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givemea-dam-break · 11 months

Text

5 Times George Missed Lucy + 1 Time He Admitted It

a/n: this was co-written by the phenomenal @ikeasupremacy i quite literally had the time of my life writing this with you, and i think we broke our own hearts quite a few times during the process. we really, really hope you enjoy it <3

warnings: big sad (i beg, listen), language, spoilers for the end of the hollow boy words: 5k+ taglist: @neewtmas @waitingforthesunrise @wellgoslowly @irisesforyoureyes @aayeroace @flashbackwhenyoumetme @ettadear @ella23116 @mirrorballdickinson @magicandmaybe

5. More Chores

The basement was too cold, but George persevered with the chores. If he turned the thermostat up, Lockwood would probably have him beheaded, meaning he had no choice but to grin and bear it.

It was meant to be early spring for heaven’s sake, but he was stuck in the depths of the Earth to do the cleaning, while Anthony Bloody Lockwood was off frolicking in the sun with Holly to Satchel’s and Arif’s and God knows where else! Probably buying doughnuts or something! The favouritism at Portland Row was blatant that day.

He carefully laid Lockwood and Co.’s dozens of chains out across the hardwood floor, with some oil and a rag sitting on his desk, ready for Lucy. While she oiled them, he’d polish the rapiers and make sure they had enough salt bombs and lavender bundles. Not the worst job by far, but he would’ve definitely preferred to be outside or better yet, in the air-conditioned, cherry-blossom windowed Archives.

Heaving a sigh, he stepped over the thick iron links and trudged to the bottom of the stairs that led up, up, up into the kitchen.

“Luce!” he called. “Need you to come oil the- ”

Oh.

How stupid. Within a moment, his shoulders had sagged as he remembered; Lucy was gone. He suddenly became very aware of how alone he was in the house, the gentle hum of peaceful silence suddenly the disconcerting emptiness of a black hole.

Lucy had been gone for at least a week now, so how could he forget? He’d cleaned everything once without her already! She had been careful not to disturb anyone when she left, but George was a notoriously light sleeper. He had wordlessly sat in his room the morning she crept out, knowing she was gone for good as soon as he heard the third step creak. He heard everything, but he didn’t move an inch. He just listened as she crept out of the house that morning. Even though he didn’t do anything about it, he knew just as well as anyone that she was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.

A self-pitying laugh tore through his lips, resounding in his solitude, a moment meant for him alone. She had left them. Her absence was impossible not to notice, filling him with something distinctly empty. Hollow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. A bittersweet nostalgia for something that hadn’t really left. Call it cheesy, but she’d started actually accepting him for who he was, and then she left.

She left.

For a moment longer, he lingered there, staring up at the spiralling stairs with a half-glare. Daylight glared back at him, causing him to squint and furrow his brows in frustration while the sun tried its best to burn his eyes right out of the sockets.

As he stared into the sun for whatever self-inflicted reason, a single quiet thought made him soften his gaze in defeat. He had nobody to be angry at but himself.

Turning with a dejected sigh, he rested his gaze upon the rapiers and the chains.

Once more, he’d have to do them both.

4. Food Gone Cold

Silence. Terrible, uncomfortable silence.

George stared down at the food that he’d spent the better part of an hour making, and a pit formed his stomach. There was Lockwood with his meal, Holly with hers, food left over, and an empty plate. Just sat there. Waiting. It haunted the dinner table more than any Source ever could.

When would he stop doing this? Lately, every single meal he cooked ended up with four portions, even though there were only three of them there. He could already see the concealed remorse on Holly’s face as she thought about stuffing yet another spare portion in the fridge in hopes that someone would eat it later. Usually, no one did.

The thought of it apparently made Lockwood “sick to his stomach” and, well, George couldn’t say he was nauseous, but he had definitely lost his appetite when he saw the leftover food in the pan, regardless of whatever it was that he’d made.

Worse still, he should’ve realised the moment that he’d set it down that it was wrong. After Lucy had left, they’d begrudgingly swapped the thinking cloth out for a new one, folding it up carefully and placing it on top of the fridge, scribbling back on George’s stray research from the last, any pending tasks from the last one, and new doodles had taken residence everywhere: George insulting Lockwood; Lockwood’s loopy handwriting forming a shopping list or writing reminders for everyone. Hell, even Holly had started adding to it, normally with little smiley faces or cartoony flowers, but it was something at least.

Then there was Lucy’s spot.

No one dared sit in her seat. It felt like an action that they would be scolded for, by either Lockwood or some incorporeal voice that was haunting them, like a strange shared conscience between the three of them. Maybe it would even be Lucy’s voice, scolding them like she did when, every day for a week or two, Lockwood would sit in her place just to annoy her. She would jokingly tell him off every time, and force him off of the seat in a light-hearted push-and-shove. A sweet memory came to mind of Lockwood falling off the chair, and they had all doubled over laughing until their ribs pulled and their cheeks ached, the kind where anything sets you off again. A sweet memory indeed.

And, so, there was a portion of the thinking cloth that was entirely blank. Not even George’s messy and rushed research passed the invisible line that marked Lucy’s section. Maybe a mark of respect, of not wanting to let her go, of fruitless ambition and silent mourning.

Even the biscuits. The biscuit rotation was all messed up. With Lucy around, they would know who had last taken a biscuit on their little mental rotation, a fine-tuned seventh sense (after being a Sensitive, naturally), but every time George reached for a custard cream, he mentally hesitated as a ghost of Lucy’s voice went to whisper in his ear, “Have I had my biscuit yet, George?”

He wanted to say something; he was desperate to end this stifling, choking silence that plagued them all like a hand to his throat, a gag in his mouth. What could he even say? Jokes often ended up turning sour nowadays. Holly had the (albeit little) decency to give George a polite laugh at the predicament, but on the other hand, Lockwood would simply sit and stare at the empty plate as if he could summon Lucy back to her plate if he just thought about her hard enough.

George had already tried that. It didn’t work.

3. Patience Lost

Lockwood was like a cat, George observed. When he had a goal, he was a machine; a well-oiled, slit-eyed, prowling machine. He waited for his prey, and he attacked just as gracefully. He was always waiting, watching for his next move, the next opportunity, with careful focus, and George could see why Lucy liked him. It was a skill neither he or Lucy possessed, yet one they both admired. All the same, he thought Lucy was bonkers for it.

When Lockwood had no purpose, he was a cat stretched out in the sun, ambling with no real purpose and slinking around in his suit and tie, waiting for the next thing to do. George generally found this habit of his incredibly pointless anyway, but with Lucy gone it was just worse. For the last year, Lockwood had the goal of thinking about Lucy.

If she were here, Lockwood would be moving. He’d be yelling at her from the foot of the stairs to turn her music down before marching up and doing it himself. He’d be prancing around, animatedly talking about the latest gossip from his magazine and how it was so important that they knew what colour of dress Penelope Fittes wore to a meeting with Steve Rotwell. Green meant it was about new gear, purple about the future of their agencies, blah, blah, blah. George had no mind for it.

But now? Lockwood slouched in his armchair in the library, flicking through a magazine, entirely devoid of emotion. His freakish poker-face had come out strongly as his eyes darted from line to line, occasionally lifting a finger to flip the page he was on. A cold mug of hot chocolate sat abandoned by his side that George had, yet again, accidentally made out of pure muscle memory.

Lucy always drank a hot chocolate with him.

George was now completely out of his book. His eyes remained on the pages, reading the sentences over and over again, but they weren't what was running through his head. What would Lucy be doing right now if she were here with them? No, he couldn’t let himself linger on that thought. He tried to bring his attention back to his book.

“However, what must be considered is that the wedding band itself might ngo fda bfgn tj Sorgfn. Teh womha wsa llysmengia attached nto go teh ewfifng band bug hre hgusadn. Hre source, sj tja ragen sons folsa ojn, wfg npt wutg hwt bones, bgk tkh husbnfks. This wfd a frveol...”

She’d have complained that the fire was dying down and added a log to it, her frame sinking into the seat near Lockwood yet again to continue her new crochet project of the week, as the calming click-clack of the plastic needles against each other melded wonderfully with the crackling of the (now revived) fireplace. A song would be stuck in her head, and she’d quietly hum along to it, none the wiser that George and Lockwood could both hear her.

“However, what must be considered is that the wedding band itself might not have been the Source. Teh womha wsa llysmengia attached nto go teh ewfifng band bug hre hgusadn. Hre source, sj tja ragen sons folsa ojn, wfg not with her bones, bgk tkh husbnfks. This wfd a frveol...”

She would have called them all boring for just sitting there, and gotten out the chess board to entertain herself. She was always freakishly good at that, George recalled with a slight smile. There were quite a few times where Lockwood had gotten so frustrated at her that he resigned and stormed off into his bedroom, leaving George to get absolutely throttled by Lucy every time. Every. Single. Time.

“However, what must be considered is that the wedding band itself might not have been the Source. The woman was sentimentally attached to not the wedding band, but her husband. Her source, as the agents soon found out, was not with her bones, but the husband’s. This was a revolutionary discovery for many reasons, one being the realisation…”

George gave up on the book, gently closing the hardback cover with a soft thump.

At the time, nothing could’ve annoyed him more, but George was bored of winning chess games now. Lockwood was somehow even worse than he was (and that was saying something), meaning the games lasted forever. Neither of them had the patience to sit for hours going back and forth. Lucy did.

That was the refreshing thing about games with her. It wasn’t relevant if the game lasted fifteen minutes or two hours, just sitting there with her gave the game an entirely more interesting feel. Especially when she swore under her breath after a bad move. George was a sore loser, and a gloating winner, but Lucy always took her losses humbly and her wins even more so.

Unless she was playing Holly. When Lucy won against Holly, it was as if the Heavens had shone a spotlight onto her face with how proud her smile was.

Lockwood missed that smile, and in some (pretty fucking irritating) way, George thought he did too.

It didn’t matter now. He’d have to deal with Lockwood’s doubled pawns and forgotten rooks, which was much less preferable. They would have to bear the silence of nobody humming as they crocheted, painfully watching a chess board gather dust, and having to live in the house that was no longer a home.

2. Ducks in the Wash

George could hear Lockwood rattling around in the basement incessantly, and he could only sigh. This all over again?

Surely there were no more socks missing - every single wash, Lockwood checked, and every single time he came back empty handed. It wasn’t like the washing machine was going to gobble them up. (And there was definitely no need to lift up the whole washing machine.) However, Lockwood always folded the washing better than George. That was the one reconciliation about the whole thing, thank goodness. Once George heard the telltale thump of the washing machine being on solid ground again, he assumed Lockwood was folding the clothes. Feeling less worried that Lockwood was going to break the washing machine this time around, he unpaused the telly and kept watching Pointless, or whatever crappy gameshow he had chosen to put on that day.

It wasn’t long before Lockwood came trudging up the basement stairs and through to the living room, a pile of neatly folded clothes in his arms. But it wasn’t the neatness of it (usually they were folded haphazardly until Holly came along and fixed it up) that had George pausing the telly once more. It was the bright blue thing on top.

“Lucy’s,” Lockwood said, not even trying to conceal the miserable look on his face. “She left a sock.”

George wondered if Lucy had noticed that it was missing. Unlikely. She had so many pairs of socks, all the same shade of tell-tale royal blue, she could probably provide a few dozen to each family on Portland Row and the next few streets over and still have enough for the next two wash cycles. Besides, it was such a small thing that she’d never notice. She’d never. Never. She wouldn’t have. It’s just a sock. She’d probably lost another one and she had perfect pairs again.

But, an irrational part of George couldn’t help but blurt out, “Are you going to call her?”

There wasn’t really any need to call her. She’d survive without one bright blue sock, even if there were cute little silicone ducks on the sole of this one to keep her from slipping. But George found himself wanting to hear her voice through the phone, strangely enough. The way she said “Hello?” in her Northerner accent on the phone, her little inquisitive chirp, even though she usually knew who it was, always used to make him laugh, and he was sure it would now.

It was clear Lockwood wanted to call, what with the twitch of his fingers, and the way he longingly stared at the ducky sock. It was easy to read him after a while of knowing him, and as he observed Lockwood, he saw a strange, stone-like look on his face. He knew that expression. The barrage of emotion he was holding behind a facade of stoic presence. The way he didn’t blink while he looked at the piece of fabric in his hand, not once. His eyebrows furrowed so slightly it could even be mistaken for natural.

George knew that expression. He saw it in the mirror every day.

“No.”, Lockwood muttered breathlessly.

He placed the washing down, balanced precariously on the back of the sofa, threatening to tip over. George had bigger things on his mind than the laundry, observing it as it teetered in the balance, but his mind was in a different place as he watched the washing basket lean forward.

He simply remained on the sofa, entirely sunken in his armchair, feeling as frozen as a marble-cut statue, and staring at the sock in Lockwood’s hands. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, as if it held some piece of Lucy that was finally attainable now that they had found it - something that could connect the three of them once again. For a moment, he wished that you could have Sources for a real person.

It’s just a sock, George told himself. There was nothing outright special about it and there never would be.

So what was their deal?

What had them reeling over a sock of all things? Was it because they could both easily imagine Lucy’s laughter as she tried to skid over the kitchen floor, only for her socks to keep her from sliding? Those stupid ducks on the bottom of her socks? Was it because of all things to have been left by Lucy accidentally, this was it? This was the last thing they had of her in the house? A literal sock?

Then again, it wasn't unwelcome. It simply brought with it a reminder of the gaping hole in their household, and dragging behind it the ugly emotions of guilt, and the hurt of a betrayal.

“I’ll wait to give it back to her,” Lockwood murmured in the same tone.

But they both knew the time would never come. Lucy wasn’t coming back, no matter how tightly Lockwood held onto the sock now, knuckles turning white. No amount of socks stolen by the washing machine would bring her knocking on the front door, or bursting through and demanding them back. The sock would simply sit, gathering dust and harbouring feelings that had no need to be felt.

But George still agreed, holding onto whatever tiny shred of hope he still had that she would come back. George knew as well as anyone else that it was fruitless, but even he didn’t have the heart to extinguish the hope that their paths would cross again.

It felt like something was destroying him though. He had gotten to a point where it was getting unbearable, the pain of all the reminders of her everywhere, it gnawed at him and ate away at his focus, at his time, at his brain, at his happiness. He should’ve put into words, and he knew that inside him, but that would destroy all the work he had put into coping with it; for both Lockwood and Holly. Lucy was an unnamed ticking bomb, ready to cause an explosion at 35 Portland Row anytime soon, and George was reaching his limit of how many more reminders of Lucy he could take.

The washing fell over. Once upon a time, Lucy and him would have laughed together over the thought of watching Lockwood fold it all again. They would’ve giggled until their cheeks were on fire, their ribs felt tangled in knots, shrouded by the ecstasy of simple delights.

“Lockwood? The washing’s just fallen over.” George called, entirely monotone.

1. Someone Familiar

The early spring air clung to George as he stepped through the front door, shopping bags in hand. Really, London had no excuse to still be so cold, but, alas, he still shivered as he kicked the door shut and placed the bags down. The warmth of the hallway was incredible, and he could’ve just stood there forever, feeling his skin grow warm. It was only when he eventually tugged off his jacket that he heard the laughter.

He peeked into the living room, where Lockwood sat in his armchair, and Holly on the sofa beside someone else whose hand she held and squeezed. The sight filled George with warmth. Holly’s last relationship… Well, it had ended badly, and she was a wreck for a little while, so to see her happy now felt like something, finally, was going right. George was genuinely happy for Holly, and for everyone. They really needed something to go right, all of them did.

He hadn’t realised the ache in his chest until his eyes lifted to the girl whose hand she held.

How did he not notice? The bobbed brown hair, the wooly jumper and denim skirt, it was…

“Oh, George!” Lockwood said, grinning as he set his mug of tea down. “You’re back! Hope you don’t mind, Holly brought her girlfriend over for a bit.”

George tried to move, but he found himself stuck in place, simply staring at the back of her head. Surely he was dreaming. None of this was real. It couldn’t be her. No, he was still sleeping soundly in his bed and his alarm hadn’t gone off yet. It was a lie. This couldn’t be real. A dream. A nightmare.

But- But, still, however he hated to admit it, there was hope in him. She had come home. She was back. She was here. She had finally come back to them after all these horrible months and he would never let Luc-

“Lucy” turned and flashed a grin at George, and he felt a little pang of nausea in his throat. This girl, she wasn’t Lucy. He’d mistaken her just because of an outfit and a haircut. How stupid of him. As he scanned her up and down, within a matter of seconds he had noticed the pristine white trainers she wore rather than plasm-covered, chunky black boots, her jumper was purple instead of blue. Her eyebrows were prominent, pointing upwards and giving the face an inherently sharp aura about it, combined with long features that he could never even imagine on Lucy’s round face.

He saw it all clear as day, all of it. The freckles Lucy lacked and the blue eyes she didn’t have, the mascara-caked lashes and the pointed chin.

“You’re George?” she asked in a high-pitched tone that Lucy would’ve definitely later made fun of. “Hol’s told me all about you.”

Lucy would make fun of the nickname too.

He felt insanely stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he should’ve realised sooner - she had been introduced as Holly’s girlfriend for Heaven’s sake! There was a higher chance of Lockwood and Kipps dating than there was Lucy and Holly. But, he would’ve preferred Lucy over whoever this was. He didn’t hold anything against this (probably lovely) girl, who just coincidentally managed to look uncannily like Lucy from the behind, but George couldn’t help but bite back a sob.

The bittersweet lemon-curd hope now tasted rotten and acidic in his mouth. The taste of his idiocy coated his tongue and twisted his insides, and he hated every moment of it. He hated that for a moment he’d believed it to be her, that he had been ready to smile and accept her back without a word’s notice. He hated himself for having hope, and he hated Lucy for leaving, and he was entirely ready to be sick to his stomach.

He was impressed he managed a nod in her general direction, before abandoning the shopping bags on the floor and storming upstairs. Up, up, up, until he found himself in the doorway of the attic bedroom. The door was forced open, and he stared inside the stripped down room, the same way she’d left it, with her Blu-tack stains still on the walls and a leftover Polaroid of the three of them to the right of the bed. He couldn’t help but stare at the photo, as a tonne of weight settled on his shoulders as he stood unsettlingly alone in the attic bedroom. The weight of Lucy’s memory, perhaps. Because that’s what had made him feel so terrible these last few months, wasn’t it? It was never just throwing away the food, or being bored with a chess game, or seeing a sock with ducks on it, or any of it. Everywhere he looked, he saw Lucy, but he didn’t have her at his side, bickering with him and making her little remarks, lifting his spirit a percentile at a time, and dropping him down to ground level after he finally felt valued and appreciated by someone, after he found a friend who made him laugh until he couldn’t anymore, even though he absolutely hated her sometimes.

He had never hated Lucy Carlyle more than that moment.

He flung his clothes off the vanity chair, mad that he’d even had the gall to put them in this room, and sat on the bed, trying to arrange his thoughts.

It was like cutting himself open to admit that he missed Lucy. This girl he’d detested for months; this girl he’d slowly learned to appreciate, and even cherish. He looked for her in every room of this house - the little crocheted coasters she had made, her abandoned mugs in the cupboard with awful sayings on them, the honey jar in the kitchen that only she had used for her tea.

Hell, even whenever he took out his favourite mug, because she had accidentally chipped it her first week there, and George had sworn he would never talk to her again after that, decreeing it on the Thinking Cloth with so many swears that he lost count.

Every moment of regret, of sadness, of longing he had felt since her leaving seemed to add up and show itself proudly to him now, sending him into a rabbit hole of falling into emotional turmoil. The solitude of the basement every month, the quiet of the evenings without the click clack of a crochet needle, the way his socks were never mixed up with hers anymore, the way nobody stopped him from researching until 5 in the morning-

Fuck.

George sprinted to the little bathroom and unloaded the contents of his stomach into the toilet. When his quaking body had finished purging the contents of his (again) too-large breakfast, he crumpled onto the floor beside the bowl. The sour taste of bile was heavy on his tongue, and it slicked along the sides of his throat.

He looked up at the abandoned room around him. Just the sight of its sorry state was enough to tempt him back into throwing his face over the toilet bowl once more, but he resisted. He leaned his head against the cool tile behind him, trying to hold back the tears in his eyes, the mucus in his throat mixing awfully with the vile taste in his mouth.

Lockwood had come upstairs at this point, the door being thrust open as he rushed to George’s side. His expression was pained, as he looked at George with concern in his eyes, but a resigned light to them as well.

“You’re okay,” was all he said.

0. Confession

Moonlight streamed through the attic window, splitting across the clothes-covered floor in beams of silver. It was a peaceful kind of light - the sort that would have Lucy standing by any window in the house, staring longingly up at the sky. She always spoke about how she missed the stars, stars that glittered for her back home but were now hidden by the dozens of ghostlamps scattered across the city, and the haze of pollution in the city.

As George sat on the edge of her bed alongside Lockwood, he wondered if Lucy was looking up at the moon now, too.

Oh, the horrible feeling of knowing they shared a sky but not a roof.

Lockwood heaved a sigh, playing with the polaroid in his hand. He’d plucked it off the wall not long ago and had taken to staring at it, occasionally brushing his thumb gently over where Lucy was. Maybe he thought it was like a genie’s lamp, that if he rubbed it three times some otherworldly being would come and grant their wish of bringing her home.

No genie appeared, no wishes were granted, and Lucy didn’t return.

George remembered the day that photo had been taken. Lucy had taken the last jam doughnut, the one he had wanted, and they had argued the entirety of breakfast. Holly had trotted into the kitchen, polaroid camera in hand, grinning about how she’d found it in a charity shop and had to buy it. She wanted her first photo with it to be of her friends, the agents of Lockwood and Co., but no matter how much she and Lockwood tried, George and Lucy wouldn’t stop arguing. So there was Lockwood, smiling, albeit awkwardly, between George, who looked like he was about to implode with anger - anger he now saw as an overreaction, even if she was a thief - and Lucy, whose cheeks were flushed pink, as she waved the half-eaten doughnut in the air. The camera caught the moment some of the jam in the middle had dribbled out onto her brand new jumper.

“I thought it was her, too, at first, you know,” Lockwood said after what felt like years of silence. “Holly’s girlfriend. I thought it was Lucy as well.”

With a shrug, George said, “Doesn’t matter now.”

“You miss her, and that’s okay.”

“I do not miss her.”

But it was a lie. That’s all George had been doing since she left, wasn’t it? Lying to himself and to everyone else that he didn’t miss her.

He had hated Lucy for so long. From when she had first joined the company and the few months that followed. Then after she left them, giving some bullshit excuse and a secret escape. But he had never allowed himself to miss her, not really. He had only burdened himself with the memory of her, looking for her in anything he could find but not allowing himself to grieve the girl who hadn’t even died.

His fingers hurt from clutching the duvet cover so hard. “Maybe I miss her a little.”

Lockwood’s laugh was breathy, filled with tears he wouldn’t dare shed. “You can give up with the pride, George. She’s not here to make fun of you.”

“But you are.”

The words resonated between them both, and for a moment George truly realised how alone they were. Yes, Holly was there daily, mourning Lucy’s resignation in her own detached way, but George and Lockwood… Lucy had been everything to Lockwood, and somewhat less than that for George. They were a trio. George couldn’t even remember the agency before Lucy, so now it felt like a machine missing a cog - it didn’t function properly, and wouldn’t until it was put back into place.

“I’d never make fun of you for this.” Lockwood’s smile was nowhere to be found. Not in the corners of his lips or the dark of his eyes. It was as if it had been torn from him the minute Lucy stepped out the door for the last time. “I miss her, too.”

Of course Lockwood did. Missing Lucy was second nature to him. Any time she’d gone off on a case by herself he had missed her. Hell, he probably missed her when she went to bed a few floors above him. But this was unfamiliar territory for George. He wasn’t used to missing people. Not his parents who still lived in London, who occasionally visited and checked in on how things were going. Not his siblings, who were also still nearby muscling on with their careers. He’d never experienced loss like Lockwood and Lucy had.

Was that why it felt like he had been hit by a ten-tonne brick? He hated this feeling more than he’d ever hated anything.

“She’s not coming back,” George said, blinking away the sting in his eyes. “We’ll cope. We have to.”

But, staring at the room she once lived in, straining to try and feel any remnant of her presence, he wished that the genie would finally appear.

#givemea-dam-break #mayra lore #lockwood and co fanfiction #george karim fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #george karim #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood fanfiction #lucy carlyle #lucy carlyle fanfiction #locklyle #locklyle fanfiction #holly munro #the hollow boy

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shiftingparadise · 6 months

Note

Hey, I’m unsure if you still write for MHA but I’d love a comfort fic/drabble about a reader who’s struggling with guilt and bad thoughts, to eventually get some support from Dabi? I’ve been struggling a lot so much lmao

I'm so sorry to hear you've been struggling. It's been a long time since I've written anything. So forgive me if it's not as good but I hope you like it. I'm here if you want to talk.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1776

“It’s my fault”, your voice shaking. “It’s my fault, right?”, your head now resting against the wall behind you. “It’s my fault that they’re-“. A sentence you fail to say out loud. A stinging sensation greeted your eyes. You were sitting in an ally, your hands resting on your knees as little clouds left your lips. It was a cold night and even though your mind failed to notice the cold, your body did. Leaving you shaking, your teeth grinding on each other. Were you angry or sad? Probably both. It was unfair. The way Deku didn’t flinch, the way Bakugo grinned, … All why you were frozen in place. Too scared to save the lives of innocent people. What kind of hero were you? A joke. That’s what you are. “I hate them”, tears now flooded your eyes. “I hate the way things are so easy for them, the way they always seem to save everyone while I’ve worked so hard for this. I’m not a pro hero. I’m a joke, a coward-“.

He knew you hadn’t noticed. His staring eyes. The way he was leaning against the wall just a little bit further. If it were someone else, he’d probably would’ve laughed, or done something to upset them even more. Probably killed them eventually if they’d dare to talk back to him but… You looked so ‘good’. So, innocent. As if you hadn’t done anything wrong in your entire life. And the way your tears were dripping down your cute nose, the way you cutely rubbed the palm of your hand on your eyelids… Not to mention your voice. So soft, so ‘good’. There wasn’t any other way he could put it. You seemed ‘good’ and here you were, talking down on yourself like that just because you couldn’t be like them. A feeling he understood all too well. The feeling of not being good enough.

“Why? Why am I like this?”, your eyes darted to the sky. Desperately searching for an answer. “If I just swooped in, if I just managed to move my feet they would’ve been saved. They would’ve been able to return to their families, their loved ones… I hate myself”, your sobs getting louder, not caring about your surrounding anymore. Because it hurt. The feeling in your chest, the way you could hardly breathe anymore. “I hate myself and everyone else does too, right?”, your eyes still looking at the sky, hoping someone would talk back. “That’s why I’m always alone. Why I don’t have any friends”. Right, this wasn’t just about the lost lives. It was about your hurt. About everything that you tried to bury in your past.

Alone. He was always alone. He never had anyone. He knew the way you felt. The desperation, the sense of hopelessness.

“You’re not alone”, a raspy voice travelled through the air and startling you.

“Creep”, the word flashed before his eyes. You were crying about being alone, thinking you were alone in that ally. Probably one of the times you even wanted to be alone, and this is what he chose to say? Not even a hello? Or a dry cough to let you know someone was there.

“W-who are you?”, you narrowed your eyes, not bothering to wipe your tears. The darkness around you made it hard for you to see. “No one”, the voice replied.

He already regretted this. That he let you know someone was there. That he was there.

“If you’re too scared to speak, then don’t bother letting me know you’re here”, you turned your head to the side.

Scared? He wasn’t scared, right?

“Then don’t cry in the middle of an ally”, a snappy remark that he immediately regretted. “Well, I’m sorry that I bothered you”, you quietly replied. Your heart felt heavy. The last thing you needed was a stranger that made you feel even worse.

“You didn’t bother me”, the voice sounded almost desperate. “I-I guess I’m… sorry?”.

Did he just apologize? Or tried to anyway.

“Who are you?”, you knew that voice. You heard it on the TV once, right? But if you were right then… “No one”, he repeated himself.

He noticed the way your breathing got heavier. The way you tensed your entire body.

“No one you should be scared off”, his hands now in his pockets, his eyes closed.

Hate. Once again, the word flashed before his eyes. He hated himself.

“I know who you are”, you tried to relax your body. For some reason you believed him. Even though a murderer was standing practically next to you. But you were one too, right? You didn’t hurt people on purpose, but you failed to save them while you were standing so close. Wasn’t that even worse?

“Then why don’t you kill me?”, his voice sounded cold.

“I don’t know”, your teeth digging into the soft skin of your lips. “I don’t know”, tears once again streaming down your cheeks. “Probably because I’m scared, right? I’m a failure”.

“H-huh?”, your breath stopped, your eyes wide open as rough digits stroked over your cheek. His eyes now staring directly into yours as he squatted before you.

This wasn’t like him. He was never like this, or not that he could remember anyways.

“You must be freezing”, he sighed as he let his head fall back. “Here”, his hands wrapped around yours. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to burn you”, he coldly looked into your eyes again. Your heart was racing as you could feel his hands getting hotter, causing a nice sensation against your skin. Like holding them in front of a fireplace. “Feels nice”, you softly whispered.

His eyes unwillingly widened at your small praise. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone said something similar to him.

“It’s fine if you’re not like them”, his gaze now fixed on your hands. They fitted perfectly in his. Your skin felt so soft against his scars… He could stay like this for hours. “It’s fine if you’re scared”, his eyes found yours again. “I don’t need life lessons from someone like you”, you suddenly pulled your hands away, leaving an empty feeling behind. What were you doing? He was a villain. He couldn’t be trusted. “Right”, a painful look in his eyes. “I’m sorry”, he lowered his eyes as he stood back up. “So, you want to fight me or are you going to let me go without a hassle?”, his voice cold again. You stayed quiet for a second as you looked up at him. He looked handsome. Painfully handsome. Even with all of his scars, even with his messy hair… but most of all, he looked lonely.

“Cold”, you turned your head to the side, “My hands”. “Huh?”, his brows pulled together. “Could you please do that thing again?”, your cheeks red as you held out your hands, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Even if this was a trap, even if you were going to capture him… He couldn’t refuse when you looked like that.

“Tsk”, an unexpected smile on his face, “Come here”. He lifted you from the ground with your arm. “I’m not going to sit on the ground like an idiot. Let’s go to my place, it’s warm. I promise”, he already started walking. For some reason he didn’t doubt you’d follow him. And you did. Without saying anything. If this was wrong, then why did it feel so right?

It was only a five-minute walk and for some reason it made him sad. He could’ve walked through entire countries with you walking beside him.

“We’re here”, he stopped in front of a tall building. To be honest, it looked like it was going to fall apart any minute. “Know it’s not much”, he scratched the back of his head, “But it’s warm… and safe”.

He knew he was a hypocrite. How could he say something like that when he killed people for fun?

“Hm”, you softly smiled. “Y-you still want to come in?”, he now sounded nervous. He couldn’t believe you actually trusted him enough to follow him like this. “Yeah”, your arms wrapped around your body, trying to keep the cold away.

How could he forget? You probably didn’t have a quirk like his, that kept him warm. He should’ve offered you his coat, or at least try to keep you warm.

“Let’s go inside. You must be cold”, he opened the door for you. It. Was a quiet walk to his apartment. Your mind and heart fighting against each other. “So”, he awkwardly kicked some boxes of fast food to the side as you entered his apartment. “Like I said, I know it’s not much but it’s warm”.

He felt embarrassed. He only had a small TV and a bed. Not even a chair or a couch to sit on.

“It’s enough”, you smiled. “Here, sit down please”, he quickly straightened his pillows. “You can sit here. I know it’s probably not comfortable to sit like this-“. “It’s perfect”, you sat down while leaning with your back against the wooden frame of his bed. “H-here’s a blanket”, he grabbed one from a box. You thanked him once again.

“Why are you doing this?”.

Your question pierced through his chest. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t like this. He never was kind to anyone.

“I don’t know”, he awkwardly sat down beside you. “I guess I understand the way you feel. That’s why I said it’s fine if you’re not like them. You don’t have to pretend all the time”. “Pretend?”, you pulled the blanket over your legs. “They’re scared too, you know? Everyone is. They just pretend they aren’t. It’s fine to be scared, to not show up sometimes. It’s fine if you can’t fake being happy, or brave, or …”, he hesitated for a second. “All I’m saying is, it’s fine if you’re you”. “But I-“, your eyes already glossy. “Don’t cry”, he turned to look at you. “You can’t cry. You can’t show them you’re weak-“.

What was he doing? He cried all the time, or he used to anyway. And yes, he felt weak because he did so, but when he saw you cry earlier… All he saw was a girl who was tired of being strong.

“You don’t need this, right? A lecture”, he shook his head, unsure of what was happening to him. “Cry your heart out”, he wrapped your arms around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Cry. Let it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you. It’s brave to cry”, he tightened his grip as he heard your sobs. “You’ll never be alone again”.

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leo-gold-hotchner · 2 months

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Unfortunate Reunion Party - pt.11

Hi, I can't apologise enough about my absence, especially with the series. I myself hate the discontinued stories, and here I am, doing it.

I started my PhD this year and broke my foot and going crazy at home.. I made a new GIF of Aaron tho XD

Aaron Hotcher X BAU G.N. Reader

Word: 1K-ish

It felt like waking up from a drunk night. But without a crazy hangover as the best buddy. Suddenly, I became so conscious around me. Everyone was looking at me worriedly as I finally looked up. I didn't know I was back at the temporary BAU office. Only the BAU members were there, and the blinds were all closed over the windows.

“You alright?” Rossi asked gently.

I stared blankly at him. Was I alright? My heart was racing as if I had run a marathon.

“Am I alright?” My voice sounded like a broken radio. My voice echoed throughout the room like a ghost. It was hoarse and hollow. Even to my ears, it sounded like someone who had lost all hope and light in the world, as if I was the only one left in the pitch-dark hole. The bottle I was holding tightly in my head was broken into pieces. I would never be able to pick up the pieces. I would never be okay. I would probably psychoanalysed as soon as I returned to Quantico and kicked out from the bureau. I would be holed in my home and never meet everyone—even Aaron.

The first unvoiced rule of the BAU was ‘do not ever profile a teammate’. But I knew everyone already knew the answer. It was the elephant in the room. Everyone knew my state.

“No, you’re not alright,” Aaron said sharply. Of course, Aaron would be the only one who would break the silence. Given a chance, Rossi would’ve said something first to point out my obvious distress, but he let the leader of the team do it. “You’re exempted from the case until we finish.”

Everyone except Rossi looked at the Unit Chief worriedly, then me. I already knew Aaron would say that.

“But can I stay here?” I whispered. I wanted to see how the case will end.

Aaron’s jaw tightened. After a minute of silence, he gave a curt 'no'. "You will be returning to Quantico tomorrow. I'll contact HQ for the ride."

Without glancing at my way, the leader of the BAU left the office. I winced at the slamming door. He left probably to take care of the aftermath I created with Johns.

I sat silently, not daring to look at the faces of my colleagues.

"It's better than bottling up," Morgan finally said. I blinked at him. "At least you didn't punch him in the face," he grinned to make me feel better.

"I would've punched him in the face," Prentiss chuckled.

"I nearly did," Reid shrugged nonchalantly.

"'We' nearly did," JJ corrected the younger man.

Your hands swept your face. 'We'. It was like lightning had struck in my head.

"We." Everyone looked at me strangely as I blinked dumbfoundedly. "We. Us. Plural."

"F/N?" JJ called me worriedly.

Yeah, I was talking like a broken robot. But everything was jumbled in my head.

"All of us." Eric's words echoed. "It's the town." I looked up at my teammates. "We're against the townspeople."

"You think people are hiding UnSub even though they know who?" Morgan frowned. His eyes quickly skimmed through the list of names and checked their alibies that were written next.

"That and even helping UnSub find a way to access their places." I stood in front of the whiteboard full of photos. I skimmed through the front and turned the board. There were lists of people who attended School Reunion. Next to each name, there were photos of them, including the bullies and mine. 74 attended, and 46 still live in the town or near the town.

"We have alibies for all of them?"

Reid stood next to me. "Each number," he pointed 1,2,3 and 4 next to each name, "means the time of the victim's death. If the number is crossed, it means they don't have an alibi." Each of the 46 names had an alibi or two for each case.

"28 of them didn't return to the town after the reunion," I muttered as I went that through with JJ. "Did we check if the witnesses of them were outside of the town?" I turned to JJ. I felt guilty asking. I felt I was too absorbed with self-pity during the case rather than helping the team.

"Yeah. Many of the witnesses were from workplaces."

"You think the town is covering for each other," Rossi hummed as he leaned towards the whiteboard.

"It feels like the McElroy case from 1956. The victim was a known criminal but bailed out. Later, someone shot him to death," Reid said. "No one was found guilty, but a relative of the victim sued the town. They say the townspeople's attitude was that 'he deserves to die'," he finished.

"It's a possibility. But if that's true, unless we crack someone, we'll have more bodies."

I looked at the second whiteboard where Prentiss drew a relationship between bullies and important figures. I really should refer to them as 'victims', not 'bullies'. Maybe if I had done that in the first place, I should've distanced myself from the case and focused on it more when Aaron suggested. Oh, the ship had sailed already, even if I regret it now.

"Let's say your theory is correct," Prentiss tapped the name of a man under Thomas Kirvy. "Logan Kirvy, the father of Thomas and Eric brothers, once worked at Wilson Security Service. So, he could've helped the UnSub easily to kill Williams."

"Do you think he might have had a key or code to access the security?" I asked, not really knowing how the security company works.

"The company told us they have to submit every key that was provided and checked thoroughly. If they worked with passwords or other forms of encryption, the company changes so retired workers wouldn't abuse it," Morgan explained how the security worked with the retirees.

"Now what?" I pulled my hair in frustration.

I flinched as Rossi put his hand on my shoulder. "Now we start with the witnesses and crack their alibies. While doing so, now we 'officially' know Johns and Rodriguez were friends with the victims, we warn them."

#unfortunate reunion party series #criminal minds #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #dave rossi #spencer reid #emily prentiss #jj

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herofics · 1 year

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Dabi gets reincarnated as a cat

Someone on wattpad requested the “Dabi dies and gets reincarnated as a cat” thing, I have written one for him where it happens to the reader and both ways for multiple other characters. You can find the reader version for Dabi part 1 here and part 2 here. If you want to read other ones like this you can find them in the masterlist (link in the pinned post), probably under something like “cat reincarnation”

You always knew Dabi was most likely going to die before you. His body simply wouldn’t hold up for much longer, especially with all the stress he’d put himself under during the last year or so. So when he stumbled to your apartment, smelling like some sort of burnt death and falling to his hands and knees, you thought you were ready to handle it.

“Dabi!” you gasped, kneeling down next to him.

He was hot to the touch, so hot that you almost burned your hand when you placed it on his back. He looked like he was quite literally coming unstapled.

“What happened? You’re-you’re falling apart” you were panicking.

“It hurts” he growled, as he collapsed to the floor.

That was something you’d never heard from him before, not like this anyway. Sure he had complained about the occasional headache or things like that, but you had never actually heard it in his voice like this. He sounded like he was in agony.

“What can I do!? Tell me what to do, please!”

Dabi wasn’t moving, he was just laying there.

“Nononononono” you muttered as you checked his pulse.

This couldn’t be happening, not yet. You weren’t ready, you weren’t ready to say goodbye. YOu thought you’d been prepared because you knew this was coming someday, but knowing it did nothing. It felt like even though you had known this was going to happen, it didn’t help at all. You felt like you couldn’t process the situation in front of you.

When you finally came to your senses, it was already too late, Dabi was gone. He wasn’t moving or breathing anymore.

The next few months were hell. You were questioned by the police multiple times on why exactly a wanted villain had died on your carpet. You had to come up with a story, a totally bullshit story, but it was probably easier for the police to believe it was a break in, rather than that you’d been involved with Dabi.

His family paid for the funeral, which you couldn’t attend, because it would’ve aroused too much suspicion. You kept hearing people basically cheering for the news that Dabi was dead. “Another villain gone” said the news article. You had to bite your cheek not to start screaming out of frustration. You knew what he had done, but he had never been anything but good to you, normal ups and downs included.

A few weeks after the funeral, you visited his grave. You weren’t able to bring yourself to do it before. You didn’t want to take a chance with running into his family members at the cemetery.

“Todoroki Touya” the gravestone read.

You’d known his real name, you’d even used it on rare occasions, but it was a whole different thing to see it on a headstone. He had always been Dabi to you. The name he’d chosen for himself, the name he’d introduced himself to you when you met him and the name that now felt painful to even think about.

You’d brought flowers, and as you placed them next to the headstone, you heard the pitter patter of feet getting closer. It was probably an animal of some sort, the footsteps were so light. As you turned to look, you saw it was white cat with strikingly blue eyes.

You almost started crying again, just almost. It was like a cat version of Dabi, who would not have appreciated the thought at all.

The little thing was just staring at you with a grumpy look on its furry face. If cats could feel displeased, this was the expression one would no doubt take on to show it

“Are you alone too?” you asked the cat as you knelt down to offer your hand to it.

The cat looked at your hand and then back into your eyes. It seemed to weigh its options for a moment, but decided to slowly walk towards you.

Dabi had never exactly been fond of animals, but the ones he had disliked the least had been cats. It’s not like he would stop to pet them on the street and he��d never wanted one, but he would let them keep him company if one happened to come along.

The cat pushed its head into the palm of your hand and started purring. You scratched under its chin and the cat started looking a little less displeased than before.

“I miss him so much” you sniffled, still petting the cat.

The cat opened its eyes to look at you after you spoke. It still looked grumpy, but also somewhat understanding, like it knew what you were going through. You petted its head before deciding to leave. You couldn’t linger, you couldn’t be seen there.

“I need to go now buddy, you should go home too” you said as you stood up and started walking away.

The cat yowled very loudly as you turned your back to it, and when you looked back, it was walking towards you, like it wanted to follow you. You took a few more steps and the cat protested again, now walking next to you.

“You’re a loud little fella” you gave the cat a small smile.

The whole way home, the cat walked next to you, hissing at every passerby who walked too close to you. It also kept meowing, demanding your attention constantly.

When you got to the door of your apartment, the cat just waltzed in and made its way to your couch. It curled up on the corner of your couch and closed its eyes.

You missed him so much, you really did. You knew the grief wasn’t going to go away for a while, but maybe your tiny roommate would give you something else to think about.

That night you fell asleep with the cat next to you on the bed. Some of the warmth that you’d lost since Dabi’s passing, seemed to have been brought back by your little friend. You missed him, so, so much, and while you knew you were always going to miss him, the pain wouldn’t last forever.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi #bnha dabi #mha dabi #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha angst #mha angst #comfort #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #death tw

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cambria-writes · 1 year

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happy holidays! this is arguably a little late but i’ve had a rough go of it these past few days so i only just finished this tonight lol. Ii insist that i’m not late because we’re still in 2022 and the new year hasn’t hit yet!

anyways this is just a relatively short fluffy feel-good thing because i wanted to feel warm and fuzzy. so it’s absolutely self-indulgent.

word count: 3,229 warnings: swearing, it’s christmas eve and that’s important so that should probably be a warning, no y/n, no mention of gender but ravenloft reader is AFAB, minor ravenloft spoilers if you squint

for reference, this scene (with a bonus crown) is what the reader would’ve drawn.

and for the record, since it was mentioned on ao3, i'm very well aware it shouldn't have been a perception check! ravenloft!reader was never written with the intention of making them a tabletop rpg wiz, they just know enough to get by and follow along if they're sitting in on a game.

𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

When the phone rang, you didn’t even greet the speaker. You immediately answered with ‘what do you want you fucking menace’ because there’s really only one person who’d call you near midnight like a heathen.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

You snort and wedge the phone between your chin and shoulder and sit back down at your dining table to keep sketching.

“Dunno. Like, all of them?”

“Dude that’s the epitome of unhelpful,” Eddie deadpans, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Right, well like, is there any context to this? Cause you should know I don’t have a favourite colour,” you reply, frowning and erasing a small portion before swiping the eraser shredding away.

“Come on,” Eddie whines, and you can practically see him throwing his head back in annoyance. “Not even one? Like, something that just always makes you happy when you see it?”

You hum for a second and put your pencil down. “I guess maybe black? I—“

“Nah, nuh uh. Boring as hell.”

“Rude, what—“

“Black’s not even a colour, that’s what you constantly say!”

You scoff and pick your pencil back up, switching the phone to the other shoulder.

“Did you seriously just call me in the middle of the night to bitch at me for not having a preferred perceptible wavelength of light?”

There’s an unusually long silence on the other end of the line. You frown again and pull the handset away and follow the coiled line. Confused but satisfied that it hadn’t somehow gotten unplugged from the cradle on the wall, you wedge it back where it was.

“Ed? You good?”

“Yeah, no. Yeah, sorry, just thinking.”

“Jesus, don’t burn yourself out there bud.”

“Oh fuck off.”

The rest of the phone call is relatively short, and colours aren’t mentioned again by the time you hang up. You don’t go to bed until nearly two in the morning, and by then you’re content with having gotten down the main lines of your portrait.

The snowstorm that rolled in on the 23rd was entirely unexpected but wholly welcomed. You were scheduled to work on the 24th, but with the state of the roads and the fact that nearly half of Hawkins was running off of generators, you were graciously allowed to stay home until the new year. And given that this is your first Christmas in your new home, you were more than happy to hunker down and, ha, weather it out.

You’d had plans, sure; Harrington had already made sure everyone knew to show up at his place on the 24th, your parents had been expecting you on Christmas morning and the rest of the day would have been spent going around to see extended family. And though the thought of not being able to fulfill your annual Christmas traditions did dampen your mood, just thinking about the astronomical amount of energy you’d save made it a bit more palatable.

If the same thing were to happen next year, though, you might cry.

You’d already called Steve to let him know you were staying home. Pleasantly surprised, he’d admitted he’d had a whole speech prepared about how he’s have The Swarm tear you a new one if you even dared thinking about touching your car keys. (Which would have been an effective threat, honestly. You really had no interest in giving Dustin a reason to get uppity at you, and you definitely didn’t want to have to deal with Max’s ire. Girl held grudges like you did trauma.)

Your parents were only slightly less understanding, with your mother trying to insist that your father could come pick you up. A little resistance put that all to rest, though, and with a promise to call on Christmas morning, that was dealt with as well.

You’d just settled down on your couch, swaddled in the fluffy blanket you’d gotten from Eddie the year before, mug of hot chocolate held in both hands for warmth, when the doorbell rang. Confused, you look at the time—just after dinner on Christmas Eve—and sigh before heaving yourself off the couch to buzzer by the door. You hesitate for a second before pressing the button to let the mysterious visitor in. You’re already on your way back to your couch, having assumed it was just a neighbour who’d locked themselves out again, when you hear heavy footsteps outside your door.

You quietly walk back up and carefully lean forward to look through the peephole.

“What the…” you mutter, leaning back, nearly jumping out of your skin when the knocking finally comes. You quickly unlatch the chain and unlock the deadbolt before pulling the door open. “Ed, what the fuck—“

“Merry Christmas,” Eddie blurts out, thrusting a box out at you, though it really sounded more like ‘murr cr’sms’.

“Merry Christmas to you too but Jesus come inside!” You pull Eddie through the door by his arm, quickly shutting the door behind you and getting started patting the snow off of him. “The hell did you do, walk here? You look like a damn yeti!”

“Y-yeah I kind-kind of d-did.”

You pause in your patting before grabbing Eddie’s arm again and turning him around to face you. You ‘reabout to ask if he was serious, but a quick glance at his face—reddened cheeks and nose, frosted lashes, dry lips—tells you he has, in fact, told you the truth.

“Fuck me, okay,” you whisper, before shaking your head and getting a move on. “Stay there and take your boots and coat off and then get your ass on that couch, I’m making you coffee.”

You don’t hear any complaints. And though normally you would’ve been glad for the silence, even perhaps proud to have shut him up, Eddie’s silence is, once again, unsettling. And this time you’re pretty sure it’s not because he’s thinking, and most likely because he’s borderline hypothermic.

You try to be quick; you grab that one pair of sweatpants Eddie leant you when you got splashed by a car outside of the arcade. That one metallica shirt you borrowed one time when one Friday movie night turned into an impromptu sleepover. You make your way back to the living room, where thankfully Eddie’s listened to you, and has made himself at home swaddled in the blanket you’d left on the couch. You throw a quick glance to the front door, where his jacket and boots are slowly leaving a growing puddle of snow water.

You definitely need to get a welcome mat or something if this is going to keep happening.

Your first instinct is to chuck the clothes at Eddie’s head. What you would usually do. But it’s Christmas eve, there’s a god damn storm outside and this maniac walked to your place. For some reason. You feel like you owe him to be nicer than you usually would be. Call it the ghost of Christmas conscience.

“Here,” you say quietly, holding out the sloppily folded shirt and sweats. “You can change in here. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Eddie mutters a very stuttery thanks and takes the clothes from you. You pause for a second to see what’s on the TV—seems like A Christmas Story is about halfway through—before hastily turning away when you see Ed starting to lift his shirt over his head.

Coffee, right. You said you’d make coffee.

You’re being so normal about this, it’s absolutely fine. You’re totally fine.

By the time you return to the couch in the living room, Eddie’s clothes are exceptionally neatly folded on your coffee table and he’s even more huddled up in your blanket than he had been before. You place his mug of coffee in his waiting hands and have to bite back shocked laughter when, even outstretched, underneath the blanket, he looks like a frozen T-rex.

“Alright,” you huff out when you finally take your seat on the other end of the couch. “You wanna tell me what’s in that box that was so important that you felt you had to walk here in a storm?”

Eddie sputters in his coffee a bit. When he brings the mug back down, he does look a little sheepish.

“Yeah, y’know it sounds pretty stupid when you say it like that.”

You nod and take a sip of your own coffee. “M’hm. That’s cause risking hypothermia to deliver a gift that very well could’ve waited until the storm passed is pretty stupid. No offense.”

Despite your disclaimer and your attempt to sound light about it, Eddie lapses into silence, again.

“Okay, you keep going quiet, is there something—“

“I didn’t want you to be alone.”

You stop yourself, mouth agape. You bring your coffee mug back up to your lips to try and shake off the surprise.

“I—okay. What, uh, what about Wayne?”

Eddie gestures vaguely under the blanket, and you assume he’s waving the issue of. “He’s with the Hendersons.”

“Oh. That’s…”

“Dustin asked me to go. I said no.”

You frown. “In favour of walking though the snow to get to me?”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie starts, but he doesn’t continue until he takes another long sip from the coffee mug. “Walking wasn’t the plan. Van broke down halfway here.”

“Oh thank god,” you sigh, leaning back into the arm of the couch and pulling your legs up and under you. “I literally thought you walked from your place!”

“God, never,” Eddie laughs, pulling his own feet up on the couch to sit cross-legged. “But I was halfway here and there’s no power at the trailer, so.”

You hum and nod, but otherwise keep your silence. And you both stay like that for a few minutes. And while you’re taking the time to try and bring your BPM down to something a nurse might not scream about, Eddie seems to be appreciating the warmth that you’ve thrown at him.

“So,” you say after a while, clearing your throat and putting your mostly empty mug on the coffee table. “What’s in the box?”

Eddie grins and puts his own mug down. The blanket falls away from his shoulders when he reaches toward to grab said box, and he turns it around in his hands before passing it over to you.

“Wait,” you rush to say, just as he opens his mouth. “Shit, wait, I have,” you trail off, and nearly jump over the back of the couch to run to your room. You quickly snatch the gift bag you’d left on your dresser and run back to the living room, nearly tripping over your own feet. You throw yourself back down onto the couch and shove the bag towards Eddie.

“What—“

“Gift for a gift,” you explain shortly, a little out of breath.

Eddie laughs lightly but takes the gift bag from you, and you eagerly snatch the box from his hands. You’re about to start tearing into the tacky Santa-print wrapping paper, but glance up to make sure it’s okay. Eddie chuckles and nods and motions for you to go ahead.

You make quick work of the paper and nearly tear the top off the box before turning it over in your hand and letting its content drop into your palm.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, turning over the giant cut glass piece in your hand. You hold it up to the do lamplight, and it looks like it’s shimmering from the inside. Every which way you turn it, it’s like each facet is a different colour that reveals itself to you with each new angle.

You don’t miss the fact that there are nineteen carefully carved and painted numbers on each face, and the last one has a little flame where the 20 normally would have been.

You look up to thank Eddie, throat a little tight, but you nearly choke on your own tongue when you see his expression.

He’s holding your gifted frame in his hands like it might break if he holds it too tightly. You can’t really understand the expression on his face, and the more time he spends staring unblinkingly at it, the more unsure you feel.

“I, uh, is it… do you not like it?”

Eddie slowly shakes his head before lifting his eyes up to you. He tries to start a few different sentences before clearing his throat.

“Is this—this is really what you see?”

You let your hands fall into your lap and nervously turn the massive D20 around in them and nod.

“Yeah, I mean. The crown might be a bit much,” you chuckle lightly, looking up and away towards the TV. “But yeah. You look really, uh. You look happy, when you’re DMing for the kids. Really cool. Thought you should be able to, I dunno. See it for yourself.”

When you do muster the courage to turn to look back to Eddie, he still has that absolutely confusing look on your face. You lift the heavy dice in one hand and wave it around a bit.

“This is why you asked for my favourite colour, huh?”

Eddie blinks a bit owlishly at first, but laughs and shakes his head. Slowly, carefully, he puts your gifted portrait on top of his folded clothes. Leans forward to pluck the dice from your hand and gently put it down on the coffee table next to your mug.

“Ed, what’s wr—“

You inhale the rest of your question when Eddie reaches out a hand to grab and pull at one of your ankles. You screw your eyes shut when your head meets the couch cushion below your with a soft ‘thump’. And when you open your eyes, Eddie’s hovering over you, hands braced on the couch arm just above your head. You swallow thickly and promptly forget to breathe for a second.

The end credit music for A Christmas Story feels like it’s playing from miles away.

“You good?” Eddie asks, quietly, and all you can do is nod. “You sure?”

“Yeah, uh huh. Fine,” you whisper, holding your hands close to your chest. Close your eyes when he leans in to rest his forehead against yours. “Why did you really come over?” You whisper, hesitantly uncurling a hand to place it on his chest.

“Missed you.”

“You see me almost every day.”

“Worried about you.”

You snort and lightly slap at his chest. “Bullshit. I own more knives than you do guitar picks.”

Eddie exhales sharply before pulling back a bit. When you open your eyes, you almost want to hide from the tenderness you see in his.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, turning your head to the side to watch the TV turns from black to blue, now that the tape’s over.

“Like what?” Eddie asks, and you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice when he nuzzles at your neck.

You grunt. “Like, I don’t know. Like you—like…”

“Like you’re the only person I’d drive and walk through a snow storm to see?”

You hum but keep your head resolutely turned away. Shiver when you can feel his lips ghosting against your cheek.

“Like you’re in love with me,” you mutter quietly, screwing your eyes shut.

Eddie slowly peels a hand away from the arm of the couch to turn your head to look at him. You still avert your eyes. He brushes the hair away from your face instead.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he says, almost whines, tilting his head to try to catch your eyes. “You’re smarter than me, you’re not that dumb.”

You huff and cross your arms and finally look up at Eddie. There was some kind of combative quip on the tip of your tongue but it dies there as soon as the look on his face properly registers.

“You’re not fucking around,” you say frowning.

“I’m not fucking around.” Eddie sighs and moves up to kneel on the couch, both knees boxing in your legs. You move up on your elbows and scoot up a bit to lean your back against the arm of the couch.

“Since when do you—“

“Dude, you literally saved me from a swarm of hell bats, somehow managed to team up with a super powered teenage girl to save the world, still don’t think I’m an absolute coward and show up at my doorstep if I call you when I can’t sleep,” Eddie lists off, starting to wave down at your a bit frantically. “And you actually listen to my shitty garage band music!”

“It’s not shitty!”

“You’re proving my damn point, woman!” Ed shouts, swatting your hand away when you go to slap his chest again. “Merry fucking Christmas, I’m in love with you!”

You let yourself slide back down to lie on the couch and laugh when you throw an arm over your face.

“The fuck, this isn’t funny!” Eddie whines, trying to slap your arms away from your face. “This is serious!”

You choke your laughter down enough to say, “Roll for perception.”

“Excuse me?” Eddie squawks, indignantly, pausing his assault on your arms. You lower them just enough to be able to peek at him.

“You heard me, roll for perception.”

Eddie scoffs but turns to grab the massive dichroic dice from the table and gently rolls it along your carpeted floor.

“Huh. 18. Do I get to add my wisdom modifier to that?”

Though you bring your arms down from your face, you still cover it with your hands.

“You’re the only name and phone number I keep in my address book,” you start quietly, biting down on your lips before continuing. “That portrait of you isn’t the first one I’ve ever bothered trying to do. The photo of us Max took in the hospital is the only one I have framed. I hate cashews.”

“But you keep a tin of cashews in the cupboard on top of the f… fridge…”

You nod and part your fingers to catch a glimpse of Eddie. He sighs before shouting and shaking his head.

“Ed, what the—“

“Why are we so stupid complicated!” He shouts again, but it peters out into laughter. “Jesus, why can’t we just say shit like normal people?”

“We hate normal people,” you deadpan, slowly letting your hands slide down your face. “So, uh,” you start, curling your fingers under your chin. “Merry, uh, Merry fucking Christmas, I lo—I love you too?”

Eddie closes his eyes and tilts his head back to sigh like you’ve just given him a glass of water after spending weeks in the desert.

You move to half sit up on your elbows again.

“Hey, you—“

“Does this mean I can kiss you now and you’re not going to think I’m just doing it because it’s the holidays and there was mistletoe over your door?”

You blink for a second and pull yourself up on the arm of the couch and twist around to look at your door. Huh. Sure as shit, there it is.

“Oh. Mrs H must’ve put that up when she came over,” you say nervously, but when you turn around you’re shocked, both because of the still-freezing hand that comes up to your jaw and the lips that are pressed almost chastely against yours.

“God bless Mrs H,” Eddie whispers, and your laughter is a quick huff before you loop your arms around his neck to pull him down against you for another kiss.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #holiday fic #christmas fi #fluff #no sad feelings here #mentions of el dustin and max #Minor ravenloft spoilers if you squint #ravenloft #Christmas #holidays #christmas eve #roll for perception

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idgivemyeyesfor-mattmurdock · 1 year

Note

Hey, I have a Matt x Fem.reader request.

After a visit to St. Agnes you gush about the kids you spent the day with and how nice it would be to have a child. Matt wants to start a family with her.

I love Matt as a dad how he takes care of his partner and is sweet with kids

A/N: OMG! I absolutely love this one<3 it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Fun fact— so I spent about a day and half brainstorming this requests bc I had too many ideas for just one, one-shot and THEN i read it again today and realized I completely read the request wrong! (Correct me if I’m wrong, but “St.Agnes” is the church is NY? thats how i’ve written it but if its an actual place just lmk lol)

requests pt1: TAKING REQUESTS!

matt murdock X fem!reader

warnings: literally if you are allergic to fluff i do not recommend this fan fiction. it triggers the butterflies in your stomach<3

A/N: my first request! give me some feedback and maybe what you guys want to see hehe i’m open to anything

｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

Sunday mornings for Matt and you were always one of your favorites. Sure, after Matt coming back from dare-deviling was always interesting and… passionate in some sort of way, or you and Matt going out after work, or seeing his face brighten when you would visit him at the office. Those were all times that you’d probably add in the ‘top ten moments’ with my boyfriend. But, putting all of those moments aside; Sunday mornings were angelic.

You two could wake up, have coffee and sit down in the couch of his living room— well, by the time you two sat on the couch Matt would’ve already been bolted with energy by just inhaling the caffeine particles from the air. But you’d make him have the coffee anyways because in an hour he’d complain about his headache and you’d have to come to the rescue with some sort of form of caffeine.

After, you’d get ready, dab some makeup on your face, and tie your hair into a messy bun and slip on a necklace of a golden around your neck, which Matt had given you as an anniversary present once.

You would help Matt slip his tie on, and fix his hair, just in case he messed something up. Then after, you two would head off to church.

Naturally, the two of you would leave about thirty minutes before the service started, but today was different because you were asked to help out with Sunday school, so the two of you headed to the church earlier.

Matt enjoyed you getting involved with church, because he wasn’t one to do it. Sure, if Father Lanthom asked him to read a bible verse during the service he would, but only if Father Lanthom asked. You just said yes to everything, even if you only that the animals went to the ark two by two.

You were nervous giving the Sunday school lesson, Though Matt enjoyed hearing you passionately talk about the bible stories. He knew you didnt know much, hell you asked him if he could explain why the animals had to go in two by two! You nearly fumbled every word— but it was cute to hear you dramatize the stories with the kids. You made thundering sounds, and cow noises to the kids, to which all of them laughed but they also learned.

he enjoyed hearing you be a charchter to the kids but also guide them through the story. You caringly walked them through how they could learn from the story. You broke down a’ dehumanizing story like, ‘Noahs Ark’ so that itty bitty kids could understand it, and they did.

While all the mothers clapped as you finished, Matt passed you from the end of the room an easy smile.

His heart melted when he heard all the kids run up to you after the lesson, little kids asked you things like, “Miss y/l/n! do the cow noise again!”, “Miss y/l/n what happens next?!” you tried to answer their questions without embarrassing yourself, but well, you did.

After church finished, you and Matt were arm and arm when coming out of St.Agnes, though as you two stepping down the last step, a mother came after you asking if you could babysit her daughter during the week, to which you accepted with open arms. you didn’t know what to do, how to do it but she would be in apartment 6A on Wednesday night.

Your hand gripped tighter around Matts arm as his arms went down your waist, a cheeky grin caressed your face as you thought about the kids and how happy they all looked.

“What is it?” asked Matt with a smile, “You haven’t been this happy in a while”

“Actually…” you said as you turned you face to his, eyeing his red frames “I can recall a couple of times I was this happy— last night actually”

“Oh really?” asked Matt with a toothy grin, “But not this type of happy,” said Matt as you two went up the stairs to his apartment.

“No, not this type of happy” you replied.

“Its just—“ you said as the two of you came to a halt at the front of his apartment door, “I dont know, I guess I haven’t really hung around kids? I mean, my cousins of course but its been a while since I’ve seen them, and today was just like a reminder how a bunch of little kids who know only of dinosaurs and pumpkins— I’m not saying I forgot that kids existed, I guess—” you two walked into the apartment, “I just forgot what it meant to be one?”

Matt placed his cane down by the door as you continued to walk and talk, “I don’t know, just— just remind me to switch professions and to become a preschool teacher.”

You flopped on the couch, kicking your heels off as your cold feet touched the warm leather, you saw Matt come into your peripherals, already he was slipping his tie off, he said, “angel, I dont think you have to become a preschool teacher to be with kids.”

He gave that weird toothy grin that also insinuated something else. He had a weird way of speaking metaphorically. “Matt?”

He came closer to you, sitting by you, you then placed your head down on his lap, as he said, “All I’m saying,” said matt as his hands swooped your hair away from your face, “hearing you today with the kids, talking about the kids, you with the kids, it just made me realize that you’d be a great mom.”

Your jaw loosened, heart beat raced. Kids with Matt? You a mom? you’re not a mom, or a mom type.

You’d thought about it, you’d seen him with babies in the office when mothers were overwhelmed with work, he was the first to offer to hold their baby for them, or distract their kids while the mother signed papers or made phone calls. Seeing that always made your heart race and the fictional scenarios is your head have more wiggle room.

He cocked his head downwards, your hands going up his firm jaw, you asked with a solemn whisper, “Matty, do you want kids?”

his cheeks turned crimson as his hands went down your cheeks, “…maybe”

“Maybe?” you asked with a continuous grin. His hands smoothed your hair down as he replied, “Whatever you want. if you want kids we’ll have kids, if you don’t want kids we won’t.”

“you want kids with me?” Okay that was dumb. So maybe you were delilusional. Its just, kids, a family? he wanted that with you? sure the two of you were serious, and it would be any day that Matt would be proposing to you, but hearing it come out of his pouted lips— your heart nearly glistened.

“With who else?” asked Matt with a sarcastic grin, “I don’t know,” you responded, “With me? are you sure you want a kid with me— i’m crazy!”

“y/n…” said Matt with a purr.

for a second the thought registered in your mind, as you adjusted you head, “Okay okay, that was a bit much but, with me? you want to share a mini matt murdock or y/n murdock with me?”

“yes” he said as your hands went down his neck, “if i have to say it a thousand times, i will. Sweetheart, if i’m going to have kids its going to be with you.”

your demeanor swapped as you saw how deep he took this. he just didn’t want kids, he wants them with you. he’d thought about it, just hadn’t mentioned it to not ruffle your feathers. heard your heartbeat warm up, you said in a low tone as your fingers scratched his beck, “it would be nice.” you smiled, “us, parents.”

“baby murdock…” mummered Matt.

“has a nice ring to it, doesnt it?” you responded as matt slowly took his glasses off.

Silenty you chuckled as you thought about Matts admirable qualities getting put into a single being.

“what are you laughing at?” asked Matt.

“teenage murdock….”

“oh…” said Matt with a sigh.

“boyfriends, girlfriends, shit you’re gonna freak beat the person up at night.”

“hell yea I am.” said Matt, “they better not break their heart.”

You smiled as the scenario popped into your head. Your child gets broken up, with so, you talking to your child and then matt flying out of the window to beat that person.

“see, your gonna be a great dad hun”

“we’ll see.” said Matt, “we have to make a kid first though”

“very true” you responded with a smile, “but, I’m pretty sure we got that part down.”

#mattmurdockfanfic #matt murdock x reader #ao3 marvel #matt murdock fic #please dont come at me #better than the movies #taking requests #mattmurdocksoft #fluff #mattfluff #daredevil

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drabbles-mc · 2 months

Text

Once in Twenty Lifetimes

Takeshi Kovacs x Kristin Ortega

Written for the 2024 Candy Hearts Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking/alcohol, light angst, slight steam

Summary: She had spent so much of her life making sure that she blended in, and she'd been successful at it the way she'd been taught. Now, though, it was all going to hang in the balance when the one other person left that knew who she really was, was getting spun back up. And of course he was getting spun up into the sleeve of her partner. (Envoy!Kristin AU)

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: i sat down thinking i was just gonna write a little something something for this au idea as a treat for the exchange but then i got super into it and fuckin carried away lmao. oh well! i had a good time! 😂

Altered Carbon Taglist: @garbinge @destinedtobeloved @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

“Takeshi Kovacs. Look me up,” he offered the statement to her with a smirk. It didn’t quite pass for charming, per se, although it probably wasn’t his intention anyway. From what she remembered, which was everything of their stint running parallel to each other thanks to Envoy’s total recall, that hadn’t ever really been his strong suit.

Plus she wasn’t in any mood to be charmed in that moment.

There were a million and one reasons that she shouldn’t have gone to seek him out. There were endless layers to the problems it could potentially cause. Bancroft selling out Ryker’s sleeve like a hand-me-down from an older sibling was bad enough, but putting Takeshi Kovacs into it? It brought the situation out of the realm of infuriating and into one of being unbelievable. Bancroft wheeling and dealing Ryker’s suit was a personal vendetta. Tak’s stack being put into it felt like a cosmic one. He should’ve been dead by now anyway. Same way she should’ve been, but a lot goes on in two hundred and fifty years, and clearly real death didn’t want anything to do with either of them just yet.

He said it, though. He confirmed it. She’d heard the rumors beforehand and there was an intuitive twist in her gut that told her there was some substance to them, but she didn’t want to believe it. He was looking her in the eyes and telling her his name and she still didn’t want to believe it.

“You can’t be who you say you are,” she said, partially to keep playing her assigned role but partially because she simply didn’t want to believe that it was really him. “All the Envoys died.” A lie. One that she would be living proof of even if Tak wasn’t.

“All except one,” he retorted easily.

Asshole. Another thing about him that had apparently stayed consistent across the centuries. What was it that he said to her back then? Every sleeve, every time? He wasn’t wrong about that at least. He was wrong about everything else, though. All except one? He’d been out of storage for five minutes and already felt comfortable making sweeping, definitive statements like that. Sleeve-jumping was a skillset they’d all developed, but still. That was a long time to stay down. And to turn up on a planet you’d never been to before? All that and over two centuries down and maybe she would’ve come off ice making the same grave mistakes. Maybe she could make his work in her favor. She just had to make sure that she could keep Takeshi and Elias separate.

She was so busy thinking about all of that, memories going in a relentless playback against the inside of her skull, that she almost didn’t realize that she was still talking with Miriam Bancroft. That part of her was on auto-pilot, or at least it was until she had to get herself the fuck out of there before she landed herself in even deeper hot water.

“Yeah, there’s your kid, there’s your car, and there’s your…” she thought on it for a moment, trying to pick something that felt honest to her feelings in the moment but would still feel like something Police Officer Kristin Ortega would say, not the woman she was back when Takeshi really knew her, “new pet terrorist. You’re welcome,” she added, mostly for good measure, but it also felt good to say it.

“The terrorist can hear you,” he spoke, just barely turning his head to follow her as she continued to walk, but not committing enough to the act to turn his whole body. “I’m standing right here.”

“Yeah, good,” she stared up at him, waiting for him to meet her eyeline, “’cause we’re not done, you and me.”

There was a moment when he was looking down into her eyes that she thought maybe he saw it. Maybe he saw the flicker of the person that he knew once, the person that she was back then. Dozens of sleeves ago but it was still her in most of the ways that mattered. Most, not all. He looked back and forth between her eyes and she waited to see recognition flicker in them. He’d always had that edge to him, after all. It got drilled into all of them during their training but there was something about the way that Takeshi was wired before he even became part of the Envoy core that made him take to it faster and better than most. She envied him for it back then, but maybe now they were more on the same playing field. Or they would be until he got his full footing.

Everyone thought they knew why it bothered her, but still they asked. They were probably hoping for some other nuggets of information, more vitriol about Bancroft and the rest of the meths maybe since she had such an outspoken issue with the lot of them. The rest of the precinct saw her anger and they assumed that it was all because of Ryker. Like she was a woman so simple as that. Elias was part of her frustration with this scenario of course, but the puzzle was so much more complicated than that. It was difficult in ways that she simply couldn’t risk trying to explain to any of them. All of the reasons that she feared Tak and the potential fall-out of him being taken off-stack, were all the same reasons that the rest of the precinct would no longer trust her if they found out the truth about her past.

She’d been born at just the right time, in her opinion. Born late enough to reap all the benefits of a stack, but early enough so that she could manipulate it easily to her benefit when she had needed to most. Data infiltration and manipulation was still easy when you knew the right people and had the right tools, but back then it had been so much easier. It also didn’t hurt that Envoys learned to be on the cusp of it all anyway. All of that was why she was able to wipe her entire past off the record, rewrite it the way that she had wanted to. She created someone who was just enough of a force that she wouldn’t have to water herself down too much, but it was dialed back enough to not get her put on a fucking watchlist. Or even worse, get her thrown into storage off the principle off it. They were all supposed to be masters of disguise, and it had served her well in the aftermath.

She sat in the precinct trying to play over every possible scenario in her head. She wanted to be able to see every possible outcome. If the two of them spent enough time running circles around each other, he was bound to figure it out, right? Figure her out? Eventually the fog would dissipate and he would see her. He’d see past the sleeve. There was no certainty for her in what she thought his reaction to it was going to be if and when that happened. Maybe she could get him thrown back in storage before she had to worry about it. Get Ryker back in his own sleeve. He was so much less of a problem on that front—all that time spent being partners and he still hadn’t even skated close to the chasm of truths that separated them. She hoped it stayed that way—it kept life simpler for the both of them.

Although if Takeshi got his sleeve torn to shreds in the midst of whatever this new deal with Bancroft was, she supposed that none of it would really matter for Elias anyway. What a mess.

She wasn’t surprised, to say the least, when she found him later, strung out and stumbling through the streets. It seemed pretty on-par for Tak—that specific brand of recklessness. For so many years she watched him equate the word Envoy with invincible even though they all knew that it wasn’t the case. It didn’t help that he wasn’t exactly known for his drive for self-preservation. Regardless, the drugs fell in alignment with the Tak she once knew, and she also knew that Ryker’s sleeve would soak them up like a sponge put into a pot of water. A disaster of a marriage.

“Bancroft spent all that money on a nice sleeve for you, and this is what you’re doing with it?” she asked sarcastically as she walked up behind him.

He turned around to face her, a stumble in his step that he was too far gone to even try and hide. “Didn’t think you’d give a fuck about me wasting Bancroft’s money.” He paused, eyes narrowing as his delayed processing caught up with the situation. “You’re following me.”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “That’s what police do to psycho-terrorists.”

“Come on, you cannot call me that.”

He was stoned out of his mind on, well, it could’ve been just about anything. Or a combination of things. The longer that Kristin looked at him, the more she was certain that she could throw a dart at a board and it would probably land on something that he’d ingested since the last time she saw him. That wasn’t the point. The point was that he was stoned out of his mind and the reason that he was telling her that she couldn’t call him that was because he was being a petulant child, not because by calling him that she would be lumping herself into the exact same group. She knew that it wasn’t nearly that deep and yet she still found herself fighting the urge to flinch at the layers to the comment. Even if she hadn’t caught the physical reaction in time, she wondered if he would’ve even caught it with the state that he was in.

He wasn’t really paying her any mind as he tried to continue on his way. It was hard for him to come off as determined when he couldn’t think straight and he was in a place that he hadn’t ever been before. With each step she took to keep her stride with him, she was trying to separate out all the files in her head. She was trying to keep two neat piles, or even two messy piles if she was being honest with herself: one pile for Elias, and one pile for Takeshi.

She was just as much Envoy as Takeshi was—she could compartmentalize just fine for the most part. But it wasn’t often that she ran into the issue that she was currently facing, one that had so much overlap between sleeve and stack. She’d burned through so many sleeves back then, and continued to go through them albeit at a much slower rate even when she got out of the core. She’d watched others do it too, Envoys and civilians alike. But this wasn’t just putting someone’s stack into a new sleeve and needing to adjust to the new face. This was a face that she knew, the stack that belonged to it still fully intact somewhere in storage, and someone completely different occupying the real estate in the meantime. Someone else that she knew. And it wasn’t as though either of the men who made up the Venn diagram in her head were known for being uncomplicated individuals on their own let alone when they were tethered to each other.

She tried to toe the line with him, anything to get more information out of him. The pendulum swung back and forth between banter and sniping comments. It wasn’t as though either of them had any lasting impact on him. The comments rolled right off—either because of the drugs or the Envoy conditioning, she wasn’t sure.

“What was the other one?” she asked rhetorically as she downed her drink. “Oh, yeah. Icepick. I liked that one.”

“Yeah, that was a good one.” He looked over at her, a hoodedness to his eyes that would’ve almost come off as flirtatious if he’d been sober. “You should call me Icepick.”

She rolled her eyes, using it as a tactic to avert her gaze. “I never called you that,” she muttered, half under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as if to get a better look at her.

She looked him square in the eyes. “I said I’m not fucking calling you that.” She said it with enough conviction to sell it.

Another smirk, paired with hazy, drug-addled eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

The more that they fired back and forth, the more she wondered if it was possible that she had really changed that much. Apparent assimilation was supposed to be one of the key tools in their toolbox as Envoys, sure. But it was also hard to believe that she had done it so effectively that she was flying completely under Takeshi’s radar. It wasn’t humility—that was never her strong suit the way that charm hadn’t ever been Tak’s. It just didn’t seem to fit. There were so many things that seemed off about the entire situation, but she couldn’t quite name them no matter how much information she tried to pull out of Takeshi about Bancroft, about anything he was willing to give her.

Then there was a sharp sting in the back of her mind as the thought reared its ugly head. He should remember me. Her face scrunched, action unmitigated as she tried to beat the impending spiral of thoughts into submission—she couldn’t afford to lose herself to that right now.

He was already up and making his way towards the door. “I’m going back to my hotel.”

His voice snapped her back to attention. Shooting up out of her seat, she followed him. “You can’t really be staying in that fucking AI hotel.” She shook her head. “They’re like crazy ex-girlfriends, you know.”

He looked down at her as he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder. There was a smirk on his face, one that seemed slightly more intentional this time. “You know a lot about crazy ex-girlfriends, Ortega?”

She scoffed. “Probably not as much as you but—”

He cut her off, a shift in his tone, a seriousness that she could pick up on. “Give it a rest.”

She followed him clean out the door onto the sidewalk, trying not to let herself get discouraged by him ignoring her attempts to walk alongside him or, ideally, get in front of him to stop him. “Kovacs!” she called after him.

Without turning around, he waved at her over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Officer Ortega.”

She huffed, allowing herself to stop. She whispered loudly to no one other than herself, “Fuck me.”

Takeshi didn’t hide the surprise on his face when she showed up to the hotel later before anyone else in the police department managed to get there. He didn’t get the feeling that she had just been lurking outside the door. If that had been the case, the scenario wouldn’t have played out the way it did, gotten as out of hand as it did. Or maybe it would have—he had no idea how she operated. But she strode in confidently, despite the worry and frustration on her face. She looked around and took in the state of the mess and Takeshi had no choice but to sit there and watch her do so.

“Couldn’t even make it twenty-four hours out of storage without killing someone?” she asked as she walked over to him, gun still clutched tightly in her hand even though it was pointed at the floor.

Poe tried to intervene on Takeshi’s behalf. “If it weren’t for—”

He didn’t want anyone coming to his defense, even when he could do with a little bit of assistance. “Waiting down the block for this to happen?”

She shook her head at him, finally holstering her gun once she was standing in front of him. “Might as well have been.” She looked around the destroyed lobby once more. “Had a feeling trouble was going to follow you.”

“Any trouble that would be following me,” he paused briefly as the red and blue lights of other responding police vehicles started to filter through the front windows and door of the hotel, “should’ve stopped being trouble a few centuries ago.”

She reached out and turned his face to get a better look at the damage, not hesitating to touch him, fingertips still drawn to his chin and cheek like it was still Ryker knocking around inside that sleeve. The tension that resulted from her touch, the momentary fighting against it, reminded her that it wasn’t, but it was too late to take it back.

“Seems like you might be enough of an asshole for it to follow you around for a couple hundred years, Kovacs.”

He grunted, pulling away from her touch, hating the way his sleeve wanted to lean into it despite how badly he was trying to recoil away. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck this was all about?”

“Thought you just told me,” he said, rising to his feet so he was towering over her once more.

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Can’t help it. Every sleeve, every—”

“Every time, yeah. Your consistency is admirable,” she snapped.

His eyes narrowed, chin dipping down so that he could study her face. “What—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his question. The other police officers came storming into the building, guns at the ready despite the fact that there was no more commotion coming out of the hotel. After all, it wasn’t as though there were other guests that were being disturbed. Once they all started taking stock of the situation, their guns disappeared back into their holsters as well. A few of them started peppering Takeshi with questions, although they didn’t seem as enraged about it all as Kristin had been. They stole his attention just long enough for Kristin to glean what she thought she needed from the scene and slip out without him noticing or being able to stop her.

Not only were Tak’s plans for the night effectively ruined by the men who stormed the hotel with every intention to kill him, now he also had Kristin’s words rattling around the inside of his skull like pinballs. She finished his sentence with no hesitation and what was bothering him the most was that he couldn’t say with absolute certainty if he said something while he was high out of his mind or not. He must’ve. There was no other way she would’ve known, no other reason. Or, at least, there would’ve been no other reason that felt at all feasible. The thought crossed his mind, but, no, there was no way that was possible. He’d had too many things happen to him too quickly after getting spun up again, that was all. Morning would come around and he’d had a perfectly good reason for all of it, one that didn’t make him feel insane.

The next time he saw her, she had the same air of confidence about her that she always did. He kept his expression neutral, not wanting her to know that he’d been turning her words over in his head ever since she’d spoken them. He tried to come off as impassive but he could feel the anticipation tightening in his chest, questions that he couldn’t ask and answers that he was in no position to get. He managed to keep his curiosity tamped down until he was dismissed by Bancroft’s lawyer, another situation that had more questions than answers.

He trailed Kristin out, taking no time at all to catch up to her. He was walking alongside her but he wasn’t looking at her. “Gonna need a couple minutes of your time, Lieutenant.”

She forced herself not to look at him either. “As much as I would love to give you a couple minutes of my time, Kovacs, I need to keep looking into who tried to kill you. You know, the thing that you asked me to do about two fucking minutes ago.”

He grabbed the side of her arm and pushed her into the next alleyway that they came across. She started to protest until she felt her back hit the brick wall behind her. He purposely invaded her space, bodies close but not quite touching. He looked down at her, not letting the anger in her eyes unnerve him.

She glared up at him. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Who are you?” he asked, voice low.

“What?”

“Who—”

“I fucking heard you.” She pushed him away and he gave in, not that she pushed with that much force but he figured maybe it would help get some answers. “You know who I am, Kovacs.”

“No, I don’t. But you seem to know an awful fucking lot about who I am.”

She could see it in his eyes that he was skirting dangerously close to the truth. He would’ve already gotten there if he hadn’t allowed himself to put up a barrier of thinking that there was such a thing as an impossible outcome. Apparently being on ice for a couple centuries dulled the don’t expect anything so that you’re prepared for everything part of their training. Too bad Quell wasn’t around to chastise him for it—he’d undoubtedly enjoy it a lot more coming from her.

“That’s because it’s my fucking job.” She side-stepped, glad that he didn’t make any move to stop her. “Which, I’m trying to go do so that maybe you won’t have another group of mercenaries coming after you.”

“Not gonna keep following me around just in case?” He followed her. “What if—”

“Just call the precinct like everyone else in Bay City,” she told him dismissively.

“Right,” he replied with a chuckle.

Even though he couldn’t see the annoyed look on her face, Kristin was certain that he knew it’s how she looked anyway. “You work your case, if that’s what you want to call it. And I’ll work mine.”

She felt the distance between them growing as he stopped but she kept walking on. He called after her, a smart remark about seeing her soon. He was right, of course. Until they put Takeshi back in storage there was no way that she was going to be able to just keep avoiding him, not with Ryker’s sleeve on the line.

While she knew that there was no getting out of seeing him again, she certainly didn’t expect to see him before the day was out. She definitely didn’t expect him to show up at her apartment door, banging on the dense metal of it like he was a cop with a warrant.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kovacs?” she asked, too tired to even sound properly annoyed.

“Found out some interesting news today,” he said, brushing past her and into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. He strode down the stairs, taking stock of the place as he went. “Some things that made the picture a whole lot fucking clearer on who you are and what the fuck you’ve been doing.”

Her blood ran cold for a moment. She went down the stairs slower than necessary, thinking maybe it was going to buy her some time. Tak was standing in the middle of the kitchen, palms flat against the top of the island as he leaned against it. His eyes kept darting around the room, taking as much of it in as possible, but they always came back to Kristin.

“I knew it,” he said with a shake of his head once she finally crossed the threshold into the kitchen. “I knew there had to be a reason you were so interested in all of this. And I was right.”

“Were you?” she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could.

“Yeah.” He let himself return to a fully upright position, taking the few small steps to collapse the distance between them. He stared down at her. “When were you gonna tell me that they spun me up into your boyfriend?”

“Ryker is not my boyf—”

“What the fuck, Ortega?”

“What would it have mattered, hm? What would it have changed?”

“Well it would sure fuckin’ explain why so many extra people have it out for me. Can’t imagine cops with records like Ryker’s are exactly known for having a lot of friends.”

“Like I said,” she grit out, “it didn’t matter—wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have cared about an Envoy running loose in your city if he wasn’t running around wearing your partner.”

He still hadn’t put those pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe finding out who his sleeve was, the relationship to her, maybe all of that was enough to sate his curiosity about why she was so invested in him. And sure, that was definitely a large part of it. The other part of it was going to make itself reckoned with sooner rather than later—Kristin could feel it deep in her gut. She could chalk it up to Envoy intuition but really at that point it was just common sense.

She paused those thoughts when remembered that she was in the middle of an argument. “That’s not true.”

“Wouldn’t be a priority of yours, though.”

“You don’t know that.”

He retreated farther back into the kitchen, rooting around to get his hands on something, anything that had alcohol in it. “So, what’s Ryker’s deal?” he asked, his head practically shoved into her fridge. “What makes him so special that you’ll run around the city to—”

“He’s my partner,” she said sharply. “It’s what you do for your partner.” She stepped so that she could lean back against the island. “Not that I’d expect you to understand that.”

“Why’s that?” he asked when he found a bottle of clear liquor on the counter. He opened it while he waited for her to answer, pulling a face when he wafted the scent of the alcohol. It’d still do the trick.

She couldn’t give her honest answer, one born from information about the people they were before. She watched him helplessly look through cupboards in an attempt to find a glass. She could’ve made it easier but she was getting a mildly twisted joy out of watching him go through the small struggle. “Being worried for someone else doesn’t seem like it’s your strong suit. Envoy compartmentalization, right?”

He finally found a glass, setting it down on the countertop with a surprising amount of care considering how tired and annoyed he was. He didn’t say anything as he proceeded to pour a hefty serving into it. Bringing the glass to his lips, he downed almost all of it in one go before setting the glass back down with a clatter, a scant amount of liquor still swirling at the bottom.

He let out a sharp exhale as the lingering burn from the alcohol in his throat subsided. “You don’t know anything.”

She wished she knew how to tell him just how wrong he was. Since she didn’t know just how to do that, she settled for, “You’re not as special as you think.”

He finished off what little was left in his glass, leaving it empty on the counter beside the bottle as he went back so that he was standing next to her. She was leaning with her back pressed against the island but he came and stood so that he was facing it again. Instead of placing his hands on top of it, he leaned so that his forearms rested there instead. He clasped his hands, staring at them instead of the countertop as he felt Kristin’s eyes studying him.

“Bet you didn’t talk like that to Ryker.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not him, so I guess it doesn’t matter, right?”

He turned and looked at her. “Make it sound like it’s so easy to separate it out.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Right.”

Despite the instinctive urge to make another snarky comment, he stayed silent. He unclasped his hands, letting his fingertips drum against the smooth surface of the island. It wasn’t a habit that was his own, just the sleeve’s reaction to nicotine withdrawal. He never personally cared for smoking, and if he thought that his stint in this sleeve was going to be a long-term one he would’ve thought about putting in the effort to quit. That just seemed like too much work for too little payoff at the moment.

Kristin heard the familiar tapping of his fingers before she turned to see it. She hated that Elias smoked, always chided him about it. And she knew that Tak’s draw to the nicotine was because of the sleeve, not because of any intrinsic desire. Because of that she was perfectly aware of the fact that she shouldn’t encourage him, but it almost felt like a freebie given the circumstances. She wouldn’t have to tell Elias—he’d never know if she didn’t say anything.

Without a word, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from the back of the top drawer of the island. Elias didn’t think she knew about it, not that it was any great hiding spot.

Takeshi looked quizzically back and forth between her and the pack of smokes. From the second he got spun up all she and everyone else had been doing was chastising him for smoking. It felt like a trick.

She gave the pack a slight shake. “If it’s offered, take it,” she said passively.

His eyes narrowed instantly, his entire body tensing. “What?”

“Take it,” she repeated, “before I change my mind.”

She watched the conflict on his face and chose not to say anything. If he had a question he could ask it, if he had a thought he could share it. But she was done trying to pull information out of him—Tak and Ryker. He was the one who showed up on her doorstep, after all.

“So when you said that I knew you,” he said as he reached and took the pack from her, fingers curling around it and the lighter pinned to the back of it, “you meant that the guy riding my sleeve before me knew you. That any reaction, pull or push, I felt about you had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Ryker.”

She watched him put a cigarette between his lips and spark it to life. She raised her eyebrows, partially because she was surprised by how much she enjoyed watching him do it, but also because she was surprised at how much work he was putting into finding the wrong answer.

Finally, she shrugged when his gaze landed back on her. She watched the smoke curl out from between his lips. “Something like that.”

“What was he like?”

Kristin ignored how he referred to Ryker in the past tense as she chuckled, wondering if he really had any interest in Elias at all or if he just wanted to try and glean something more about her by watching how she spoke about him. Regardless, she decided that she would indulge him in the smallest way possible. “You two would hate each other.” She knew what the follow-up question was going to be so she answered it before he could really ask. “You have the wrong things in common.”

He had an urge to try and get her to elaborate, but he stopped himself. Tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette, he tried to figure out what it was exactly that he really wanted to say to her. He could feel the energy rolling off her in waves. It wasn’t tension, not in the traditional sense. He could feel that there were layers of depth that he hadn’t worked his way into. She was keeping him out. He was stopping himself. He wondered how much of the blame could be put on her, how much of it on him, and how much of it was simply old sleeve memory complicating things for him.

“You must’ve really pissed off Bancroft to get him to do this,” he finally said, gesturing to himself with the hand that was holding the cigarette.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Suddenly the empty glass and nearly full bottle of liquor were looking much more inviting than they had been. “You don’t have a monopoly on pissing people off, Kovacs.”

“Stiff competition,” the rebuttal rolled off his tongue easily before he pulled another drag off his smoke.

“Enough years doing anything and you become a professional, right?”

“How many years is that?” he asked outright, forgoing subtlety because there didn’t seem to be much point to it anymore.

She looked over at him. “Enough.”

“Ortega…” he started and then trailed off. He was scratching at the walls of the truth, could hear it rattling around on the other side. He ground out the butt of his cigarette, funneling his frustration into the action before letting it drop from his fingertips.

“Takeshi.” It was only when she said his full name that she realized how long it’d been since she called him that. Using it to talk about him when he wasn’t around was much different than using it while talking to him. Centuries had passed since the last time she used it so casually with him.

He read it all over her face, too. He could see the way that it felt foreign and familiar all at once. It sounded familiar, too. There was something in the tones of the word, undercurrents in his own name that he recognized even if the voice was different. He stared at her intently, head tilting slightly in thought as he tried to look past what he could physically see. He heard her voice from the alley. “You know who I am.”

His eyes widened just slightly as the realization finally began to crash over him. When he spoke again, there was a certainty to his tone that hadn’t been there before. “Kristin.”

She’d been doing nothing but agonizing over what would happen when he realized who she really was, but now that she could see that he had, all she felt was relief. Her shoulders dropped with the lessening of the weight on them.

“That took you a little too long.” She peeled herself away from him, crossing to the counter where Takeshi had left his glass. She refilled it and drank from it herself. “Still got tunnel vision.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice was tight, but there was still a lingering sense of bewilderment to it.

“Well for one thing I didn’t think it was going to take you so fucking long to figure it out.” She poured more liquor into the glass. She let out a quick, quiet wince as the liquor burned down her throat again. “They don’t know.”

He didn’t need to ask her who they were, or what exactly it was they didn’t know. His time off-stack might have been limited this time around but he knew the danger that being known as an Envoy would put her in. “None of them?”

She shook her head, contemplating a third pour. “None of them.”

“Not even—”

“I said none of them.” The relief was starting to disappear, dread slowly starting to take its place, and she poured herself a third helping to cope.

“You think I’ll say something.” It wasn’t a question.

“I think that there are very few things that you have ever cared about, Tak. I know that Bancroft definitely isn’t on that fucking shortlist.” She paused. “I know that I’m not either—never was.”

She looked over at him and she saw the way that there was a flicker of hope in his eyes when she said that last part. He knew she was right, that even back then she was never someone he paid much mind to. His concern had always been Reileen, and then Quell. Apparently a couple hundred years on ice hadn’t dulled his devotion to the latter. Kristin had a feeling that she knew what he wanted to ask, but she was content to make him actually say it.

To her surprise, he didn’t ask anything. “You haven’t heard anything,” he stated.

She shook her head. “No. But I’ve never gone looking.” She could feel the tension in the room thicken at that. “It was a miracle that I made it out. I wasn’t going to waste that by—”

“It wouldn’t have been a waste.”

“Not to you,” she snapped. “You were Quell’s favorite—of fucking course you would’ve gone looking for her. I was just another Envoy. Dispensable. Part of what was offered.” She sighed, forcing herself not to pour another drink. “I managed to survive so I did what we do best. I blended in.”

“Kristin Ortega,” he said her name in its totality, exploring each letter of it with fresh eyes and ears now that he knew who she was.

“Not a far cry from before, no?”

He shook his head. “No.” There were so many things that he could have, and probably should have, asked her, but in that moment he didn’t care about any of it. He easily collapsed the distance so that he was beside her again. He looked at the way her hands were wrapped tightly around the edge of the counter. He copied her position, only his grip wasn’t vice-like the way that hers was. Their pinkies nearly touched. “If we’d been better friends back then, would you have said something?”

That got a scoff out of her that dissolved into a laugh. “There’s no lifetime where the two of us are friends, Kovacs.”

“Not even in this sleeve?” It was teasing, but not cruel.

She turned her head, still having to look up slightly to meet his eyes even though he was leaning onto the counter. “The sleeve was never the problem.”

“This is probably my best shot though, right?”

She smiled and it was genuine even through the exhaustion. Maybe all the liquor was catching up to her. “Probably.”

Neither of them moved. In the thick silence of the apartment, they could each hear the other breathing. They knew enough to know where it could so easily go. It wouldn’t be anywhere good, at least not long-term. But what did long-term even mean for them anymore? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. There was that unspoken mutual understanding, after all, that they were each looking for someone in the other that they weren’t ever going to find. He might’ve been wearing his sleeve but Takeshi was never going to be Elias. And Kristin might’ve lived through the same hardships and lived to tell the tale, she might’ve known the history and the fight, but she wasn’t ever going to be Quell. They looked at each other and saw the truth, but they were both still pining after delusions.

Tak’s hand moved a fraction of an inch, the movement smooth as it caused his hand to brush against hers. She let out a short breath and he could smell the alcohol on it. Her lips parted slightly, like she was going to say something. Maybe she was going to say it was a bad idea, maybe she was going to send him home. Whatever she had been planning to say, he saw it in real time as it fell by the wayside.

She pulled her hand away from his only to reach and place it on the back of his head instead, pulling him closer. His body moved of its own accord. Some of it was just the natural motions of things, but there was also the familiarity of his sleeve and hers, chemical reactions that were innate that he had no control over. For a moment he fought it on the principle of it all, but then he felt the hunger in her, every movement of her lips and tongue against his a taunt to get him to reciprocate in kind.

So he did, grabbing her and placing her up on the counter with ease. She looped her legs around his waist as his grip tightened on her sides. He leaned into her, bodies pressed as tightly together as they could be with the barrier of their clothes still between them. If he wanted to, he could chalk his eagerness up to too many years on ice, an abundance of hormones in a sleeve that had been in the tank, body mechanics operating outside of his control. He could’ve said any and all of those things and none of them would’ve been a lie, per se. But as his hand slid towards the button of her jeans, he knew that the full truth was much, much simpler than that—they were both just taking what was offered.

#altered carbon #altered carbon fanfiction #takeshi kovacs #kristin ortega #takeshi kovacs x kristin ortega #kristin ortega x takeshi kovacs #candyhearts exchange #candy hearts exchange 2024 #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 8 months

Text

Summer Fic Week 2023 - Day 6: Find Your Own Way Back Home

Pairing: Dmitri Antonov x Reader

Work Summary:

It's summertime, and Dmitri finally has a place of his own. When he goes to pick up his things from Hopper's place, he's not expecting to find you there, recently dumped and looking so pretty in a sundress.

Dmitri x Hopper's daughter!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1820

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Summer Fics Masterlist.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info.

Notes:

warnings for age gap, daddy kink, dbf!dmitri, reader is hopper's daughter, one of the nastiest things I've ever written No details are specified so reader could be an adopted daughter.

---

Summer was drawing to a close, and Dmitri couldn’t have been happier about that. He was sweating. Even though the A/C in his car was at full blast, he still felt like he was melting. As he pulled into Hopper’s driveway, the beaten up old Chevy he’d managed to get for pretty cheap protested. It seemed to hate the hot weather almost as much as he did.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and then got out of the car. Hopper had lent him a spare key, but he didn’t need it. The front door was unlocked.

That was strange. No one was supposed to be home.

“Hello?” he called out, stepping into the kitchen.

“Dmitri?”

He spun on his heel and almost lost his balance. He put his hand on his heart. “You scared the life out of me.” You were standing in the doorway to the living room, wearing a sundress that fell to just above your knees.

“Hey, you’re in my house. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Dmitri tried to avoid looking at your chest. It had been difficult to live here, with his only friend’s very pretty daughter wandering around in tight summer clothing. It had been half the impetus to move out. Most nights, he would have a cold shower before bed and try not to think about how pretty your tits would look with his cock between them.

“I am here to pick up the last of my things. Your father said there’d be no one home.”

You frowned, as if suddenly remembering something. “Right. Well, if you need me, I’ll be eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in the living room with all the blinds closed.”

“Wait,” he said, in spite of himself. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed. “I was supposed to be going out with my boyfriend today, but he dumped me last night. Said he thought he could do better than me, now that he’s got a fancy new job.”

“What a stupid boy,” he said. “You are way out of his league.” He had met your boyfriend a few times while he was living with you and Hopper. He had always disliked him. He was rude and ungrateful and clearly didn’t respect you.

“… Thanks, Dmitri.”

“I’m serious.” Dmitri didn’t know what had gotten into him. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the way that the cleavage of your sundress dipped so low that he could see your breasts rise and fall with every breath. He saw the frown on your pretty face and he thought he’d go to the ends of the earth to wipe it off. “You’re so beautiful, and smart, and funny. He was nothing.”

You nibbled on your lower lip. It was a habit that he found charming on you, although it probably would’ve been annoying on anyone else. It helped that you were so pretty.

“You really think so?”

“Of course, I do. If I were twenty years younger…” He trailed off, wondering where the line between friendly banter and him getting in trouble was, and realising that he’d probably already crossed it.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you wouldn’t have to be twenty years younger.”

His heart was racing. Did that mean what he thought it meant? He said your name like a warning, and watched the goosebumps stand up on your arms, despite the heat.

“You’re too cute for your own good, you know that?” He put a hand on your shoulder, in a gesture that could’ve been construed as friendly, but definitely wasn’t.

What was he doing? Hopper was going to kill him. Still, he couldn’t help but slide his hand further down the inside of your arm, letting the back of his hand brush against your breast. He felt you shiver.

“Dmitri?” You said his name breathlessly.

You turned to look at him with those big doe eyes of yours, and he had to fight to stop his erection from straining against his pants.

“Your boyfriend is an idiot,” he said in a low voice. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Oh yeah?”

This close, he towered over you. He cupped your breast through your dress, thumbing over your nipple. That drew a gasp from deep inside you.

“You going to give daddy a taste?” He nosed along your jawline, moustache tickling you.

You nodded shakily. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” His grip on your breast tightened.

“Yes, daddy.”

Without another word, he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder. You made an undignified squeak as he carried you up the stairs to your bedroom.

He kicked the door shut behind him and lowered you onto your bed. Before you had a chance to react, he grabbed you by the hips, rolling you over onto your hands and knees.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured, sliding up your dress. “I want to eat your pretty little pussy. Can I?”

“God, fuck, yes,” you groaned, leaning forwards on your elbows in a way that let your dress ride up even further.

“Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good.” He slid your panties to the side, admiring the little damp spot on them. He skimmed his thumb through your folds and found you unbelievably wet.

“Please don’t tease me,” you moaned.

Dmitri chuckled. He leant back and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. “Are you gonna beg for it?”

“Please, daddy,” you begged. “Please, I’ve wanted this for so long. I want you to make me cum.”

He was rock hard in his shorts. Your voice was going straight to his cock. “How long?”

“Since we first met.” You turned your head to the side, looking at him over your shoulder. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

“Well, it would be cruel of me to keep you waiting any longer,” he said, and dove in, spreading you open with his fingers and pleasuring you with his tongue.

“Daddy,” you gasped, “oh, fuck, daddy.”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Letting me play with you like this?”

“Yes, daddy.”

He leant in closer, moustache brushing against your inner thighs. He ate you out ravenously, motorboating your pussy and sucking your clit into his mouth.

You didn’t know how much longer you could last.

“Can I cum please, daddy?”

“Yes, cum on daddy’s face, princess.” You closed your eyes and felt your pussy clench, a fresh wave of fluid being lapped up by Dmitri’s tongue. “Good girl. Good girl.” His voice was a low hum, sending pleasurable vibrations through you.

You slumped forward, overstimulated, but Dmitri wasn’t done with you yet. He grabbed your leg and rolled you over onto your back.

“Daddy?” you murmured, sounding a little dazed. Dmitri didn’t respond, instead kicking off his shorts and boxers. He shifted closer, letting his hard cock fall against your pussy.

“You want daddy’s cock, princess? You want daddy to make you feel real good?”

You eyed his cock nervously. It was longer and thicker than any you’d ever seen in real life. “Will it fit?”

“Daddy will make it fit, princess, don’t worry about that.” He pulled at the straps of your dress, letting them fall, and then he grabbed at the front, pulling it down until your breasts were exposed.

Thick, searching fingers found your hole, breaching the perimeter and stretching you open. You let out a deep sigh as he probed around inside you, looking for your g-spot. With his free hand, he pushed your thigh up so that your knee was in the air, and that gave him the leverage he needed to press his fingers to the sweet spot inside you.

“Right there, daddy. Right there,” you panted. He kept fingering you, rubbing at that spot. “I want more, daddy, please. I need your cock.”

You closed your eyes as he pulled your panties down and tossed them away. You felt his cock slap against your entrance. You hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when you’d asked if it would fit. He was big. As he slipped the head in, you let out a deep groan.

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when daddy splits you open on his cock?”

You nodded, unable to find words. He slid in a little deeper, pushing the air out of your lungs. You grabbed his shoulders, fingernails digging into the skin as you threw your head back.

“More, please, daddy.”

Dmitri chuckled again. “You’re daddy’s little cockslut, aren’t you? You love being fucked.”

“I love being fucked by you, daddy.”

He slid all the way in, drawing a gasping moan from you. Without giving you time to adjust, he pulled back and then pushed back in, making your toes curl.

He fucked you like that, harsh and consistent, making your breasts bounce with every thrust. He held onto your breast hard enough to bruise, and the other hand was tangled up in your dress, dragging you back against him with each motion.

“Daddy,” you squeaked, “ah, ah, ah, daddy, fuck.” Little gasps and moans felt from your lips, which only seemed to spur him on more. He fucked you harder and deeper until you felt lightheaded.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He buried his face into your skin, breathing you in.

“Cum for me, princess,” he groaned. “Cum for daddy.” With one last, deep moan, you clenched hard around him, your back arching. “Feels so good. So fucking tight.”

You came hard, letting him fuck you through your orgasm. When you let out a little whimper, he pulled out of you. You opened your eyes to see him leaning over you, still on all fours, one hand wrapped around his cock.

“Tell daddy to cum, princess.”

“Cum for me, daddy, please cum for me.”

That was all it took. Thick ropes of cum splattered all over your sundress, which was bunched up around your middle. Dmitri swore loudly and sat back on his heels.

Neither of you spoke for a very long moment. Then Dmitri stood up and left the room. You felt your heart sink. Was that it? Was he leaving you now?

But a moment later, he returned, a washcloth in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you. With his help, you pulled off your messy sundress and wiped all traces of cum off your skin. When you were clean(ish), he cleared his throat gruffly. “I should get going before your dad gets home.” You groaned, but you knew he was right. He turned away from you and grabbed his boxers. You watched him slowly began to dress himself. “But, uh…” He spoke shiftily, without looking at you. “You should come visit me in my new place sometime.”

“Dmitri…” You touched his arm, turning him around to face you. Kneeling up on the bed, pressing your naked body against his half-clothed one, you kissed him. “I’d love to.”

---

Notes:

Preview of tomorrow's fic: Sequel to my Pietro Maximoff fic Leave Me In The Deep End.

#dmitri antonov x reader #enzo x reader #dmitri antonov smut #dmitri antonov x you #summer fic week 2023

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whoseafraidofliloleme · 2 years

Text

Invisible Chapter 15

Summary: YN YLN has always been third in Class 2-5, right behind Lee Su Ho and Kang Soo Jin but with both of them having left Saebom Highschool, this is her time to shine. That is until Han Seosangnim asks her to tutor Han Seo Jun. A guy who doesn’t even know she existed.

Ship: Han Seo Jun x Female Reader.

Word Count: 2k + words

Sorry, this has been so long but this is the final chapter. Sorry for the wait and I hope the ending is satisfying for everyone.

This has been a journey and I loved writing this story. Thank you to everyone who showed interest in this little story of mine. This was my first written series and it's been the best time writing it. I'm sad it's ended, I probably won't be writing more True Beauty fanfic but I did love writing this very much.

Taglist: @thealexalcala @hayateotaku @tomihoekaeka @goatqueen3 @jeminiepabo @hiraeth-maximoff @yaomomvs @ghostfacefricker6969

True Beauty Masterlist.

Chapter 14.

Chapter 15.

Han Seo Jun couldn’t believe he was doing this. He had willingly called a class meeting. He was willingly calling these people he begrudgingly liked to discuss something. The things he did for you.

Then again, there were very few things he wouldn’t do for you. You had told him about the text and meeting Hae Sung. There was no way that Seo Jun was going to let you do this alone. You had the support of everyone in your class not just your best friends.

“So, everyone understands the plan, yes?” Seo Jun said looking at everyone in the class. They all nodded, understanding how important this was for YN and Seo Jun. It was well known how much the class hated Hae Sung and well anything they could do to help get him out of your life permanently they would do.

You were nervous going into school. Seo Jun had come all the way to your house, and you had gone to school together. Mi Soo Unnie gushing about how cute the two of you were the least of your worries at the moment.

Today was the day that you were going to confront Hae Sung. It terrified you to even think about it. But you knew it needed to happen. You couldn’t continue your life with Hae Sung in the shadows. Waiting to be let back in, knowing that he was behind so many rejections. Pulling the strings of your academic life without your knowledge. You wanted answers and you were determined to get them.

Walking into Saebom, your class and Hae Sung’s class did what they had been doing for months now. Helping you to avoid Hae Sung. You appreciated it, you knew you would not be able to handle seeing Hae Sung’s face before you needed to. As you walked into your classroom, you were surrounded by the girls giving you hugs and the boys shouting fighting. Confused you looked at Seo Jun who smirked and winked at you. Causing you to blush, making the whole class coo at how adorable you were.

The day was a slow one. For once you wouldn’t wait for the end of the day. It was the day to get answers from Hae Sung and the way the class was acting they were probably going to be around to help. Which you appreciated, then again you didn’t know how much of your personal laundry you wanted your classmates to know. In retrospect, there was too much your classmates already knew anyway, so did they know everything really matter?

That was an internal debate you could have later. You knew if you asked Seo Jun would scare your classmates into staying quiet and not saying anything about the confrontation. That made you feel bad though. Did that count as using your boyfriend? You didn’t know and for now, didn’t want to worry about it.

The end of the day came, and you were led to an empty classroom by Seo Jun, there you could see Si Woo and Hyun Ji with Jae Yi as well which was a surprise. You looked at him in shock, your mouth must’ve been open that you felt someone gently closing your mouth. You turned to look at Seo Jun and he just nodded his head.

“I would’ve told you, but Seo Jun wanted this to be a surprise Ynnie” Jae Yi told you. You looked at Seo Jun but again he wouldn’t give you an answer. You weren’t above begging Seo Jun to get answers from him but before you could, Cho Rong was heard shouting.

“Guys hurry up with the explanations Hae Sung is on his way” Looking around everyone nodded their head.

“I’m here as a witness and with the proof of what he did, plus Hyun Ji and Si Woo went through all the applications you filled in that were rejected as more proof. Our plan is to hit him with as much evidence as we can.” Jae Yi explained. You nodded your head before looking at Seo Jun and smiling at him.

He looked more nervous than you and that was saying something. To reassure him, you hugged Seo Jun tightly, just knowing he was here for you was reassuring. Seo Jun whispered in your ear, telling you that he was here and all you had to do was look out the door and wink at him. That was the sign for him to come in. Any moment you felt uncomfortable, just wink and he’ll be there.

“Well, isn’t this sweet, I didn’t come here to see you two hugging Han Seo Jun,” Hae Sung said as soon as he walked into the room. He had a smug smirk on his face like he knew this would all work out in his favour. Was he going to get the shock of his life then?

Seo Jun let go of you and gave you a peck on the lips. Then left the room, hitting Hae Sung with his shoulder on the way out of the room. That made you want to laugh but you knew that would just rile Hae Sung up and that was the last thing you wanted to do. So, you did a poor job of hiding your giggling behind a cough.

“So, you’ve kept a lot of things from me Hae Sung and I would like answers” You started strong, you were not going to let your fear of Hae Sung’s angry words get to you. That was not happening. You had a support system and sadly for Hae Sung, none of them was going to let him leave without telling you the truth of why he did what he did.

“I’ve kept nothing from you YN, my best friend. If anything, you’ve been distant. Hell, you told me that you couldn’t stand to be near me a few months ago” Hae Sung replied, looking you up and down. There was something different in the way you held yourself and he hated it. He heard Si Woo and Hyun Ji scoff at his words. He glared at them, but the two brats just smiled at him. Making him angrier. Why were the two of them even here, not to mention Jae Yi was here? Wasn’t he supposed to still be abroad? When did he come back and contact you?

“Kept nothing from me, sure I would’ve believed that last year but not anymore,” you said and then gestured for Jae Yi to start playing the video. You all turned towards the screen at the front of the classroom. Si Woo even offered you some popcorn which made you laugh but you took some anyway.

As the video played, you could see Hae Sung grow pale. His expression from a smug smirk to confusion to shock and then to disbelief at what he was watching. By the time the video ended, he was refusing to look you in the eyes. Looking anywhere in the room but at you. That was new, Hae Sung had never been afraid of confrontation but looks like being faced with the knowledge that you knew what he had done, scared him.

“Oh, that’s not all that I know Hae Sung. Jae Yi’s family were nice enough to have a Private Investigator delve into my whole academic history, to see if you and Kang So Hee had done this before and well you have. Practically my whole academic life has been controlled by the two of you” As you were saying this, Si Woo and Hyun Ji were putting papers up of all the applications that you’d filled out that had been rejected because of his mother Kang So Hee.

“I just want to know why Hae Sung, what was the point of doing all this? what did you achieve from any of this? Were my emotional breakdowns after being rejected multiple times funny to you? Did it amuse you that I was distraught over something that you had done” You cried to Hae Sung, you just wanted answers and if you were close to tears then so be it. Hae Sung is just silent. You want to shake him, anything to get answers from him.

“I had to do it YN. Do you realise how smart you are? All the applications, all these schools wanted you. It was a struggle to convince them to reject you. I hated to see the emotional breakdowns, but it was a price I had to pay. I need you close to me, all those schools, and opportunities would take you away from me and I couldn’t have that. I tried to keep you isolated from all our classmates.”

“That worked until you met Si Woo and Hyun Ji. I got used to those brats, but I couldn’t let you leave me. Jae Yi was an issue too and I had to get rid of him. It didn’t help that the summer you started dating, you had already rejected me and were pulling away. I had to do everything to keep you with me. I can’t handle anything without you and the only way I saw to keep you with me was to stop any and all opportunities you had that would mean you leave me” Hae Sung said and it took a lot out of him to admit all this to you. So much so that he just sat down in a chair.

All four of you are gobsmacked you couldn’t believe what you had heard. All of this just so you wouldn’t leave him. It didn’t make sense, nothing you had just heard made sense. You didn’t know how to react. All the things you had gone through with Hae Sung by your side, was any of it rule or just a way to make sure that you didn’t leave Hae Sung?

“All of this to make sure YN doesn’t leave you and it’s your behaviour that makes her leave you anyway. If I were you, Hae Sung, I’d go cry to your mother Kang So Hee and change schools, cause the minute this gets out, you’ll be hated more than you already are” Si Woo said calmly looking at Hae Sung with fire in his eyes.

“Too late, everyone already knows, part of the class plan was for me to call Seo Jun when Hae Sung starts confessing. No one will miss you Lee Hae Sung” Hyun Ji mentioned, pulling up her phone and nodding her head to Seo Jun who was at the door.

“Man, I knew you were messed up before and oddly territorial of YN while we were dating but this explains so much and it just makes you look so much worse” Jae Yi was disgusted, to think when he was dating YN, he did everything he could to get Hae Sung to approve of him. This guy needed help, but it was doubtful that he would get the help he needs considering his mother was already doing his bidding and covering for him.

“I never want to see you again Lee Hae Sung. Our friendship is done and dusted. Your control of my academic career is done. You’re lucky that I am not handing this stuff over to the police. Literally because of the good times but I am serious that if I see you again, I will hand this over to the police” you say peacefully. It had been long enough that you had stopped talking to Hae Sung. In the last few months, you had gotten used to not having Hae Sung in your life. You looked towards the door and winked at Seo Jun with a big smile on your face.

Seo Jun was confused but still came into the classroom, he was followed by the rest of your class and you couldn’t help but laugh at the way they all fell into the classroom. Seo Jun went to go fight with Hae Sung but seeing him in the chair looking very docile was weird. Seo Jun looked to you.

You smiled and motioned for Seo Jun to come over to you and to Seo Jun’s shock, you grabbed his collar, pulled him down to you and kissed him in front of everyone. You pulled away and laughed at the dazed look on Seo Jun’s face. Your friends were taking pictures claiming this was blackmail material.

“Last year, I wouldn’t have dared to confront you, Lee Hae Sung. If it hadn’t been for tutoring Seo Jun, I wouldn’t have grown closer to my classmates, realised just how toxic you are and literally, you’re the worst person, I don’t know how we didn’t fight before to the point of our friendship ending but my point is that I am better without you. I’m happy with my boyfriend, friends and family. I used to think that we were two idiots in a pod, platonic soulmates. I was wrong, were not soulmates, nothing you’ve ever done has been to help me. It was all to keep me with you and that hurts.”

“However, you did all of that to keep me around when just one honest conversation could’ve solved everything. Instead, you decided to go behind my back and pull the strings. I am happier without you and really, I feel sorry for you Lee Hae Sung. This is my goodbye. Were strangers from now on” After you’ve said this. You take Seo Jun’s hand and walk out of the classroom. You can hear your classmates clapping and whopping at your exit and that makes you laugh.

“So does this mean, I’m out of tutoring today,” Seo Jun asks putting his arm around your shoulders. You shake your head, even after all this time, this boy will do anything to get out of tutoring.

You’d think you would feel bad or upset. You’d just ended a friendship you had since your childhood. That’s not how you felt though. You felt free, you had been seen as Hae Sung’s best friend for so long. Now you were able to be yourself, you didn’t need to worry about how Hae Sung would react to something if there would be an argument if you had to deal with Hae Sung’s disappointment. You never thought that tutoring Han Seo Jun would lead to your freedom from the cage that had been your friendship with Hae Sung.

THE END.

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etherealbelphie · 2 years

Text

More Than Just A Pretty Face (Ft. Asmodeus and GN!MC)

Warnings: Sick character, dizziness, lack of appetite, self depreciating thoughts, pain killers, romance is sort of implied.

Length: 1.8k words

Genre: Angst, hurt, fluff, comfort

Summary: Asmodeus comes down with something, leaving him less than glamorous. You stick around anyways.

A/N: I know I should probably be working on the 'Selfish' series of oneshots (that aren't really oneshots anymore) but this fic has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for so long, I figured I'd finally get it done and out. This is adding on to the 'When He Knew He Loved You' series, for which I've already written: Mammon's version.

Anyways, this is a sickfic, and I hoped I tagged all the right warnings. If you think I should add some, please let me know! I hope you enjoy!

-Ethereal (✿◡‿◡)

Story below, please don't claim as your own!

Asmodeus hadn’t looked in the mirror today, and he didn’t intend to any time soon.

His head hurt, his nose was running, and his throat was scratchy and dry. He was exhausted, even though he had just woken up, and his whole body ached.

He was pretty sure that if he had looked in a mirror, it would’ve shattered.

There was no way he was making it to RAD that day.

He had spent the morning in bed, whining to no one about how awful he felt, and part afternoon posting photos he’d taken earlier before immediately falling back asleep.

You hadn’t been that concerned when Asmo missed breakfast that morning. In a household that large, people missing now and then wasn’t that unusual. You also didn’t have any classes with him that day, so you didn’t notice he wasn’t at RAD.

You did, however, notice that he wasn’t there to walk you home like the two of you had originally planned.

Asmodeus woke up to a string of messages from you.

You: Hey, where are you? 3:40pm

You: Did you leave without me? 3:45pm

You: Okay…well, Satan offered to walk me back, so I’m going to go with him. 4:00pm

You: Hope you’re alright. 4:00pm

He woke up the rest of the way pretty quickly and texted you back.

Asmodeus: I’m so sorry sweetie! 5:37pm seen

Asmodeus: I’ve been feeling a little under the weather today, I didn’t even make it to RAD. 5:37pm seen

Asmodeus: I’m so sorry, I should’ve arranged for someone else to walk you home. 5:38pm seen

He waited one, two, five minutes.

No reply.

He turned his phone face down, rolling over. He tugged the sheets over his head.

He already felt physically awful, and now he’d upset you. Even worse, he didn’t have the energy to try and fix it right now. Honestly, in the state he was in, he would probably end up making it worse.

Great. Now he was crying. As if his nose wasn’t stuffed up enough.

Groaning, he sat up. He reached for the tissue box, only to realize he’d already used the last one. He let out a frustrated whine, flopping back against the pillows.

Why?

Why was nothing going right today?

This is what I get for leaving them to fend for themselves, he thought.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, wincing at both the pain and the raspiness of his voice.

A second later, the door swung open. It was the last person he’d expected to see: You.

“Hey,” you whispered, balancing a tray as you shut the door behind you. “How’re you feeling?”

He didn’t answer, opting to bury himself further into the sheets instead. He'd upset you enough without making you look at his ugly face.

“T-terrible,” he said, shivering as a chill ran through him.

“Are you cold?” You asked him.

He nodded, then realized you probably couldn’t see him. “Freezing.”

“Hm.” He heard you come closer, then put something on his bedside table. The tray, most likely. “Do you mind if I check you for a fever?” You asked.

He laughed, regretting it when his throat started to burn. "Honey, you can't see me like this."

"I can't?" You asked genuinely. "I don't think I can catch whatever you have, so that can't be it."

"It's not that. It's that I look horrible right now," he said.

"Well, of course you do. No one looks good when they're sick," you said matter-of-factly. "So, can I check you for a fever?" You repeat.

"You..." he trailed off. You didn't care?

But everyone cared!

Asmodeus was the most beautiful being in the three realms, second to none! They didn't call him the Jewel of the Heavens for nothing.

"Huh?" was the only response he could come up with.

"I want to check you for a fever," you repeated for the third time. "Can you roll over please?"

Still unable to form a proper response, he obliged.

You pressed a hand to his forehead, your brow crinkling slightly. "You're really warm. We should try and get your fever down," you said, mostly to yourself.

"Now, have you eaten anything yet today?" You already knew the answer, but sighed anyways when he shook his head.

"Okay. I brought you some soup, do you want some?" You asked.

He shook his head. "No, I'm not hungry."

"You probably don't feel hungry," you said. "But you should still try and eat something. Can you have a few bites, please?"

"I don't wanna," he said, sounding more like a bratty toddler than one of the most powerful demons in Hell.

"Come on, please?" You asked. You weren't going to force him, but having nutrients in his body would help him fight off whatever he had. "I made it just for you."

He sighed, but he sat up. "A little. But only because you made it," he said.

"Alright, good." You grabbed the bowl off the tray and started to pass it to him.

He stopped you. "My hands are shaking." He held them out to prove his point. "I'm going to spill everywhere."

He paused a second, then a sly smile slid onto his face. "Would you be a dear and feed me?" He asked, batting his eyes.

He didn't really need to ask you twice; you were the one who wanted him to eat in the first place.

You nodded, taking a seat in the space beside him. You stirred the broth a second, holding your hand just over the surface,

"It won't be too hot," he assured you. "Demon, remember?"

"Oh, right." Even so, you stirred it another few seconds before you fed him a bite.

The soup was warm and delicious, and he wound up finishing the whole bowl. Turns out he was more hungry than he thought.

You smiled, placing the empty dish back on the tray. "Good job. I also brought you some painkillers, did you want to take them?"

He nodded quickly, holding his hand out for the two pills you had.

He popped them into his mouth, then glanced to the water glass on the table, then back to you expectantly.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, retrieving the glass and bringing it to his lips.

You slowly tilted the glass upwards until he gave you the signal to stop.

"Do you feel a little better?" You asked him.

He nodded, going to lay back down. This was the longest he'd been awake all day, and he was really starting to feel it. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut.

"That's good," you said. "Now, let's see what we can do about that fever, hm?"

You didn't wait for a response, heading into his lavish bathroom. It was easy to find a cloth --how many towels does one demon need, anyway?-- and didn't take long to soak it in cool water.

You wrung it out so it wasn't sopping wet, then headed back to him.

You gently laid it over his forehead. "Hopefully this will help a little...are you tired?"

"Mhm," he hummed.

"Okay, that's alright," you said. "Do you need anything else?"

His eyes flickered open, giving you a hopeful look. "Cuddles?"

You smiled but shook your head. "I'm sorry. Your fever is way too high for that."

He huffed, his lips pursed in a pout. "Fine."

"I'm going to leave you to rest for a while, did you want me to leave? Or stick around for a bit?"

At the mere suggestion of you leaving, he weakly reached to grab your wrist. "Don't go?"

"Okay, I won't." You adjusted to sit more comfortably on the bed. "Go to sleep, alright? I'll be here when you wake up."

He squeezed your hand, making you squeeze back. Then he fell silent, and you assumed he fell asleep.

A few minutes later, you were proved wrong when he said your name.

"Why did you stay?" He asked.

"Why did I...stay?" You repeated, confused. "What do you mean?"

He sniffled. "Here. With me. When I look like this." He vaguely gestured around himself with his free hand.

"Why did I stay with you while you're sick? And you look sick?" You asked, not sure if you were missing something.

He nodded.

"Well, you wanted me to stay, and I wanted to help you."

"Why would you want to help me when I look like this?" he pressed.

"Whether I want to help you has nothing to do with your looks." You sounded offended at the mere suggestion. "I don't care about you because you're pretty. You know that, don't you?" Your tone softened into genuine concern.

Blame his sleepy state, blame his fever, but he responded honestly. "That's usually why people do."

Your silence made him nervous, and your thumb had stopped caressing the back of his hand.

Any second now, you'd start laughing. Of course, being pretty was all he was good for.

"Oh, Asmo." Your heartbroken tone threw those thoughts out the window immediately. "You're so much more than being pretty," you whispered softly.

"I am?"

"Yes!" You exclaimed. He flinched at the sudden increase in volume. You resumed stroking the back of his hand as an apology, though no actions could've compared to what you said next.

"You're gorgeous. There's no denying that. But there's so much more to you than that. You're brilliant when it comes to fashion. You've had what, six of your fashion lines featured at Majolish?"

"Eight," he corrected, and you smiled.

"See? That's incredible! And you're so good with people too. You're great at making them like you, sure, but you're also just...good at being social. You've also got the most emotional intelligence I've ever seen. You always know how to tell when people are down, and you always know how to cheer them up. You've got the most beautiful voice I've ever heard, you give incredible cuddles and massages, and most importantly-!" You paused to take a breath.

"Most importantly, you're always you. Unapologetically yourself, no filter, no matter what anyone else thinks. You're not afraid to speak your mind, you're not afraid to laugh or cry. There's no filtering you, in the best way possible," you stressed, squeezing his hand tightly.

"You're not worth my time because you're pretty. You're worth my time because you're you."

He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, but he couldn't. All that escaped was a choked sob.

You recoiled, releasing his hand. "Did I say something? I-"

He cut you off, sitting up so quickly it made him dizzy, The wet cloth fell into his lap, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling into your shoulder.

"You said everything," he said, squeezing you as tight as he thought would be safe.

"Thank you."

#obey me #obey me fanfiction #obey me asmodeus x mc #obey me asmodeus/mc #obey me asmo x mc #obey me asmo/mc #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmo x reader #venting about being tired warning #one of these days I will post a fic during normal hours instead of like..#many hours past midnight #that day is not today #or maybe the day wasn't yesterday?#idk anymore-

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crypticjackal13 · 2 years

Note

Redson x Demon fem!s/o who's the opposite of him (E.g. Calm and soft spoken) That's just as smart as him and works with him as both a Lab partner and romantic partner, but unfortunately due to her temperament she is often see as a weaker demon when in reality she's secretly (even to Red) super strong, but doesn't show it unless it's a emergency, like turning into a terrifying, giant, multi armed kaiju to protect Red.

Yesssss I love this idea. Had to look up what exactly a kaiju is, and even then I found mostly Godzilla stuff? So forgive me if my descriptions are a little messy as I tried to be more vague

"Where's My Epic Background Music?"(761 w.c)

Redson x Demon!Fem!Reader romantic one shot

Pronouns: she her

CW: little bit of bl00d, some light viol3nce

“This stupid bolt won’t stay in place!” Redson growled, pretty close to just melting the metal back to its liquid state on his own. But y/n stepped in, coming up behind her lover and handing him the fresh set of pliers he’d asked for.

“Red, I can hear you from down the hall. Take a second, alright?” She continued holding his hand that was reaching for the tool, making eye contact. He was stiff, with the ends of his hair starting to become inflamed. But at her gentle tone, he sighed, and she could literally see the steam coming off of him as he calmed down. Slowly but surely.

“Thank you, beloved.” He mumbled, turning away from his newest project. A new motorbike, of sorts, though she knew there had to be a transformation in there somewhere.

“What about we go get something to eat? You’ve been cooped up in here since you got out of bed this morning.” She suggested. The fire demon hummed, looking at the blueprints he’d worked so hard on, and the bike behind him that had taken him the better part of several hours to assemble.

“I guess we can. Where would you like to go?”

“There’s a cafe not far from the arcade, I hear they’ve got some really nice pastries.”

“As you wish. Come, we’ll take my car.”

The pair got their jackets and hopped into the large vehicle, driving from what was essentially Hell to the city. At y/n’s request, Redson abided by traffic laws, though it was tempting for him to absolutely total the stupid little car in front of them that cut them off.

“This is the place!” She pointed to a small building with an alleyway next to it, where there was a chalkboard sign advertising some chai tea drink. It wasn’t overly cutesy, which was probably for the best. Redson would’ve gotten all hissy about being there.

Walking in, nothing was off-putting. The service was nice and much faster than other places y/n had taken Redson to eat at.

The real problem showed up when it came time to go back to the car and head home.

The first red flag of the situation was the stranger standing against the side of the car, which was already reason enough for Redson to get angry at. The person was lanky, though both Red and y/n could see the threatening aura they put off. In these situations, not only did Red take the lead, the problem was usually dealt with in a fast manner to avoid unwanted attention. However something about this just wasn’t right.

“It’s a nice car you’ve got here. Nice girlfriend, too.” The person complimented. Redson had no problem waltzing up to the guy and trying to intimidate them right back.

“Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have places to be.”

In mere seconds, a knife was pressed to his throat, one with symbols written on it that y/n could tell were meant to hold Red in one spot or at least leave an impact if the weapon was to make contact.

But at the same time, y/n was willing to ditch being passive for the sake of her lover. So as soon as she saw a thin line of blood, she jumped into action. She let go of her human form and grew several sizes larger, multiple arms on her torso and primed to tear limbs if needed. She was quite a sight for both figures below her.

Enough to make the stranger drop their grip on Redson along with the weapon.

“Hey, no harm no foul, right?” They tried to reason with her.

“Run. Far, far away, and don’t come back.” She warned. They scrambled to get moving, heeding her words immediately as they took off. Once she was sure that they were gone, she transformed back into her regular form and went up to her partner.

“I love when you get all frightening. It’s fun.” He praised her. He dusted himself off, but then held still as she inspected the cut on his neck.

“Hang on, I have some napkins.” She mumbled, digging in her pockets for the napkins she took from the cafe. When she found them, she cupped his face and moved to clean the small wound that was just beginning to drip.

“Thank you, y/n. Now, shall we?” Redson unlocked the vehicle and opened the door for her. She climbed in gingerly, giving him a smile.

Looks could be so deceiving, could they not?

#lego monkie kid #lmk headcanon #lmk x reader #lmk #lmk red son #red son #redson x reader #redson x fem reader #fem reader #red boy

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scapinoz · 3 months

Text

L’APPEL DU VIDE, chapter one.

[genshin!oc x gn!reader]

note, first chapter is out after probably five months, ig. but it’s here now. do keep in mind that it was around three a.m. when i wrote this, i was half dead by then. so there might be a few mistakes here and there, I’ll edit them— i swear. also english is not my first language and i just write for fun.

warnings, implied yandere behavior, masked men, creepy men, men with weird eyes, drinking, y/n and intrusive thoughts, nothing much probably, it doesn’t get bad in the first chapter itself. written pre-snezhnaya, so it’s all interpreted not canon.

CHAPTER ONE, masked men and winter nights.

And there he was again— sitting in the corner of the room (though you must admit that the shadows dancing across his face made him quite beautiful than he already is)— eyes never leaving yours as you finished your song, relishing yourself in the familiar sound of applause from the audience (a sound you’ll never grow dull of hearing).

Everyone around you clapped their hands, some even standing up and raising their glass while they were at it. That should’ve been enough, yes? The fruits of your labour echoing through the vast room would’ve been more than enough for you back then— back then when you hadn’t noticed the masked man (a mask you were well familiar with, thank the archons for the whisperers in the streets) sitting in the reserved booth.

Your eyes, involuntary, went back to his. He was not putting his hands together for you, like everyone sitting in his table was. He only had his gaze inspecting your form without blinking. And without the slightest of hesitation you did the same, holding his regard. The missing signature black coat was the first thing that you noticed, the coat he had traded for something a little less flashy. Though the mask was yet to come off, the mask his friends (or who you assumed you were his friends, judging how ease they had been with each other) were also donning on their face.

You had seen the group a few months now, regularly visiting the bar and sitting the farthest seat from the stage— not that you minded, of course. They always seem to talking and whispering something among each other, sparing you glances here and there when you were up on stage. The man, whose name you have yet to know of, always seemed to be sitting in the middle and facing right towards you, always having his eyes on you whenever you were singing (or that’s what you had noticed whenever you open your eyes after closing them for a split second or so). Never have you ever seen them talking to anyone out of their own circle either.

‘They’ve never once talked to the waiters either, it’s the boss who always personally sees to them. Sharing laughs and shit. Who’s to guess that the boss has dealings with such people.’ was your coworkers answer when you inquired about them. You knew what she had meant by with such people, everyone around the bar knew— the fatui, those who control every aspect of the land of everlasting winter. Everyone around the bar knew of the fatui and were cautious enough not to seek them. And one who was stupid enough got his hand broken just last week— it was what you assumed was a warning. You had heard stories and witnessed the cruelty of the ruling by your own eyes. The fatui were not kind people, not in your eyes lest say. And to think some of them would be actually sitting by a bar listening to your sing out your sorrows for mora, you could only laugh.

‘I heard they work under the fifth,’ Ana said one night when you were lying in her lap as she was combing your hair. ‘they wear his colours as well— black and silver— and the masks are just another giveaway. And they also seem to be here when it is you who is performing.’ Ana chuckled as she had seen how wide your eyes gotten when you heard that. You hadn’t stuck around enough to notice, you had better things to do in your day offs than to spend your day in a bar. You had denied her claims, saying it was simply a co incidence and that fate works in very mysterious ways. Ana could only chuckle and asked you to live in your own dream fort for the time being.

And yet seeing how he was looking at you from the back could not stop yourself from believing your friend’s words for a moment— just for a moment. Just simply for a few seconds as you hurried off the stage and into the backstage, the sound of hands clapping against each other still reaching you. And there was no way they could be here for you.

“[name],” Your boss, Kolya, patted your back with the usual smile. “Great job as always.” You nodded, dutifully. “It would not hurt to smile a little, would it? Or had you grown tired of synthetically smiling?”

Gods, never a day passes where you do not curse your employer and wish the amount of firewater he consumes would deem him mute some day. “You must do what’s expected of you, synthetic or not.”

“Yes, yes, expectations.” He chuckled. “Always weighing one down.”

Kolya Mikhalov was not someone you had expected to work for— not someone you had expected to cross paths with, if being honest. Kolya Mikhalov was the man who took one look at you and decided that you were deemed worthy enough to sing in his fine establishment no matter how many times you had suggested hiring a bard and being done with the fuss he was making.

His name was one whispered among the streets ever so often, a name you’ve heard so often. ‘That man who is trying to coax you into working for him,’ the apple vendor muttered one day. ‘I heard he has connections with the fatui.’ He said. And it was all the more reasons why you urged yourself to get away from the man. Everything about him which screams danger. You had underestimated Kolya and his stubbornness when he said “I am not one to give up easily.”

And so he had waited for you to say yes to offer for nearly two months— following you everywhere you go, paying bards to sing praises of your hauntingly beautiful voice, and even showing up right outside your house with his staff. Surely Kolya Mikhalov was the most eccentric man you had ever encountered— and that simply explains the elctro vision in his left glove. And so you did give in to the endless pestering, and thus resulting you standing in the very same establishment you never vowed to work in.

Kolya leaned in slightly, making you move out of the way. “You look as if you want to ask me something.” Shaking your head you waved him off. Yet Kolya was never to one to falter. “Oh, I’m quite excited about your question. This is the first time you ever showed interest in something which is not dogs.”

“The people sitting at the back of the room,” You said, choosing your next words with much heed. “Are they part of the fatui?”

“Yes.”

You blinked once, then twice— clearly not expecting Kolya to blunt with his words. You perhaps thought that he would coax you into believing otherwise. “What?”

“They are indeed part of the fatui, working under the fifth. I thought the coat and the mask was obvious enough.”

Kolya looked at you, the smile never leaving his face. He tilted his head, very slightly, expecting you to ask more questions. Questions as to how he had ties with them and such. You were never one to pry, we’re you? Everyone had their secrets and you have no business inserting yourself in matters that do not concern you.

So what if your boss has ties with the fatui? It doesn’t matter as long as you get paid, you’ll do your job without any questions asked.

“I see,”

“Oh, and,” Kolya dug his pockets searching for something. He handed you a velvet box. “I was asked to give you this. Seems like you’ve gained quite the admirers, [name].”

You reluctantly opened the box— knowing Kolya was still peeking. “By the seven,” in laid a bracelet— one so intricately crafted. It was gold, probably embedded with the finest gems from Liyue. You didn’t have much knowledge in jewellery but one look at the bracelet and you knew it must’ve cost a fortune.

had you attracted the attention of a man so rich that he could afford this as a passing present?

Admirers, huh.

The nights were not kind in Snezhnaya, nor were the days but yet the night was far more cruel than the days. At least you will be able to see the dangers under the sun while you could simply just feel eyes on your back as you walked underneath the moonlight. You gripped the strap of your bag tighter, never once turning around to look around you— it was never a good idea, as Ana would say.

You weren’t very fond of nights like these— cold and lonely nights that makes you wish you had someone to hold you and keep you warm against their body. Always a knack for impossible dreams, yes? You didn’t particularly wish for a partner, that much you were sure of. But nights like these brings you think that perhaps you should find someone— someone to cure the loneliness and the cold. The thought only ever crosses your mind at nights like these.

“Dangerous night to walk alone,” Instinctively you pushed your elbow back, expecting it to hit the stranger and not for them to catch it. “Rather cynical now, aren’t we?” The person muttered, gloved hands finally leaving your bare skin. “You appeared a lot more demure on the stage. It’s not safe for you to walk alone.”

Turning around, you rubbed your elbow. “Gods,” It was the same man from the bar, the very same one who couldn’t get his eyes away from you. “Why are you here?” You started walking again, paying no mind to him walking beside you.

“Kolya put me up to it when he noticed a few drunkards trying to follow you.” He answered.

Eyes wide you looked around, looking for any sign of being followed. “I see no one.”

“They were taken care of.” He said. “Kolya specifically asked me to walk you home, said he wanted his favourite employee out of harms way.”

Typical Kolya.

You nodded, inspecting the man beside you— you never got the chance to see his full figure, after all. And as you had already expected he was nearly half a head taller than you and lean— though the outline of muscles present through his shirt already said all you need to know. Black hair that reached right below his shoulders and the bangs even covering one side of his mask ( hair that almost made you have second thoughts about yours ). Though it was his eyes what drew you in. His eyes reminded you of the starry nights after the storm— black eyes with specks of gold and silver dancing around them.

Where you shamelessly ogling this man? Of course. Would you admit it if he were to ask you about it? You would simply dig your own grave and lie in it, for sure.

And it seemed like he didn’t mind you staring at him— without even realising that you were staring. ( maybe you were aware, you simply did not care enough. Pretty people are to be appreciated, the thought came in your mind quickly as it left as you realized he was part of the fatui. ) He cleared his throat making you snap out of it, feeling slightly embarrassed and made a mental note to never do it again. ( though you knew you would do it all over again. )

“My name is,” Was it really safe to mention your name to a stranger— a fatui nonetheless. “[name].” Curse the Archons, how stupid could you get.

“I know, Kolya told me.” You nodded, pursing your lips. The silence was awkward as it was painful to bear. The only noise reaching your ears was the sound of snow underneath your boots, and not his. He walked gently, almost tempting you ask if he believed the snow had feelings.

“And you are?” Another mistake made.

The man looked at you, the blank look on his face never fading away. “Zhenya,” He, who you now know as Zhenya, whispered— almost as if he was afraid someone else might overhear him. “I work…under the fifth harbinger.”

“I know, rumours are hard to ignore.” The mask speaks for itself, you wanted to say and yet didn’t. You heard him mutter something under his breath, words flowing away with the wind. “So, you come to the tavern often?” You muttered, cursing yourself internally to simply shut up with each passing word that left you lips.

You didn’t hear an answer from him, just slow breathing as you felt his eyes on your figure as you looked down at the ground, trying to convince yourself that the plain white snow you’ve been seeing for years now was more interesting than whatever that was going on in his eye. “Yes,” Zhenya finally said, his voice probably gentler and softer than yours ever could be. “Kolya— he often bugs me to visit.” He added after a minute had passed.

That sure did sound like Kolya— annoying, vexing and often frustrating. not that you would ever say it out aloud, of course. ( you valued your life more than a few passing sarcastic comments that you brain was so fond of coming up with, thank you very much. )

You simply nodded as the pair of you continued walking, as you often let out soft breaths, shivering slightly from the cold even though you had your coat and gloves on. It would be nice if this man beside me were to wrap his coat around me, like form the romance books Ana is fond of. you found yourself thinking before quickly shaking off the thoughts. No, [name], bad man. He’s part of the fatui, [name].

Where did the thought even come from?

“Do you live far from here?” Zhenya asked, making you blink twice as you were snapped out of your thoughts.

You shook your head, pursing your lips to stop your teeth from clattering. Surely you wouldn’t make a fool out of yourself in front of this gorgeous, gorgeous man. “No, just around the corner.”

It usually only took fifteen to reach your home but it felt like an eternity with the man walking by your side. He hadn’t even opened this mouth once, except for when letting out soft inhale and exhaled. You were sure that it must’ve been a little uncomfortable to breathe beneath that mask during the winter. ( then again it was always winter ).

You stood in front of your house— a modest home, one that you were proud of. “Thank you,” you managed to murmur out as you both stood outside the door, one hand inside your pockets as you fished out for your keys.

The man, Zhenya, nodded. “Nothing worth mentioning.” He said.

You were almost tempted to invite him inside, offering to let him stay by the fireplace and hand him a glass of fire whiskey to heat his skin up before heading out. Who knows how far away he lived?

No, no, part of the fatui, you reminded yourself, sighing in relief as you finally found your keys. Ignoring the stare burning through your layers and layers of clothing you finally opened the door, whispering a small “good bye,” under your breath.

And before you closed the door behind you, you heard him say something akin to, “I hope you like the bracelet.”

i genuinely had no idea what i was thinking when i wrote this. but i somehow managed to. how are we liking y/n so far? and zhenya (ew). y/n and ana for the win. zhenya who? never heard of him.

and if anyone couldn’t tell, zhenya’s kinda a uandere, ig. so this fic might turn out a little darker than intended. he’s also a part of the fatui, so there might be more…gore? but yeah, he’s not a good guy, that’s for sure.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #oc x reader #gn reader #i have no idea how this works yet #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #genshin impact oc x reader #genshin impact oc #please teach me how to use this app #fatui harbinger

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