gosh when he saw your damn face, he was ready to explode. literally.

what the hell was it about you? was it your stupid smile? or the way you just seemed to carry every battle on your back? was it all the undeniably sweet things you do for others ‘just because’?

it made him angry that he thought about you, but gosh he couldn’t wait to see you every day.

just like any other day, bakugou found himself staring at the large door to the classroom, awaiting the moment you would bounce into his day, skirt shifting around your legs, bag slung loosely around your shoulders.

his leg was bouncing eagerly.

bakugou didn’t know when the feelings came. his cheeks just started flaring up all of a sudden and one day you just looked...different. you hadn’t done anything different to yourself. it was just him. not that he would ever admit that, to you or anybody else.

you were insufferable. you were stupid and obnoxious and so...so damn...

“y/n! come look at this!”

you’d come walking into class just as expected, and as soon as you did, that stupid nerd had called you over.

it didn’t help that deku sat right behind him, either. the two of you had recently gotten closer. bakugou noticed it last month when he yelled at the two of you to shut up about all might and get to work. he’d turned around to find you leaning over deku, hands resting on his shoulders while you peered at his phone.

“sorry, bakugou,” you’d said, barely acknowledging him. you had waved him off like an annoying fly. is that all you were to him? some nuisance that got in the way of your oh-so-entertaining conversations with deku?

all he heard nearly every day was your chipper voice talking to deku. always, “oh my gosh, midoriya, did you see the fight edgeshot was in last night?” or “midoriya! i have something to add to our quirk analysis book!”

that was the one that took the cake. you two dorks shared a notebook, occasionally passed between one another, and filled it with junk about quirks and pro heroes. but no matter how much he tried to tune you out, no matter how he tried to zone off and think about something else, you were always there. it made him want to vomit how much he thought about you.

you were doing an adorable shuffle over to midoriya’s desk and leaned over the table as you usually did while he angled his phone your way. “did you see this hero report?”

deku let you slip the phone out of his grasp to get a better look.

“no,” you breathed. “was this just recent?”

“yeah,” deku said, taking the phone back. “last night.”

“holy—”

“can you guys shut up over there?” bakugou said, his voice quaking.

“sorry, kacchan.” deku scrolled through the article.

dammit, bakugou thought. “i wasn’t talking to you, nerd. i was talking to shitface over here.” he jerked his head towards you. his eyes flared in anger when he saw you were looking down at your phone, now focused in on the article yourself. “i was talking to you, asshat!”

your eyes flicked up to his. you looked around for a moment before slowly pointing to yourself as if to say, “me?”

his face scrunched. “yeah, you. you’re so damn loud.” gosh, he hated how his voice was cracking, how he could feel his ears and cheeks lighting up in a swollen, cherry red. his stomach flipped.

she’s looking at you, gosh i’m sweating. i’m going to throw up. she’s so gorgeous. what the hell? they’re ugly as shit, i don’t think anything of them.

his eyes bore into yours.

“did you...need something?”

your voice broke his trance.

“kacchan, are you okay? you dozed off there for a second. you look like you’re burning up.”

bakugou looked to deku who was currently stretching out of his seat, arm extended. he pressed the back of his hand to bakugou’s forehead. “you’re really warm, kacchan. should we call recovery girl?”

it took him a moment to realize what was happening. his vision got blurry every time he was with you. bakugou smacked deku’s hand away. “i’m fine!” his voice lifted at the end, cracking. “i’m not sick. don’t you think i’d take better care of myself?”

“i don’t doubt you take good care of yourself, kacchan, but everyone gets sick once in a while. there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“i never get sick!” besides, if i got sick, i wouldn’t want you to be the one taking care of me.

he was still pissed. he was always in a bad mood, however, more so right now because you’d gone straight back to your phone and that stupid hero article that was supposedly so damn interesting.

soon enough, the bell rang, and you were seated at your desk. it was jirou’s old spot, however, after much convincing, you two had switched spots so you could be closer to deku. just a few months of getting close to the idiot and you two are suddenly best friends. jirou hadn’t minded one tiny bit, claiming she needed a break from how loud that section of the room was.

late as always, aizawa came trudging into your room. thankfully, his entire body wasn’t obscured by a yellow sleeping bag that smelled of something unwashed and coffee and gasoline. (for some reason, aizawa’s clothes always smelled of it.)

“lucky for you,” he began while shuffling papers on his desk, “all of you are doing training for these first periods.”

the class cheered in perfect unison, followed by their individual chatter. you had erupted with glee along with them, and bakugou was sure he felt his heart clench and then explode. just a tiny bit. but he shoved the feeling down just as quickly as it had come up.

“go out to the field and wait for further instructions. don’t make a sound in the halls otherwise, i’ll expel all of you.”

this shut everyone up in almost a second, the sound draining out just as water does. the first years trailed out into the hall, single-file mimicking the positions baby ducklings would take when following their mother.

bakugou found himself walking faster when he saw you take up your spot in the line, hoping to land his spot right behind you.

unfortunately, this idiot who considered himself bakugou’s friend tugged him back. “bakugou!” a familiar voice rasped.

“shitty hair, let go of me.”

“hey man, chill out. wanna partner up if we’re doing training in pairs?”

bakugou glanced at the line, the spot that should have been reserved for him now taken up by sato.

bakugou tugged his sleeve from kirishima’s hand. “whatever,” he snapped.

“sounds good!” kirishima flashed him a toothy grin and a thumbs-up. the bubbly feeling in bakugou’s chest died down as he stood behind sato, the overwhelming scent of sugar filling his nose, various candies that would go straight to your arteries.

“you smell like ass, damn,” bakugou remarked, squeezing his nostrils together.

luckily, sato was tall enough to not hear the insult, as he towered over bakugou by just another head. the line began moving like a sloppy train down to the change rooms.

bakugou scoffed as he listened to your giggle. he should be making you laugh.

“you’ll be given partners randomly from this box.” aizawa held up a familiar red box. “inside are all your names. i’ll select one, then that person will come up and pick another name from the box. that will be your assigned partner for today. as soon as you have your assigned partner, i want you guys to get straight to work.”

denki raised a hand, speaking before being called on. “sensei, why are we getting random partners? we’re always allowed to choose.”

“in the real world, you’re going to come across different villains every day. you’ll never improve your skills or your quirks if you keep fighting the same person.”

denki sighed, slumping back.

dammit, bakugou thought, gritting his teeth together. there wasn’t any way he wanted to be partners with you. it’s obvious he’d win the fight in the first few seconds.

yes! exactly right! bakugou internally grinned. his fluctuating feelings had finally soothed themselves. you were just another extra, and he had no room for you in his head.

aizawa took a moment to fiddle with the slips of paper inside the box. soon enough, he pulled out a name. “todoroki.”

todoroki walked up, digging his hand into the box when aizawa held it out for him. he pulled out a name, delicately unraveling the slip. “uraraka, you’re my partner.” he deadpanned.

the brunette grinned. “great!”

the two found their own spot on the field, and the class’s attention was once again diverted to their grouchy teacher as he pulled out another name.

“bakugou.”

bakugou strutted up without a worry in his mind. he pulled a name to find...

“y/n,” he said, voice a low growl. instead of the annoying fluttering in his chest, his eyes met yours, and they were filled with a different, new ferocity. he crumpled the paper in one hand, letting it twirl to the ground.

you looked at him, unsmiling. your eyes gave away nothing, and to bakugou’s knowledge, all you saw in him was another opponent.

it took him a moment to realize you had both locked eyes for about a minute. perhaps the two of you would have stayed as you were if aizawa hadn’t snapped at the two of you to get moving as yaomomo’s name was called.

bakugou was on his way to the back of the field, you followed close behind. while there was plenty of room still, he chose a secluded area. while it was still open enough to view everything going on so nobody got hurt, it was often nobody chose to train here. for whatever reason, you weren’t sure.

“wait up, bakugou,” you said. after a bit, you caught up to him.

“if you can’t keep up, then...” then what? he looked at you from the side of his eye. “then don’t keep up...” gosh, here came the embarrassing, disgusting feeling of redness in his cheeks.

you laughed. “what?”

“shut up.”

“you’re an idiot, bakugou.”

“i said shut the hell up!”

“what, so you can call me shitface in front of the entire class but you get all pissed when i call you an idiot?”

so you had heard him!

he tongued his cheek, curling his hands around an invisible ball, explosions sparking in the centers of his palms. “don’t expect me to hold back, dumbass.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it.”

gosh he loved that about you.

bakugou caught his thought in the air.

ahem...gosh he hated that about you.

you both charged in at the same time. his cry was louder than yours, but you struck first.

he admired your quirk. while he’d overhead you explaining all the drawbacks it had, it was strong, and you were strong because you knew how to control it.

purple arrows flew from your arms, going in your desired directions. if you lost focus for one moment, they’d vanish and weaken. if you focused too hard or long, you’d be plagued by a splitting headache.

he’d spent too much time obsessing over your strengths and weaknesses.

your arrows were weightless, however they were solid objects capable of carrying any mass, any thing, and worked as extensions of your body.

the violet arrow had shot out at him, twisting around his right gauntlet and crushing inwards. it’d snaked around him without him noticing, slithering along his back.

bakugou struggled to get the air-light arrow off his wrist, but it was no use. he glared back, only to see your focused, furrowed brows. he’d expected to see your cocky ass smiling. it was nice to see you weren’t.

that was one thing that had also caught his eye. you never underestimate your opponent, but you never underestimate yourself, either.

you conjured a larger arrow. it snaked around your right arm as you hurled bakugou into the air, releasing your grasp on him. you shot your other arrow into the air, and it raced into the sky.

it swerved. bakugou’s eyes went wide as the tip of the arrow came down on his chest. if they weren’t intangible things, he would have been bleeding out.

another drawback: the arrows, while they could solidify, they couldn’t do any actual damage. you had to use your surroundings to inflict harm on your opponent.

he coughed out as the arrow shot him into the ground. he hadn’t even touched you, and here he was, vulnerable and so...so...

you stood over him, hands on your hips.

vulnerable and so lost in that adorable, winning smile.

“get away from me, idiot,” he grunted and turned onto his side, his back crying out in pain.

“i think i won this fight, bakugou,” you chirped, rocking on your heels.

“don’t get arrogant, shithead. you won’t be winning against me anymore.”

you grinned, arrows shooting out behind your back.

the dorms were exceptionally quiet. you were typing away in the common room, bakugou on the couch reading. everyone was off doing something else. it was the weekend, luckily. he’d expected you to go bounding out with everyone else, however you’d stayed back, claiming you had some homework to catch up on.

bakugou being classic bakugou had stayed back. he was excited to have the dorm to himself, but your dumbass was stuck here with him. couldn’t you have done your typing in your room?

you were so aggressive on that poor keyboard.

“oi, quiet down with your shit typing.”

you barely grunted in response.

“don’t ignore me.”

“i heard you, mom.”

“the hell did you call me?”

no response. only your aggressive typing is a bit less aggressive.

“i can still hear it,” bakugou remarked, eyes fixed on your back.

“‘kay,” you said. your typing slowed a tad, and your pressure on the keys lessened.

it was quiet now. bakugou should go back to his book. he shouldn’t still be looking for a reason to talk to you.

the pages crinkled in his fingers. he bit his tongue, keeping his snarky comments in.

“you’re a fucking idiot, you know that? doing your damn homework. it’s due tomorrow.”

you turned, pursing your lips. “and how would you know what i’m working on? are you stalking me?”

“i- what? no. you’re such an idiot, of course i’m not—”

“i’m messing with you,” you breathed, face un-moving.

“o-oh,” bakugou stuttered out. he blinked awkwardly.

“gosh, what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

“you’re annoying.”

“you’re a jackass.” you returned to your work. bakugou settled with reading in his room. reading consisted of jumping onto his bed just as the stereotypical high school girl would in an eighties movie. he buried his face in his pillow, face burning bright red. he cursed you for making him feel this way, and hated himself even more for how much he enjoyed it.

the next day came swiftly. you’d left early to go train with midoriya. there were many improvements needed to be made, but you weren’t doing too bad.

you propelled yourself forwards with an arrow, and your green-haired friend shot back, lightning flickering around his body.

landing back on the ground, you panted and swiped the sweat from your brow. from the corner of your eye, you could make out both kirishima and bakugou coming to the training grounds.

bakugou stopped in his tracks, frowning at the sight of you.

it was evident he hated you a bit more than everyone else. he was always making his annoying comments, he was always snubbing you. you saw no reason to talk to him, so you didn’t. either way, even if you tried, he would still get angry for no reason.

it’d taken you quite some time to get used to his obnoxious attitude. tuning him out had been the best course of action, in your opinion.

the way you and midoriya had bonded was through bakugou, in a way. the first day of school, bakugou had snapped at you for tripping over your laces and nearly crashing into him. later that day, midoriya had stepped up and apologized for his old friend’s actions.

you two had never been too close until now. the recent incidents going on with the league of villains had snagged your attention, and it seemed you were the only person who didn’t mind listening to him ramble on about heroes.

you were just as passionate and just as dorky, but midoriya could talk your ear off. you never minded, and he always took the hint when you didn’t want to listen.

you brought your leg up, twirling in the air with ease and watched your heel collide with midoriya’s face. he grunted, stumbling back.

you were about to charge in again when a hand landed on your shoulder, big and rough. you turned to see bakugou standing behind you, a scowl on his face.

“fight me again,” he demanded.

“excuse me?”

“don’t act like you didn’t hear me.”

“i’m in the middle of fighting midoriya right now.”

“so?”

“so if you think that i’m just going to ditch my friend because you want to fight, i won’t.”

“you’re being stubborn.”

“i’m being reasonable. back off.”

“y/n?” midoriya rubbed his jaw—right where you had struck him. “what’s going on?” he jogged up to you and bakugou.

“he wants to fight me in the middle of our fight. it’s nothing serious. don’t worry about it, midoriya. let’s just ignore him.”

bakugou made a sound someone would only make if they were choking. “the hell did you just say?”

“we’re ignoring you!” you waved him off and placed your hand on midoriya’s shoulder, wandering away.

it was new to him, not getting what he wanted. and what he wanted right now was to be around you. again, it wasn’t like he would ever admit that to himself.

“dude? you good? i thought you went off to fight y/n. i was so ready to cheer you on, dude,” kirishima’s chipper voice piped in. “she’s not fighting with you? why not?”

“the dumbass was just probably scared of getting her ass beat by me.”

“dude...that sounds really weird.”

“whatever, shitty hair. let’s go.”

the clock ticked. his ears were on fire. again.

gosh, it was happening again. it was all you. his face scrunched up, his voice would surely crack if someone were to ask him what was wrong.

bakugou was once again stuffing his face in his pillow, hiding his expression from no one. why did you have to go train with that shitty nerd? why were you always around deku? deku, of all people. what did he have? why was he so great?

bakugou was a man of many insecurities, but losing to deku? that was possibly his biggest fear.

perhaps he wasn’t the nicest, or the most soft person out there. bakugou could admit that, at least. but he was smarter than deku. he was stronger and he was better and people liked him more. right?

what was so...amazing about deku?

it was often bakugou would find himself obsessing over little, insignificant things such as these.

you were what he was thinking of most of the time. just yesterday, he’d gotten a test returned. he was expecting an eighty at the lowest, but more so expecting a high ninety. it’d come back exactly sixty percent.

sixty. percent.

bakugou vividly remembered staring at your face. he also remembered not being able to focus because of it. his grades were dropping because of you.

you were the only person to be able to do this to him.

his heart grew quiet, but the pounding of his didn’t cease. he lifted his head.

“alright, fine,” he said aloud. “you win, y/n. you win.”

he settled with getting over his feelings the way he’d read them in his collection of romance manga.

bakugou left his room and knocked on your door. (he was banging on it, but it was his nice way of knocking.)

you answered, looking around awkwardly. “yes?”

his hands shook. how was this supposed to go? sure, he’d seen it in romance movies and read it in books but it was always easy to tell whether the guy would get the girl or not.

in this instance, bakugou was clueless. for once in his life, he was clueless. you stood, tapping your foot with a hand on your hip, waiting expectantly for him to tell you why he was here.

“um.” he scratched behind his neck. “you uh- i uh...i’m sorry i called you a, um...a shitface.”

“okay? is that it?”

what? come on! it was already unlike him to apologize. what else did you want from him?

“did you...i’ve been thinking, maybe? maybe we could..train together as...friends?”

“...what?”

gosh dammit, as friends?

“whatever, um...the uh...” oh gosh, what did the boys do in all the books he’d read? right! bakugou stretched out his arm, resting his forearm on the door, leaning to the side.

although he didn’t, really, because like the clumsy jackass he was, bakugou missed completely and nearly toppled to the floor.

this earned a snicker from you.

his stomach flipped and churned, and bakugou found himself unable to reach your eyes. “uh, would you maybe..? okay, um. do you want to go on a date with me? you absolute fucking dumbass.”

your eyes flew wide. “...what?”

“no, that’s not what i— i mean i didn’t mean the last part. um, i meant the first part. the first two parts. the part where i was asking you if you wanted to go on a date with me and then before that when i said maybe because it’s still a maybe until you say yes. or...or no because that’s an option too.”

he swallowed.

you resisted the urge to mock him, just a little bit. “um, bakugou, listen.”

he leaned closer. “yes?”

“it’s going to be a no. i’m sorry, but i’m just not interested in you like that.”

it took him a moment to register everything. his shoulders sagged. gosh that was brutal.

“oh, alright.”

“yeah, uh, sorry about that.” you offered him a weak smile, still a bit shocked yourself. he did his best to return it, and when you closed the door, his face was ready to explode.

it was so damn difficult to deal with these feelings, but maybe it was better this way. knowing where you stood on your end, he knew he wouldn’t miss out on anything.

perhaps it was alright to admire from afar. things could happen in the future, right?

right now, he’d just wait. for a long, long time. bakugou pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat. maybe it was alright to not have you right now. perhaps he could better himself for you. just for you.

320 notes · View notes

sleepy-belphie · 3 years

Note

I have a request if you’re up for it. An MC who just arrived in the Devildom who’s lover just dumped them the day prior. The bros know MC isn’t emotionally or romantically available at the time but the bros still fall in love regardless. How will the bros handle the situation? Thank you! 🙏💗

Hi! I sort of took this idea and ran with it and wrote basically a headcanon short story for each bro lmao. Sorry I got a bit carried away but I hope you like this and it satisfies you! :)

Also thank you so much @midnight-dome for the help with Asmo, you’re a lifesaver

Tags: @kawaiiblack

~~~~~

Lucifer:

The success of the program depends on your wellbeing

So he checks in on you every other day like clockwork

“Is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable?”

You always say no

At first, he’s glad you’re staying in

Because it means less trouble for him

But when you skip all of your classes one day, he comes to your room ready to give you a firm reminder of your tasks here

He’s about to knock when he hears you sob

Now, Lucifer has heard a lot of crying in his life

But he’s never heard someone sound so completely broken

He shocks himself when he turns on his heels and walks away

He shocks himself even more when he texts the group chat and demands everyone leaves you alone for the day

That evening he comes into your room with a small plate of food

By then you were are least on top of your sheets

You knew he was gonna ask the same question as always

But this time, his words were different

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Help?”

He simply nods

And though he didn’t outright say what he meant by help, you knew

“I...don’t know?”

“Hm, okay. I’m going to listen to some music in my study. The door will be unlocked should you wish to join me.”

Then he’s gone

The few precious moments Lucifer isn’t working, he prefers to not be disturbed

So why on earth did he invite you to join him in his study?

He doesn’t have time to ponder it because the door opens and you come in with a blanket wrapped around you

The first night you both listen in comfortable silence

A few nights in, you start asking Lucifer about the records he puts on and he has no qualms educating you on it

On night 10 you tell him about the breakup

Once you’re done he, again, asks the same question

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

‘You’ve done more than enough to help me Lucifer, thank you.”

He finds himself blushing from the sincerity in your eyes and the warmth in your smile

That night you fall asleep before the record finishes

Surely you’d wake up aching if he left you in a chair

So he picks you up, carries you to your room, and tucks you into bed carefully

He tells himself he’s doing it for Diavolo

It’s for the program, this is his job

He’s gonna need time to accept his own feelings before he can tell you anything

For now, he’ll keep doing his “job” and spending evenings with you

Mammon:

He didn’t want to be your babysitter

He was a busy guy! He had stuff to do, money to make, things to steal

Some days he gets Beelzebub to keep an eye on you so he can do what he wants

One night in particular he heads to your room to make sure you won’t interfere with his plans

“Yo! The Great Mammon has things to do so don’t-”

He pauses when he sees you sitting on your bed with your headphones plugged into your laptop

He would have assumed you were just watching a sad movie by the tears streaks on your face

But the pain in your eyes…

He’s seen that look before

His brothers held that same look the day they fell from Heaven and lost Lilith

Mammon sits on the bed and you jump, finally noticing him

You expected him to make fun of you but instead, he grabs the tissue box on your bedside table and hands it to you

He glances at your laptop to see what you were watching and sees a paused video of you and someone else

You tell him about the breakup and Mammon listens closely

“What a jerk! Ya deserve better than that! I’d teach ‘em a lesson if they ever showed their face around here!”

You smile for the first time since he came in the room and he feels like he’s done something right

“How about we get some late-night food? I know a 24-hour restaurant with the best baked newt ever. Your treat.”

He’s shocked when you agree

He makes a point to hang out with you more often

He can’t recall exactly when you went from “a human” to “his human”

Maybe it was when you held his hand while you erased all your photos and videos of your ex from your computer

Or when you texted him at 3am because you couldn’t sleep and before he could even think about it he was up and on his way to your room

Or when he spotted you in one of his jackets while walking home from RAD

But his greed was kicking in and he wanted you to be his and only his

However, much like he puts himself first, he knows you need to do the same

So though his nature and mind wants to kiss you silly and have you for himself

Part of him knows he’ll ruin things if he lets his greed take over

So he’ll fight his nature and try his best to be patient

Leviathan:

He had been playing one of his games online

He’s on a big winning streak and feeling a bit cocky

He sees he’s been matched with someone else so he gets into gamer mode

Then he loses the first round

He’s a bit shocked and pissed that his streak was now broken but he has to prove his superiority to whoever this opponent was

So he rematches them

And loses again

And again

He loses 7 rounds in a row

By this point he is fuming

So like any salty gamer he sends a very lengthy, angry message to their inbox

Accusing them of using cheats and hacks because there was no way anyone was more skilled than him at this game

He gets a reply a few minutes later

“Um.....is this Leviathan? Avatar of Envy? It’s MC…”

You knew it was Levi because his username is the same across all his social media platforms

Cue Levi barreling into your room a minute later

“How are you so good!? You’re cheating, aren’t you!? You cheater!’

You weren’t cheating, you just had been playing games day in and day out to distract yourself so you got really good at it

Levi all but demands you to come to his room and show him what you know

You were already playing all night anyway so why not play with someone?

Initially, Levi would have you come over just to show him your tactics

(Also to get some team wins on his stats because he never has anyone to play with)

But you were actually pretty chill for a normie

Maybe if he exposed you to his otaku ways you would take to them and he wouldn’t be the only one in the house anymore!

You don’t become an otaku but you do get invested in almost every anime he shows you

He starts inviting you over for midnight premieres of new episodes

He starts buying extra merch because what if you wanted one?

He was used to disproving looks from his brothers when he mass buys stuff from Akuzon

But you only smile and listen when he tells you about his new special edition item

You never once judged him and his unconventional ways

This epiphany makes him extra nervous for your weekly hangouts

It was only a matter of time before you came across a break up in an anime

When the episode ended you told him about your break up and how the protagonist reminded you of yourself because they also were taking a break from love

Levi has seen this anime before actually

He remembers how the protagonist reacted to a side character confessing to them and it went bad

So while he knows he likes you, he holds off on saying anything because the last thing he wants is to be a bad story arc in your life

Lucky for him he’s always a flustered blushing mess so you shouldn’t suspect a thing

Satan:

He is the Avatar of Wrath so whenever there is rage, he is aware

He feels anger radiating through the house one day and thinks his brothers are just fighting again

Imagine his surprise when he realizes the source of the anger is coming from your room

He walks in and sees you throwing things around and screaming, your room was destroyed

He sees you’re about to step on some glass and instantly swoops in and picks you up so you don’t hurt yourself

But then you curl up against him and burst into tears

He stands there, not quite sure what to do

He ends up sitting on the bed and letting you cry for a while

You word vomit about your break up and he listens carefully and notes the anger welling up inside you as you speak

He knows all too well what anger can do to someone and a fragile human shouldn’t have to go through that

“Would you like some tea?”

He can spare 30 minutes for some small talk with the human if it meant that you wouldn’t be left in your thoughts

You look at him like he has three heads but agree because your room is a mess and you don’t wanna deal with it right now

Tea time becomes a daily occurrence and soon enough it escalates to full-on hangouts

Going to the bookstore, going to cat cafes, going wherever you wanted to really

One time you both took a day trip to the human world

Lucifer wasn’t happy to find out his brother and you were gone for an entire day but he lets it go when he sees that you’re smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks

What Satan didn’t expect was how these outings made him feel

He finds himself distracted from his books because he can’t stop thinking about how cute you looked holding that black cat at the cafe

Or how happy you looked when you took him to that ice cream shop in your hometown that you really love

He wakes up and you’re the first thing to pop into his mind

He’s not dumb, he knows he’s fallen in love

But he also knows this isn’t the right time, you aren’t ready

So he’ll keep being there for you as a friend

And if you ever want him to be there as something more, he’ll happily oblige

Asmodeus:

There was a movie night at the House of Lamentation

Today’s movie was an action movie, courtesy of Mammon

Amidst all the face punching and explosions, there was a budding romance between the main characters

After the third obnoxious makeout scene, you leave the room claiming you need to go to the restroom

But you leave just a *little* too fast and Asmo can feel something is up

And he thrives on gossip so he intends to find out what is it

He leaves the room a few minutes later and catches you in the hallway, determined to get you to spill the tea

You tell him about the breakup

He wasn’t prepared for the tea to be so bitter

“Oh. Well, you know what’s good for that? Face masks!”

He had to save face somehow and beauty was his default

He’s a bit shocked when you agree but you both ditch movie night to do face masks and talk a bit

He decides to share a couple of bad date experiences he’s had to make you feel better

“Trust me, you haven’t felt embarrassment until you have someone vomit Enfield brains on your new pants and shoes while at one of the hottest clubs in the Devildom.”

You spent the entire night giggling and listening to his stories

Devildom products are surprisingly effective on your skin so you keep asking Asmo to show you new products

Plus his company is nice

Self-care days become a common occurrence

Then those self-care days become self-care sleepovers

He starts intentionally waiting to try anything new because he wants you to be there when he does

He buys more of those scented candles you told him smelled nice

A few weeks later you’re having a self-care sleepover again and you have this really cute focused look on your face while painting your nails

He knows he likes you, but this was different than his usual attraction

He didn’t want to fuck you

Well he did but not just fuck you

He wouldn’t mind if there was something more

But you routinely ended your self-care nights by yelling ‘Fuck love!’ at the top of your lungs and laughing

So he knows now isn’t the time and he’s actually okay with that

You were a sight to behold regardless of his relationship status with you

But he hopes you’ll indulge in him one day

Beelzebub:

Mammon keeps pushing his human watching duties on Beel

But he doesn’t really care because he’s being paid in cheesecake

After his third day of keeping an eye on you, he notices you aren’t eating much

Being the Avatar of Gluttony, this is basically a crime

He starts bringing extra snacks with him when he hangs out with you

“I think the chocolate flavor is better than the vanilla. What do you think?”

He actually doesn’t have a preference

He just wants to know which snacks you like more so he can bring more of them

He makes a game out of it so you don’t think about how much you’re eating

“It motivates me to work out longer when I get a snack, could you help me?”

You sit on his back and after every pushup, you both eat a bit of whatever snack he has

He keeps going until he thinks you’ve eaten a decent amount

Or you say you’re getting full

Belphie notices that Beel is refilling his snack stash more often but he doesn’t say anything

Beel feels an immense sense of accomplishment when you finish your plate at dinner a few days later

Soon after you tell him about the breakup

“It hit me hard but you made it easier to cope, Beel. These hangouts are the highlight of my day so thank you.”

There’s a certain pang Beel gets in his stomach when he’s really hungry

Somehow your words made that pang happen in his chest

But this didn’t hurt him, quite the opposite actually

He felt good, he felt happy

It was strange for his stomach to be the quiet one while his heart went wild

But this wasn’t a change he minded too much

He wasn’t sure what to make of it but he knows he wants to figure it out with you

And he’ll take his time doing so because he liked how things were now

Belphegor:

He’s intrigued by you after the first week of your stay

He’s never seen a human who slept as much as he did

Frankly, he was impressed

Until Lucifer informed everyone about your recent breakup and made it clear to not upset you

That’s when Belphie realized these were not the leisurely naps he takes, but depression naps

One day he sees you sleeping in the living room and you looked so distressed

Sleeping was meant to be a peaceful state but you looked so unhappy

So he wakes you up

“You’re in my sleeping spot.”

You weren’t in his sleeping spot.

“Oh sorry, I’ll move-”

“You’re already here. We can both fit.”

Before you can protest he’s all comfy next to you and falling back asleep

Having another person next to you was kind of comforting so you let it go and go back to sleep

What you didn’t know was Belphie could partially influence your dreams

He can make them more pleasant but he can’t control what you dream about

He knows it works when he wakes up and you have a relaxed expression on your sleeping face

You wake up soon after looking confused

“Good dream?”

“I think? I had a dream I rode a unicorn to the moon then carved my initials into it?”

Napping together in the living room becomes a routine

And every time you woke up you told him about the dream you had with a small smile

A few weeks later he notices he no longer has to influence your dreams for them to be good

So he leaves you be and instead curls up in the attic for his afternoon nap

He wakes up a bit when he feels someone lay down next to him

It’s probably Beel

“Why didn’t you tell me you moved napping spots?”

His eyes open and he looks over to see you pouting at him

“I just sorta ended up here.”

“Well, I can’t nap without my cuddle buddy now can I?”

You’re teasing him and he should be annoyed

But he’s blushing

He spoons you to hide that fact, resting his forehead on your shoulder

But while your dreams were getting better, it didn’t mean you were ready to move on

So he just enjoys his intimate cuddling sessions with you and tries not to think too hard about the fact that he really likes how your body fits against his

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me fluff #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphie x reader #annazonabeth

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brightening-the-stars · 4 years

Note

Eris!! I've come to collect! Please tell me more about Ms. O'Leary and her adventures!!!

Hi!!! Thank you so much for the ask! So full disclosure, everything in the Ms. O’Leary-verse (smh I really need to think of a better name for that) was completely off the cuff with no planning whatsoever, but I can talk a bit about my original ideas for the world and some of her adventures that Most Definitely Happened even if I haven’t written them yet.

So, the concept that eventually became Ms. O’Leary’s Dandelions was originally an asexual/wlw coming-of-age story starring Eliza. I was Going Through Some Stuff and had wanted an outlet, so I thought I would write a character similar to myself and try to find the answers I wanted through her. The problem is, I had written about a page before I got completely sidetracked by Ms. O’Leary’s wacky backstory as I was trying to think of the way that she and Eliza became friends, and I ended up writing about that instead! I kind of forgot about the story altogether until recently, when I cleaned it up a little and finished my original concept. If I ever try to add some Actual Plot, Eliza’s bit might be in there but it probably won’t be the main theme as I had originally intended.

So! On to Ms. O’Leary herself! First I want to tell you about how she came to live in this neighborhood that she definitely sticks out from a bit. You see, most witches decide to chill in the middle of rural Nevada or something so that no-one bothers them with arbitrary rules like “no explosions that damage the property” and “no summoning demons past 11 pm” (they are quite partial to death metal, so most witches play it as they cast the spell to make their demon feel welcome.) But Ms. O’Leary, who was one of the most chaotic and dramatic people back at Witch University, was just like “nah I’m going to go live in suburbia, I think it’ll be a good time” and everyone else was just ???? But they eventually realized that she did not give a single flying flapjack about what the neighbors thought of her; she just wanted to live in a place with a comparatively high population density and study all the residents for Magical Purposes. (She regularly flies to Salem for conferences on her work. It turns out Sandra’s colorful threats to her rhododendron bushes when they started drooping functioned as a low-grade but highly effective persuasion spell, and Ms. O’Leary’s report on it revolutionized the way persuasion was done in the witch world.) So she’s basically an eccentric magical celebrity living in relative anonymity in this Very Conventional picket-fence suburban neighborhood.

Now that we know why she decided to live where she did, we need to know where Frankfurter Fitzherbert III came from, right? Well, she tells her coven that he’s a neighbor who insulted her cookies and paid the price, but he’s really just a neighborhood kitten that she adopted a few years back. She tells the neighbor-transformation story because what actually happened doesn’t cast her cat-raising skills in a very positive light--soon after she got him, he got into one of her experimental potions. At first he seemed completely fine, but she ran some tests and figured out that the potion had merged his consciousness with that of an aristocratic eighteenth-century English ghost. As a result, he has a penchant for eating tomatoes, reading classic literature, lengthy monologues, and fits of pique. He still likes some cat things though, including fish and knocking things off of shelves. And he loves to walk across the spell books when Ms. O’Leary is trying to work.

Well, I hope you were able to find some sort of characterization in that sea of word vomit! Sorry this got so long; I could probably talk about this world all day. Thanks again for your interest! I was feeling a bit down earlier and answering this completely cheered me up :)

#my writing #ms o'leary's dandelions #ask #snapbacpirat #woah now i have so many writing ideas lol #thanks!

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70swonderpoisonstark · 5 years

Text

Poison. ( I )

Villain’s are people too, are they not? (Y/N) is taking the “home grown” terror title a little too seriously. You’re really really bad, until you meet a certain super soldier who makes you consider a career change. It’s a lengthy process, but you’re willing if it’s for the right reasons. Maybe you’re not so bad after all?

//basically poison ivy and a little bit of bane but with marvel characters?? I'd be original but I love her and them so much so sorry. also some changes, idk I'm making them my own but completely based of the DC characters SNS. Nickname Ivy, real name, yours duh!//

***this is my first attempt at fanfic so any feedback is welcome! I love all these characters dearly so, here goes nothing! Hope you enjoy***

A/N: Violence, language, crime. I’ll update these as the chapters come out

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"The target goes by Green. Keep your eyes open, he's known for causing mass chaos surrounding the area of interest."

"Got it, Nat." Steve looked at his left, nodding at his friend, they'd been tracking 'Green' down for months. You had to hand it to the bastard, he was good. No matter where he was, what he did, how much he stole or how many people he killed. They never found him, couldn't even connect the same man to any of the crimes. Nothing, he was almost as elusive as the Winter Soldier. Whether it was hiding in plain sight, or moving in the shadows, this particular villain was intense.

Bucky scanned the room for anything that looked suspicious, hesitant movements, shaky voices, eye contact that lingered for a second too long. Every man in the luxury club looked confident, and you could tell nobody thought the two super soldiers looked out of place in their suits and leather shoes. The boys sipped on their single malt scotch, glancing over their shoulders occasionally.

"Anything on your end?" Steve whispered into his drink.

"Still nothing." Falcon's eye's ran across the crimson screens, was their intel wrong? These scenes were never this quiet, especially for this long. "Wait, what about the big guy? Your 3 o'clock.

Bucky slowly turned his head, locating the person Sam had mentioned, he pretended to to laugh a joke Steve hadn't made as he checked the man in question. He was tall, extremely handsome, and big. Not in a too many cheeseburgers big either, big as in a hasn't stopped weight lifting since birth way.

"He's wearing a huge emerald ring, could be him. No other signs, anything on facial recognition?"

"Hiya boys, drinkin something strong?" A redhead with curves like a country road slid up between the two of them, cancelling the response by Sam, and catching Steve completely off guard. "You okay there, love? I didn't mean to scare ya. Just thought you two looked a little lonesome." You motioned to your surroundings with your elegant hands, twirling alongside your silk gown. "This place is so cliquey, hard to fit in unless you're a blonde with a nice rack." Steve hung on to your every word, life went in slow motion as you talked, his blood boiled as you touched his shoulder to get to the bar, talking casually as you order a double something with some type of juice.

"Earth to Steve, hello? Steve, it's just a woman, focus on the target." But Steve couldn't, something about you was mesmerizing, as if your touch alone could heal 70 years worth of pain. He held on to the conversation, saying anything he thought would prolong it.

"Y-You're not blonde." He sputtered out, he could see Bucky physically cringe at his words. How could he care, the most breathtaking woman he'd ever seen was actually paying attention to him, and with no idea who he really was.

"You're a sharp one," your giggle made Steve feel like he was floating. He looked across at his friend, who after teasing him about his word vomit, was just as entranced as he was. Actually, now that he's paying attention, the whole place was fascinated with you. "If only all the men here were as charming as you." You placed your elbows on the bar, leaning back to get a good look of the scene in front of you.

Bucky couldn't believe his eyes, the green silk was almost reflective under the luminescent lights of the club, the fabric hanging loosely off your curves, highlighting every tantalizing contour. If he didn't have years of self control under his belt, he'd had reached out and touched you to make sure you were real. You blew out a deep sigh, causing Bucky to smell roses and divert any lingering attention back on this wonder of a woman.

"What were the names of you two boys again?" Her voice drawing them nearer like the song of a siren, they answered without hesitation. "Oh, James and Steve? Classic names for classy men." A quick wink was all it took for the super soldiers to melt at your feet. "And, what do you want more than anything right now?" You sung.

"You." They both said in unison, forgetting the other was there.

"Well, I can't give myself to you both. That just wouldn't be right, hm?" A slow nod no from each man. "Hmm, Captain America. America's golden boy WOULD, be fun to rot." You ran your delicate hand across his strong chin, your touch warm and inviting. "However," You made a quick turn towards Bucky, making him take an extra swig of liquor. "Dark and twisty Romanian seems to know how to really use his hands," You glided behind him, draping your arms over his shoulders, leaning into his ear and whispered, "I've seen the knife work honey, nobody has hands like THAT anymore." You popped back up and spoke to where Steve could now listen in, "Then again, I be the serum DID have its effects on Private Rogers too." The childish giggle that escaped your lips made their hearts beat faster and stronger, adrenaline pumping throughout their systems as they awaited another word from a seemingly flawless stranger. "I think it would be to difficult for me to chose on my own," A slight pause that lasted only seconds but continued for what felt like hours. "so I won't. I'm sure you strong, sensible men can find a civilized way to sort this out. Until then," You began to turn around, your hair flowing seamlessly around your shoulders and your eyes glinting in the strobes. "I'll be waiting for one of you, over here." You beamed at them, how could somebody so innocent be so intoxicating at the same time? Steve stared at Bucky, and Bucky at Steve, desire and lust driving them mad they puffed their chest up, and stood.

"She wasn't that into you Steve, just sit this one out, like old times yeah?" Bucky knew you wanted him, he could feel it in his core, Steve didn't stand a chance.

"I think you need to sit down and try to remember what actually just happened, Buck. She talked to me the whole time YOU were just in the background. You've lost some of your charm, I'm sure you'll get the next one." Steve flashed his million dollar smile, clamped a hand on Bucky's shoulder and began to stride over to his girl when Bucky's hand wrapped around his elbow.

"I've lost my charm? That's what you think? You sit there drooling like a damn dog and I'M the one who's lost it?" Bucky couldn't help but be angry, you were a beautiful dame, and Steve had enough of those to go around, now the one time a lady was actually interested in him HE had to have her? There wasn't a way in hell where Bucky was going to allow that.

"Yes Bucky, I think a bit of your charm must have melted after they defrosted you for the sixth time. Now get lost while the functioning adults talk, would ya?" FUNCTIONING?! BUCKY WAS FUNCTIONING JUST FINE- OH- RED. red. All Bucky could see was red as the next few moments unfolded. He leapt for Steve, knocking him down with the unplanned blow, tackling him on the hardwood floor. Steve knew an attack when he saw him and immediately fought back.

"You don't think I'm functioning?! I'll show you a functioning can of whoop ass you fucking science experiment!" Bucky yelled in between grunts and punches. The two of them were so evenly matched it was hard to tell if either was really doing any damage. Punches were landing, blood was showing, Bucky had gotten Steve in the gut and the face a number of times, however Steve landed a lucky blow to the back of Bucky's knee, causing him to collapse in a kneeling position. Even then the fighting still went on, Steve's nose was most definitely broken, along with a couple of Bucky's ribs. Physical contact was no longer doing enough for the men to express their anger, Bucky grabbed a whiskey bottle from behind the bar and crushed it across Steve's face, shattering the glass, slicing open his cheek, and almost knocking out America's most famous patriot.

"Oh you're going to pay for that one, James." As if Bucky gave a shit, Steve using his first name was usually cause for Bucky to be worried something was wrong, but now, a total KO was all Bucky had on his mind. The two continued to forcefully lay their hands on each other. Finally, the other had let their guard down just enough to see their girl of the evening, Steve and Bucky both wound up for the perfect sucker punch, just one hit till they both got the girl of their dreams and WHAM. Both of them made contact with the others cheek, and simultaneously collapse on the ground, the last thing either of them seeing, was a giant bag of cash, and the entire club in chaos.

#bucky barnes #steve vs bucky #marvel #marvelfanfic #Winter soldier #Bucky Love Story #Poison Ivy #james buchanan barnes #captain america #avengers fanfiction #avengers fandom #steve rogers #steve x reader #bucky X reader

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my-nameless-bliss · 7 years

Text

ALDNT Extras: Downworlders

Available on Ao3

Magnus takes a deep breath before he opens the door.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Well. Apparently that breath wasn’t quite deep enough to help soften his tone.

Raphael takes a step back. He clearly won’t let himself be visibly startled, but Magnus can still tell that it wasn’t the greeting he was expecting. It takes a moment before he fixes his posture. “Looking for Ragnor. He told me he’s been staying here.”

Magnus leans against the doorframe. “He’s out. On a job.”

Raphael… deflates. His shoulders drop. It’s barely enough to be noticeable, but for someone like Raphael, it’s basically the equivalent of collapsing right on the cobblestones. “And… when will he be back?”

Magnus narrows his eyes. “When he’s done.”

There’s a moment of silence. Stillness. Magnus assumes it’s rather uncomfortable on Raphael’s part. But at the moment, Magnus can’t bring himself to give a fuck. He’s not in the mood for this right now.

Well, he’s not sure he’s ever been in the mood to have an unexpected conversation with Raphael Santiago, but right now, he’s not sure he’s even capable of pretending to be civil.

Raphael’s gaze shifts awkwardly. Like he’s trying to look past Magnus, into the foyer. Like maybe Magnus is lying, and Ragnor is hiding somewhere behind him. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s planning on leaving. “His house is better than yours.” He looks at Magnus again. “Why is he staying here?”

God. It’s like a skill. Raphael has the supernatural ability to always say the worst possible thing. Always. Every time he opens his fucking mouth.

Magnus grits his teeth. “Emotional support,” he says flatly. Making sure it sounds like the end of a conversation, not the beginning.

Raphael’s head tics to the side. And his gaze drops. He looks Magnus up and down, seemingly taking in his appearance for the first time.

So he sees Magnus’s unwashed hair. The robe he hasn’t changed out of for more days than he’s been counting. The dark circles under his eyes. The cigarette dangling from his lip that he hasn’t bothered to light. The glass in his hand that’s seemed to always have one last sip of scotch left in it since Magnus dragged himself out of bed this afternoon - or was it already evening?

Raphael takes it all in. His face blank. Considering.

And he looks back up. “So she finally left you?”

“I don’t think the ‘finally’ is necessary,” Magnus snaps.

God, he fucking hates this kid.

Even though it’s accurate. It’s true. Magnus knows it’s true. It was just a waiting game. Honestly, Magnus never expected Etta to stay with him as long as she did. They both knew, always, from the very beginning, that this would happen. That this would be their ending. It was inevitable. Magnus had been preparing a long time for this.

But still, it’s not as though Raphael knew any of that.

Raphael makes a bland noise. A placeholder noise. “When did she leave?”

Magnus isn’t sure what the fuck makes him think he has the right to ask something like that. But at the moment, he doesn’t have the energy to point that out. And for some reason, he doesn’t have the energy to keep himself from answering. “Last week.”

Might as well have been yesterday. Today. Ten years ago. It’s all the same.

But Magnus won’t let himself get into that. Not now. Not with a bratty little vampire on his doorstep. “You must be thrilled,” he says, giving his voice a bit more edge. “You hated her.”

“She hated me.”

“You got blood on her favorite shoes.”

Raphael scoffs. “I was the one vomiting blood, but her shoes get the sympathy?”

Well.

Magnus sniffs.

He’s supposes that’s a fair point.

Not that he’d ever admit as much.

Magnus finally takes the cigarette away from his lips (how long has it been there? He doesn’t even remember getting it, but now, having it removed, his lips feel overwhelmingly different, like they’d completely adapted to the reality of permanently having damp piece of paper between them). He tucks it behind his ear instead. And he swallows down that last sip of scotch.

Unsurprisingly, when he lowers the glass he sees that there’s another sip left. It’s always so convenient when his magic decides to take care of those things without him having to put forth the effort. It’s a small bit of relief. Comfort.

Raphael is still standing there. Just standing, silent, on Magnus’s front stoop. Like he’s still waiting for something.

So Magnus sighs, as grandly as possible. “What?”

“I’d like to talk to Ragnor.”

Magnus closes his eyes. “Well there’s nothing I can do about that at the moment, is there?” Honestly, at this point, he’s immensely proud of himself for not blasting Raphael down the stairs and slamming the door. He’s too sober for this - which is really saying something. “I’ll tell him to call you when he gets back.” He nods down toward the street. “Go home.”

Raphael’s mouth moves, ever so slightly. Something in his expression… tightens. “I’d rather not.”

Well, that…

Hm.

That changes things.

It must be more than a year now, since Raphael left Magnus’s. Went back to his home, his family. Magnus didn’t exactly mark the date on his calendar, but it should be just a little over a year ago. It was last summer, and now it’s autumn.

And that’s a lot of time, for a new vampire. Magnus has been cautiously optimistic about Raphael’s situation, just because he hasn’t heard from him since. For over a year. Over an entire goddamn year, and Raphael hasn’t sent so much as a word Magnus’s way. He knows Raphael and Ragnor have kept up regular communication, but Ragnor isn’t usually here (in this neighborhood, this city, this country; he’s barely been in one place for a week at a time, until he started staying with Magnus). On the basis of location, Ragnor isn’t a realistic resource in case of emergency. So Magnus always assumed that Raphael would come back here if there were any sort of disaster.

And, lo and behold.

“They haven’t kicked you out, have they?” Magnus glances down at the front stoop, the stairs, the sidewalk below, checking for any sign of a long stick with all of Raphael’s belongings tied up in a little handkerchief.

Raphael’s face scrunches. “What?” His look of offended confusion is almost comical. It’s one of the clearest expressions Magnus has ever seen from him. “No, of course not.”

Good. Magnus certainly hadn’t thought Guadalupe Santiago would have been capable of turning her son away, no matter what, considering how hard she’d fought to get him back. A transition like this can’t be easy by any means, but still.

“Then what’s the problem?”

There’s a twitch in Raphael’s face. A new look, a reaction that tries to get out, but he keeps it back. “Things aren’t… easy there, right now.” The twitch happens again. It’s less subtle this time. “My mother is struggling.” He works his lips. “With me.”

Magnus feels a dark, sharp twist in his chest. Softened by alcohol, but still harsh enough to burn. “Really?” He tilts his head. His lip wants to curl up into a sarcastic smirk, and he doesn’t have the will to prevent it. “Has she made any attempt to kill you, or herself?”

Raphael shifts back, tense. “No?”

Magnus hums. “Then you’re already having a much better childhood than I did.”

Raphael is silent. His face is blank, but somehow, that just makes it clearer that his mind is racing.

After a moment, he sets his jaw. “I wasn’t aware that it’s a competition.”

And…

Shit.

Magnus closes his eyes.

Shit.

He tries another one of those deep breaths. “Of course it’s not.” He opens his eyes, and does his best to look reasonably soft. “I’m sorry.”

Raphael doesn’t seem to have a response to that. He’s still just… lurking on the front step. Magnus hasn’t kept his porch light on recently, and Raphael looks somehow even smaller than usual in the odd mismatch of light spilling out from the doorway.

The sun hasn’t fully set. There’s still that faint, dusky glow clinging to the horizon. Spanish Harlem isn’t terribly far away, but it’s still a few miles. Even with a vampire’s speed, it’s a lengthy walk. Which means that Raphael must have left the very moment it was dark enough for him to step outside. Maybe even earlier. Maybe he’d kept himself ducked in the shadows, carefully planning each step.

He must have wanted to get away. Badly.

And Magnus can’t help but feel an odd sort of sympathy for him. For the fact that he’d desperately wanted to see Ragnor, and he’d gotten this instead. Magnus can’t be trusted to offer anyone comfort even on a good day. Now, he can barely even be trusted to get out of bed unless Ragnor is there to force him.

Poor Ragnor. It’s already shitty enough for him, taking care of Magnus like this. He doesn’t need to parent a snotty little vampire on top of it.

Magnus takes one more last sip of scotch.

“You’ll be able to figure it out,” he says, hoping he sounds at least somewhat reassuring. “It may not feel like it, but you still have time with them.” He shrugs one shoulder, hoping a bit of levity might help the mood. “You’re only fifteen.”

Raphael hardens. It’s instant, and almost bewildering in how thoroughly it changes him. His shoulders. His jaw. His eyes. Everything… stiffens.

“Sixteen.”

Ah.

Magnus can feel himself sink, ever so slightly. He feels a few layers of bitterness and annoyance slip away, as easy as shedding an extra article of clothing.

So. That’s what this is. What it’s really about.

He probably should have been able to guess. It’s been over a year, after all.

Magnus knows he can’t make himself smile. So he aims for anything softer than a scowl. “Happy birthday.”

Raphael blinks. Too frequently. Too fast. And he doesn’t say anything.

Magnus lifts his glass for another sip of scotch-

It’s empty.

Fuck. He must have finished the bottle. And he doesn’t know where Ragnor hid the rest of them.

Fuck. He’s been meticulously keeping himself at a certain level of inebriation for at least a few days now, carefully maintaining his consumption to avoid what will inevitably the hangover of his lifetime. He doesn’t think he can handle having his system interrupted, now of all times.

Ragnor is still out. It could still be several more hours before he gets back, for all Magnus knows.

And Raphael is still cowering on his front step. From the look of it, he could be only moments away from finally breaking.

Magnus takes another deep breath - and this one actually feels somewhat successful, somewhat soothing. “That gets easier, over time. You’ll get used to it.” Hell, Magnus hardly even notices when his birthday comes and goes anymore. By now, he’s more accustomed to doing the math whenever he wants to know how old he is, rather than keeping the number in his mind. “Milestones can still be… unpleasant. But for the most part, aging without really aging becomes commonplace. Eventually, it won’t be difficult for you at all.”

It had seemed like a fair enough bit of comfort (and a rare one at that; Magnus has never spoken so candidly about this with anyone except Ragnor and Catarina), but Raphael sneers. He actually sneers at Magnus, like he’s been insulted. “What could a warlock know about that? You didn’t have to ‘get used’ to anything. You’ve always been like this.”

Magnus smiles. But not brightly, or wide.

Oddly enough, he feels settled. He’s calmer now than he’s been since he opened the door. The annoyance is all but gone, and instead, what he’s left with is sympathy.

“I didn’t always know I was immortal. My death was taken from me when I was a child. Just like yours.”

Raphael looks at him. He looks over every inch of his face, like if he looks hard enough, he’ll find the right thing to say. Magnus can see his jaw working, preparing the words he doesn’t know yet. There’s something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or confusion. Discomfort. Like he didn’t want to know this. Like he didn’t want Magnus to be able to understand.

He looks lost.

Magnus sighs. He sends his glass to the kitchen sink - though being without it makes him feel so terrifyingly empty, like he’s missing a fundamental piece of something.

And he steps to the side, nudging the door a little further open with his shoulder. He jerks his head once, in toward the foyer. “Come on, then.”

Raphael doesn’t move. Not so much as a flinch.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “I don’t allow loitering. If you’re going to wait for Ragnor, you have to do it inside.”

“I’m not staying here again.”

“Damn right you’re not,” Magnus snaps. “I said you could wait for Ragnor. If he wants to deal with you, that’s his decision. But I have absolutely no interest in babysitting. This isn’t some sort of daycare for baby downworlders.” He nods inside again. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

Raphael keeps looking at him. But now, his face is hard. His expression is cold. Almost like a challenge. A way of proving to Magnus that he doesn’t need this. That he doesn’t want it.

The look only cracks a little as he walks inside.

Magnus feels an odd hint of deja vu as he drops the cherry into his glass. He vaguely remembers that had been an Old Fashioned last time, too. Well, that had been his plan, anyway. That time, he’d only made it as far as the bourbon. This time, he won’t be interrupted. He’s going to make his damn drink, exactly how he wants it.

Hm.

He wonders if he should offer a drink to Luke, while he’s at it. It’d certainly be the polite thing to do.

Then again, Magnus hasn’t quite decided if he’s in the mood to be polite.

Luckily, Luke picks a different topic before Magnus has to make up his mind. “He didn’t like me last time.”

“Hm?” Magnus glances over his shoulder with only the mildest interest.

Luke is sitting on the very edge of the couch, like he’s ready to bolt at any moment. Like having his entire ass on the cushion is more of a commitment than he’s willing to make.

And The Great Catsby is standing on his lap, kneading his paws into Luke’s thighs and butting his nose under Luke’s chin. Over, and over, and over. Luke tries to crane his neck out of the cat’s reach, but Catsby won’t be denied once he sets his sights on someone. He puts his front paws on Luke’s chest, and if the way Luke flinches is any indication, he’s using his claws to keep him from moving out of nuzzling range.

Magnus quickly takes a sip of his drink - even though he hasn’t finished making it - using the glass to hide the smile he’s trying to fight off. “To be fair, no one liked you last time. Have you forgotten how horrible you smelled?” He turns back to the bar, keeping Luke in his periphery. “Besides, Catsby always hides from miserable, brooding strangers.”

Luke starts petting Catsby’s back, clearly trying to get him to sit down so he can free his face from the cuddling onslaught. “That description doesn’t fit me anymore?”

Magnus shrugs. “That appears to be Catsby’s opinion.”

“I figured cats just don’t like werewolves.”

“I can’t speak for felines in general, but I think it’s safe to say that this cat likes this werewolf just fine.”

Luke’s face falls a bit. He frowns down at Catsby, even as he keeps running his hand in smooth lines down his spine, and scratching behind his ears.

It’s a rather amusing image. This tall, strong, unfortunately handsome young man, perched delicately on a sofa cushion, giving a look of cartoonish severity to an obliviously happy cat. Catsby’s gravelly purr is audible all the way from the bar.

Magnus twirls his middle finger lightly around the rim of his glass, and produces an orange slice from the fridge while his drink swirls together with a faint blue glow. “So, to what do I owe the-” He wrinkles his nose. Conversational habit wants him to say ‘pleasure’, but his better judgement won’t allow that particular word. So with no elegant way of smoothing out what he’s already said, he just finishes with, “The fact that you’re here?” With the orange securely wedged on the rim of his glass, Magnus finally turns around - though he leans back against the bar, lest Luke think he’s too invested in the conversation.

But Luke doesn’t seem to notice, one way or the other. He’s still keeping that ridiculous frown pointed at Catsby. “I’m here to ask a favor.”

“Ah!” Magnus throws up his free hand in a flippant gesture. “Well that simplifies things.” He nods sharply toward the front door, and it immediately swings open. “Have a nice day.”

Luke’s head tilts, or maybe rolls. Like he wants to roll his eyes, but thinks this somehow makes his intentions less obvious. “Magnus-”

“I did you a favor three months ago. One is uncommon enough. Two in a row is completely unheard of.” He takes a slow sip of his drink. “Come back when you’re ready to pay.”

“I’m not asking for me.” Luke looks up now, actually making steady eye contact with Magnus for the first time since he got here. His expression is… calm. Unusual. Unreadable. “I’m here on behalf of the Brooklyn pack.”

Oh.

Well.

That’s certainly not what Magnus was expecting.

“You’re with them?”

For a moment, Luke just looks at him. But then, he nods. “Almost a month now.”

Even though it’s undoubtedly the smallest, most trivial detail of this whole surprising thing, the first thing Magnus wants to know is how the fuck he didn’t know this sooner. Lucian Greymark has been one of the most heated topics in what seems like the entire downworld ever since he turned. Magnus was sure that he’d heard all of the gossip by now, from the founded to the extremely foolish. There’s no fucking way he should have been able to join a pack without Magnus hearing so much as a whisper about it.

And the Brooklyn pack, no less. Honestly, this whole High Warlock thing still may be less than half a year old, but that doesn’t mean he has any excuse to not know something this important happening in his own damn jurisdiction.

The pack must be choosing to keep this quiet. It has to be intentional. There’s no other explanation.

Well. When he thinks about it like that, it’s actually not very surprising. The ex-Circle member - and Valentine Morgenstern’s ex-parabatai - still isn’t a particularly popular member of downworld society, even though it must be close to a year now since the entire nephilim world permanently cast him off. People are still justifiably hesitant to admit that he might be an ally now, and a uniquely valuable one at that.

Which makes the need for secrecy two-fold. To make sure the pack doesn’t make themselves a target for other downworlders who might be unhappy with Luke’s presence, and to make sure the nephilim don’t know that Luke has a found a place of allegiance against them.

But still. Someone could have at least left Magnus a quick voicemail to let him know. Luke New-Name shouldn’t have the power to so thoroughly surprise Magnus Bane.

Magnus sniffs delicately, and hopes it communicates the intensity of his displeasure in finding out this news in this situation. And, just in case that doesn’t work-

“I have good friends in the Brooklyn pack. People who could easily get a favor out of me.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Why did they send you instead?”

Luke makes an inarticulate noise of frustration, shrugging his shoulders with enough exasperation to make Catsby let out an unhappy meow. “I don’t know, okay? They said since I’m the new guy, you might be… extra sympathetic, or something.”

Magnus laughs. A shallow, eagerly condescending laugh. “Oh, puppy, I believe you’re being hazed.”

“Yeah, well. You gonna help us or not?” Luke snaps, clearly not seeing the same humor in the situation as Magnus.

For a moment, Magnus considers being horrifically offended by his tone of voice. But he thinks better of it. This is business, after all. Magnus might as well hear him out before telling him to fuck off. “What’s the favor?”

Luke looks at him carefully. Something in his eyes is softer than before. Perhaps he’s acknowledging that this is important. That he and Magnus are on the same side now. That he’s part of Magnus’s world. And that in this world, Magnus is - in some sense of the word - his superior.

And his posture changes. His shoulders fall back. His legs spread the tiniest bit, just enough to plant him more solidly on the couch cushion. His head tips back.

It’s a ‘business’ posture. Magnus can tell that immediately. Luke must have been accustomed to this, to speaking, to meetings, to delegating, back during his days in nephilim Institutes. It’s still formal, almost militaristic. But it’s also the most comfortable that Magnus has ever seen him. He knows what he’s doing like this.

“The pack has established a new safe house. One the Circle won’t know about. One that won’t be on the nephilim’s radar. But they’d be more comfortable with some guarantees of safety. Wards.” He tilts his head. “Nothing unusual. Just the standard precautions.”

Magnus narrows his eyes, and indulges in another drink. “If it’s so standard, I fail to see where the ‘favor’ comes in. This just sounds like good business.”

To his credit, Luke doesn’t actually look away. But it’s like his gaze almost… twitches a bit, which-

Ah.

“Unless, of course,” Magnus sighs knowingly, “I’m not going to be paid.”

Luke works his lips for a moment. Thinking something through. Choosing his tactic, probably. “Money’s been tight for the pack lately.” He blinks. “Funeral costs, and all.”

He still doesn’t look away. Magnus is actually impressed. There’s an… awareness, in his gaze. An acknowledgement. A responsibility.

A sense of fault.

This might be the most Magnus has liked Luke since they first met. It’s not as though that bar was very high (not even off the ground, really), but still. There’s a hint of begrudging respect, which is certainly new.

As the seconds go by, Luke’s face finally starts to fall. The hard resolve starts to slip away. The certainty cracks.

He looks nervous. Like he thinks Magnus is going to turn him down. Like he doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens.

This is quite a big responsibility to give the ‘new guy’. Particularly a new guy in Luke’s position. The mere fact that they’d sent him, that they’d trusted their safety with him, that they’d indirectly trusted that Magnus would be inclined to listen to him, to accept a favor that Luke has asked…

“My next availability is Wednesday evening,” Magnus says, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Not wanting to give Luke any way to discern Magnus’s opinion. His feelings.

Luke sags, the tension instantly draining out of his face and shoulders. The relief is so palpable that even Magnus feels a bit more relaxed. Luke’s lessening discomfort manages to lessen the discomfort that Magnus wasn’t even feeling in the first place. Luke composes himself quickly enough, but the relief can’t be hidden. “We’ll make time,” he says firmly, using that formal voice again, the one he clearly learned by listening in on Clave meetings.

Hm. Magnus finds himself smiling a bit, entirely against his will.

‘We’ll.’ We.

It’s hardly a gesture, not at all some pledge of fealty. It’s small. It’s probably not even a conscious choice.

Luke has a pack now. Luke has been taken in by downworlders, by the people he’d been sworn to destroy no more than a year ago. And Luke has just referred to them as ‘We’. Naturally, perhaps habitually. It’s encouraging, to say the least.

A few moments pass in silence.

“He wants a war, doesn’t he?” Magnus asks, tracing his fingers through the perspiration on his glass.

Luke doesn’t look surprised by the question. On the contrary, he looks like he’s been asked before. Like he’s practiced this answer. “It’s not his goal. But he’s prepared for it.”

“And if it comes to that, do you know what you’ll do?”

Luke’s expression doesn’t necessarily harden, but it… resolves. It becomes clearer. “Yes.” And since he knows what Magnus is really asking, he specifies. “I know who I’m with.”

Magnus’s mouth moves. He thinks he means it to be a smile, but it doesn’t quite get there. “That’s good to hear.” He takes another drink. And he hums. “After all, I’d be heartbroken if my cat was this friendly to someone who’s loyal to the Circle.”

Luke blinks, processing the sudden change in tone. He looks down at Catsby (who’s still happily kneading his paws into Luke’s stomach, unaware of the weight of what’s happening around him). After a moment he makes a sharp little noise, something that almost resembles a laugh, and his mouth twists up, and-

Oh.

“So, he does know how to smile,” Magnus says, with just a hint of teasing playfulness.

But, of course, he shouldn’t have said anything. Because the moment it’s out of his mouth, Luke’s smile vanishes.

Shame. It really was lovely.

“Ah, so. Wednesday night,” Luke confirms, awkwardly nodding his head. “Someone will be in contact with you.”

Magnus purses his lips. “Alright. And, tell the pack that if they ever need more favors like this, they have to send you. I won’t see anyone else.”

Luke’s eyes go comically wide, and he frowns yet again. “Why?”

Magnus smirks. “Because I have a feeling that it’ll annoy you to no end.” He takes another long, slow drink, catching one of the cherries in his mouth. “Strictly for business, of course. Now that the pack’s adopted you, my guest room is closed. You’re their problem now, not mine. Catsby may like taking in baby downworlders, but I do not.” He holds the cherry between his teeth, and plucks off the stem.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, s-

“There’s a lot of Cole Porter.”

Seventeen… no, sixteen?

Magnus closes his eyes. Lets out a long sigh through his nose. Ands puts the handful of dragon scales back into the ‘uncounted’ pile.

One, two, three, four…

Simon keeps thumbing through the records on the shelf. “Whoa.” He thumbs through a few more. “You got a lot of Cole Porter.”

Despite himself, Magnus smirks a bit. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven - set aside the one that’s cracked, twelve…

Simon lets out some sort of awkward noise that might be a laugh. “So, lemme guess, you only like his music so much because you, like… hooked up with him, or something?”

Magnus scoffs. “Of course not.” He glances up. “I only hooked up with him because I like his music so much.”

Simon’s eyes go wide, and something changes in the color of his face that indicates he’d be blushing, if vampires could blush.

Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Don’t ask questions if you don’t want to hear the answer.”

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. Twenty-one dragon scales, and another two with mild damage. Magnus carefully pours them back into their jar, and marks the numbers in his excel spreadsheet.

Right. Onto the herbs.

God, Magnus hates inventory day.

Particularly when inventory day happens to coincide with vampire babysitting day.

Luckily, Simon busies himself with wandering over to the next shelf, and he seems to be temporarily satisfied with silently perusing the contents of Magnus’s life (Magnus wants to be bitter about this random kid thinking he can snoop through Magnus’s things like this, but he has to admit, these wide-open, presentationally-arranged bookshelves aren’t exactly private). There’s nothing dangerous or breakable in Simon’s immediate proximity, so Magnus isn’t particularly worried.

So he waves his hand, sending the tray of jars he’s tallied back to their places in storage, and conjuring up a new tray of un-inventoried bottles. His scale is all the way across the table, and he can’t be bothered to reach that far, so he magicks it a little closer. And he takes a deep, preparatory breath.

He clicks on the tab for the ‘herb’ section of his inventory spreadsheet… and watches in abject despair as the scrollbar immediately starts shrinking to accommodate all the new rows of information he needs to calculate. And - unable to silently contain his misery - he lets out one emphatic, harsh: “Fffffuck .”

He doesn’t look up, but he can hear a little squeak of surprise from the Simon-infested portion of the room.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Sorry. ‘Gadzooks!’ Is that better?”

God, he hates inventory day.

His potion book is open, resting next to his laptop. Magnus turns a few pages, being as careful as he possibly can - even though it has to be the best-preserved thing he’s ever owned, with damn near three hundred years’ worth of protection spells on everything from the binding to the ink. He flips through it until he finds the list of ingredients he’ll be needing for the job he’s doing later in the week, wanting to make sure he has those in stock before anything else.

He shifts a little in his chair. His ass is getting sore. He feels like he’s been sitting here for weeks. Doing the most tedious, horrifically precise task he’s ever faced with. Reading through his potion book still isn’t enough to help lift the mood, and that’s saying something. Even the comforting familiarity of Luzia’s careful, beautiful handwriting can’t cheer him up right now, nor can the contrast of the sloppy notes she’d scribbled into the margins for him.

(‘You’ll notice that this says to leave sit for 1 hour before stirring. That’s 1 hour, not 45 minutes. Honestly, someone as old as you should have learned some patience by now.’ ‘I’ve marked this as clearly as possible in hopes that you might show the same consideration in measuring your pricelessly rare ingredients as you do in measuring your tea leaves.’ ‘Remember that time in Cairo, when we thought it would be amusing to drink the entire love potion ourselves before it was finished? Well this spell works better when you don’t do that.’)

Magnus runs his hand across his mouth, and finds that he’s smiling. Well. Maybe it’s enough to cheer him up a bit. He picks up the first bottle-

“Oh, wow, are these love letters? Like, actual love letters?”

Magnus’s head tips back, and he wills himself to count to ten before speaking. “Yes, and they’re not personal at all. Please, go right ahead. Read them at your leisure.” Of course, the only reason he’s not magicking that particular collection out from under Simon’s nose is because Magnus knows he won’t be able to understand them. He’s absolutely certain that not a word of them is in English.

Except, of course, for-

Simon lets out a delighted little squeak. “Aw, ‘Maggie’, that’s cute!” He looks over at Magnus with a grin that is far too big and far too dumb. “Is that you? Are you Maggie?”

“No,” Magnus says as firmly as possible. He plants both of his hands on the table, and takes several more deep breaths, trying to conjure up some emergency supply of patience that might be tucked away in his body.

Simon is still hunched over the orderly stack of letters. At the very least, he seems to have the good sense to not touch them. “These aren’t… these aren’t from Alec, are they?”

Oh, for the love of-

Magnus rolls his eyes so spectacularly that his whole head rolls along with them. “Yes, didn’t you know that Alec speaks fluent Swiss-French and buys all of his stationery from the nineteenth century? ”

Simon’s face screws up in a wince. “Right. Duh.” He shakes his head and lets out a high-pitched, embarrassed laugh. “Right.” He turns away from the shelf, like this might finally be the last of his perusals.

And almost instantly, his eyes land on Magnus’s potion book. “Ooh, what’s-”

“Oh my god! ” Magnus lifts both his hands off of the table, and they tense in front of him, like he’s trying to keep himself from strangling something - or someone. “Can you honestly not sit still for ten fucking seconds? Luke didn’t tell me I’d need to childproof my goddamn apartment before he dropped you off!”

Simon just… looks at him. For a long time. Eyes wide.

And then his face falls. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I guess I kinda…” He rubs his hands up and down the tops of his thighs, shoulders pulled back in obvious discomfort. Maybe- fuck. Maybe fear. “I get antsy when I’m nervous. It’s stupid.”

Magnus sighs. He slumps a little in his chair, willing that last little bit of tension to droop out of him. He closes his eyes for a moment. “What are you nervous about?”

Simon looks up at the ceiling. “Lately? Everything.” He shrugs, clearly trying to smile, to laugh, to play it off as a joke.

And it’s not as though Magnus can snap at him again, after an answer like that. Not in good conscience, anyway. He sighs, and tries to keep his voice as gentle as possible. “Just… maybe a little less conversation while I’m working?”

Honestly, Magnus didn’t think he’d need to specifically request that much. The first thing he’d done when Simon walked in the door was give him the universal remote and the wifi password. There’s a bag of blood in the fridge, and even though the sun is mostly-risen by now, Magnus has meticulously drawn every shade and curtain, making sure every inch of the loft is vampire-friendly. Everything about the setup was meant to engender a sense of independence, rather than camaraderie. Magnus doesn’t know what it is about him sitting at a desk and carefully weighing various powdered roots that makes Simon think ‘Team Activity’, but whatever it is, it’s not Magnus’s fault.

“Right. Working. Peace and quiet.” Simon does another one of those awkward half-smiles, and- oh god. He actually makes finger-guns at Magnus. The poor thing really is out of his depth. “Got it.”

And while Magnus is far from optimistic about Simon’s actual ability to keep to himself for more than a second and a half… it seems like he’s at least making an effort. He leaves Magnus to his burdock and retreats to the fringes of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Magnus can see him continue to survey the content of the shelves, but now-

Oh, that’s actually rather sweet. He’s holding his hands demurely behind his back. Like a toddler in a fancy store.

Well, Magnus certainly appreciates the gesture. The attempt.

So of course he’s just been lulled into a false sense of productivity when Simon audibly perks up again. Magnus glances up, and sees that Simon’s got his eyes on something in Magnus’s direction. Something on Magnus’s desk. His face is a picture of wide-open excitement.

“Hey, is this yours?” he asks, too eagerly. And he reaches down toward a pile of books on the edge of the desk. It’s vague at first, but then Magnus can tell that he’s singling out Ragnor’s bible, reaching right for it-

“Don’t touch that!” Magnus has magicked the bible into his hands before he can even make the conscious decision to do so. And he recoils from Simon, clutching the book to his chest, protecting it from the very thought of letting someone else touch it.

Simon’s hands are held up in surrender. Magnus had thought he’d looked terrified before, but the wideness in his eyes then is nothing compared to what it is now. “I’m sorry? I’m sorry,” he sputters out, shrinking back, like he’s trying to will himself to dissolve into the drapes. “I wasn’t- I just thought…” he trails off. Makes no attempt to finish his sentence.

For a moment, Magnus just has to… breathe.

He has to breathe.

The bible is still clutched in his hands. It takes several seconds, but Magnus eventually convinces himself to loosen his grip. And even then, it’s only because he’s worried that his nails might dent the cover.

He takes another breath. Swallows.

And he manages to set the bible down. He glances up at Simon. “It belonged to a friend of mine.”

And that’ll have to be explanation enough. Right now, it’s all the explanation he can manage.

Simon… crumples a bit. It’s odd. It’s not what Magnus expected. This shouldn’t be important to him, should it? It shouldn’t make him look this sad.

“So you’re- um.” Simon makes a few odd gestures with his hands, brushing them across his jeans. Letting out more of that nervous energy, from the look of it. “You’re not… religious, I guess?” And he chuckles awkwardly. Like he’s trying to seem nonchalant. Like he’s trying not to care about the answer.

“I don’t subscribe to any sort of spiritual beliefs, no,” Magnus says firmly. It’s the usual response, after all.

But…

But Simon looks so… disappointed? Or maybe it’s more-

Hopeless.

Oh.

Magnus sighs. It’s not exactly a conversation he was planning on having with a temporary houseguest (particularly not while Magnus is supposed to be working ), but it seems… well. ‘Necessary’ is a strong word.

Decent. It’d be decent of him to have this conversation.

Still, that doesn’t mean he needs to go into any great detail. “Muslim mother. Protestant step-father. I was raised with a… blend of the two.” He leans back a bit. Slows down. Wills himself to sound somewhat-pleasant. “But when they realized what I am, both of their faiths became…” he swallows, “less kind to me.”

Simon’s face is completely blank now.

Hm. Magnus didn’t know his face was capable of being this quiet.

Magnus tilts his head - like a shrug, but with less enthusiasm. “Still, I’m not entirely unconvinced by the concept of theism.” He allows himself the tiniest hint of a smirk. “It’s hard to discredit the idea entirely when my father has an honorable mention in multiple religious texts.”

It’s maybe a little cruel of him to intentionally throw away a comment like that in the middle of a conversation like this. But the look of mildly-horrified shock on Simon’s face is absolutely worth it. He moves his mouth a few times, but eventually he just manages to gasp out, “Right.”

Magnus smiles to himself. That’ll probably keep Simon’s imagination occupied for a while. But, still, Magnus knows it’d be cruel to leave the conversation there.

“I know this is all still new to you. And right now, the shadow world probably still seems small. Contained.” He tries to make himself smile with a bit more sincerity. “But believe me, it is just as expansive and varied as the rest of the world. You just don’t know that yet.”

He gives it a moment. Lets the words sink in. Waits for them to take root, to gain meaning.

And after staring at Simon’s blank face for several seconds, Magnus realizes he’s not going to get there.

So Magnus raises his eyebrows, and leans toward Simon, just a bit. “None of us are as unique as we like to think, Stuart. You’re not the only religious downworlder out there. There are people who know exactly what you’re going through.”

Simon makes a dumb noise that might be his version of a scoff (it lacks the confidence that Magnus associates with most scoffs. It sounds a little shrill). “You know a lot of Jewish vampires, huh?” He says it sarcastically, scornfully, even. Full of incredulity.

His disbelief makes it even more satisfying for Magnus to calmly say, “I know a few, yes. And those are just my personal acquaintances. I’m sure it’s a much bigger community than the niche you’re imagining.” He gives it another moment to settle. “I could get you in contact with some friends of mine, if you’d like. I’m sure they’d be infinitely more helpful to you than I ever could be.” He shrugs, just to try to take a little bit of weight out of the situation.

Simon just… stares him down for a few moments. His eyes are wide again, and his mouth isn’t quite closed all the way. But while it’s clearly the same type of disbelief, this time, there’s something else to it. A hint of hope. “You… could you-” His eyebrows shoot upward. “Yeah?”

Magnus realizes that he’s smiling before he can think to stop himself. “Yes. It’d be no trouble at all.”

And once he gets his face under control again, he raises an eyebrow, and gives a little huff. “Besides, I’d do anything to keep you out of my hair. And my apartment.” He makes a show of giving his focus back to his work. “This isn’t some bed and breakfast for baby downworlders.” He makes a dismissive noise. “And even if it were, you wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

It’s been a long time since Magnus heard Alec snore. By now, Magnus has figured out that it only happens when he’s truly exhausted. When he’s injured, when he gets back from an overnight patrol, when he’s sick…

And right now, apparently.

Honestly, Alec only finally agreed to lie down a few minutes ago. And now he’s already sprawled out to all four corners of the bed, snoring louder than Magnus has ever heard him, with his mouth wide open in a way that makes it clear he’ll have the pillowcase thoroughly soaked in under an hour.

And to think, he’d insisted that he wasn’t tired at all. He’s always been such a horrible liar.

Blueberry starts wriggling a bit in Magnus’s arms. He makes a noise that sounds decidedly unhappy, which turns into another noise, and another…

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Magnus tries to shift him, get him more comfortable, “please not now.” He glances up at Alec. “He just fell asleep, can’t we let him have a few minutes of quiet?” This is the first time Blueberry has been relatively calm in several hours now, and Magnus was just starting to enjoy the silence.

But Blueberry doesn’t feel like cooperating. His voice just gets louder, and louder, and Magnus hears an inarticulate grumble from the bed-

Well, that won’t do. He quickly throws up a little barrier around the bed. Just enough to keep the sound out. And it’s just in time, too, because Blueberry’s crying has really picked up volume.

The snoring stops. Magnus watches Alec, waiting to see if he’ll wake up…

But a few moments later, the snoring comes back, even louder than before.

And while Magnus can’t exactly consider it an ideal situation for himself - with a boyfriend snoring at full-volume across the room, and a baby crying at full-volume in his arms - it’s good to know that at least someone in this family is getting some sleep. Honestly, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since Blueberry was first placed in Magnus’s arms, but it already feels like it’s been weeks since he got a decent night’s sleep.

Luckily, Blueberry doesn’t seem interested in much more than this passionless crying. And while that’s still loud, it’s nothing like the wailing he seems to do when something is actually wrong.

And as Magnus cradles him a little closer, and starts rocking them in the chair… Blueberry seems to settle down easily enough. Which feels like an outright miracle at this point, as far as Magnus is concerned. It’s actually…

Hm.

Magnus chuckles. It’s actually a rather idyllic image, isn’t it? Sitting in this worn-out attic, in an actual goddamn rocking chair, that he’s actually using to rock the baby in his arms.

His baby. Their baby.

It hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Magnus thinks it’ll probably be quite some time before this particular reality sinks in enough to hold permanence in his mind. Right now, it’s still so new, still so sudden, that it’s like he can forget it if he lets his mind wander. Like he forgets about his new situation as soon as he looks away from Blueberry.

Magnus chuckles again. Because that’s rather fitting. At the moment, they both lack object permanence. It’s a funny little thing to have in common with Blueberry.

Blueberry. Hm. He’s starting to get used to that. Too used to it.

Magnus smiles, and tilts his head down to have a conspiratorial conversation with Blueberry. “You know, this is rather ridiculous. Scandalous, even.” He lowers his voice to a whisper, making sure Blueberry can tell that this is a secret. “I’ve been around for four hundred years, and this is the first time I’ve fallen in love with someone before I even know their name. ”

Blueberry’s only response is a string of half-hearted noises. But Magnus can tell he’s invested in the conversation, so he keeps it up.

“We should really start thinking about that soon, or we’ll get too comfortable and just call you ‘Blueberry’ for the rest of your life.” He purses his lips. “It may be cute, but I think it lacks a certain subtlety. We need to give you a proper name as well.”

Blueberry starts squirming. Magnus gives him one of his hands, lets him tug and shake and experimentally taste Magnus’s fingers.

“If only ‘Ragnor’ wasn’t such an awful name,” Magnus says wistfully. “You’re already going to have to walk around with blue skin; we can’t very well call you Ragnor on top of it. It’d be cruel.” He shakes his head. “Just imagine what high school would be like. Honestly, I wish I could say that the name was in fashion when he picked it, but I’m fairly certain it was already dumb back then. I have no idea why he chose it.”

Oh. Well that’s… something he hadn’t considered yet. Something he hadn’t realized about naming Blueberry in the first place.

It’s odd, choosing a name for someone who will most likely choose an entirely different name for himself in a handful of years.

Then again, it sort of takes the pressure off. If Blueberry doesn’t like the name they give him, he’ll just pick a better one. Like all warlocks do.

Magnus supposes this also solves the surname crisis, doesn’t it? Well, it’s hardly a ‘crisis’. More of a curiosity. He doesn’t know what’s typically done about the surname when two boyfriends suddenly decide to adopt a baby together. They should probably hyphenate, shouldn’t they? Lightwood-Bane. Bane-Lightwood. Or smash the two names together to give Blueberry a new surname, just for him? Banewood?

Magnus laughs, and to his delight, Blueberry smiles right along with him.

“I suppose this is a conversation that should include the whole family, isn’t it? No point in trying to figure it out just the two of us. We should wait for…” his eyebrows furrow… “Alexander.” He purses his lips. “Dad? Daddy?” Magnus hasn’t thought of it like this yet, but now he’s realizing, “We haven’t really decided what our names are yet, either.”

In a way, it feels even stranger than having to choose a name for Blueberry. Having to choose a name for himself. A title. Blueberry probably won’t even be able to manage something like ‘dada’ or ‘papa’ for quite some time, but still. Eventually. They’ll have to decide this eventually. Magnus will have to decide what he wants Blueberry to call him. Dad. Father.

Father.

Blueberry tries to shove the side of Magnus’s hand into his mouth. And all Magnus can do is… stare down at him.

It’s new. Maybe it shouldn’t feel as new as it does, but…

He’s heard the term before. Directed at him. But never by itself. Always with an amendment. Always with a caveat.

��Like.’

‘Magnus is like a father to me.’ ‘Magnus is like family to me.’ Magnus is like family to many people.

But, for Blueberry, Magnus just… is.

Magnus won’t be like a father to Blueberry. He’ll just be his father. He is his father. One of his two fathers, one of the only set of parents he’ll ever know. Magnus won’t be stepping in for someone else. Magnus won’t be found later on, used to fill a void that already existed before him. Magnus won’t be like a parent to him, Magnus won’t raise him like a real parent would.

This time, Magnus will just raise him. Raise his son. His son, who will always know Magnus as his father.

Magnus gives another glance across the room. Alec is still snoring. If anything, he’s even louder than before - which Magnus hadn’t thought was possible.

He smiles. And he looks back down at Blueberry.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m so surprised.” He chuckles weakly. His throat suddenly feels unsteady. He tries to get his hand out of Blueberry’s grip, but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen. So he just settles for stroking his thumb across Blueberry’s cheek. “After all, I’ve always had a habit of taking in baby downworlders.”

#alec lightwood deserves nice things #aldnt #aldnt extras #aldnt related #shadowhunters #magnus bane #magnus carl bane #my fic #literally this is just a bunch of stuff i've wanted to write for a long time #shoved into one fic #a loosely connected series of stories #but hey!#Raphael's here for the FIRST TIME!#he's finally IN a story instead of being mentioned!#we got ALL the faves here!#lol sorry i'm garbage #enjoy!

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