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ametrictonofaudacity · 1 year

Note

yandere platonic supes I am BEGGIBG, there’s not enough yandere platonic Superman I am starved for content, blease

Yes absolutely!!! I am also starved for Yan platonic Superman, so we would get along well!!

Shout out to @blughxreader and @anxiousnerdwritings for so much of my inspiration, and if you like yandere dc works, you should check them out!!

Yandere Platonic Superman x GN! Reader

Warning: This is a yandere work, and as such, has themes of obsession and captivity! Because this is Superman, it’s a much milder work than usual!

“Hey! How was your day?” Warm, almost inhumanly hot, arms, wrap you up into a tight hug, and you blink in shock. You hadn’t even heard him get home, much less approach, and although it makes your heart race, you feel your nerves begin to settle.

“Good! I got to work on the garden I’ve been wanting to start.” You motion to the freshly filled earth, the hard dirt clods having been broken up. “Still have to mix the gardening soil in, and the fertilizer.”

“You did really good! I think we should head inside though, you’re starting to look a little parched.” You sigh, but nod, brushing the sweaty hair out of your face. Mr. Kent beams, stepping back from the hug, ruffling your hair gently. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat, or his concerned glance.

“So what about you? How’d your day go?” You mumble, trekking up to the tiny farm house in the distance. Mr.Kent keeps pace easily, the wind tugging gently on his red cape.

“It was good! There wasn’t much for me to do today, although one of the supports on the Golden Gate Bridge gave out. Me and few other heroes got that sorted fairly quickly, and no one got hurt.” You knew, logically, that he accomplished more in one day than teams upon teams of first responders could ever manage in a week, but being confronted with the knowledge caused a strange sort of dissonance. He had always just been Mr. Kent. Nice, a bit clumsy, willing to help you and your folks when you needed it. Always wearing a button up or sometimes a flannel when he visited, with the strange sort of softness to his accent that you knew happened when someone moved to the city. You hadn’t known him well, but had been close enough to invite him for Thanksgiving when you had heard he wasn’t spending it with his family.

Maybe that was your mistake. Maybe you wouldn’t be here, on a plot of land in the middle of nowhere, if you had just let him stay lonely.

You blink when you realize the farmhouse is much closer.

“I’ll get changed and make us some dinner, okay?” A hand smooths over your hair, and you smile. If he was cooking dinner, that meant you had time to shower, and get the dirt and grime off you.

“Okay.” You murmur, and he beams, the screen door closing behind the both of you. “I’m not allowed to use the stove anyways.” You mutter after him. You know he hears you, but he doesn’t respond, the door to his room closing behind him.

You take your time showering, and changing into the soft, clean pajamas that he had bought you so long ago they were beginning to wear, and gray at the cuffs. He would wait for you to eat, you knew, and he never pestered you unless he was worried about your safety. Which was pretty often, admittedly, but he had been getting better about not constantly fretting.

“Hey, kiddo! I made your favorite.” He grins, and the smell of warm food drifts up, making your stomach growl hungrily. He presses the plate into your hands. “Figured we could do something special, since today’s such a special day.”

You frown, tilting your head, even as you tried to remember. There weren’t any calendars in the house, and the only passing of time you were aware of most times was the rising of the sun.

“It is?” You question, taking a bite of your food. It melts on your tongue, and you glance at the rest of the house, frowning.

Your stomach drops when you realize. There’s four perfectly wrapped presents on the small coffee table in front of the couch, and a cake from your favorite bakery. There’s also a pie, which you know was made by Ma Kent.

You look back. Mr. Kent looks almost sad, and when he speaks, his voice is gentle, sympathetic.

“It’s your birthday, kiddo. I was thinking, since you’ve been so good lately, we could do something special.”

“Like what?” Your voice cracks, but he doesn’t say anything. You don’t know if your grateful or not.

“Well, I know you’ve been working really hard in that garden of yours. And since you’ve been so good lately, I was thinking we could go to visit a greenhouse! Spend a couple days out and about, so you can get out of the farmhouse every once and while.”

You stare. You hadn’t been allowed off the property in.. months. Five, nearly six. The prospect was exhilarating. And terrifying.

“Really?! When are we going?” You try not to sound to excited, but you must fail, because he chuckles.

“Easy there, slow your roll. We’ll be going at the end of the week. Now, finish your food so we can open presents, yeah?”

The food is tasteless after that. It’s good, sure, but that pales in comparison to how your heart hammers with adrenaline and excitement. You were finally, finally getting off the property! And if you couldn’t escape then, you could escape later, and maybe even go home.

Soon, you’re both finished eating, and he herds you to the couch, pulling out a camera from its case. It’s an expensive digital one, the one you know he used for work.

“You know you can just use your phone camera, right?” You point out, and he chuckles.

“Call me old fashioned. Let me get it set up, and then cake and presents.” It takes him less than a minute to set it up, the motions experienced and practiced. “You ready?”

You nod. He lights the candles on the small bakery cake.

It’s the strangest birthday you’ve ever had. Mr. Kent is the only one singing the birthday song, and you’ve always had a large family with a lot of siblings. When you blow out the candles, he doesn’t let you eat the frosting off them, instead plucking them off and setting them on a ceramic plate.

Your presents are odd, too. You were used to useless, impartial presents. This wasn’t that. He had gotten you the dvd copy of your favorite TV series, a set of hardback books, a new outfit, and a telescope, all neatly wrapped in blue wrapping paper.

“The outfit is for when we go out.” He explains, watching as you unfold the blue button up. “We’re going to be visiting Lois, so I figured you would want to look nice.”

Your heart skitters in your chest, unsure. You hadn’t met Ms. Lane yet, he had always insisted you weren’t ready, but now not only were you leaving the property but you would also be meeting his wife.

“I do. Thank you.” You finally murmur, and he wraps you up into another hug, holding you a moment longer than he usually did.

“Of course. Why don’t you try some of your cake and I’ll clean this up, yeah?”

You watch as he cleans up, nibbling on the sweet treat, and when he is finally done, he sets aside all of your presents, putting in the dvd. You shift on the couch, used to this old routine, and when he sits on the couch, curl up next to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and bury his nose in your hair with a smile.

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popatochisssp · 5 months

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The Court AU has me DEAD!!! If you’d be willing, what sort of outfits would they wear? I’d love to draw them!

Anon, I had so many tabs open looking up medieval-type fashion and armor, we're talking like 30+, felt super awesome finishing this and closing them all 😌

Anyway--

Sans (Undertale): What’s black and blue and white all over? Why, him of course! His jester’s motley features a black-and-white diamond pattern, offset by bright, rich, royal blue—a mark of his service to the king. He doesn’t wear one of those silly hats, though…because he wears a silly hood instead! Less chance of falling off, you see. When not in costume he tends toward simple tunics, of decent material and often still in blue.

Papyrus (Undertale): Almost never out of full plate armor, even in downtime, he has to dress for the job he wants and that means being a shining metal bastion of knightly glory at all times! …Though he does often remove his helmet and hold it by his sword at his hip, or fasten it to his steed’s side. He’s a very handsome skeleton, it would be cruel to deny the people the chance to see their hero’s face!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Soft blues and yellows, as a squire only lightly armored—greaves and pauldrons, a mail shirt beneath his tunic if he’s expected to go into battle—but he considers even that much armoring to be overkill for what he’s doing. Still, his Captain insists, and it makes his brother feel better, so he takes care protecting himself. He has some nicer finery to wear about court, as a nobleman, but tends simpler for anything that might be dirtied or torn in training.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Rich green and earthy browns, his clothing tends to be without ostentation—no embroidery, no gold buckles or buttons, or anything especially elaborate. He may be noble but he’s a scholar and a recluse and prefers not to stand out much. Still, the fabrics of which his clothing is made are always fine, as coarse or stiff materials quite put him off. Mostly cottes—long belted tunics—with the occasional robe over, if it's cold.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Blacks and browns, sturdy plain clothes which can stand up to considerable wear and tear. Often wears a short diamond-quilted gambeson and some leather armor (vambraces and greaves), but always has a sword belted to his hip and a cloak made of dire-wolf’s fur draped over his shoulders. If ever he should need to acknowledge his denounced family name, he does have some finer clothing stored away somewhere—in red—and a shiny gold signet ring with his family crest on it.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate armor, dark metal heavily scratched and scorched, dents meticulously hammered back out. He also wears a tattered red cape about his shoulders that billows quite majestically behind him when he rides or runs into battle. He will occasionally dress down in laced tunics and breeches, still in red and black, fine but not too fine as to raise suspicion about his heritage. Should all that ever come out, he does have a suit of pristine night-black armor he’s been dying to inherit and a silken cape to pin about it with a golden clasp of the family’s crest.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Mostly black but flaunts his privilege and royal ties with purple accents wherever possible. Brigandine armor with a fine gold-plated gorget and pauldrons and a few other ornamental trappings—he is the Empress’ personal guard and must in some capacity be as elegant. Very fine doublets and tunics for his (rare) downtime, often with gold threading, but not fond of most jewelries.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Dark colors and crisp whites, noble yet eccentric, he has a lot of fine doublets and other such court-wear but tends not to actually…wear them. He can mostly be found in loose-fitting cottes, baggy sleeves often penned up by leather armlets to keep them out of his paints. He has a fur-hooded cloak for travel or cold weather, but he rarely leaves his rooms, much less the castle, so he doesn’t don it often.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Dark browns and off-white cream, simple rough-hewn clothing showing signs of wear and occasionally odd stains. He works in the stables, with animals, and being around animals so much makes it difficult to keep clean. He has a somewhat decent dark blue cloak that he’ll wear into town for errands, or in polite company—it has a hood to conceal the great jagged hole in his head that tends to make the squeamish or timid flinch away from him.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Still hasn’t quite shaken the habit to be armored, even when it isn’t necessary, but he’s cut down from full plate to chain mail only, much lighter and easier to move around in—which is vital when hurrying to the training field for an accident, or running to meet a wounded knight at the gates. He wears a simple tabard over his mail, blue with red edging (the Queen’s colors), and keeps a pouch of bandages and other aid supplies belted to his waist instead of a sword.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): The livery of the king’s court, gray and gold, but dyed into fabrics suitable for common folk. He still wears gray when not performing at court, tunics so thickly woven they could pass as a gambeson and often paired with hooded cloaks, but he keeps his golds set aside until needed to keep them in good condition. He takes equal care of his shiny brass sackbut (it’s a horn, with a very funny name but an instrument nonetheless) so it always plays well.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Off-white and tan linens, loose and breathable for hot work in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up and pinned at the elbows to keep them from getting in the way. Always an apron about his waist, occasionally with food stains after a long day’s work but these he quickly tends to as soon as he’s able. He has nothing in the way of real finery but tries very hard to make sure what he has is clean and presentable.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Fine brocaded doublets of rich red and shining gold thread, as a duke and brother to a king, he does have to dress the part a bit. He wears more jewelry, especially rings, but nearly always still has his dire-wolf fur cloak over his shoulders. When called for executions, he dresses down quite a bit, in simple black cloth with only a leather pauldron over one shoulder to help brace the weight of his axe before he swings.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Half plate armor essentially at all times, even formal or polite occasions—he’s the owner of a stolen throne and all too aware that it could be stolen from him the same way he got it. His breastplate is scaled and his pauldrons are elaborately spiked, but it’s all black. The only pop of color on him is his crown, the same worn by Asgore and Undyne, gold and sharp, with rubies inlaid.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Chain mail over a finely-made kaftan and beneath a traveling cloak, the latter two with signs of wear from a long journey. His head is notably absent of a crown—left behind in the kingdom he fled—but a new one awaits him soon, of flashing silver and blue stone, depicting the phases of the moon. When fully established in his new kingdom, he may begin dressing as a proper king again, draping himself in the blue and silver finery of the land that sheltered him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Browns, greens, and blacks, he wears light leather armor—really just a breastplate and vambraces—and a thick woolen cloak about his shoulders. He has no need of greaves for his shins, legs lost to an accident in the wilderness, but supplanted by magical prosthetics, living blackened wood provided by his land when he called upon it for aid. …Not that he’s fully accepted that it’s his land, keeping his crown of twisting copper and emerald tucked away in a saddlebag instead of on his brow. Maybe someday…

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Rich purple and verdant green, amidst a sea of black—he favors very fine fabrics with open lacing at the chest. Still not especially fond of jewelry, but wears considerably more decorative leather braces on forearms, shins, and even the occasional full-chest corset. (He has some chronic pain and the extra pressure and support in certain spots helps.) He wears considerably more plain clothes for knight-training purposes and when traveling wears a black cloak with a cowl that comes down over the hole in his face at a point, as the beak of a raven.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate splint mail armor for his patrols along the wall, but favors rusty oranges, brown and black for the tunics and boots and breeches he wears out of it. Often carries a lantern, and always has tinder in a pouch on his hip. Beside his pouch is a war-horn in case an alert would need to be called, loud enough to make everyone come running if it’s ever sounded.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A cavalierly styled courtier, at first having made do with graciously lent clothing and now being able to buy his own in a whole variety of rich colors—yellow, blue, magenta, and on. His aim is to look at home in court, which means he must dress as other courtiers do, so he has doublets and fine tunics and many, many fashionable capelets with embroidery and stylish pins, as well as a few equally chic plumed hats. The other courtiers look to him now for the latest fashion trends and he couldn’t be happier.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): A bit more subdued in style than his brother…though only a bit. He favors black frocks, almost as a cleric would wear, but beneath them, elegant doublets in greens and yellows as vibrant as anything his twin wears, with fine silver filigree work in his buckles and pins and clasps. He’s the pinnacle of restrained class and taste and it’s no wonder at all that the king should respect him so highly if his care in thought is as his care in appearance.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Deep, dark black from head to toe, most prominently a long hooded cloak with two eye-lights glowing in the darkness. He always wears gloves and never lets his hood down, as he’s not especially fond of his metal bones and doesn’t really wish to be seen. It’s difficult to see in the daytime, but at night he’s trailed by faint wisps of ghostly light in all colors of the rainbow, such a strange sight that many a drunkard who’s seen him has poured out their bottle presuming they’d had quite a bit too much.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): Full plate armor, of course, but as he’s now some sort of spectral entity, it (and he!) glows and is slightly see-through. Being ghostly has washed out his colors quite thoroughly which is unfortunate—mostly all white with hints of silvery blue—but on the up-side he seems able to change his appearance some by will alone, donning or discarding his helmet at will, manifesting a majestic cape for himself out of the ether, and so on. It seems a fair enough trade to him!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): A man at court now, he’s donned an eye-patch and abandoned the trappings of prospective knighthood, fully embraced courtier fashion…if a bit ‘eccentrically.’ He favors bright yellows and spring greens, flowing garments of fine cloth layered beneath and over leather vambraces, gorget, and tasset. All these are elaborately, intricately designed and certainly make the similarly intricate gold jewelry (with multicolored gems) that he wears at wrist and neck stand out, but it’s hardly in fashion… Still, the mystic’s thinking is often inscrutable.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): Unlike his brother, very fashionable and eye-catching, in rich amaranths and brilliant turquoises, with even the occasional lavender. He has many fine embroidered doublets, threaded liberally with gold, and wears many pieces of gold jewelry as well—necklaces, bracelets, pins, and brooches. When showing the birds of the crown at court or bidding them on a royal hunt, he wears the livery of the crown-proper—royal purple and gold—and always has a thick leather falconer’s glove on his left hand.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): What’s black and white and red all over? Well, newspapers haven’t been invented yet, so it’s him, of course! He’s no jester so he hasn’t a motley to wear to work, but he is a performer and does dress in the livery of the king, which is red and black. The material is a bit finer than he’s used to, but being that he’s no longer wearing rags and rotting in a hole, he’s quite pleased with it and doesn’t mind the bright colors that help him attract the eyes of many comely nobles at court. Off-duty, he sticks to loose, somewhat open tunics—red still very much preferred.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Laced linen shirts, not especially loosely fitting due to his largeness in the chest and shoulders but he hasn’t burst any seams in awhile so the measurements must be somewhat correct. He’s fond of white and a true connoisseur of red, all shades from dark to very light. He keeps an array of small carpentry tools—hammers, chisels, things for measuring—in a roll on his hip, a dedicated apprentice to the core.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): All black, pourpoint armor beneath fine silk doublets but almost disappointingly plain otherwise—no embroidery, no ornament, or stitched pattern, or brocade. Over this he wears a cloak, equally fine and with at least some ostentation, a bit of silver stitched decoration that matches the intimidatingly clawed silver gauntlet he wears upon his left hand—a symbol of his wealth, if not his status. These flashy items are for matters of court only, as he has a much more nondescript hooded cloak and less identifiable sharp implement which he uses for matters of stealth and misdeeds when it is important that he not be recognized.

Hunter (Swapfell Frution Papyrus): A prince in princely attire…mostly. He happily flaunts the color purple but proudly wears it with the black of his old family name, and drapes himself in silk tunics, fine (mostly decorative) pauldrons, capes and capelets. He tends to show off a bit more of his chest than seems appropriate for a man of his station, and seems to wear his elegant silver jewelry in ways such that the eye is drawn there, and…other places, but few question the whims of royalty. His pewter crown is heavy and inelegant and he’s talked much with his brother about how angry people would be if he had it melted and recast into something more stylish.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Plain, rough tunics, in black and dark brown. He wears a heavy fur-lined gabardine as it gets quite cold in the dungeons, though it’s uncertain where he managed to get such a nice garment. He keeps a knife on his belt, large and jagged-toothed, and though he hasn’t had need to use it yet, the threat of it tends to keep most prisoners from attempting to bring him harm.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): He’s traded in his full plate armor for a comfortably fit leather jerkin, accompanied by matching gauntlets to protect his hands and torso (inasmuch as they need protection, without flesh) from the thorns he trims back every day. He mostly wears black and white and brown, all things closely fit to his body, less they snag overmuch and need to be replaced too often. His clothing is simple but well-suited to his work, and he wears it nicely.

#anonymous #headcanons #court au #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

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exololyunho · 1 year

Text

just a babysitter

masterlist

wc: 6.4k

in desperate need of easy cash, you get set up with a babysitting gig that pays well, in both money and the view of your new boss. an innocent crush takes a turn during a lonely night that changes the employer-employee dynamic

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, making out, brief mention of hickies, age difference (8 years), diff Yunho, one child

taglist! @becky4733107-blog

an: im not dead and I'm trying to start posting but life's been crazy lately. also sorry if this is a little disjointed it was written in chunks and has been in my drafts since December

Your bank account balance was a grand total of $136.89. Thankfully, you lived in school housing, so rent wasn’t an issue, but groceries, sorority fees, and textbooks were.

You needed a job, bad. Your senior year classes took up almost the entire day except for Wednesdays and Fridays and therefore didn’t leave you with many options besides a shitty fast food restaurant nearby or, as your friend San had so eloquently put it, a gentlemen’s club. You had shot the fucker down, telling him so way in hell you would become a stripper. All respect to them, but you just didn’t have the coordination or the skill to become one.

Nowhere else in town was hiring as quicker students than you had snatched up better positions so you were fucked.

San’s smarter friend, Yeosang had said he might actually have somewhere you could work where you were expected to keep your clothes on and you wouldn’t come home smelling like a fryer.

His great-great-great grandbig was looking for a babysitter for his daughter. That sounded promising. If he had been a brother of ATZ, San and Yeosang’s frat, he had to be a nice guy and probably a good boss. ATZ was known for being good guys around campus, men that everyone was comfortable around. They still held crazy fun parties, but they took care to make them safe. That meant no punch bowls, no one they didn’t know invited, no glass, and plenty of sealed water bottles for inebriated guests.

It was during one of their parties freshman year that you had met San and Yeosang. It had been your first college party and your first party after getting accepted into ATY, ATZ’s sister organization. The three of you became fast friends and you quickly became acquainted with their other brothers, too.

Yeosang had told you he’d get you in touch with his many times great grandbig. Within a day after he mentioned it, you got texts from one Jeong Yunho. After exchanging greetings and letting him know you were available from 3 pm on every day except Mondays, Yunho invited you over the next Thursday afternoon for a trial run. He had told you he mostly worked from home doing something business related that had sounded rich, but every Wednesday and Friday he had to go into the office.

That brought you to now, standing in front of the massive house in a fancy neighborhood. The front door was red and had a gold plated knocker. It looked menacing. The rest of the house was equally as intimidating. It was white with red accents and was two stories tall. The manicured lawn and perfectly sculpted bushes screamed ‘I pay someone to do this for me.’

You steadied yourself, smoothing out the loose black slacks you wore and making sure your olive green blouse was tucked in right before you raised your hand to knock.

You didn’t get a chance, though, because the door swung inwards to reveal a little girl. Yunho had told you she was five, but she looked very tall for a five year old. Her black hair was in pigtails and she was wearing a purple dress. She peaked out at you shyly, half hidden behind the door.

You smiled, trying to be as friendly as possible. You squatted down the porch. “Hello, you must be Eunha.”

Her pigtails bounced as she nodded and stepped out from behind the door. She seemed hesitant but she walked much closer to you until you were nearly face to face. Her small hands balanced on your shoulders as she stared into your eyes. This was a little odd.

“Are you my mommy?”

Your jaw dropped open and you struggled to find an answer that wasn’t a shouted ‘no!’ Thankfully, you didn’t have to struggle long.

“Eunha! What did I say about opening the door for strangers?” A man appeared in the entryway. You hadn’t had a chance to take in the interior of the house and now you definitely weren’t. The man in front of you was tall, fit, and handsome. His black hair looked like it probably needed a trim, but it was framing his face messily in an extremely flattering way. And god his face. He was extremely handsome, but his features were soft and inviting even as he looked from you to his daughter in concern.

“She didn’t say anything weird, did she? She’s still figuring out boundaries with strangers,” the man, who you correctly assumed to be Jeong Yunho, picked the girl up.

“Um…” you didn’t really want to mention what she said. It would probably be awkward and you didn’t want to start off your trial run by asking Yunho about the girl's most likely absent mother.

“Oh god she did,” he looked at the child in his arms. “What did you say, Eunie?”

The nickname was so sweet but you didn’t have time to swoon over such a handsome man with a little girl in his arms because the kid pointed at you.

“Mom?”

You cringed and looked away from them.

“God, I’m so sorry Y/n,” your name coming from his mouth gave you butterflies and a blush, which you hoped he took as you being somewhat embarrassed by this girl you just met calling you mom. “No Eunie, we’ve talked about this. This is Y/n, your new babysitter.”

“Oh,” the little menace looked like she was thinking. “But I like her, why can’t she be mommy?”

She liked you? You’d barely shared ten words and you’d met her about a minute ago.

Yunho looked like he was thinking the same as he stared at his daughter before looking at you. “No, baby, she's here to be your friend while daddy has to work.”

Something was wrong with you. The way he called himself daddy made you hot in ways you should not be while there was a child between you two.

“Fine,” Eunha was pouting while Yunho shook his head.

He set her down on the ground. “Go play, darling, I need to talk to Miss Y/n.”

The little girl darted off through one of the doorways in the entryway and you breathed a sigh of relief. He gestured for you to come in, removing your shoes while he shut the door behind you. With the two of you standing next to each other you finally realized how tall he was and how good he looked, even if he was half dressed for work in just slacks and a white button down.

“I am so sorry, Y/n,” he rubbed the back of his head. “She’s a weird kid. She scares off every babysitter by pulling some weird crap like this, so I totally understand if you want to back out.”

“As long as she doesn’t try to stab me, I think I’ll be ok, Mr. Jeong,” you’d dealt with far worse kids after babysitting in high school. Granted, none of them had called you mom before, but Eunha seemed unthreatening, even if she was odd.

“Just Yunho is ok. Mr. Jeong makes me feel old,” his ears were a bit red.

“How old are you?” the question escaped before you could hold it in. “Sorry, that was inappropriate-”

He was smiling down at you. “I’m barely 30. You?”

Cool, cool. Your hot boss was eight years older than you. “I’m 22.”

His smile dimmed a bit and he nodded before clearing his throat. “Well, I promise Eunha won’t hurt you, but she doesn’t hold her tongue very well. She has a tendency to say whatever comes to her mind but we’re working on her filter.”

Yunho started to lead you the way Eunha had run and you found yourself in a spacious living room. Eunha was lost in her own world, sitting in front of a fancy coffee table playing with some dolls.

“Oh,” Yunho’s hand caught your arm with his left hand before the two of you walked closer to the little girl. “If she calls you ‘mom’ again, please correct her.”

“Of course,” you didn’t really want the kid calling you mom anyways. Even if she was cute and her dad was hot, he was much older than you were and you were just her babysitter. Although…

You couldn’t help yourself, glancing down at his hand. No ring.

He nodded and thanked you. “I have to go into the office for a few hours. I know I said this was a trial run and I’d be home, but Yeosang said he trusted you and I trust him. If you have any problem, please don’t hesitate to call me and I’ll come straight home.”

“Of course,” you glanced at the girl behind you, still playing happily. You turned your attention to Yunho again and tried to ignore the heat of his hand soaking through the thin sleeve of your blouse. “I think we’ll be ok, but I have your number.”

“Great,” his smile was wide and warm, but he removed his hand to go finish getting ready upstairs, leaving you with the little girl in the living room.

You approached her and sat down on the other side of the table. Her pretty brown eyes, the same eyes her dad had, lifted to you quickly. Eunha was only five, but her gaze felt like she could see straight through you. Even so, her eyes were still friendly.

“Whatcha playing?” You asked, starting to roll up the sleeves of your blouse.

“Dolls,” she handed you one with long blonde hair. She clutched her own doll with brown hair tightly in one hand. “You can be Minsoo, I’ll be Miyeon. Minsoo stole Miyeon’s pet dinosaur.”

“Oh no,” Eunha nodded seriously at your comment.

“Minsoo won’t tell Miyeon where Mr. Dinosaur is but,” she put a finger to her lips and pointed to the couch parallel to where the two of you were sitting. There was a large stuffed spinosaurus wearing a red tie that was most likely Yunho’s perched on the middle cushion. “He’s over there, but play like you won’t tell.”

“Got it,” you mimed zipping your lips and throwing the key away. Eunha giggled and the two of you started playing.

Yunho popped in a little while later, suit fully put together and hair gelled out of his face. He still looked insanely good, but you almost preferred the messy hair more casual look he had early.

With a kiss to Eunha’s head, he turned to you. “I probably won’t be too late, only a few hours.”

You assured him you got this and he was gone with a wave. You could only stare after him for a few minutes longer before Eunha started interrogating you with her doll again.

Yunho was in fact gone for much longer than a few hours. You’d been here since 3pm and it was now 9pm. He’d texted you frantically at 6 asking if you could stay a little longer since his meetings were running late. You didn’t have anywhere better to be so you agreed, telling him it was no problem. You’d cooked Eunha some dinosaur nuggets and had cleaned the kitchen while she ate.

At 8:30, Eunha had started yawning. She informed you very matter of factly that it was her bedtime, so you helped her through her routine before settling her into bed with her stuffed spinosaurus tucked into her side, quickly falling asleep.

Thankfully, she hadn’t called you mom again.

Once she was out, you quickly ran to your car parked in front of the house to gather your textbooks and notes. If you were going to be here for a while, you might as well study.

It was about 10:15 when Yunho came tumbling through the door. His neatly gelled hair was messed up, like he’d spent the last few hours running his hands through it. His tie was also loosened and, to be honest, he looked exhausted.

“Yunho?” your voice caught his attention. You were sitting in front of the coffee table, much like how you had been when he left, but your notes and textbooks were spread in front of you.

“Y/n,” he walked into the living room. You could almost imagine the scene was domestic. If you weren’t a babysitter and almost a decade younger than him.

“I’m sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair again. “Meetings ran late and there was a bunch of last minute work for a new proposal.”

“It’s alright,” it really was. What else would you have done on a Thursday night? Drinking with San and Yeosang was the answer, but looking at Yunho was so much better than getting wasted with your friends, not that you’d ever tell them that, though.

“Still, I shouldn’t have just dumped Eunha on you for twice as long as I should have.”

“It’s really ok Yunho,” you rose from the floor to begin packing your study materials in your backpack. “She’s a really sweet girl.”

“She’s unique,” he responded with a laugh. “But I love her to death, she’s all I’ve got.”

You wanted so badly to ask about her mom, but that was most definitely not an appropriate question for your first day of work. And definitely not when Yunho looked like he was going to pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

“She is,” you couldn’t help but agree. “But I like her and if you’ll have me, I’d love to keep babysitting her.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. She’s sweet,” you paused, your cheeks heating up. “And I need the money.”

“Oh of course the money,” Yunho reached for his pants pocket and began rifling through the brown leather wallet he pulled out. When Yunho tried to hand you almost $500, you backed away, hands in the air.

“There's no way six hours of childcare is worth $500,” he kept trying to give you the money, but you kept dodging him. It evolved into him chasing you around the room.

“I insist,” he had caught you by the waist and was holding your chest tight against his. With his free hand he grabbed yours and placed the money in your hand.

You couldn’t help but look up at him in shock, from both the amount of money he gave you and the way you were pressed against him. Neither of you moved as he seemed to realize the situation you were in. It felt like hours passed with just the two of you staring into each other's eyes.

“I told you you were my mommy,” Eunha’s sleepy voice shattered whatever spell had been cast around you and Yunho jumped apart quickly, both of your cheeks flaming red.

You directed your attention to packing the rest of your things while Yunho tended to Eunha. He quickly scooped her up and out the living room to presumably put her to bed. It was extremely tempting to run out the front door before you had to face him again, but if you were going to be seeing him regularly, you had to act at least a little professional, so you waited by the front door for him to come downstairs.

After a few minutes, he returned, looking slightly more disheveled and exhausted.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” you didn’t know if he was talking about holding you like that or Eunha calling you mom again. You were really hoping he was apologizing about the latter.

“It’s really ok,” you waved him off, eager to escape the now awkward atmosphere of the house.

“I really appreciate you coming over,” Yunho opened the door for you. “Eunha said she had a very fun day. She said she wants you to keep coming over.”

He followed you outside and the two of you walked to your car parked on the street.

“She’s really sweet. I’d love to keep babysitting her,” and you’d take any excuse to see Yunho. You did like Eunha, despite her odd tendencies.

“Are you free tomorrow night?”

Your brows raised as you face Yunho, your back to the passenger side door of your car. He looked just as shocked by his own words.

“I- not like that. I have a work dinner and I promise I won’t be as late as tonight,” his hand was on the back of his neck and he looked sheepish. His movements left you with a great view of his bicep straining through his white shirt.

“Yeah I’m free most friday nights,” Yunho seemed to relax slightly as you ignored the implications of his statement.

“Ok, I wasn’t sure if you’d have a date with Yeosang or anything,” was that relief in his eyes?

“Yeosang? Date? Why would I have a date with Yeosang?” What on earth did Yeosang say to this man when he called him about the babysitting job?

“Oh my bad,” Yunho was back to looking embarrassed. “I heard he had a girlfriend then he called me about you and I just assumed… I’m sorry I shouldn’t have.”

You stepped forward to put a hand on his arm. “Yeosang and I are good friends. He’s dating one of my sisters, not me.”

Yunho once again relaxed as your hand made contact with him.

“Alright, good,” you didn’t have the time or will to find the meaning behind that. “I’ll let you head home, it’s late. I’ll text you tomorrow morning.”

“Alright,” you moved away from him to the driver's side. “Goodnight, Yunho.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You spent the next three months babysitting for Yunho about three to four times a week. During the days you didn’t see him, you couldn’t get him out of your head. You often found yourself thinking about Eunha, too.

The kid hadn’t gotten any less weird the longer you knew her. One day she had made you pretend to be cats to hunt and kill her stuffed animals for food and another day she had you help her build a city of foam blocks populated with dolls and other random items she declared were citizens of Eunhatown, only for her to pretend to be god and destroy it. She liked to draw unflattering pictures of the random people who walked past the house and keep them in a binder under her bed. Eunha’s favorite pastime was playing dodgeball with her large collection of dinosaur plushies until she got bored of that and then asked you to play dead while she had the dinosaurs pretend to eat you. The girl was bizarre with slightly morbid interests, but she never did hurt you and listened to directions you gave her. And, thankfully, she hadn’t called you mom since she caught you and Yunho in the living room that first night.

Things with Yunho were getting more and more friendly as the two of you spent more and more time together. You’d often spend an hour or two talking with him after he put Eunha to bed on nights you had to stay late and you could almost consider yourself friends instead of just his daughter's babysitter.

Yunho had avoided physical contact with you after the first night and you weren’t sure if he was trying to be respectful or if he genuinely did not want to touch you. You really hoped it was the former, as you hadn’t been able to shake the stupid crush you’d had on him since you met.

Because of your crush that was clinging to you like some sort of parasite, it had stung a bit when he asked you to babysit one Friday in early December because he had a date. He hadn’t told you much besides the fact that he needed you there at about 6pm and he would be home by 11pm.

What he hadn’t told you, was that the date had canceled on him. You quickly found out at 6 that night when he opened the door in sweats and a t-shirt with a glass of wine in one hand.

“Shit,” was the first thing he said when he opened the door. “I knew I forgot something. My date canceled on me last night so I sent Eunha to my mom’s to have a night in.”

“Oh,” that was surprising. You couldn’t imagine any woman canceling on the man in front of you. Although, it was a little presumptuous his date was a woman, it probably wasn’t off the table since he did have a daughter.

“Yeah, sorry Y/n I should have remembered to let you know. You probably had better things to do than drive all the way over here.”

“Not really,” you shrugged. “If I hadn’t driven out here I’d be getting harassed about going to a frat party at the moment.”

“Sounds much more exciting than what I’m doing right now,” he chuckled, leaning against the doorframe.

“And what are you doing now?” Your eyes flicked to the glass in his hand, it was a little under half full.

“Drinking and thinking,” he was smiling down at you. “A deadly combo.”

Something about the look in his eyes, the way his body was positioned towards you, and the unrelated chill in the air that had settled in once the sun set a while ago caused a shiver to run through your body.

He noticed the shiver and moved off the doorframe. “Would you like to come in?”

You answered him with a nod and followed him back inside. It was much warmer in here. In the past few days since you last babysat, the house had been decorated on the inside with Christmas decorations. There was a nutcracker on the side table of the entryway and you could see a beautifully decorated Christmas tree in the living room.

While you removed your shoes, Yunho headed into the living room. When you followed him, you could see there was a fire in the fireplace that usually sat empty and unused. All of the normal pillows and throw blankets on the couch had been replaced with red and white ones that fit the holiday theme.

“Wine?” Yunho was holding an empty glass, his own having been set down on the coffee table beside an open bottle. He had either opened a new bottle just before you arrived or he hadn’t had very much to drink. You could see about three quarters of the dark liquid still swishing around when he picked it up to pour you a glass after you nodded.

When he had poured you a glass, the two of you took a seat on the couch facing the fireplace, not looking at each other. With a sip of wine for confidence, you shifted to face him.

“So,” you began. He turned to give you his full attention. “You said you were drinking and thinking. I get the drinking part, but what were you thinking about?”

He let out a sigh and took a sip. He stared into the glass as he began to speak. “This was my first date since Eunha’s mom left.”

Well, it seemed like it was time for you to get the answers to your questions from three months ago. It was best to approach this as diplomatically as you could, despite how curious you were so you stayed silent and he kept talking.

“I figured it was time to start dating again. This woman,” he paused and finally looked up at you. “She canceled as soon as I mentioned I had a daughter.”

You wanted to interrupt but he kept talking.

“I honestly don’t blame her, that’s a lot to sign up for, but I figured I should say something before we actually went out.”

He was right. As much as you wanted to shit talk the woman for seemingly hurting him, you didn’t really blame her. Before you met Yunho, you probably would have done the same if a man told you he was a single father. Hell, you still probably would if any man except Yunho told you he had a child before your first date.

“It’s just disappointing for my first first date in almost seven years,” he took another sip of his wine.

It was now or never. “Can-can I ask what happened to Eunha’s mom?”

Yunho’s eyes closed and he sighed. He was leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees and you got the impression that it was something he didn’t want to talk about.

“Yunho I’m sorry it’s none of my-”

“No no don’t apologize,” he turned his head to look at you now. “It’s just a touchy subject I don’t usually talk about.”

You stayed silent, letting him continue on his own. He sat up and took a deep breath.

“We weren't married, her mom and I. We’d been dating for barely a year when she found out she was pregnant and immediately everyone tried to get us to marry.” Yunho’s gaze was back on the dark red liquid in his glass. “We both realized we were falling out of love and didn’t want to be tied together forever, but it was too late…”

He trailed off looking somewhat ashamed. “It was too late to do anything about the pregnancy. We stayed together so I could support her and when Eunha was born, we were going to give her up for adoption. I couldn’t do it, though, and her mom could. So I took Eunha and her mom gave up any parental rights. Last time I heard from her was on Eunha’s first birthday. She was living in London,” he shrugged at that.

“Damn,” that was all you could think. What a shitty situation to be in. Yunho would have been what, 24? 25? Only a few years older than you are now and you couldn’t imagine finding out you were pregnant by someone you didn’t love anymore…

“Yeah,” he laughed for the first time in a while. “Damn. I got lucky though. I can’t imagine my life without Eunha. And I wouldn’t have met you without her.”

That brought red to your cheeks. His gaze was back on you, and a smile was on his face. He had faint smile lines that betrayed the fact that he was out of his 20s, but they only accentuated the way he shined when he smiled.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” you couldn’t help the awkward giggle that accompanied your quiet voice. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him any longer, instead facing the fireplace. Your cheeks felt hot and all of a sudden you became acutely aware of just how close the two of you were. Not that you were complaining, you’d had the hots for this man since you first saw him, but this scenario was not something you had imagined actually happening.

His hand landing on your knee nearly caused you to jump. Your head whipped around to look up at him.

“I’m serious, Y/n,” his eyes were staring so intently into yours. Yunho’s hand on your leg rose up to cup your cheek. “I’m so unbelievably grateful for everything you’ve done for Eunha and I.”

His eyes were darting between your lips and eyes, as if he couldn’t decide where to settle them. You found yourself having the same struggle. His face was so close and there were so many details you wanted to drink in, but his lips, stained red from the wine, were stealing your attention.

“Yunho…” his name came out as a breathy whisper. You could see his jaw clench in the flickering firelight, his eyes blinking shut for just a moment before they were back on your own.

“Fuck, Y/n,” Yunho’s voice was husky and the way he damn near moaned your name made it sound like the best noise in the world. It sent a shiver through you, your whole body heating up. “Can I kiss you, please. Wanted to for way too long.”

You couldn’t reply. It was like your throat was blocked. All you could do was nod before he was surging forward. His hand on your cheek migrated to your hair as his lips met yours. Despite his urgency, his lips were soft, gentle as they slowly moved with yours. The feeling had you floating, not quite present as your mind went blank, lost in the sensation.

It wasn’t until his tongue was prodding at your lips that you snapped out of your daze. Your hands came up to rest on his chest as you shifted on the couch to face him better. His other hand landed on your waist as he tugged you towards him. You gasped, which provided him the perfect opportunity to tangle his tongue with yours.

It was impossible to contain the groan that you breathed into his mouth as he continued to manhandle you. Yunho had seemingly decided that having you pressed against his side while you kissed wasn’t enough. His hand left your hair to grab your thigh, moving you to straddle his lap as he sat back against the couch. From there, his other hand shifted to push on your lower back, pressing you as close as possible to him.

With your arms around his neck, hands tangled in his hair, you parted from his lips in order to take gasping breaths of air. Yunho didn’t seem to need to breathe, as he immediately started planting kisses on your neck. You whined as he nipped the skin beneath your ear. For a brief moment, you thought about telling him no marks, but you weren’t sure if you’d get a chance like this with him again. If this night was going the way you thought it was, you’d probably end up very satisfied, but out of a job and no way to see your hot boss anymore so it wouldn’t hurt to have a few reminders of him, even if they would fade within a week.

Yunho licked a stripe up your neck, his hand on your back moving to grope your ass as he brought the two of you face to face again. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, both panting, until you leaned forwards to kiss him.

He eagerly reciprocated, holding you tighter to him in the process and pulling you down in his lap. You couldn’t help letting out a little noise of surprise as you felt the tent in his sweats pushing between your legs.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Y/n,” Yunho pulled his lips from yours, resting back on the couch and letting his hands move to your waist. Your own fell to his chest “This… this wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked to kiss you, I promise.”

You didn’t reply, only watching his chest rise and fall as you both panted. It wasn’t a conscious decision, at least you don’t think it was, to slowly grind down on him. Yunho’s eyelids fluttered and he let out a groan, hips bucking upwards to meet yours.

“Shit, Y/n, don’t do that,” his words gave you pause. What the hell were you doing?

“Fuck, fuck sorry, Yunho,” you rose, moving to get off his lap but his hands wouldn’t let you.

“I meant don’t do that because I can’t control myself if you do.”

You settled down again, rolling your hips over his experimentally. When he groaned again, you grinned. “What if I don’t want you to?”

Yunho gaped at you for a moment. “You can’t- fuck Y/n.” Then he brought his mouth back to yours, tongue sweeping into your mouth. As his mouth moved against yours, you continued grinding down against him. Both of you were panting into the kiss, hands frantically roaming each other.

Regretfully, you had to part in order for him to yank his shirt over his head. It gave you a wonderful view of his lean torso, which you immediately started running your hands over, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his warm, smooth skin beneath your palms. He wasted no time in yanking you back into him, lips smashing into your own as his tongue invaded your mouth.

His right hand migrated from your waist to the front of your pants, fumbling to undo the button and yank down the zipper. Yunho’s hand slipped down inside and his long, nimble fingers quickly made contact with your clit. That first contact had you gasping into his mouth. As his hand down your pants made tight circles around your clit, his other hand grabbed your ass and held you in place.

His hand kept working on you and your tongues tangled. You unleashed moans and gasps between deep, aggressive kisses. As his movements brought you higher and closer to your impending orgasm, kissing devolved into panting into his mouth.

Your hips were grinding against his hand as the pressure built. Yunho’s lips traveled to your next while your head tipped back, gasping moans flowing free. His lips sucked small marks onto the column of your throat. Your hand came up to grasp his hair, pulling at the soft strands as your orgasm washed over you. It hit you like a ton of bricks, slamming into your body and making you tense as the sensations wracked through you, wave after wave as you clung to Yunho.

When you had stopped shaking for the most part, Yunho withdrew his hand. Leaning back on the couch he brought his fingers to his lips, licking and sucking your juices that had been left on them. You could only watch, transfixed by the sight of his fingers disappearing into his mouth.

When he withdrew his fingers he hesitated for a moment, simply staring at you sitting on his lap. Yunho seemed to pull himself together after a moment and sprung into motion.

“Lay down,” he ordered as he pulled your top off, followed by your bra.

You did as he said, sliding off his lap and onto the couch. Propped up on your elbows, you watched as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them and your underwear down before throwing them across the room.

“Hurry,” you whined at him as he reached for the waist of his own pants.

“Why, baby?” he laughed, smiling down at you as he slowly lowered his own pants. “We have all night.”

With that, he quickly climbed over you, slotting his hips between your open legs and bringing his mouth down on yours again. It only took a few expert shifts of his hips and his hand to have him slipping inside you. Your head dropped back away from his as you gasped at his girth and length filling you.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, his own head dropping to your breast bone as he took a moment to recover.

“Yeah, fuck,” your voice was breathy. Both of you chuckled at that, until the movement of him laughing and the subtle shifting of his body had you gasping again as he shifted inside you.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, connecting your lips to his again.

With slow, testing movements, his hips drew back before easing back into you. Every push in had soft whines leaking out of your mouth and into his. Yunho repeated his soft motions for a few moments before he was pushing away from you.

He sat up on his heels, his hips still pressed to yours and his hands locked around your hips. You had been still expecting the gentle movements he had been subjecting you to previously, so you were wholly unprepared for the nearly aggressive thrust back into you.

Yunho’s new rhythm was still slow on the backthrust, but his thrusts into you only grew in speed and power. This new pace was forcing out strangled gasps of his name out of you.

He himself was panting and groaning as his eyes darted between your breasts bouncing, your face with your eyes shut and mouth open, and the spot between your legs where his dick was disappearing into you.

“Shit,” he breathed out when he paused. His grip on your waist was still tight and he shifted your hips up for a better angle. With your legs thrown over his and your lower half under his control, he sat up on his knees, drawing you with him.

Your eyes met his briefly as he pulled back quickly to pick up his rhythm again. The eye contact didn’t last long as his new angle had his tip perfectly hitting your g-spot over and over. At the repeated stimulation, your eyes rolled back and your back arched even further into the position he was holding you in.

Yunho kept up his pace until his hips started to stutter and his mouth dropped open in a long groan.

“Fuck, fuck, Y/n,” you could tell he was getting close. You were slowly reaching your peak, but too far away to cum with him.

Yunho was getting even closer and you decided to give him a little extra help. All it took to toss him over into his orgasm was a firm squeeze of your interior muscles and one of your hands coming up to palm our own breast.

His head fell back with a groan as he gave a few final thrusts into you before pushing as far as he could inside you. You couldn’t help but admire the sweat shining on his skin in the firelight and the way all the muscles in his body tensed.

Yunho’s moment of euphoria passed quickly as the reality of the situation hit him in the face.

“Holy shit, Y/n please tell me you’re on birth control. I cannot have another kid right now,” his eyes were frantic as he leaned down over you.

You laughed and nodded, a little out of breath. “Yes I’m on birth control. You’re not going to be a dad again.”

He let out a relieved sigh before his eyes lit up again. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind being a dad again, but preferably in a stable relationship this time.”

Your breath caught in your throat but you recovered quickly. “Is this your way of asking me out?” Reality also hit you again as you realized you didn’t know if this was casual sex between an employer and an employee or something more, but you could only hope.

Thankfully, he laughed. “I suppose it is.”

#jeong yunho smut #ateez smut #jeong yunho #yunho smut #jeong yunho fanfic #ateez fanfic

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heliopauseentertainments · 1 year

Note

If you’re taking requests plz write a short fic in the style of ‘My Immortal’, but robots. Please include their oddly specific slutty goffic paint jobs. Plz make Rodimus Cron the main character K THXXX

I can't believe you made me go look at the text of My Immortal.

Only notes are: swearing and lightly implied MegaRod. Only the first bit is reminiscent of the original text. The rest is below the cut. It is entirely SFW.

---

Hi my name is Rodimus Cron and I have long black and purple armor (that’s how I got my name) with evil flames and purple decals that cover my entire chest and bromine red optics like limpid spinel and a lot of people tell me I look like Skywarp (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Solus Prime but I wish I was because she’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a sparkeater but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white facial plating. I’m also a space wizard, and I captain an awesome spaceship called the Lost Light in space where I’ve been here for years (I’m 4.2 million). I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Bot Topic and I buy all my paints from there. For example today was I wearing a black matte base coat with matching trim around it and a shiny clear coat on my hips, purple joint accents, and black leg armor. I was wearing a black flame decal on my chest, white primer on my face, black optic trim with red undereye paint. I was walking around the ship. The ship is in space so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

“Hey Rodimus!” shouted a voice. I looked up. It was…. Megatron!

That was it.

After several pages of faux edgy stylistic choices, unusual plot decisions, and uncomfortable semi-graphic depictions of interfacing, Minimus had seen more than enough.

He turned the datapad off and went off to locate the author. Rodimus needed to learn to not leave these sorts of personal writing out where everyone and Primus could see it. He was lucky that Minimus found it first.

What had that mech been thinking? Leaving it in the captain’s chair where it would almost certainly be seen? That was just asking for trouble.

"Rodimus, what is this?"

Minimus held the datapad up for the captain's inspection, doing his damned best to keep the expression on his face neutral as possible.

Creative writing was an important avenue of self-expression, of course; Minimus knew that from personal experience. He was in no position to judge Rodimus, after all. It was all part of practicing a skill and there was no shame in that.

Furthermore, indulging in fantasy from time to time was an allegedly healthy behavior for the processor. That was what his research had indicated anyway.

However, from the contents that Minimus had inadvertently borne witness to, he could only wonder, perhaps, if there were other factors at play. He had never seen anyone describe Megatron that way, with that much color and awkward eroticism. Conversations might need to be had.

Rodimus’s optics went wide when he recognized the datapad before he snatched out right out of Minimus’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks, Mims,” he said, not bothering to answer the question actually asked of him. “I must have misplaced that.”

His vocalizer sounded like it has been kicked into double-speed and pitched up.

Embarrassment. An expected reaction.

Rodimus, however, turned on his heel to march off in the other direction.

“Anyway, I need to go jump out of the airlock now. See you around, buddy.”

Minimus hurried after him.

“Isn’t that rather excessive?”

“It sure is, my guy!”

Rather than stopping, Rodimus rounded a blind corner. The heavy sound of armor colliding and Rodimus’s voice going “oof!” announcing that he had impacted a crew member in his haste.

“Oh, hey, Megs, I didn’t see you there—“

#admin post #fic #ask #tangentially displaced #maccadam #rodimus #mtmte #idw1

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melisusthewee · 1 year

Text

WIP Wednesday!!!

Pretend there’s a cool graphic here. Perhaps I’ll have time to make one some day soon. Or if anyone wants to whip one up for me, I’ll draw your blorbo as an exchange of goods and services.

Anyways! On to the sharing! I was really pleasantly surprised with last week and how many people shared with each other what neat things they were working on and kept the chain going. So I’m doing it again! Remember, there’s no pressure, but show me what you’re working on! What neat things do you have cooking in either the Dragon Age or otherwise fandoms?

I myself don’t have a whole lot this week. I’ve been suffering from an overwhelming number of ideas and brain bugs and can’t really sit down to complete any of them. Instead I’m bouncing from idea to idea like a ping pong ball. I did a little more work on my Inquisitor’s character sheet this week, focusing on his post-Trespasser design as head of Divine Victoria’s honour guard.

(Art and discussion of concept ideas, as well as tag list are below the cut.)

For context, this was the original “design” which was done last year and mostly on a dare after making the joke that the Divine’s bodyguards in Trespasser were just wearing recoloured versions of Sebastian’s outfit and “lol wouldn’t Quinn look dumb in that.” I added a few elements of Divine Victoria’s armour - mainly with the red fur mantle but it’s pretty basic.

This was my first pass at the redesign for Quinn’s new reference sheet done a couple months ago. I kept the shoulders the same, but tried to lean into Divine Victoria’s armour more. Unfortunately, I don’t think it suits a male figure or it just didn’t really translate well for me. The addition of texture/embossing on parts of the armour also made it feel a bit too busy for me more than looking decorative or elegant. It also didn’t look like it allowed for much movement in the torso and while I make the dark joke that Quinn is so drunk and depressed at this point in his life that it’d make sense to strap him into armour that forces him to stay upright, compared to the other outfits I’ve redesigned this just... didn’t feel it.

Here is my more recent pass at the redesign! Again, the shoulders are largely untouched. I like the idea of the armour completely covering what remains of his left arm, plus it has the added practicality of likely having a strap at the bottom that wraps around the bottom of his sleeve securing it into place. The bracer on his right arm has also largely been left alone - it’s a hold over from some of his Inquisitor gear in one of my designs and I like carrying bits over... like a wardrobe evolution. It also shows that Quinn has personal attachment to articles of clothing and accessories. The fur mantle of the Divine is still there... never gonna get rid of it, but it’s sort of combined/blended with the in-game body guard appearance. The chest has also been flattened and simplified, going back to resembling the body guard/Sebastian chest piece but a little larger and more protective. Plus the hint of plate layering too. The scaled coat is still there as the under layer, but it’s less prominent or visible. There is a vest between the armour and the scale coat to give the breast plate a little more friction to stay in place. It will likely be red with gold accents. All the embossing on the armour has been removed. I am unlikely to bring it back.

The waist design was also re-worked, taking inspiration from one of my favourite artists’ character design work in Fire Emblem. The Roman-esque belted skirt is more of a half-skirt, with a fabric skirt draped over part of the belt. I’ve blocked out a section where I am going to experiment with embroidery patterns similar to what I’ve done on previous outfits to give this more of a my-idea-of-the-Trevelyans feel. I haven’t done a colour test yet. But I do think I like this better overall.

Close up of his face, if you like. He’s so sad. He’s so tired. He needs a beard shave and a haircut.

Tagging with absolutely no pressure: @rosella-writes @roguelioness @potatowitch @cleverblackcat @noire-pandora @darethshirl @kittynomsdeplume @little-lightning-lavellan @little--abyss @plisuu @blarrghe @inquisitoracorn @morganlefaye79 @knuttydraws @knightdawn @n7viper @sulky-valkyrie @drag-on-age @oxygenforthewicked @bluewren @nirikeehan @effelants @greypetrel @scribbledquillz @transprincecaspian @transfenris-truther @jellydishes @absyntthe @idolsgf @terencessong @internetdoashouting

As always, if you would like to be added or removed, please let me know. Don’t feel shy or bad about it! You can even DM me privately and know one else has to know!

#i need to make a spreadsheet for this #no one say anything about the rat man #unless it's to agree both he and quinn have great hair and facial hair #i have a type #and I'm cool with that

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Dark Shenanigans - Nandor x (f)reader

Summary: It’s Nadja’s something hundredth birthday, with that said, you’re on a mission to make it great.

Warning: fluff, general vampire nonsense

Masterlist

“Yeah being a half vampire half human does have its perks. I mean for one I can do all that cool vampire shit and I can go out in the sunlight...so that helps for when they’re all being really annoying.” You admit with a casual shrug to one of the documentary cameras before turning to an isle of party supplies. “So anyways we’re at this store.”

The camera shifts to the multiple arras of supplies and materials at the local supermarket in Staten Island that you and your vampire lover’s human familiar, Guillermo, currently are. Specifically on the hunt for birthday decorations for Nadja and ghost Nadja who’s possessed a strange looking doll for the time being.

Since the other four actual full vampires can’t shop for themselves at this time of day or really in general, you and Guillermo have been given such an honorable task in making Nadja’s birthday the best one yet. Considering she’s the most well balanced in the head out of the four of them and is the only other lady of the manor.

“Hey Y/N, how’s this look?” Wonders Guillermo as he holds up a bunch of Mardi Gras beads of yellows, purples, and greens. “Comments, questions, concerns?” He adds with a small smile.

Eyeing up the beads, your head shifts over to the other various colors, “Hrmm, G I’m feeling the vibe you’re going for this year and I like it, but let’s go with Nadja colors.”

Guillermo’s dark eyes light up at your positive suggestion, “Right! So the red and black ones then?”

“Yup. She’ll love that shit.” You state with a satisfied nod of approval, “Let’s get some black and gold confetti from over there and oh, those masquerade masks look cool as fuck.”

You pick up and test out various masks in the background as Guillermo adds some bits of dialogue for the documentary crew, “Um yeah she’s really cool isn’t she.” He says with a smile while glancing at you then back to the camera, “Which is kind of odd since Y/N’s been with Nandor since 1793 so you’d think she’d be a little more like them but no, she’s super chill and really nice.” Suddenly his face goes a bit serious as he leans in to whisper, “But she did kill a whole street gang once when they threw a slur at me so I wouldn’t mess with her. For your safety.”

The camera pans back over to an oblivious you who’s put on a masquerade mask and is swinging a plastic light saber around with a whole lot more accuracy and grace then would a normal person. The camera then pans back to Gullimero, “Um, I’m just gonna....make sure she doesn’t smack anyone.”

——

Arms full of groceries of food for you and Gullimero, as well as random party decorations for Nadja’s birthday tomorrow night, you use the bottom of your boot to skillfully open the door as the documentary crew and Guillermo follows suit. Guillermo now on the verge of falling over with the large heart shaped pillow in his arms that’s covering most of his body.

You don’t feel tired in the slightest due to your half vampiric abilities so this is nothing to you, “Alright.” You state, turning on your heel to face the crew and Guillermo, “They’re asleep so we gotta be extra sneaky now, I don’t want Nadja catching us with all this cool spooky birthday shit. Everyone to the attic!” You whisper yell before leading the charge to the attic.

They all follow as quietly and as quickly as they can and then soon enough in no time are you and Guillermo back outside in the sunny garden trying to figure out if you should blow up the giant sea monster pool floaty.

“I mean it would look cool as hell and no doubt out-do whatever the fuck boring thing Lazlo probably has planned.” You quip with a shrug while the two of you stare thoughtfully at the small gloomy dark pond. “He’s got no chance with us. I’ve won best decorator and card maker for two hundred years in a row.”

Guillermo side eyes you in honest amazement, “Wow that’s a lot of years. And cards.”

“I know. I was an artist in the 12th century but my no good terrible good for nothing piece of garbage trash sexist human husband, who I was forced to marry when I was only sixteen, took all the credit for my artwork in that era.” You confirm with a growl, “But it stings less because once I finally grew into my powers and strength at eighteen I simply made his untimely demise look like an accident.” You add with a smirk.

“Oh, wow.” Mutters the intrigued familiar.

“Precisely. The old fool was thrown off his horse because I told Philip, the horse, to throw him off. And he did. Which killed the idiot so I got the house and all of his money.”

“That’s......neat.” Mutters Guillermo as he shoots the camera crew from behind you and him a nervous look. “Uh the suns going down so I should probably help Nandor out of his coffin.”

Raising your head to the sky you immediately see how the sun has begun to paint the clouds in beautiful colors of oranges, reds, light pinks, and darkening purples. “Oh, how bout that. Yeah alright let’s get inside.” You nod to Guillermo before turning to walk towards the manor’s giant mahogany doors.

——

Turning the handle and walking a couple feet into the large main room that holds itself as a sort of crossroads for all the other various connecting hallways and staircases. You don’t make it even three more steps towards the left ascending staircase before you hear the highly recognizable voice of your one and only.

“Y/N! My lovely wife and favorite person still ever so lovely!” Announces Nandor loudly with a grand smile showing off his pearly white fangs, “How I have missed you and your morning kisses. Where have you been off to?” He wonders softly as you smile a big dumb love-struck grin right back up at him, you’d absolutely die to hear that accent one last time.

“I can’t tell you right now it’s a secret!” You whisper yell back, causing his thick dark brows to scrunch up in confusion.

“But I am your lovely strong puff dragon Y/N.” Whines Nandor adorably as you roll your eyes at the cameras before looking back up at him.

“Fine. Come here then.”

In an instant he’s at your side, excitedly awaiting what secretive news you will tell him, “Okay, so we know it’s Nadja’s birthday tomorrow right?”

“Yes. I remember because she hasn’t shut up about it.”

“Right. So me and Gullimero got some fun surprise birthday party decorations and they’re in the attic and we can’t tell Nadja.”

Nandor gives you a knowing look of affirmation as he leans in closer to you, his demeanor suddenly shifting into a more saddened one, “You went shopping without me?” He says quietly.

Leaning up to give him a quick peck on the cheek your hands instantly find his, “Just for a little while, but I still need to find more stuff so....you wanna come?”

Nandor’s big dark eyes light up with joy as you hand him a kind smile, “Yes! Let us go in search of unknown treasures for our lady friend Nadja so she will not be mad at us for terrible dull gifts of friendship.”

Laughing you give his hands a playful squeeze, “Come on I’ll race you to Party City!” You say before leading him past the camera crew and Guillermo who simply watches the two of you leave, glad to have an hour of peace.

“There’s a whole city for partying? Y/N why have we never been to this place?”

——

“Y/N there are no people partying here.” Whines your vampire lover in puzzlement as he follows you from the entrance to a side isle. “You said this was a city for partying.”

“That’s just the name of the store Nans.” You retort with a small chuckle as he looks from right to left at all the color coded party plates and napkins galore.

“Well the title is very misleading.”

“Agreed.”

Turning to the right you guide him towards the decretory pirate themed isle in search of something that will peak his interest. Also you wanted so badly to make it to this spot but Gullimero was a man on a mission so your intention was thwarted for when you had Nandor with you.

Speed walking down the pirate themed isle you quickly halt all movement as Nandor’s large body stops within less than an inch from your back. Smiling brightly you snatch the desired object in front of you and as swift as a cat turn to face him.

“Have you come for a dual my old enemy?” You speak slyly, eyes narrowed as you hold the foam sword right in front of his face. “I sense a nervousness about you. Tell me, are you ready to face your inevitable bloody end?”

Staring at the pointy foam, his dark puppy eyes shift over to you as an adorable fangy grin breaks out across his pale face, “Seems you have come prepared, oh radiant and alluring seductress. Well, so have I!” Shouts Nandor before grabbing two foam swords from off the rack and swinging them in both hands like a mad man.

Taking a cautious step back you hold your pathetic five dollar sword in both hands like a true warrior ready for battle, “Only one shall leave this place alive.” You affirm with a smirk, “And it’s not going to be you.”

“Arrrrrggg.” Bellows your lover as he charges you like the true conqueror that he once was. But all to soon do you swiftly duck under his arms and swat him over his stomach with a confident thwack sound.

He makes a puny little “oww” as you turn around to face him once again, “Y/N you hit me kind of hard.” He complains, looking rather defeated and genuinely hurt that you could have intentionally injured him on purpose.

Bringing the plastic weapon down to your side once again, your face suddenly softens as you walk over to him, “Come here you big baby.” You quip sincerely as he leans down so you can give his cheek a quick kiss.

Rising back to his full height, Nandor almost blushes as the corners of his eyes crinkle into a happy smile, “Actually it didn’t hurt at all I just wanted you to kiss me.” Reveals the vampire with a proud grin as you simply roll your eyes.

“Should have known.” You add before turning and snatching up four more plastic foam pirate swords for the others. “Alright let’s get outta here, follow me my love, to the checkout line we shall purchase our weapons of war and partying on the high seas.” You announce with gusto as Nandor stands proudly at your side, ready to follow you anywhere.

“Yes. To check out.”

——

Kicking open the unlocked door, Nandor bursts into the vampire residence with bags full of goodies for Nadja’s birthday party. You right behind him but less dramatically, “We’re back!” You shout to no one in particular as Colin Robinson suddenly appears from out of nowhere, looking ready to leave with his funny little hat and usual beige jacket.

“Oh hey guys,” He starts with a friendly nod, “I’m just heading out on the town tonight. I guess there’s a fair or something in the park and I wanted to test my skill at the ball toss. I’ve been reading up on the body mechanics and how the game is set up which seems pretty basic all in all. Also I really want to win a stuffed bear this time, it might add a little pizazz to my room. Welp see ya’round.” Adds Colin before walking past the two of you without another word and out into the night he goes with some of the camera crew following close behind.

Nandor turns to you with a look of annoyance, “Jeesh I thought he would never leave. Let’s go to your room I want to kiss you some more now.”

“Why my room?”

“Because since you are half vampire you get to sleep in a bed and because I am a full vampire I sleep in a coffin.” Inquires Nandor while looking at you with those big beautiful dark eyes of his, “And my coffin is too small for cuddles so your room will suffice.”

“Yeah that’s a fair point.” You shrug before following him to your room.

After many cuddles leading to other more rated R type activities that lasted until just about sunrise, you finally got some well needed rest while the sun shone high in the sky until she began her dramatic descend back into oblivion. Opening your eyes you slowly rise from out of your comfy bed, already missing the presence of your obsidian eyed lover.

He gets too nervous about your closed windows for fear that the sun might burn him which would be impossible because you black out the glass. But alas, he’s very cautious about these types of things and won’t risk it for anything, though he feels bad about leaving you in the morning, you understand.

Suddenly it dawns on you that today or perhaps tonight, is Nadja’s birthday and you completely forgot to set up any decorations. Shit, how stupid. Throwing the blankets off of you, your feet move quick as you speedily change yesterday’s outfit for something a bit nicer and more clean.

Racing out of your room and into the dimly lit manor hallway, you make a bee line for the attic but before you’re able to reach the steps, Guillermo runs into you, just about knocking you into a wall of various stolen ancient weapons. Sharp ones at that.

That was close.

“Y/N are you okay!” Worries the familiar as you quickly gather your bearings.

“Guillermo! The decorations! Nadja’s birthday!” You whisper yell as the human man simply smiles. “Why are you smiling, this situation does not call for smiles.”

“Don’t worry. While you were sleeping I set up all the decorations.” He replies with a shrug, “No problem.”

“What? But that must have taken you all day, you could have asked me for help. I would have come.” Your brows furrow as he shakes his head, though you still feel bad for not helping with anything.

“Well I did try, but um,” Gullimero awkwardly clears his throat, giving the camera a quick glance, “Nandor was with you and last time I asked for you while you and him where having alone time he threatened to carve out my eyeballs and force feed them to me.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance you take a deep breath, “Sounds like him. Very creative when he wants to be, alright, well....where’s everyone?”

“Oh, they’re not up yet. I was actually on my way to get you. I made blood popsicles and the pool floaty is all done and in the pond.” He says with a sense of pride for his decorating skills. “I think she’ll like what we’ve come up with this year.”

Standing in the living room with your three fellow immortals you search a dresser for her card, “Oh shit where’s my card? I could have sworn I had it yesterday on my dresser but I don’t remember seeing it there in the morning. Maybe it’s in this one?”

“Witches!” Hisses Nadja as you huff in frustration, where the hell did you put that damn card?

“Oh, Y/N my love,” Intervenes Nandor with a gentle tug of your sleeve, “I took it with me when I left your room before sunrise because I wanted to put my name on it too so she would know it’s from us.”

“What?” Replies Lazlo dramatically, “Now hold on just a damn minute, this card competition is individually scored so I won’t be having any of this nonsense. I worked really hard on mine this year.”

“Oh lick a donkey’s arse, look here,” You retort with, quickly holding up the card for Nadja, “there are two separate drawings on ours so either way if one of us wins she gets both our pictures. So you better hope your drawing doesn’t resemble a night clubs bathroom wall.”

“Yeah.” Mutters Nandor, who’s hiding behind you while resting both hands on either one of your shoulders as you glare at Lazlo.

“Fine.” Agrees Lazlo begrudgingly, “And mine will be amazing, this bitch of paper took me a whole six months to plan and produce. Can’t get quality this good anywhere else I guarantee it.” Adds Lazlo with a firm nod of self approval as you glance at the nearby camera.

“Right, okay everyone sit it’s time for presents. I want to know what you all got me.” Beams Nadja excitedly as she smiles a fangy grin in delight, plopping herself down in one of the arm chairs. Lazlo quickly finding the other one while you and Nandor seat yourself on the large couch. Colin and Guillermo finding somewhere to sit close by respectfully.

“Well, all I can say is hold onto your socks my dear cause this is going to blow you away.” Smirks Lazlo as he pulls a small box from out of his jacket pocket.

“If it’s a self made business card that says invitation to sexy town I will puke.” You deadpan while Nandor laughs from beside you, causing Lazlo to lose his smirk as Nadja hides her amusement the best she can manage.

“He he, sexy town, nice one Y/N.” Mutters Nandor with a proud grin as you raise a brow at Lazlo who’s giving you a hard glare.

“Oh, my dear pumpkin pie love, don’t listen to Y/N I will love anything you gift me.” Encourages Nadja with a bright welcoming smile, no doubt immediately boosting Lazlo’s once irked mood.

Rolling your eyes you shift a bit to find yourself leaning into Nandor’s body as Nadja opens up the rest of the vampire residents various gifts. A joyous fangy smile gracing her pale features every single time, revealing this birthday party was a thrilling success.

After much more fun that just about lasts throughout the whole night, and some rare but hilarious attempts at dancing between the five of you vampiric individuals. You’re feeling rather sleepy and you can tell Nandor is ready for a trip to dreamland as well.

Swaying to the lowly playing record instrumental, you hold Nandor tight while simultaneously enjoying the feeling of him so close, him doing just the same as he keeps you firmly pressed against his chest. His long dark hair tickles your face as he presses his head to your cheek, doing his absolute best to keep the flow without tripping up.

Sensing his growing fatigue, you gently squeeze his hand, “My love the sun will be up soon, let’s get you to bed, yes?”

A small lazy smile tugs at the corners of his lips while he looks down to meet your gaze, “But my dark angel I’m not tired. I want to dance with you a little longer.” He whines adorably before failing to conceal a big yawn.

Giggling, you lean back to slowly lead him towards the door, “That yawn says otherwise.”

“That wasn’t a yawn Y/N, I was just smiling really big.” He protests, though he still follows your lead to the door.

“I’ve never seen anyone smile like that.” You add with a raised brow.

“Well maybe that’s just how I smile.”

Letting out a breathy snort, you pull away from him to at last take his one hand, “Come. I can’t have a single ray of that dreaded sun to get a taste of your precious skin. Not on my watch.”

Glancing at the closed front door, Nandor squeezes your hand, “Well um, now since you’ve mentioned the sun...I think I’d like to go to my crypt now.” He says, the flash of worry crossing over his face for only a brief moment.

“You sure? I mean a sunrise is pretty beautiful if I’m being honest and I know you never get to see them...”

“Not funny Y/N. And not fair, you know I can’t because I am full vampire.”

“And you’re missing out.”

“And I’d like to stay alive Y/N.”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Yes and I am your only husband so I need to stay not burnt to a crisp.”

Chuckling, you follow him down the hallway, “Oh really? Don’t want me finding myself with another vampiric lover? Some new beast to sweep me off my feet and take me away into the night.” You tease.

Side eyeing you, he frowns, “No. Don’t I sweep you off your feet?”

Stepping into his crypt you stop him with your hand against his bicep, “Always.” You whisper sincerely with a quick wink, causing him to break out into a big fangy grin.

“Good. And if anyone would try and whoo you I would make sure there would be no more whooing again!” Exclaims Nandor, making the candles rise in flame for only a short second at his rise in emotion for how much he loves you.

“I don’t doubt they would fall by your blade. Not for a second.”

#nandor the relentless #Nandor x reader #nandor x you #nandor x y/n #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows x reader #vampire fun yeah #love my big huggable vampire #:)

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fricklefracklefloof · 3 years

Text

[lyrics: coffee by jack stauber]

i talk a lot about how i'll never get over s4 of tma a lot but i think there's just something really tragic about what jon went through in that season specifically. i think a lot about his struggle between trying not to hurt people and contributing towards a system that feeds off of people and just trying to live. i love the question that tma poses here and i love that there's no real right answer. i'm not.. trying to say that it's okay at all but i think jon was a victim and it's heartbreaking to think about how no one was really willing to help him at the time. also just, yknow, the addiction themes.

[image description: a six page song comic depicting characters from the magnus archives to the song "coffee" by jack stauber. the color palette is made up of shades of pastel pinks and browns with bright red and lime green accents.

the first page contains two panels. the first is long and pink with the handwritten words, "DO I NEED IT?" the second panel below it is square and depicts a tape recorder atop a dinner plate with a fork and knife. one of the buttons is bright red. there is a lime green square text box at the top that reads, "MOCHA" in courier new font. popping up from the bottom of the page is a drawing of jonathan sims looking down at a piece of paper with a worried expression. he is skinny and has brown skin, a goatee, circular worm scars on his cheeks, a long knife scar on his neck, and long dark hair with grey streaks running through it. he's wearing a red jumper that's a little too big on him. handwritten text beside him reads, "am i under control? / can i beat it?"

the second page has two panels split in triangular halves. there is a square lime green text box that reads, "WAKE UP" in handwritten letters. the first panel depicts a dark coffin with tape recorders on top of it with the lid slightly ajar as a hand (jon's) climbs out of it. the second panel shows an exhausted looking jon leaning on daisy tonner's shoulder. daisy has pale skin and blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. she is wearing a brown hoodie and her eyes are closed. jon's orange speech bubbles say, "if it swallowed me whole / would i see it?" popping out from the bottom is a large lime green eye that's a physical representation of the beholding staring intently at a resigned jon with his hand on his chest. the eye says, "I CAN MAKE YOU FEEL ALIVE" in courier new font, to which jon replies in handwritten text, "i know / but do i need you to survive?" there is a sketched out background of a bookcase behind them.

the third page has five panels, with three in the middle split into triangles. the first rectangular panel is lime green and depicts helen distortion laughing delightedly (there's red crooked handwritten text behind her reading "HAHAHA"). helen has brown skin and curly dark hair that reaches down to her shoulders. the second panel is red and depicts a statement giver with light skin and dark hair in a bob gasping with her hand in front of her mouth. she yells, "JUST A SIP" in handwritten text. the third panel in the middle depicts jon with an imploring expression with his hand out as his lime green speech bubble reads, "does it still matter which one?" in courier new font. there are realistic pictures of eyes behind him on a brown background. the fourth panel depicts another statement giver with pale skin and short red hair and freckles with his hand in front of his mouth. his speech bubble reads, "JUST A DRIP" in handwritten text. the fifth panel is long and pink and reads, "am i dumbfounded when i slip?" in handwritten text.

the fourth page has six panels, five of which are rectangular and lined up beside each other. the first panel depicts the first statement giver crying as her wavy orange speech bubble reads, "you can't believe" in hand written text. the second panel depicts martin saying "i can't believe". the third panel shows basira, and she says "you can't believe". the fourth panel shows melanie, saying "i can't believe", and the fifth panel contains daisy saying "you can't believe." in a square panel at the bottom with a lime green panel jon says dejectedly, "i can't believe this happened". the background shows falling papers in muted colors.

the fifth page contains a fullbody drawing of jon with a scared expression holding a tape recorder being held up by puppet strings with a lime green web behind him and handwritten orange block text reading, "WOW". the single rectangular panel at the bottom is lime green with text in courier new font reading "french vanilla i think i should sit this one out" over and over again. there is silhouette of jon's face in profile with wide eyes that looks like he's yelling. a red rectangular text box at the bottom reads "no, no no" in handwritten text.

the sixth page has three panels. the first is rectangular and lime green containing another silhouette of jon with eyes all over his body clutching his head with a horrified expression. there are tears leaking out of many of the eyes. the handwritten text behind him reads, "maybe a cup of self control would be the route". in a square panel basira hussain holds out her hand in a question as she asks "but it's the flavor, it's the flavor you want". basira has brown skin and wears a tan long sleeved shirt and a dark brown hijab. the square panel next to it shows a closeup of jon's face as a speech bubble beside him reads, "maybe so". at the bottom of the page jon is sitting with his head in his hands with a box of files and a sheet of paper next to him with handwritten text reading, "but it feels better to check than to reflect". end id.]

#long post #I'M SORRY I WOULD HAVE PUT THE IMAGE DESCS UNDER THE CUT BUT IK THAT MAKES IT LESS ACCESSIBLE #SORRY PLS JUST SCROLL PAST #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanart #tma spoilers #tma #tma fanart #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #helen distortion #martin blackwood #basira hussain #melanie king #tma comic #ali draws #ali comics

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jessiebanethedragon · 3 years

Text

Rampage (Hunter x reader)

WARNINGS BAD BATCH EPISODE 5 SPOILERS

click read more if you've seen the ep bc this fic is about it!

also to be clear i'm not romanticizing slavery - there's nothing romantic about it. The fic is supposed to be more about how hunter feels towards the reader when she's put in danger.

summary: Captured by slavers, hunter witnesses the leader of them make a fatal mistake.

reader pronouns = she/her

warnings: mentions of slavery and implications towards reader being sold to the hutts...

Hunter is beginning to wonder if the galaxy is working against him. After all, how does a simple smash and grab go so wrong? In his squad's defense they hadn't prepared for whatever flying menace the zygerrians had tamed. Though it doesn’t make the electro-collar sit more comfortably around his neck, even if his vod are being just as problematic as usual.

“I think it’s getting looser!” Wrecker says, twisting it around his neck, before promptly being shocked by the guard looking over them. And as Echo points our the laws against slavery, and he too is shocked Hunter see’s you push the fragile clone behind you protectively.

“Come off it!” You sneer in your coruscanti accent. And while his face stays solom Hunter can't help but enjoy the way your voice sounds and his heart flutters at your protectiveness. The sound of the whip makes everyones head turn.

“You want to say that again, skug?” the slaver taunts you. And unconsciously Hunter is already moving towards you. Maker, you stir up feelings in his chest Hunter didn’t even know existed. Tech had called him obsessed when you had first joined the team, but obsessed didn’t seem to cover all the different ways he fell for you. Had he had more time to contemplate what was going through his head and his heart he might’ve realised not only that he was in love with you, but that you had fallen head over heels for the sergeant as well.

Hunter is broken from his thoughts by the sound of laughter.

“Look at what we have here.” says the zygerrian obviously in charge, as he walks down towards the group of you. “ Five new slaves to add to my collection. Strong ones too.” Hunter hates the way he’s looking and talking to his vod, but when the slaver scum turns and notices you, a different type of hate starts to boil.

“Look at you!” He exclaims, clapping his hands together in excitement. Watching you front your knelt place in front of Echo and essentially giggling when you swift backwards away from him.

“How lucky am I…” He says as he motions for his guard to wrench you to your feet, Hunter watches as you struggle and twist in your armour and how your hair goes wild with the movement. “To have had a creature as stunning as you, just waltz into my hands?” As Hunter goes to stand as well, he’s stopped by the chain that restrains him to the rock. He settles to glaring at the man instead, even more so when he stands too close to you. Looking you up and down and craning his neck around as well.

“Savor the view while you can, I won’t be in your hands for long.” You tell them determinedly and dangerously. Chuckling again the zygerrian reaches out slowly to wrap his hand around your jaw and grip your face until it hurts.

“I can tell you’ll need an attitude adjustment.” He snarls watching your hands come up to try and pry his own off of your face.

“Get your fucking hands off of her.” Hunter says slowly. The tattoo looking more mancacing than normal thanks to the way his face glares at the zygerrian. With a snap of his fingers, a moment later there's searing pain throughout his body, his muscles clenching and tensing against the electrical current forces through them. Hunter stiffins and then slumps as the collar turns on and off. And when his eyes open again the man has dragged you over to Hunter, a firm hand around your neck.

“Take her in.” The Slaver says, pushing you to your knees so that you’re level with the love of your life. “Take a good long look.” He says into your ear, but he’s not really talking to you, more like taunting a very dangerous man. Hunter knows he’s the one binded at the moment but all he can focus on is everything he's going to do to the zygerrian when he gets out of his shackles. Only to acknowledge the man when you let out a noise of pain as he pushes you forward.

“I hope you realise how generous I am.” He states, “letting you say goodbye.”

Hunter goes feral, at the implication of never seeing you again, at the inferred separation he sees red and tugs impossibly hard on his chains.

“There’s so many places she could go,” He taunts ever so calmly. Hunter can recognize Tech trying to reason with him, telling him it’s a mind game and to relax, but he doesn’t care. The only thing he can see and hear is you - and the threat of never seeing or hearing you again.

“If she’s lucky i’ll sell her as a servant, but that would be a waste, imagine how much the hutts would pay for something like this.” Hunter assumes he’s actually beginning to scare the slaver because he receives another shock.

And by the time he recovers, you’ve been thrown aside as everyone races after the Rancor and Omega.

It’s much later when the sergeant seeks you out. Preoccupied with the adrenaline and the events from the day, he hasn’t been able to get the privacy he wanted. But now the ship is quiet, and the only thing interrupting the two of you is the hum of the engine as the ship hurtles through hyperspace.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” It's a question he knew was coming, and he considers lying to you telling you he left him for officials to find, but Hunter can’t bring himself to be dishonest. He could never be dishonest to you.

“Yes.” He says plainly, turning his head to look at you in the passenger seat, a conflicted look on your face, shucking off his gloves, Hunter engages autopilot.

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” you cut him off, “don’t apologies.” Your voice is softer now. And he can't help the way he looks at you as he moves to kneel in front of your chair. Running his bare hands over your thighs, which look so much smaller without the armour plating attached.

Intimacy isn’t foreign between you and him, in fact you’re the only person Hunter likes to be close to. Rather than get overwhelmed by you, he indulges in the way you feel under his hands. He smiles as you gasp when his hands meet your waist.

“Is this okay?” He inquires, seeing you nod before sinking down awkwardly to be level with him. Hunter has to bite back a groan when his hands move under your tunic and his calloused fingers splay over your shoulder blades.

“Hunter…” You murmur his name as he pulls you flush against him and buries his face into your neck.

“I was scared.” He admits, for the first time in his life, the sergeant of Clone Force 99 tells someone he was afraid.

“I wasn’t.” You pull back to stare him down. “I’m never afraid when I'm with you.” you’re trying to read him - he can tell. And he tries not to think of how much he enjoyed when his hands wrapped around the zygerrian’s neck and he flailed around as life was choked out of him and he realized his fatal mistake.

He pushes all of that from his mind as he kisses you.

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ceilingfan5 · 3 years

Text

for you

“It’s you!”

“It’s me.” Kravitz grins from the computer and does a cute little half wave like he always does when they do video calls, and Taako’s heart aches.

He’d give anything to be with him right now, to kiss his stupid handsome face, to flop against him and feel the warmth of another living body that just so happens to care about him very much.

But things are the way they are, and it worked out that their relationship has to go through just a bit of temporary long distance. Short. Brief. There’s an end in sight, no matter how far away it feels. No matter how nauseous Taako gets when he looks at the countdown always running on his phone. No matter how badly he wants to reach through that screen and pull him out and squeeze the breath out of him.

“What’s on the menu tonight, babe?” Taako says, like he’s not writhing in melancholy about the whole situation.

“Funny you should say menu.” Kravitz grins mischievously, and then shares his screen. “Have you ever heard of Cooking Simulator?”

“Already fear is chilling my bones.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Cooking Simulator does not load very well, or fast, and the menu music is fucking deafening, though certainly boppable. It’s kind of silly and kind of charming with a touch of motion sickness thrown in for texture.

“Soooo,” Kravitz draws out. “Love of mine. What should I make you for dinner?”

Taako laughs.

“A burger?”

“Coming right up!” Kravitz calls, and he clicks into the Confectionary kitchen.

“Great sign. Like. Incredible. Super.”

“Have a little faith! You don’t-” Kravitz interrupts himself laughing. “You don’t know- I could be a great cook in the digital sphere, you- you don’t know!”

Taako knows.

Immediately they are met with some issues. Like meat. Meat issues. There is no ground beef in the bakery kitchen. There are no burger patties in the bakery kitchen. There is no chuck, no roast, no turkey to stuff in the blender. The closest thing Kravitz can find, as he whips nauseatingly around the enormous refrigerator stuffed to the gills with eggs and butter and raspberries and entire blocks of baker’s yeast, is bacon. He clicks on the relatively large mound of bacon, which he gets to do individually per bacon slice, and both of them crow with laughter-

“It’s- so fucking small-”

“It looks like a bandaid!! Bacon bandaid! How many- Krav- How many of those constitute a burg?”

“Gonna say six,” Kravitz says confidently, because there are exactly six in the fridge, and he would have to order more otherwise. He immediately adopts and maintains a stupid accent, which doesn’t quite stay in one single wheelhouse, but does make Taako split his sides. “Sounds, um, sounds like a proper uh, patty to me.”

“You’re a monster.”

“You asked for this!”

Taako protests, but Kravitz just laughs, and proceeds to throw the bacon in the blender, along with an egg, for, you know, cohesion, and also flour, for reasons Taako daren’t and caren’t discern. This does not work out.

“Nothing a good attitude can’t fix! Honestly, Taako-” Kravitz snickers and takes the mixture to the mixer, slamming it in and setting it to stun and letting it rip. “You’re gonna love this. This burger’s gonna be so good you’re gonna cream your jeans.”

“Not my jeans!”

The bacon mixture inexplicably becomes a dough. Kravitz carries on and slops it in the oven, in the closest burger shape he can approximate--a little heart shaped pan.

“There are fuckin- there are round-”

“It’s romantical. Don’t unromanticize this for me.”

The heart pan also gets a dough treatment (twice)--“It doesn’t even look like it baked!!”-- and then they’re off to the races. Certainly not horse races, maybe...corgi. Or lizard. Or drunk bicyclists. Because next, well. Next is a problem.

“Kravitz, if you touch that mascarpone, I swear to fucking god-”

“Can’t have a borger without cheese!”

“You explicitly can! KRAVITZ! DO NOT MIX THE MARSCAPONE AND THE CREAM CHEESE!”

“I’m sorry, do you-” Kravitz can barely breathe for laughing. “Do you see cheddar? Some fine- some fine fucking parm-a-sin? Some respectable a-saw-jee-oh?”

Taako is literally fucking crying, and wheezing, and screaming (fuck his neighbors). He cannot abide by this. Kravitz. Kravitz, he cannot abide. This will not be abidden.

AND YET.

“You know what we need?” Kravitz asks, slopping the heart-shaped layers on the cake. Burger. Beef confection. Fuck, it isn’t even beef. Lord above. Christ on a bike. Ring ring. He’s coming through. And he’s blasted.

“Wh-” Taako gasps for breath. “What do we-”

“KETCHIP.” He grapes the bottle of red food dye with force.

“I-”

“Kechpup.” Kravitz slowly rotates the bottle onto the burg.

“Nooooooo!”

“Catstup.” Glowing pink light suffuses their crime. This is not Taako’s idea of what red dye should do to an object, but the game has its...limits?

“I want a divorce.”

“Kep. Spup.” Kravitz chucks the bottle across the digital kitchen, where it bounces off entirely respectable fictional equipment. He paps the top “bun” onto the disaster.

“There. We- We did-” Taako wipes tears off his faces and groans. “We did it. We done did it.”

“I think we should frost it,” Kravitz decides. He pulls out the piping gun and angles for the frosting dispensers on the wall, holding it aloft.

“Time to suckle,” Taako wheezes, and both of them are so lost in the sauce the call almost drops when the laptop falls off Taako’s couch. It takes seven full minutes for either of them to speak complete words at each other, and even then, the nonsense begins again. It takes even longer for Kravitz to actually retrieve and lovingly dispense the frosting, and their sin is done.

“There.” Kravitz picks up the plate with their burger and admires it.

“God, my jeans,” Taako says, voice hoarse from laughing like a buffoon. “Something’s happened.”

“Called it.” Kravitz whips the camera around a few times, and then chucks the burger onto the display area, where it entirely falls apart. “Let’s go to the pizzeria.”

“Great. I want sushi.”

“SUSHI??”

So maybe their call lasts well into the night, and maybe Taako’s bothering the neighbors, and maybe the couch is incredibly empty with only his ass curled up on it, but that love is still there, and still strong, and still absolutely fucking ridiculous. Some souls just match, even if they’re far away.

#taakitz #taakitz fic #taz #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #fan5fics #this is for ailem but you can enjoy it also.#highly recommend this banonkers and janky game. and also my friend whom i love dearly #long post

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yeet-me-dad-dy · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday Mammon, '21

Warnings: Smooches

Summary: You take Mammon to the human realm for his birthday.

Characters: Mammon x GN Reader

Fandom: Obey Me! Shall we date?

You woke early the day of Mammon’s birthday, before anyone but Lucifer was up, and padded on bare feet to his bedroom. The door was cracked, and soft orange light spilled lazily into the hall. You pushed the door open, stepped in, and closed it silently behind you. Lucifer stood in front of his wardrobe as he got dressed.

“Morning,” you greeted with a yawn.

“Good morning,” he replied as he turned toward you with a lazy smile.

“Is everything set for today?”

He nodded and finished buttoning his shirt, then reached for his vest.

“Barbatos is expecting you before dinner tonight, and then tomorrow around noon. My D.D.D is on and charged, should you need anything or Mammon gets into trouble, and my brothers have been instructed to be nice to him… As nice as they can be, anyway.”

You smiled and released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. If Lucifer was confident that all was prepared, then you could relax. You just really wanted Mammon’s birthday to be perfect.

“Thanks for helping me with this, Lucifer,” you said.

“Of course. Mammon may be the scummiest of us, but I suppose he does deserve a good day now and then.”

You frowned and crossed your arms over your chest. You hated when they said things like that about him.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “That’s a habit I’m actively trying to break.”

“You’re forgiven,” you chuckled.

You didn’t need to get into another fight about how the brothers treat Mammon. You’d already thoroughly ripped into each of them more than once. Gratefully, they seemed to be trying to be nicer, at the very least.

“Mammon is very lucky to have you, you know,” Lucifer said, suddenly serious. “You’re good for him. You make him happy, and I’m very glad that he has you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily you knew that he didn’t need an answer. You thanked him one last time before you returned to your room to make some phone calls.

You made the brothers a human world breakfast of eggs, toast, sausage, and fresh fruits. Afterward, Mammon sheepishly invited you to go out to the casinos and shops with him, which you gladly agreed to. The demon never stopped grinning, even when he lost money, and he was much handsier than normal, from linking his arm with yours, to pulling you onto his lap while he played at the tables, to hugging you when he won big. He even bought you some things. Very un-Mammon-like.

“Man, I’m feeling GOOD today!” he exclaimed as you left the casino hand in hand.

“Well, it is your birthday,” you chuckled.

He laughed and swung his arm back and forth like a child, taking your hand with it.

“Nah, I think it’s cuz you’re here. You’re like my lucky charm.”

You smiled and tried to hide the blush that dusted your cheeks. You quickly checked your watch, and your stomach twisted with both excitement and anxiety. It was time.

“C’mon, Mammon, let’s head to Diavolo’s castle. I have a surprise for you.”

His eyes went wide and his face lit up.

“Don’t tell me ya got him to give me one of those big expensive artifacts he keeps chained down so that I can’t steal it!”

You laughed and pulled him along behind you.

“Sorry, not this time. I think you’ll like what I have planned, though.”

You walked hand-in-hand through the city, beneath colorful lights and past beautiful architecture. The Devildom truly was beautiful. Finally, the castle loomed menacingly before you, but instead of fear, you felt comfort and a sense of home. After all, Diavolo was the only reason you had come to the Devildom to begin with. You pushed the heavy front door open and Mammon followed you in. Barbatos was waiting for you, just as Lucifer had said he would be. Mammon eyed him, confused.

“Is Barbatos my present..?”

The steward laughed and shook his head.

“Happy birthday, Mammon. Come with me please,” he greeted.

There was a bounce in Mammon’s step as he followed eagerly after. Barbatos walked so quickly, you nearly had to jog to keep up with him. You supposed he had to be quick if he was going to do everything he had to do in a day in a timely manner. He led you and Mammon into the Hall of Doors, stopping before a door you recognized immediately. It was big, made with crimson wood and intricately carved. Beautiful stained glass made up the majority of the upper half of the door, and an iron door handle with a classic keyhole had an old key sticking out of it. Your key.

“What are we doin’ here?” Mammon asked, now even more confused than before.

Barbatos simply gestured toward the door. Mammon looked to you for a mix of permission and comfort, which you provided with a nod of your head. He stepped up to the door, reached for the handle, and turned the key. The door swung open silently on its hinges, revealing a stunning dark wood and white marble entryway.

“Where is this?” he asked hesitantly, though his eyes were bright as they followed up the double staircase, to the balconies above, then the huge crystal chandelier, crown moulding, and gold accents. His breath caught in his chest.

“It’s my house,” you said, and he turned to look at you so quickly that you were sure he gave himself whiplash.

“You’re jokin’,” he said, expression blank.

You smiled and shook your head.

“You can go in. You’re gonna stay in my house with me tonight.”

His eyes widened once more as he gazed back through the doorway. He stepped inside. You thanked Barbatos, took your key from the door, and shut it behind you.

“Welcome to my world,” you chuckled.

You watched him fondly as he wandered around the foyer, touching everything he could.

“This would sell for so much…” you heard him whisper as he picked up a small bust of Achilles from the antique table against the left wall.

He turned to look at you, bust still in hand.

“You never told me you’re rich!” he exclaimed.

You smirked, shrugged, and strode toward him.

“I didn’t want you to like me for my money.”

He nodded and begrudgingly put the bust back in place.

“Ah, Master Y/N, you’re home.”

You both turned to acknowledge the newest presence in the room. An old man with dark skin emerged from the archway across the room. His hair was cut short, balding and white, he had white stubble on his jaw, deep laugh lines painted his face, and his silver eyes sparkled with the memories of a life filled with joy.

“Jacobi,” you greeted as you jogged forward to envelop the man in a hug.

You motioned Mammon over to introduce him.

“Mammon, this is Jacobi, my steward. He’s worked for my family since he was a young man. He raised me.”

The demon reached out to shake your steward’s gloved hand.

“Well, ya did a good job,” he told him. “Ya raised Y/N right.”

Jacobi chuckled, his eyes nearly closing with the size of his grin, revealing more deep creases in his face.

“Well thank you, sir,” he replied. “That means a lot to me, hearin’ you say that.”

His voice carried the usual crackliness that human voices tend to do as they get old, and he was soft spoken, but it was the kind of voice that demanded you stop and listen.

He turned his attention back to you.

“You’re right on time, young master, dinner is ready to be served.”

He gestured toward the archway in between the two staircases across the room. You clapped him gently on the shoulder, rested a hand on Mammon’s lower back, and led the demon into the dining room.

“Dinner?” Mammon asked as he regarded the long dining table and high-backed chairs with deep red cushions.

“Yeah. Lucifer told me you’d never had Italian food, so I had my chefs make some of my favorite dishes for you to try.”

“You have personal chefs!?”

You chuckled and nodded.

You sat at the head of the table and Mammon sat to your right. There was a black lace table runner along the length of the dark wooden surface. In the very middle of the table was a centerpiece of candles, fruits, bones, feathers, and other natural materials like moss and pinecones. He noticed one fruit that looked surprisingly similar to a human heart. He also took note of the chandelier above, the dark baseboards on white walls, and the grand stone fireplace set into the far end of the room, with wolves and ravens carved into black wood and affixed above the mantel. All in all, he was feeling equal measures of wonder and unease.

“Did you choose these decorations?” he asked as servants filed out of the door behind him with platter after platter of food.

You nodded in response to his question.

He waited for the platters to be set down and the servants to leave before he said, “It’s very… dark. Guess that’s why ya like the devildom so much, huh?”

You laughed and shook your head, then reached forward to serve yourself. Mammon followed your example and piled his plate high with a little bit of everything.

“The Devildom is my home, Mammon. And I don’t like it there because it’s dark and spooky, though that does help. I like it there because you guys are there. My favorite demons. My family.”

Your gaze caught his and he turned away to hide his blush. Then, the greedy demon that he is, he ate and ate and ate until you had to stop him.

“Easy there, Mammon. I have more planned for tonight. Don’t make yourself sick.”

He stopped with his fork in his mouth and looked at you with a brow raised.

“More?” he asked around his food.

“Mmhmm. What, you didn’t think I brought you here just for dinner, did you?”

He finally swallowed, put his fork down, and then washed it all down with some red wine.

“I didn’t know what to think. No one told me this was planned.”

You smiled, your sparkling eyes never leaving his, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if you knew about it, now would it?”

He smirked.

“I guess not.”

You checked your watch and then pushed yourself away from the table.

“It’s almost 9:30pm. C’mon, I need to go to the bathroom and then we can leave. I don’t want to be late.”

“Go?” he asked. “We’re not stayin’ here?”

He hopped up and followed after you, back into the foyer and then up the stairs and down a hallway. He waited for you to finish in the bathroom, then stuck to your side like glue as you led him out of the house and into a garage filled with expensive cars. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as his brain malfunctioned from the sheer value of what was before him. He’d never seen so many fancy cars in one place, let alone all belonging to one person. He nearly sprinted over to the nearest car, a blue and black Lamborghini, and peered in the window.

“Pick one to take,” you said as you strode up to him.

He was overwhelmed. There were so many! Finally, he picked the lamborghini. He hopped into the passenger seat, vibrating with excitement. You started the engine, and Mammon beamed when you gave him control over the music. You made him buckle up before you would leave, and then pulled out into the night. It was warm out, with a sweet-smelling cool breeze. Mammon gazed out his window like a child going to DisneyLand as you drove him through the city streets toward your destination. You finally turned onto a road where Mammon could see towering structures and bright, colorful lights at the end. He turned to you, eyes wide.

“A carnival?” he asked.

You smiled and nodded, and his excitement only grew when you parked the car on the side of the street and got out. He scrambled after you, taking your hand instinctively as he saw the sea of bodies awaiting within. It was a habit he had taken up without realizing it. Whenever there was a crowd and he was afraid to lose you, he would take your hand in his. Sometimes, if it was really crowded, he would put his arm around you and pull you close to him so that you didn’t get separated.

He breathed in deeply, taking in all of the smells of the human world, from popcorn, cotton candy, and corndogs, to the sweat of the people, the hot grease from the food trucks, and the stench of the outhouses. He couldn’t be happier. You glanced at your watch again.

“We got here in good time,” you told him. “We can go on some rides and play games if you want, but at 11, I want us to go on the ferris wheel.”

He agreed with no protest, so you found the nearest token machine and fed it a few bucks.

“All yours,” you said as you handed him his half.

He grinned and enveloped you in a hug.

“You’re the best!”

You squeezed him back, then he pulled away.

“C’mon, let’s play games!”

He dragged you from game to game, ride to ride, reveling in the sights and sounds of the human world. He had been to your realm before, of course, but never for something like this. Never for something so fun.

As 11pm rolled around, the two of you made your way toward the ferris wheel, giggling like children. Mammon was holding a big stuffed dragon plushie you won for him at the water gun game in one arm, and he had your hand in the other. There was a long line for the ferris wheel, full of people hoping to be at the top when the big event starts. You led Mammon past the line, however, and to the ride operator at the front. His expression was irritated and stern when you approached, but softened when you handed him a ticket. Then, he opened the door to the bucket and you pulled Mammon inside. You sat on the same side as him, despite the tilting of the bucket, facing the water.

“What was that?” he asked as you checked your watch again and the ride began to move.

“There’s an auction for that every weekend night. The winner gets to be at the top of the ferris wheel when it starts.

“When… what starts?”

You chuckled.

“You’ll see. Give it a minute.”

Mammon waited, almost anxiously, for whatever it was that you had brought him here for. As casually as he could manage, he slipped his hand into yours. You gave it a soft squeeze and smiled over at him. The ride brought you two to the top of the ferris wheel, and then stopped, the bucket swinging gently as its momentum died out. There was a change in the music below, and while he couldn’t quite hear the lyrics, Mammon could tell that it had slowed down, morphed into a melody much softer than the alt rock from before. You moved your hand from his so that you could link arms with him, and then you wiggled closer, squishing yourself against him so that you could rest your head on his shoulder.

He looked down at you, his eyes beginning to tear up as your proximity and the reality of the current situation made his heart clench. You were so beautiful, staring up at the night sky with stars reflected in your eyes. So perfect.

This is where you are meant to be, he thought. Here, with me.

Never in his very long life did he think he would ever love a human. Hell, he never considered even liking a human. And yet, the first time you two met, his heart had skipped a beat and butterflies erupted in his stomach. Mmammon didn’t believe in soulmates, but if he did, he was sure that you were his.

He was so lost in you that he jumped in surprise when the first firework exploded over the water, illuminating your face in a brilliant shade of orange. Another firework followed, and then another, and as each went off, his heart beat just a little bit faster. He rested his cheek on top of your head as he watched the show with a smile. More tears were threatening to spill over, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t try to hide them. He didn’t need to. Not with you.

“Happy birthday, Mammon,” you whispered, and that’s what finally sent him over.

He pushed you away just long enough to free both hands so that he could cup your face, and then he dove forward to capture you in a passionate kiss. Your lips were soft, and you opened them to allow his tongue to snake into your mouth and tangle with your own. His hands tangled in your hair, and your arms rose to lock around his shoulders. You tasted like cotton candy. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth, as if trying to memorize its layout, going so far as to graze along your teeth.

You hummed and pulled away to breathe, your chest heaving with each deep breath, and as soon as you were ready, you pulled him back in. You forced your tongue into his mouth, dominating the kiss as you moved to straddle him. The bucket tipped dangerously, but neither of you cared. The sky flashed in a myriad of colors as he held you in his lap, arms wrapped around your lower back, holding you flush against him. He only pulled away when his heart ached and the tears that were threatening earlier finally spilled over. He closed his eyes tight and buried his face in your chest to choke back a happy sob.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered as the fireworks lulled and died down.

You carded your fingers through his hair and held him tight.

“I love you, Mammon. More than you can ever know.”

That only made his heart ache more as all the love he had suppressed over the millenia came flooding in all at once. The ride jerked and began to move, and you leaned away from Mammon so that you could take his face in your hands. You brushed his tears away gently with your thumbs, and then trailed one across his lips before giving him one last soft kiss. Finally, as you reached the bottom of the ride, you slid off of his lap and back around to sit next to him. You took his hand and he held onto you like a lifeline.

You were his human. His. You had chosen him, and he would be damned if he let you go now.

Bonus:

Before leaving the fairgrounds to return to the car, you led Mammon to a booth near the entrance. The person behind the window lit up when they saw you, and for a moment, Mammon thought that he might have to show the guy exactly who you belonged to. That wasn’t necessary, however, as the man slid a photograph toward you. You picked it up and handed it to Mammon with that same soft smile that you had graced him with earlier. The photograph was of the two of you at the top of the ferris wheel. The camera had captured the moment you had put your head on his shoulder and he had rested his cheek on your head. You were both looking up at the stars, smiling and holding each other close.

#obey me mammon #obey me mamon x reader #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon's birthday '21 #mammon x MC #obey me mammon x MC

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no-gorms · 3 years

Text

Have a snippet of a robot!Tony thing that might stay a ficlet or might become a prologue for a thing, I don’t know yet:

(Steve & Tony, but also pre-Steve/Tony, 1000+ words, canon divergent, alternate Avengers 2012 setting)

The new suit fits well. Too well. It barely feels like a combat suit at all, settling lighter and easier against Steve’s skin than his recent wardrobe acquisitions of plaid and leather jackets.

Steve’s alone in this hellicarrier holding room, so he stretches his arms and mimes throwing the shield, noting the way the material pulls on the inside of his arms when he does so.

It’ll do, he supposes. It’s flexible enough, Coulson seems the kind of guy who knows what he’s doing, and all of SHIELD’s agents wear similar form-fitting suits, so they must offer decent enough protection. Though they get away with a less eye-catching color combination. The Captain America colors may have been the point back in the day – it made sure that Steve was the main target and allowed the others more freedom of movement – he’s not sure that’s relevant today.

Everything’s brighter, louder, faster in the twenty-first century.

Maybe that’s why his new suit’s been brightened up, making it almost as striking as those old posters. It’s another way that they’re catching him up with the world, on top of everything else – all the files, the briefings, the awkward conversations that have been trying to get him out of his SHIELD-assigned accommodations.

Steve’s so deep in thought that he barely hears the door opening. It’s only the clang of metal boots in approach that has him looking up.

“Iron Man,” Steve says. “Fury didn’t say you were coming.”

“Fury only acts like he knows everything.” Iron Man’s voice isn’t as deep as Steve thought it would be. The files didn’t capture the startling sheen of the metal armor, either, with its red and gold glinting like burnished mirrors with every step he takes into the room.

Suddenly Steve doesn’t feel so self-conscious about his own suit.

“I admit, I was curious,” Iron Man says. “Wanted to see if it was really you that they pried out of the ice.”

“You want to gawk, do it to my face,” Steve snaps.

“I am, champ.” The armor’s face plate pops up, like the lid of a tin can. Inside, there’s more metal – wires, gears, bits of machinery that Steve doesn’t have the word for, even if he might have known their equivalent back in the day. All of the helmet’s innards are moving, clicking, and flashing like small lightbulbs – an engine.

Steve stares. This is a world in which exist town-sized vehicles that can fly, written messages travel instantaneously across the globe, and where playback recordings appear almost as real as the real thing. What’s a walking, talking, fighting robot on top of all that? Nothing, really. Iron Man, the mysterious hero who saved Malibu from Obadiah Stane’s terrorist attack, and a potential Avenger on top of that, is a machine. Why not.

“Oh,” Steve says. “That wasn’t in the files.”

The faceplate comes back down, and Steve looks at it again with fresh eyes. Iron Man’s face – gold with red accents to mark the cheekbones, jaw and forehead. That’s his actual face, with stylized eyes and a mouth, giving just enough detail for the human eye to focus on when conversing with him.

“It’s not,” Iron Man agrees. “Easier for people to believe there’s a human being in here.”

“Romanoff called you Tony, so I thought that, too.”

“That is my name,” Iron Man says. “Well, an acronym. Well, a short-form of an acronym.”

“Anthony?” Steve says, startled. Obadiah Stane worked for Stark Industries, didn’t he? “As in Artificial Neural Technology Haptics—do you remember me?”

“What?”

“Howard Stark,” Steve presses. “He showed me this computing machine he was working on, ANTHONY, it could only do some basic mathematical projections at the time, I barely understood it, but he spoke so much about the dreams he had for it. That it would be able to read and answer and react – an electro-mechanical intelligence.”

“Yes,” Iron Man says slowly, as though bewildered by the turn of the conversation. “That was me. But that was long before I became self-aware. I don’t remember much of that time.”

“Oh.”

“He used me to search for you, though,” Iron Man says. “Those were some of my first proper algorithms, but I didn’t have enough computing power at the time to do it properly, and then I got pulled for other tasks. In the end Fury beat me, I guess.”

Steve has the brief, unnecessary thought that maybe they should’ve just left him in the ice with the Tesseract. He quickly chases the thought away, hoping that it isn’t visible on his face, not that he knows the first damn thing about how well futuristic robots like Iron Man can read people who interact with them. Probably best to assume the worst, and recover from it the best he can.

“Right.” Steve puts on a smile and offers a hand. “Steve, nice to meet you.”

Iron Man looks at Steve’s hand.

Steve has another flash of panicked dismay – do people still shake hands in the future? Is it too invasive now, or too old-fashioned? He knows he shook Fury’s hand the other day, but Fury might’ve just been indulging him and let it slide.

“Tony.” Iron Man accepts Steve’s hand and shakes it once, firm and humanlike. The metal glove is cool and the palm strongly convex, but it’s not unpleasant to the touch. “Back at you.”

“I suppose we should see Fury now?” Steve asks.

“Sure, yeah.” Iron Man watches as Steve collects the shield from its casing and then says, almost in a rush: “Sorry, I really don’t remember ‘meeting’ you. I only have the files Howard fed me.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says, shaking his head. “It’s nice to see that you’ve come a long way from a warehouse of cables.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Iron Man falls into step next to Steve as they leave the hold. “You’re a long way from data on a page, too, uh… Cap. Do I call you Cap?”

“If you want to. But Steve’s fine.”

“I’m gonna call you Cap.”

Steve slants a look at Iron Man’s face. There’s nothing to read off of it, but it just makes the nuances of the accompanying voice all the more pronounced. The teasing curiosity feels pointed, as though he’s trying to read Steve, too, and any conclusions to be had can be found in what Steve only does here and now, as opposed to what he might have read in files.

“Like I said,” Steve says easily, “if you want to.”

#scaramouche writes superhusbands fic #verse: robot tony

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clockworklozenges · 3 years

Text

So, a good five or so years back, I played in one of the best worst DnD games I have ever been in. The DM had bought the Libris Mortis book, which, if you were unaware, was a 3.5 splatbook adding in a lot of undead stuff, including some monsters and undead player races and stuff. Wanting to try it out, me and my gaming group decided to play things from it, our then DM deciding to run a completely homebrewed session. This proved to be a...

Terrible Idea™

(for the uninitiated, never homebrew something you do not fully understand unless it's just cosmetic. If you want to make all elves worship the god of garlic bread, Ultimo-Metatron-Omega, go ahead, but unless you know how the game works, don't make mechanical changes). So we all picked stuff from the books-one player played a skeleton Sorcerer who in life was a tribal shaman, but an attempt at healing went wrong, turning him undead as his life energy was replaced with negative energy, explaining why most of his spells were necromancy and suchlike.

Another player played Krug, an antipaladin in very spiky full plate. He was a zombie made by a necromancer of a paladin who was fighting him, but his allies killed his would-be master before he could assert control, and not wanting to just off him, his allies just...yeeted his body into a portal and hoped it'd re-kill him. It did not kill him hard enough. It did, however, explain his stats which...oof. He had already got debuffs to some stats due to being a zombie, and rolled abysmally. Fortunately for the player, he played mostly to socialise, so didn't much care.

I played... Count Nox Feratu, the Campire. As in, a vampire with a very camp German accent, which I did not break for the whole time I was playing him. To the point where "ach, nein, I haf bin heet! Heal me, meine freunde!" was par for the course. My overly camp vamp was a wizard, but due to level adjustment was a bit of a shoddy one. For backstory, he'd been ousted from his clan for ineptitude, and had sworn revenge. I was going for a swordmage build but never got there. All his spells were utility or just necromancy spells.

Our last player played...sigh...Damien Bloodmoon, cleric of Nerull, God of murder and undeath. He was one of the clerics from the book's murder Domain, meaning that he got buffs to damage. He was a vicious arse both in character and out of it, and was so dripping with edge compared to the paladin with the same IQ as a horse after its trip to the glue factory, the shaman who thought killing fixed people and the Campire that if you gave him a pat on the back you'd have finely diced your hand into a red mist. Not going too outlandish with his backstory of wanting to dominate the world as his undead thralls, Damien F***ing Bloodmoon had only taken spells which either charmed live people, dealt negative energy damage or messed with ability drain and suchlike, which he used with aplomb on townsfolk on our way to our objective. He was also, importantly, playing an elf of some sort, I forget which kind. Meaning that of the party, only one was alive.

So, just as an aside, for those of you that haven't played 3.5e DnD or have only played 5e, in Libris Mortis, undeath was gone over in detail, and had a litany of pros and cons. For one thing, undead had only the HP they had-folks like Damien F***ing Bloodmoon could be 'dying', and had some time to be stabilised before meeting the reckoning of Papa John and dying proper. Undead did not, it was just how much you had and if you ran out, poof, you're dust, bones and fertiliser again. You were also harmed by positive energy, so healing spells hurt you, as did potions of healing. However, undead were kind of hardy - poison immunity, some had resistance to non-magical melee damage, stuff that drained your ability scores and levels didn't work on them, some crits wouldn't do extra damage, and the best part- negative energy healed undead. Meaning all the spells our party had which damaged others like the living Damien Bloodmoon were curative ones for us. Keep this in mind.

So, we began our quest, learning of a necromancer a nearby town was plagued by. After using our skills (to whit: Damien Bloodmoon charming and drawing the life force out of random villagers and the only potion seller in the town whilst we went shopping. Krug got a snazzy hat, which we put on top of his helmet, and we chatted to townsfolk as I looked alive enough to pass as human and the shaman had a fake beard and toupee that people were too awkward to point out was fake so went along with it) we learn that the necromancer has a base of operations in the cemetery. "Oh ja, zo original, dahlink. Ve vill need to educate zis guy on vhat is chic and vhat is just shabby!"

So we head there and the nightmare begins. Damien Leads the charge, using all of his knowledge to deduce that the shambling horde moving towards us were stronger-than-your-average-bear undead, and he was right. These were powerful armoured zombie mages of some sort, casting ability draining spells, negative energy ray spells and even having auras of negative energy that dealt damage on a failed Fortitude save. Even their punch and quarterstaves did negative energy damage as well as the usual bludgeoning or unarmed. However...only one of us was really in danger and the DM's face fell when the squishy casters walked up and began shanking their super-special homebrew zombie wizards, being healed by the damage of their attacks as we cut them down.

Like I said, one of the benefits of undeath is that negative energy actually heals you. So the strikes of the magic staves and punches that hit us did some basic damage. Which was then immediately healed by the negative energy their weapon strikes and spells were doing.

However, you'll recall that Damien Bloodmoon was an elf. And not dead. Being a Cleric of a death god doesn't mean that you have the abilities of an undead. That meant that even with the DM being merciful, by the end of the first fight he was covered in blood, mud and withered away to just above half his original strength and constitution. More were patrolling, so we had to run. But that posed a problem.

Remember Krug had heavy armour? And recall his awful stats? He in fact, hadn't got enough strength to wear the armour he'd been given for backstory. He didn't, according to the DM, have enough to remove his own armour. And we attempted to, but also failed our checks according to the DM. And Damien Bloodmoon refused to help, simply blaming Krug and his player. Krug's player thought it was hilarious, and Krug only had enough Intelligence and Wisdom to say his own name, so saw no problem. And Krug, Nox Feratu and Shaman realised that there really...wasn't a problem.

For us, at least.

We slogged through three combats dragging Krug and wading through the mud with him. His speed was so slow that for every step he took, we took about ten. The DM was confused and infuriated that his encounters weren't working, but refused to change them. So we had fun role-playing. Or at least three of us did.

Damien Bloodmoon refused to roleplay, and none of his ranged spells could affect the zombie mages. When he went into melee, he came out wounded as all hell. He went down twice, and it was only the healing supplies of the shaman that saved him.

All the while, he was... Let's say not best pleased. Damien Bloodmoon was getting increasingly wounded, exasperated and longing for the sweet embrace of death as reprieve from the humiliation. His player was getting increasingly redder and rage-filled as time passed. Each fight ended with our characters stronger than ever and his a bloody pulp on the floor, with poor in-character knowledge (and terrible rolls) preventing him from realising why.

Eventually, we reached the final boss, pausing only to paint Krug's armour in contact poison just in case, and to find a stick to help the now-partially-crippled Damien Bloodmoon, cleric of death and murder, walk after being beaten up by angry zombie wizards for hours. And it had, indeed, been hours. Among us, only Damien had a bonus to strength, and we had two swords, a mace and a staff between the four of us. Meaning it was re-death by a thousand cuts for the enemy and a slog and a half for us.

We reach the necromancer and, having taken so long due to dragging the oblivious Krug with us, his big ritual is complete- he raises a fist-sized black onyx egg aloft, crackles with arcane power and causes the bones around him to coalesce into one massive creature - an undead, giant-sized rust monster, radiating an Aura of pure negative energy. Krug opened his arms wide, eager for the metal-eating monster cockroach to free him from his poison-painted metal prison. It ignores him as he's still very far away. Me and the others have our weapons and armour devoured.

Our DM was very much a stickler for note-taking. So because Damien Bloodmoon hadn't written 'clothes' on his sheet, his armour being eaten by the monster left him naked and afraid.

It became clear that the DM had done another f***y-wucky. See, the Aura of negative energy healed me and the Sorcerer by more than its other attacks did. So whilst Damien Bloodmoon was naked, soaked in mud and bleeding to death almost crushed to a pulp in the fetal position, rocking backwards and forwards as his player seethed with hatred, the Shaman and the Campire set about beating the thing to death with our bear hands and a stick.

The session ended once we killed the necromancer, or rather when Krug walked up to him, closed his arms and just crushed the noodle-armed bad guy to death with the weight of his ridiculous armour and poisoned him with its paintwork.

We never revisited the game afterwards. We were told later on that the DM wanted us to use the non-undead races. But at no point had he said as much, even when we asked him about our characters and the restrictions on them. We also learned a valuable lesson. DM for the players who are there, not the ones who you have an idealised mental image of. Tailor your game, otherwise you'll get a sitcom featuring a camp nosferatu, a shaman with no healing, a paladin who could barely move and a Cleric of murder who was ironically the only one at risk of actually dying.

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intercoursefluids · 3 years

Text

Marry Me Part 2 (Final)

The morning after Damian proposed he went looking for his brother and stepmother. (She had a knack for finding beautiful jewels and Dick was a hopeless romantic and would kill him if he didn’t let him help.

“Grayson, Selina, I require your assistance with something and no it cannot wait.”

They both look up at him from the living room couch, watching the news.

“Where’s Marinette? You never come down without her.”

Selina looks behind him as if she was hiding behind his larger frame.

“She's still asleep and will remain that way until at least noon since she stayed up till an ungodly number calling her friends and family back in Paris, but that is not important now. (He says obviously irritated at her unhealthy sleeping schedule) Last night I may have made a spontaneous decision and need your help with the next step.”

Selina and Dick both look at him questiongly knowing damn well what he's talking about.

“Do you regret it?” (Dick)

“Did you get her pregnant?” (Selina)

Damian sputters for a moment his face turning red.

“The answer is no to both questions. Just get dressed and meet me outside.”

He walks away muttering about how Selina ‘has no sense of shame’ and how Dick ‘was an idiot to think he’d ever regret it’.

Dick and Selina both share a smile before getting ready and meeting an impatient Damian outside.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I proposed to Marinette last night and I want your help picking out her ring.”

Damian immediately exits the car and heads inside as his brother and stepmothers excited squeals fill the air.

Soon after he starts browsing they both join him looking for the perfect ring to give to her.

After an hour of searching Damian looks up, waving both of them over.

“What about this one?

Selina comes over first, immediately nodding her approval.

“Oh yeah, a little subtle for my taste but Marinette will love it.”

Dick immediately agrees, cooing over how cute this whole thing is and tearing up that his ‘baby brother is going to get married and he will have little nieces and nephews running around in a few years’.

Damian completely ignores him calling over a worker to get the ring in the correct size before buying it. Walking out with the simple diamond ring with pink accents on both sides of the diamond in its velvet black box.

“Okay, before we get back home where you have access to your katana I need to tell you something.”

Damian pauses at the car turning to face his brother.

“I messed up really bad this time and I’m very sorry. I was snooping around last night trying to get pictures of you and Mari being all sweet together like I usually do, but Jason, Selina, and Tim all saw me at different times and decided to watch and take pictures and videos too. I posted a bunch of the pictures to what I thought was my private Twitter like I do when you two do something especially sweet, but it wasn’t my private one and I couldn’t tell because I was crying too hard. I’m really sorry, Damian.”

Dick sucks in a deep breath after his ramble refusing to look up and meet his little brother's eyes until a loud groan followed by a thud makes him.

Damian smacks his head against the roof of the car several times more before letting out another groan and looking at his favorite least annoying brother.

“You’re lucky that I’m still in too much of a good mood to want to kill you right now. Get in the car, I want to get back before Marinette wakes up and it's already around 10.”

Happily counting his blessings even though he's low-key terrified Dick hops in the back seat and lets Selina take the front.

The drive rather quickly and Damian wastes not time in running to his room where he left his Angel.

He breathes a sigh of relief noticing she's still very much asleep. Running back downstairs he makes her a plate of breakfast and grabs a platter to fill with food for all of the kwamis.

Rushing back up to the room he sets the tray on the nightstand before going over to her side, brushing some hair out of her face, making her grumble and burrow deeper into the covers in an attempt to stay asleep.

He laughs softly sitting down beside her stroking her cheekbone.

“Angel, wake up. I brought you breakfast.”

She grumbles, reaching out from the covers to wrap his arms around her waist and snuggling into his side.

“At least let me put the ring on you. I need to talk with Grayson anyway.”

She thrusts out her left hand, still refusing to open her eyes.

He sighs, sliding the ring on her left finger and placing a kiss to her forehead before standing up to leave.

“I love you, Habibiti.”

The following noise that is probably an ‘I love you too’ but could also be a ‘shut the door’ is the only response he gets before he goes to find his brother(s).”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Grayson, Todd, Drake, you three are fixing this entire internet mess that you started and that is final.”

Sounds of protest erupt from the room as he takes his leave to feed the animals.

“Hold up! Dickie-bird is the one who fucked up, why do we have to fix it?!”

Jason pulls him back by his hoodie, thoroughly pissing him off, to face them again.

“Because, Grayson would be too emotional and sappy and just humiliate himself and make the situation worse, Drake knows how to navigate the internet better than the rest of us and, you are always happy to talk about Marinette and I need you to keep Drake awake long enough to fix this.”

Jason nods his head accepting the explanation when Tim interrupts.

“And why can’t you do it?”

A smile that puts all three brothers on edge takes over his face.

“I have a wedding to plan.”

Followed by him immediately shutting the door and going about his chores.

BONUS:

*Marinette wakes up, eats breakfast and changes before noticing the new rind on her left finger*

Marinette: HOLY SHIT I’M GETTING MARRIED!

Marinette:JASON! JAY! I’M GETTING MARRIED!

Jason from down the hall: I KNOW! I WAS THERE WHEN HE PROPOSED!

*Marinette immediately calls her friends and family and start crying while Chloe, Adrien, Kagami, Alix, Kim, and Max all immediately buy plane tickets*

*Jagged cries and also buys plane tickets for him and Penny*

*Luka goes with Jagged*

BONUS 2:

*Two weeks before proposal*

*Marinette running to Jason (her self-proclaimed older brother) and jumping as he catches her*

Marinette: JAY!

Jason: PIXIE-POP!

*Damian groans setting her bag on the floor*

Damian: Must you two be so dramatic? You saw each other last month.

Jason: Piss off Demon Spawn! She's MY baby sister

*Cue pissed off and tired (because he was so excited to see Mari that he couldn’t fall asleep last night) Damian *

Damian: Yeah? Well she's MY wife

*Cue immediate pause and lots of blushing from aforementioned couple*

Damian: I meant fiancé!

Damian: NO! GIRLFRIEND! I meant GIRLFRIEND!

*Marinette exe. has stopped working*

*Damian rushes over and throws her over his shoulder*

Damian: I meant GIRLFRIEND, and you wipe that smile off your face Grayson!

*Damian runs to his room with Mari and eventually they fall asleep together while the batfam collectively loses their shit down stairs*

#Fluff #batfam #maridami #daminette #Big brother jason

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marvelslut16 · 3 years

Text

Idiots in love

Pairing: William ‘Bill’ Weasley x reader

Synopsis: (Y/N) has been in love with Bill ever since she met him their first year at Hogwarts. Will she finally tell Bill how she feels, like Mrs. Weasley hopes she will, or will Fleur and Ginny’s assumptions about (Y/N)’s love life get in the way.

Word count: 2.9k+

Warnings: Angst. Dumb asses pining after each other. Fleur, if she counts lmao. Brief mentions of death.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months, I wrote it as a self indulgent piece since I can’t date Bill in Hogwarts Mystery and I wasn’t sure if anyone would actually read it. It's cannon divergent. Also, tell me if you want a part 2!

My first fic of the new year! Hopefully I'll be way more consistent and inspired this year. Thank you to everyone reading any of the fics I write, I love you all!

“Molly, he’s happy with her,” you roll your eyes at the older woman who had become like a mother to you over the years.

You met her at Kings Cross Station the morning of your first year, she helped you cross the barrier, your parents are muggles who are afraid of anything different. You were in Bill’s year, the two of you becoming fast friends on the train ride. Through your years at Hogwarts you two became inseparable, both becoming Head Girl and Head Boy together. You two always studied together, explored the castle together, went to Hogsmeade together, you did everything together. Well, except one thing, you didn’t fall in love together; you fell for him, and he fell for that foul, loathsome Emily Tyler and now Fleur Delacour.

You spent almost every Christmas Holiday under the burrow’s roof, along with most of your summers. The burrow was your real home, and the Weasley’s were your family. After you and Bill had graduated Molly and Arthur insisted you use their first names, both convinced you and Bill would finally get together. But that didn’t happen, you both went separate ways, barely even owling over the years. He went on to be this fantastic cursebreaker for Gringotts, getting sent all the way to Egypt. And you, you became the astronomy professor at Hogwarts, you thrived in the subject and Professor Sinistra transferred to Uagadou.

“But you’re perfect for him,” Molly nags. You loved the women with your whole heart, but she really needed to learn when to drop matters of the heart. Especially when the topic of discussion was set to arrive soon.

“Not everything works out how we want it to,” you sigh as you hand her a clean dish to dry, you had wanted to clean the dishes the muggle way. “Especially when it involves one's heart.”

The two of you are waiting for everyone to arrive, Arthur is picking the kids up from the train now that it’s summer holiday. You had apparated to the burrow after the students boarded the train, now officially a part of the Order. Dumbledore and Sirius are dead, but that just means that everyone needs to fight harder.

“I just want you to be happy,” Molly’s eyes are soft and sad as she looks at you.

“I am,” you smile through the lie. There’s a pop from the living room, assuming it’s just Charlie you continue. “I don’t need a man Molly, my students make me happy.”

“Mum,” the unmistakable voice of William Weasley calls as he walks towards the kitchen. “I have great news, Fleur and I are engaged! We want to get married this summer!”

You accidentally drop the plate you're washing back into the soapy water, causing some to splash your shirt. For a split second you see Molly’s face fall before she puts on a bright fake smile as she turns to her eldest. You refuse to turn and see him, you thought you had enough time to prepare yourself to see him again, but you didn’t. He refused to see you after he got hurt during the battle of the astronomy tower when he was in the hospital wing and ignored you in the few weeks following.

“Oh, wow,” Molly tries to come up with a response that won’t upset him. “This quickly?”

“I can’t take the chance, not now,” his mood is hard to read from his voice. He almost seems too defensive when he responds. “Not with everything happening.”

Your heart stops its thumping for a second, you didn’t realize it would hurt this much to see him happy. You want more than anything for him to be happy, but you also know that his mother and sister will never approve of Fleur. And he’ll never be fully happy because of that. But maybe you're wrong, maybe you don’t really know him. Maybe you never did.

“I can’t believe I signed up for bloody astronomy again,” you can hear Ron complain through the open window before Molly can respond.

“You know you love me,” you holler out the window as Ron and Ginny get closer to the house. They’re the only two at Hogwarts now, they’re growing up so fast.

“Yeah, yeah professor,” he mutters as he walks through the door before grinning widely at you.

Even though you had seen Ginny hours ago, the younger girl runs up to you and throws her arms around you. You laugh as she pulls back and makes a face as some of the soap suds transferred to her shirt.

“You just saw (Y/N),” Ron rolls his eyes at Ginny’s actions.

“Yeah but that’s different,” Ginny defends. “At Hogwarts I can’t talk to her about boys, or eat dinner with her, or ask for Quidditch tips.”

“I’m always up for talking about boys,” you grin down at the red headed girl. You laugh and apologize to Molly as Ginny pulls you from the kitchen and up to her room.

You don’t glance at Bill, you can’t. You’re too scared that all of the feeling you have bottled up will resurface with just one glance. You miss the way his eyes soften at your interaction with his sister, and how they trail after you as you get pulled past him. You sit with Ginny as she fawns over Harry for close to an hour, interjecting occasionally when she asks for your opinion. This is what you always imagined having a younger sister would feel like.

“What about you?” she asks with a teasing tone in her voice.

“What about me?” you laugh lightly as your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You and professor Snape,” she’s smirking.

“Severus?” you laugh before your face pulls into a disgusted look only Ginny can see. “We’re coworkers. Dare I say friends. And he’s a part of the Order, we have to at least tolerate each other.”

“Mhm,” she sounds unconvinced. “He smiled at you the other day! In the Great Hall, where people could see! He never smiles!”

“Ginny, we’re friends,” you try to get through to the stubborn teen. “Plus he’s known me since I was eleven, that would be gross.”

Before Ginny can respond there’s a knock on the open door, you turn around and see Bill for this first time in years. His red hair still falls to his shoulders, and he still has that fang hanging from his ear. There are scars down his cheek now, those and the fang make him look bad ass. Your heart stutters as your eyes meet his, the heartache that disappeared when you were gossiping with Ginny resurfaces with just one look.

“Dinners ready,” he says before turning and walking back down the stairs.

Dinner is loads of fun, the two eldest Weasley’s joining the group since there’s a small Order meeting afterwards. Dinner is full of Charlie joking with you, something you're happy about since Ginny wouldn’t be able to bring up Severus again. You ignore the giggles and the French accent that poke holes in your heart as Bill only pays attention to Fleur, who showed up at the Burrow when you were upstairs.

After dinner you agree to show Ron and Ginny some Quidditch moves you had picked up over the years, borrowing an old broom left behind by one of the other boys. Remus and Tonks appear in the front yard, signaling that the meeting would start momentarily. Ron thanks you as he continues to practice the moves as you fly to the ground. Ginny follows you, wanting to get a drink from the kitchen before it's closed off to the youngest two.

“Are you going to take his last name, or is he going to take yours?” she teases.

“Ginny, not now,” you sigh, not sure how to get it through her head that you have no feeling for the potions master without revealing that you’re in love with her oldest brother. You aren’t sure who’s worse, her or Molly.

“Alright, whatever you say Mrs. Snape,” Ginny wiggles her brows in your direction as you head for the kitchen.

“Mrs. Snape?” Severus’s monotonous voice comes from behind you two. Ginny’s eyes widen before she takes off running, and a strangled sound leaves your lips.

“Ginevra Molly Weasley, that’s a month of detention next year!” you yell after her. You take a breath before turning to stare into Snape’s obsidian eyes. “Ginny saw you laugh at my stupid joke in the Great Hall a few weaks ago and now she’s convinced you have feelings for me.” Severus raises his eyebrows at you before looking in the direction Ginny ran off in. “She’s just a kid Sev, don’t hold her delusions against her.”

“Weasley’s,” he mutters before heading to the kitchen himself. Dumbledore had told a select few in the Order the plans for Severus to kill him so Draco didn’t have to, and since the Headmaster was already dying nobody was as mad as expected. “Don’t you have feelings for the oldest one?”

“Be quiet!” you hiss, as look to make sure no one heard. He smirks before walking into the room where the meeting is to be held, leaving you standing confused in the hallway.

The meeting is small tonight; Remus, Tonks, Charlie, Molly, Arthur, Sev, yourself, Bill, and Fleur. The rest had prior engagements unfortunately, so it was essentially just family and Severus.

Molly uses her magic to pour you a glass of tea as you sit beside Sev, the only open seat. You smile a quick thanks before lifting the cup to your lips. The warm liquid soothing your tired throat, students liked to talk over you during the last week of school so your throat was a little raw.

“Do you want a cookie with that, love?” Snape’s monotonous voice is slightly louder than it normally is. The term of endearment comes as such a shock that you spit out the tea that's in your mouth, landing across the table on Fleur.

There was no denying that Severus’s question was directed at you, he’s holding the plate full of Molly’s cookies right next to your face. The room goes deathly silent as the seconds pass by. Ginny, who was getting herself some pumpkin juice, drops the glass she was holding, it shatters when it hits the ground. Molly, Arthur, and Charlie abruptly stop their conversation to stare at you and Sev in shock. Remus furrows his eyebrows as he looks between you two, Tonks looks like she's holding back a laugh. A flash of pain seems to cross Bill’s face before it goes blank, and horror crosses Fleur’s when your tea lands on her.

“I’m so sorry!” you cover your mouth, thankful the liquid wasn’t warm enough to burn. Bill doesn’t even turn to look at his fiancee, just stares at you.

“Are you alright?” Snape has a small smile only you can see. You aren’t sure how to respond, especially as you stare at the amusement dancing in his onyx eyes.

“I knew it!” Ginny yells, finally breaking the few seconds of silence, seconds that felt like years. You flick Sev’s leg under the table, and he has the audacity to grin larger.

“Thanks honey,” your eyes narrow slightly as you grab a cookie off the plate, passing it to Bill without looking away from the man in all black.

The rest of the meeting is awkward, and as soon as it’s over you pull Sev out of his chair and outside. The cool night air cools your burning cheeks and he lets out a laugh that he had been holding in.

“What was that?” you pull at the ends of your hair.

“We made your precious Weasley jealous,” even though he’s smirking, there’s no change in his inflection.

“And now they all think we’re together!” your voice is high pitched and squeaky.

“Good luck with that,” he disapparates before you can respond.

“I hate you!” you yell at the spot where Severus was just standing.

“You and Snape, huh?” Charlie’s voice cuts through the silent night.

“Not bloody likely,” you roll your eyes, before plopping onto the ground. Charlie joins you as you lay and stare up at the stars. “He heard Ginny saying she thought he liked me, and he knows who I like, so he decided to run with it. He’s actually fun when you break through his cold exterior.”

“You still love Bill,” it isn’t a question. No matter how many times you denied it while you three went to school together, Charlie never believed you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, turning to look at him. He’s already facing you so you continue, “your mum kept going on about how I should be the one with him this afternoon. She won’t drop it.”

“I love my brother,” Charlie makes sure you keep eye contact with him as he continues. “But he’s being stupid. I agree with mum, you should be the one marrying him.”

“He’s happy without me,” your voice comes out sadder than you thought it would, guard finally down. “We’ve barely talked in years, and he wouldn’t even let me see him after the attack. He doesn’t need me, nor does he want me in his life anymore.”

Charlie just sighs, annoyed that neither you nor Bill could see the truth starring you both in the face. You love each other. Charlie just lies next to you in comforting silence, staring at the night sky until he has to head back to Romania and you off to bed.

A single tear slips down your cheek as you lay down in the bed that once belonged to Charlie. Ginny enters the room without knocking, and you quickly wipe away the tear.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” she practically screams.

“There’s nothing to tell, he was messing with you, Gin,” you look her directly in the eyes so she knows you aren’t lying.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she sits beside you on the mattress.

“I’m in love with Bill,” you whisper, finally saying the words out loud. Sure you had agreed with Charlie earlier, but you had never said the five words out loud before. It feels like a weight is lifted off your chest, until a new wave of heartache hits you. “I have been since we were in school, and it hurts Ginny. Fleur, she’s perfect, I couldn’t possibly compete with her.”

“You’re so much better than her, (Y/N),” Ginny grabs your hand, causing you to look up at her. “And he’s a fool if he doesn’t see that.”

“Thanks Gin,” you smile sadly, squeezing her hand before she heads off to her room.

“Zank you,” Fleur’s French accent is the first thing you hear in the morning. Ginny comes up behind you as you stand in the hallway, and puts her hand on your shoulder. Today is the day you forget about all of this foolish childish love you have for Bill.

Molly watches you closely as you sit down at the breakfast table, Ginny plopping down beside you. As you talk to the young girl about Quidditch over breakfast, a black owl flies through an open window. You roll your eyes as it plops a letter beside you, you give the owl some of your toast before it flies out of the window again. Ginny looks over your shoulder as you open the letter, the rest of the Weasley’s not-so-secretly watch you read it.

The letter isn’t anything special, just Severus letting you know that you had left a book at Hogwarts. You know full well he’s being his dramatic self, going out of his way to send an owl, just so he can say he was right. He even added a p.s, asking if Bill had gotten jealous yet. You laugh at the ridiculous question, causing Bill to excuse himself and walk outside. Fleur doesn’t move from her seat, causing you and Ginny to make a face at each other.

A few moments pass before you decide to follow your old best friend against your better judgment, but someone should check on him. He’s in the backyard pacing like a madman, running his hands through his long hair and pulling on the tips.

“Bill?” you ask softly. He whips around and looks at you, once again his face is hard to read. Your eyes, however, soften as soon as they see what Fenrier Greyback did to him. “What’s wrong?”

“You and Snape?” his voice is hard and cold. “He hated us growing up, and you just pretended that never happened and you're with him? He hated you!”

“It’s none of your business William!” your voice is high pitched, you’re angry. He doesn’t talk to you in ages and now all of a sudden he thinks it’s okay to judge your relationships. “We were annoying kids back then, of course he hated us.”

“You could do better than him!” his anger seems to rise at the use of his full first name.

“We’re just friends!” your voice is shrill, and you're sure everyone inside can hear you two clearly. “Not that it’s any of your business anyway! Severus was letting me know I forgot some of my belongings at Hogwarts. You have no right to judge who I choose to spend my time with and who I befriend, not when you haven’t tried to talk to me in years Bill!”

With that you turn and head away from the burrow, not wanting to face anyone right now. Especially any of the Weasley's, and most of all, Molly. Bill calls your name as you walk away from him, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. William Weasley has broken your heart multiple times since you met him, and you aren’t about to give him the satisfaction of watching himself break your heart all over again.

Part 2

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