#other than maybe the display of some bombs being red and some not

[galaxymagitech]

Batfam Kill Counts

I believe that the kill counts for the Batfam are in the following order: 1. Jason (~500); 2. Tim (100-300); 3. Alfred (20-100); 4. Damian (~50); 5. Bruce (5-10); 6. Dick (1-5); 7. Cass (1)

However, based on the absolute certain facts and not just speculation, kill counts are as follows, I believe: 1. Jason (83 confirmed); 2. Alfred (many); 3. Damian (3+); 4&5. Cass & Bruce (1); 6. Dick (1-ish); 7. Everyone else (0)

These aren’t counting vampires or pre-crisis early Batman characterization. I have probably missed some stuff because I have only read some comics, but from what I’ve read and Google this is my general understanding.

Reasoning explained:

1. Jason — Jason has 83 confirmed kills, but honestly I don’t buy that he hasn’t killed more than that. I’m interpreting “confirmed” as in “we have absolute proof that the Red Hood killed them” whereas his actual kill count is much higher. I headcanon it as somewhere around 500 people, but the number could be in the thousands.

2. Tim — This one’s controversial…I personally think Tim killed people when blowing up the League of Assassins bases, but not nearly as many as people often say. He definitely blew up the bases BY blowing up their computer systems, and there are explosions shown. Probably around 100-300 people, as a side effect and not the goal.

3. Alfred — Served in the military, but people SEVERELY overestimate the number of kills a soldier would have from that, especially as he presumably wasn’t dropping bombs. In WWII estimates for average number of kills per soldier range from 5-20. Alfred was likely exceptional, but I doubt that he killed more than 100 people. He may actually be #4 on this list, with fewer kills than Damian.

4. Damian — Confirmed kills are Spook and Nobody, and he did those so easily that he has DEFINITELY killed routinely, but again, I think people attribute far more kills to him than he actually has done. He was raised in the League of Assassins, but they don’t just kill willy-nilly. He’s probably killed <10 people to prove he’s capable of it and <100 people (maybe even 0) for the League. Overall, I don’t buy that Damian has killed more than 60 people.

5. Bruce — I think he has accidentally killed a significant number of people. This one’s also controversial, but his methods are brutal and he’s been working for a long time. It’s likely that he’s done enough damage that the criminal dies in the hospital multiple times. He’s also done things like leaving KGBeast to die trapped underground or bleeding out unable to move in the tundra by his hand. I don’t think he’s watched someone die by his hands, but…yeah. He has also killed Darkseid for sure.

6. Dick — Killed Joker (who was revived soon afterwards, so it half-counts), has also worked with Batman so long that I think he has killed other people by accident too. Has also displayed disregard for if his actions result in a criminal being killed by other criminals, especially early on in Nightwing (1996). Considers himself to have killed Blockbuster, but…yeah no.

7. Cass — 1 confirmed kill. After that, she ran and put in a large amount of effort to avoid killing ever again. She became evil, but I’m pretty sure this has been unwritten and most people refuse to accept it anyway.

To my knowledge, Steph, Barbara, and Duke haven’t killed anyone, and likely have not accidentally killed anyone either due to their methods.

Of course, feel free to disagree!

#meta #batman #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #cassandra cain #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #dc #dc comics #dcu #text post #dc meta #batman meta #headcanon #headcanons #batman spoilers

[infernalodie]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 || 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 (𝐩𝐭. 𝟏)

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨“

Inspo: Cigarettes After Sex - You’re All I Want Cyberpunk

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Fem!reader

Summary: Love. What a dumb joke.

Warnings: Acts of violence and angsty feels.

Part Two

Words: 1860

There was a time when you thought that with human evolution and technology becoming one with people, maybe things would get better. Perhaps a sense of natural order would take place and things could become far safer than what it once was. There would be no need for Avengers or any type of superheroes. But with growth, it creates more problems to accompany this new way of life.

You were a Solo. A bounty hunter, a gun for hire, a messenger, a bodyguard. Whoever hired you and asked you to be something, you would do it for the right amount of money. Life alone was how you liked it in this vast dystopian growing world that waited for no one. Because you knew that if you weren’t someone in this new day and age, you would be forgotten. Doing things your way on your own is how you liked it and eliminated the potential pain you would be faced with.

But that was a problem when it came around to the newest Fixer to enter your life. Kate Bishop. She was the head of Bishop Security. Bad motherfucker if anyone got in her path or did anything to try and ruin her business. No one could hide from her. The reach she had over cities from her tech was unheard of and left the possibility of surviving her wrath less than one.

Smoke filled the small Aerodyne you were situated in. The interior of the aerial craft was spacious and luxurious. Leather seating and soft crimson lighting with drinks in holders on either side of the craft. But your eyes were focused on the bright colours of New York below. Holographic displays advertise the company’s products or others are used for scenery. Most of them were situated in the central part of New York with Harlem being left behind for backstreet Fixers and crimes to occur.

You grew up in Harlem. You knew how hard it was for up-and-coming mercs such as yourself to earn fair pay. A lot of the jobs out there were sketchy and came with a higher risk than some of the shit you did now. Sure, there was the occasional job where you had to do something like killing a high official, planting a bomb in a rival corp’s territory, or simply doing a pickup. A lot of the jobs that Kate had tasked you with put you in life-or-death situations, but you always managed to pull through. Something Kate had always liked about you.

“Arriving at your destination. Bishop Security Tower,” the automated A.I. announced. You sighed, taking a puff off your cigarette before dropping it. Crushing it under your military boot and clenching your red cybernetic arm. A gift by your boss that you considered a mark for anyone who dared to threaten you. You were Kate’s property. Nothing less and nothing more.

Once the Aerodyne lowered to the landing pad on the top of the skyscraper, the side door lifted and opened. Just as you were about to stand up, a bottle of Vodka caught your attention. Grabbing the neck of it, you then stood up and hopped off. The harsh greeting of howling winds was what welcomed you once you stepped off. Jacket bellowing around you with your hair pulled up after the very long day you’ve had.

But it did nothing to deter you from taking off the cap of the bottle and taking a long sip of the harsh substance. Face barely grimacing as you made your way to the stares along the side of the building. You knew you were going to need it for the next few minutes.

Entering the building, the warmth hugged your body. This office/apartment had become a second home for you. It didn’t seem professional to you at all and went against everything that related to your lifestyle. But it was hard to say otherwise when the woman that waited for you was able to relieve any tension and anger that clung to you.

“I guess the mission was a success,” Kate’s voice propelled through the open space and hit your ears as you made it down the set of stairs to where her office desk was. Off to the right, there was a small wall that divided her bedroom and to the left a couch where a TV was attached to the wall. But she was looking at her computer monitor. Staring at the news feed that was surrounding the bombing that had occurred over at Stark’s weapon plant.

You huffed, sitting down on the couch and placing the bottle of vodka down. But you did not speak. You let your silence and the reporter does the talking for you. Kate, on the other hand, didn’t like that one bit. Her eyes flickered to you and saw the exhausted aura that surrounded you. A splash of blood on your face as you stared at the wall emotionlessly.

Getting up from her chair, she made her way over quietly. Although it wasn’t talked about, Kate had been somewhat of a merc herself. Her own chrome surrounding her abilities with a bow and her sneaking abilities. So, her steps were light and practically mute. And before you even knew it, she was behind you. Her hands dropped to your shoulders where she gently rubbed soothing circles into your tense muscles.

This was how things went after every mission. You came back tired, Kate gave you a massage, and you give her the deets on the aftermath of the mission. But tonight, something in the air was different. There could be a million reasons as to why that was, but you could only identify one. And it was the fact that your five-year contract with Kate would finally end after this mission and you weren’t entirely sure what to do now.

“After the explosion, the Starks have been scrambling around trying to fix up the mess,” Kate said. “Public is coming to the conclusion it’s from faulty weapons. Leaving the Starks out of the arms dealing spectrum. Giving us another chance to acquire more of their turf.”

From the five years of you working with Kate, there were two things you learned in this time. One; everything she did had a reason. Very rarely she did do something impulsively. Perhaps it was just because her mother had once been in the business, but you liked to believe otherwise. When you had power as she did, there was no room for error. So, she was smart in laying out all the possible outcomes and coming to a decision. But the second thing; was she was relentless. Kate was power-hungry. Her mother’s desires had printed onto her and it was hard sometimes for you to tell the difference between the two women. There was never a “break” for her. There was always something else she could take if she had the time.

“Do you know why I wanted this mission to work so badly?” You asked softly, eyes half-lidded as you continued to stare ahead of you. You could feel Kate’s eyes focused solely on you. Her optics are able to see and decipher the truth behind words and the intention of a person - A lie detector, per se. “I slaughtered an entire boardroom of officials just to get this done for you. Hoped this would be enough for you to chill out and take a rest for a while.”

Truth was, you loved Kate. It hadn’t been something you planned on, but it was quite hard not to when she was someone you saw day after day and was subjected to her flirting. For most people, there was no problem with falling in love with someone. But the problem you faced was the extra variable. There wasn’t a chance for her to get hurt, but it was the fact that she would deny you. So, you had and would continue to do anything you can to ignore these emotions and get the hell out of New York for a while.

Looking over your shoulder at the Billionaire, you could see the surprised look on her face. “But I can very much tell that you wouldn’t care for anything I did for you,” You stood to your feet, her hands falling to her sides numbly as you faced her. “I’ll take the money from our contract and I’ll be out of here.”

“You are leaving?” Kate inquired, brows scrunching together. “I’m sorry, I’m really trying to figure out what is going on with you right now, because this isn’t the girl I remember from yesterday- Hell, even the day before. Did someone fuck with your frontal cortex whilst you were-”

As she reached out to playfully tap your forehead, you slapped her hand away. Jaw clenching as your cybernetic arm twitched slightly. But you exhaled heavily, staring right into the girl’s wide eyes. “Kate, I mean this. I’m leaving. I’m going to head back to Atlanta for a while. See where life takes me,” you said. “This city has done nothing but tears me down, build me back up, and then destroy me all over again. I’m sick of it.”

Kate, who was still shocked, could understand where you were coming from. Silently, her eyes brightened and your interface lit up. 5 million dollars being sent to your account without any sort of hold up. And it was enough to be the final push for you to get out of this city.

“Does your decision to leave have anything to do with me?” Her question sounded like she was defensive. Possibly daring you to say that it was and for her to bark your ear off forever thinking away. But it was. It was her fault for your decision to leave. Her insistence to make you feel things were a problem. Emotions and love only got someone so far before being the reason they’re dead. Heartbreak, anger, sorrow. Those three were the main chemicals for someone to chase a bullet instead of feeling such a way.

“Yes,” you answered quietly. “I hate caring about someone who couldn’t give a fuck about me. So, I’m leaving and our business is over with.” By the time the words left your mouth, it was far too late to take them back. But it left a large weight to be relieved from your shoulders as the CEO stared at you with parted lips. Shock overrode her entire body as you sniffled and ran a hand over your dishevelled features.

Your cold and rather, blunt reply left Kate speechless. Her eyes followed you as you went to the main elevator, stepped inside and pressed the button down to the garage. Leaving Kate to watch you make eye contact with her and say nothing or to even give her a chance to defend herself.

And right when those steel doors shut, you were gone. Leaving Kate without a merc and a piece of her heartbreaking off to drift into the unknown. But her eyes stung with her bottom lip being caught between her teeth as she exhaled shakily. “Please don’t go.”

#Kate Bishop #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x fem!reader #kate bishop x fem reader #kate bishop angst #dystopian #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #Hailee Steinfeld #x fem!reader #x fem reader #marvel x fem!reader #marvel x fem reader

[roo-bastmoon]

Do you think if jk hadn’t said the comment about jm tattoo there would be this much doubt ? (Because we haven’t seen much content recently so there obviously isnt much to go off)

I do think the lack of weekly RUN content contributes to the doubt. But I don't think it was any one thing that raised a huge red flag for me. Rather it was a lot of little things that hinted at... a shift in tone. Which could just be the lack of content. Or it could really be a shift in how they relate as they mature.

There was a time when Jikook selected cabbages they didn't prefer to make kimchi just to try to please each other's tastes and it ended up backfiring. Good lord, they were so in it, such a mess for each other. LMAO. But that level of consideration, of wanting to please and care for the other person, was something they regularly displayed.

Now? There IS some distance, I don't care what anyone says. You watch Jikook interactions from 2018 and play it back to back with interactions in 2022 and the whole vibe is different. Which is normal, folks change. But let's be real, it hits different. We can't be afraid to say "hey, that's different." We can't deny things just b/c it doesn't feel good--that's a delulu path and I won't take it.

When I consider if they are together right now (I believe they were totally together in the recent past), I ask myself when was the last time JK reached out and pulled Jimin close to him? Caressed him? Called him sexy? Praised his work? Knew his lyrics and choreo by heart? Stared at him until the rest of us felt like a third wheel? Told us something about Jimin that only he could possibly know? I see Jimin try to hug him or lean on him or mention him, but it is sometimes met with JK being aloof or blankfaced. Which feeds the trolls but that's not their problem, it's the trolls' problem.

So when JK didn't already know about the photo Hobi took of Jimin's back, or didn't hear Jimin's solo songs, or remember where Jimin got his friendship tattoo? There were already other signs they weren't as close. Doesn't mean they aren't together, just means they are together differently than what I'm used to.

Vegas seemed like Jikook were back on track with Jikookery, always together, plans to box and diet together... but that was a performance venue and a moment in time when things might have still been in flux, in terms of BTS' trajectory. They got home and again with the silence. Going to the beach and a festival and a game separately. (Normal couples do this, but Jikook had a history of just constantly being together, so it's different.) JK doing social media, Jimin avoiding it. Which is not unhealthy! Like, all of these are fine and normal choices, especially for long-term couples. They are two separate individuals. Jimin didn't even breathe a word about his own OST, never mind JK not bringing it up. What the hecking heck was that about?

But it's the vibe between them. Which is hard for me to quantify for you b/c it's a gut feeling. It feels like Jimin still is so taken with JK, always available and trying to reach out sometimes, but JK cuddles and teases and initiates far more with his other hyungs and doesn't always seem available to Jimin. They rarely are paired up for stuff this year, and that recent Proof photoshoot--Jimin didn't even look at Jungkook once that I could see. It was stiff and awkward. Like, even between setting up photos, they didn't really look at each other. That's not the Jikook I know!

(I compare that to when JK seems to be so totally open and delighted by Jimin--whispering in his ear and putting his cold hands on Jimin's neck during the Seoul concert... tapping Hobi right off that couch and onto the floor so he could sit next to Jimin and smack his thigh... like... I just get whiplash, I am telling you!!)

Maybe we'll get memories and behind the scenes and bombs and music performances that show them all up in each other's pockets just like always, and I'll be a clown to have ever doubted, and I'll be the first one to shout from the rooftops I'm a clown and thank god.

Jimin told us "there are things we cannot tell you and that's painful and sad." I'll just bet. I hope someday they all feel safe to tell us their true stories. For now, all I can do is take what I see in original contents, parse through it with kind-hearted fans, and support them. My insecurities are based on gut feelings I get while watching such a very small slice of their lives. So I write about it here in the hopes someone can point to evidence and go "Look at this! They are still very very much in love, it's all right here!" and then I can go "Oh thank goodness! I was such a silly goose!"

I'm oversharing here, but I'm battling a uterine cancer diagnosis. BTS was my happy place. Jikook fills my hours up with joy instead of anxiety. So if I seem obsessed by this, it's because focusing on real life right now is a bit too scary. So please take everything I say with a grain of salt. Truth is, I don't have any special insight or answers. I'm just looking at the content available to me and wondering if Jimin and Jungkook are doing all right. As long as they are all right, I'll feel all right.

[moemammon]

The demon brothers reacting to MC dropping their phone on their face while laying down:

Lucifer

Why are you laying around on your phone anyway? Why, because Lucifer was buried in paperwork and couldn't give you the time of day!

He wanted to, of course, but you knew better than to pester this workaholic while he was doing stuff.

So instead, you decided to keep him company with your presence, rather than your words. And he appreciates it. Having you around clears his head and encourages him to work faster, somehow.

Maybe it's because he wants to get back to you as quickly as he can? He's rather spend time with you, anyway.

And it seemed like you'd need it since you just destroyed your nose with your phone.

All you wanted was to scroll through the group texts to pass the time.... why did gravity betray you like this...

Lucifer hears the soft smack of your phone against your face, and the grunt of pain that follows it.

He doesn't even need to look up. He knows what happened. Maybe he's trying to spare your feelings?

You don't see it, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. What a sadist...

"I did tell you to sit properly while you use your D.D.D., didn't I? I hope you've learned your lesson."

You narrow your eyes at the demon, not sure whether to be embarrassed or irritated.

Lucifer finally looks up at you with that judging gaze of his. But he's not going to mock you, of course! The eldest is too mature for that.

"Maybe it's time I took a break. It seems that you need something other than your D.D.D. to keep you busy."

So all you had to do was pull a Mammon and he’d start paying attention to you, huh?

You make a mental note of that.

Mammon

You were in Mammon's room, lounging around in comfortable silence. You were laying across his sofa on your back, arms propped up to hold your phone over your face while you watched a video.

And that's when the inevitable happened. Your fingers slipped, and....

The moment your phone makes contact with your face, Mammon's practically in tears.

Seriously. He has to shove his face into his pillow so he can calm himself down. But did you HEAR the sound you just made-

He's dropped his phone on his face so many times that he's glad HE gets to laugh for once, instead of the other way around!

He feels your pain though, so once he recovers from laughing for ten years, he asks if your nose is okay

Which you reply that it is not.

May he offer you a bandaid in these trying times?

"Don't look at me like that! I already said I was sorry for laughing at ya, didn't I?? C'mon MC... Oi, don't ignore me!"

Levi

Levi's back is to you and his eyes are trained on his computer screen, watching the pixilated game characters move across the screen.

You don't mind, since you're absorbed in your own game, a new mobile mmorpg he introduced you to!

And you've taken the liberty of stealing his bathtub bed for yourself, and we're currently laying on your back, arms raised high as if that would channel power into your character's move combo.

But it seems like you got a little too excited, because your phone slipped out of your grasp, and right into your poor face.

When you yelped, Levi pauses his game and takes his headset off to see what??? you just did??

Then he sees it.

His dear Henry has lost the battle against their D.D.D... he knows you fought honorably...

No but seriously, you good?

He's probably the one who's done it the most out of all of his brothers, what with all of his hobbies involving browsing the internet.

"Uh... I don't have any ice, but you can use this soda can..? It's still cold."

Thanks Levi. That was very poggers of you.

Satan

You were laying about, scrolling the internet to figure out the meaning of a word you'd just read.

Impignorate??? What was THAT. Not even Satan had an answer, so you had to rely on google to give you a hand.

Speaking of hands, yours decided to betray you and send your phone into your face, which Satan just witnessed.

He was mostly paying attention to the book his nose was buried in, but he’d sneak glances at you from time to time.

And he just happened to get lucky enough to witness your murder

This man lets out a very audible "Pfft-"

He was trying not to laugh. He swears. It's just that the sound of the phone hitting your face was just

Chef kiss

And now he will offer you a kiss, too, to your lil red nose.

He gets up to make sure you're good, still obviously laughing about it.

"Maybe you should sit up next time you use your D.D.D., hm?"

Now where have you heard that one-

He's definitely logging that memory into his brain forever though lmao

He didn't know humans could make a sound like that

Asmo

Does this scenario even need explaining??

There was nothing unusual about you and Asmo laying around his enormous bed, scrolling through devilgram, fashion blogs, and rolling over to show each other your latest internet find.

But all that rolling around and laughing came at a price...

That price being the structural integrity of your skull, after your phone just dive bombed into it.

Asmo IMMEDIATELY sits up

If there's anyone who knows how dangerous a blow to the face can be, it's Asmo!

He's not even laughing about it. Just cupping you're cheeks and checking you over like a worried wife mom

"Are you okay?? Nothing seems to be swelling, and I don't see any bruises... How's your nose? Does it hurt?? I'll get you some ice! We don't want any marks on that adorable face of yours!"

Nurse Asmo will heal your superficial wounds

Speeds up the recovery process with a million butterfly kisses all over your face

May or may not turn into a few kisses going lower and lower, until-

Anyway, just be careful next time, okay? You nearly gave him a heart attack!

Beel

What do you do when you run out of ideas for what to make for dinner?

You look to the internet for some recipes! Preferably easy ones that can be made quickly and in huge batches, per Beel's request.

He's looking, too! There are plenty of cookbooks to flip through, so while you handle the googling, he's busy... drooling over the photos in the books.

At this rate, he might just eat the books themselves...

So you get up from your cozy lounge spot on the counter- Or, that was the plan anyway. But one thing led to another, and the only thing moving was your cell phone.

Rapidly.

Toward your face.

Beel hears the smack and then the curse you mumble under your breath, and looks over with worry.

His hunger is temporarily forgotten since he's got to make sure you're okay. Humans are fragile, after all!

Maybe not fragile enough to seriously be hurt by something like this, but he still doesn't like when you get hurt.

"Are you okay..? That sounded like it hurt."

Carefully inspecting your face. When he concludes that you seem perfectly fine, he gives your hair an affectionate ruffle.

"Why don't we look through the cookbooks together? I found a recipe that looks tasty. I want to make it with you."

The pain in your face seems to fly away in the presence of this sunshine man.... you have truly been blessed...

Belphie

Hanging out under the stars with Belphie was always so relaxing. You couldn't get enough of it!

And this time, you had the great idea of snapping a few photos of the display above your heads.

After a couple of selfies and a few shots overhead, to position your phone to take one last photo of yourself and Belphegor, when your finger slips.

Belphie has abandoned you.

He rolls away at light speed to prevent the phone from possibly hitting HIM, and lets you take the hit.

You've never felt more betrayed....

And he has the nerve to chuckle???

He grabs your phone from your face, inching close enough to look you over.

"Sorry. I didn't want to get hit. That must've hurt, huh?"

Yeah, no kidding.

Probably imitates the sound you made at random times throughout the day just to get on your nerves tbh

He's annoyingly good at it, too

Evil man

Gremlin

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #shall we date obey me #mammon #mammon x mc #obey me belphie #obey me mc #headcanons #swd obey me #obey me! #obey me headcanons #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #list

[evnovia]

— because i’m a hero.

Bakugou unloads his worries for you in the only way he knows how.

+ pairing. bakugou x reader + warnings. lots of swearing, some violence (can be seen as abusive/toxic), mention of sex + word count. 1.436 + author’s note. who hurt me? this playlist and its title did, now suffer with me :) jk there’s comfort i’m too much of a sappy bitch to make it edgy

The door to your hospital room slams open with a powerful bang that nearly threatens to displace the flimsy wood from its hinges.

You refuse to turn your head towards the clamour and acknowledge your unwelcome visitor, feigning disinterest by relaxing your features into a cool, blank facade. It’s silent for a few moments—no boisterous yells, no low growls, nothing. Restraining your curiosity, you keep your eyes trained on the bare, weathered tree outside your window.

Your heart contracts with a greater force at his slow, sardonic snicker, sending more blood rushing to the muscles in your arms and legs and nearly kicking into your fight-or-flight response. “Tell me, was it fun?”

After one deep inhale followed by a lengthy exhale, you languidly turn to gaze upon the number three pro hero, Dynamight. He’s in his signature tight, black costume with his toned muscles on display, mask pushed up into his hairline. His blond locks spill over the makeshift headband in sharp spikes that you know from experience are delightfully soft to the touch.

Agitation and fury radiate off him in waves, exacerbated by his heavy breathing coupled with his clenched jaw and fists.

A flock of concerned nurses crowd at the entryway, evidently conflicted on whether to step in and risk their neck to an infuriated Dynamight or to simply turn a blind eye to the hero’s rampage. You send them a weak smile, flicking your wrist to aid their conscience and leave you to handle the ticking time bomb in front of you.

Once they hurriedly shuffle outside, carefully closing the door behind them, you heave a sigh. “Was what fun, Kats?”

“Stop acting like such a prissy ass bitch,” he seethes, liquid venom oozing out between his pretty lips. Bakugou edges closer to your bedside, leaning in to fist at the collar of your hospital gown. “What else would I be fucking coming in here for? Were you having trouble paying rent even with all your shitty rescues? Pretty smart fucking plan, I gotta hand it to ya—taking up camp in the hospital where the cost is already paid off for dumb fucks like you.”

His knuckles dig into the soft flesh of your neck. You concentrate on the flash of pain to ground yourself, chewing on the inside lining of your cheek to keep your own words level and calm. Two fiery knuckleheads is a recipe for disaster, and a hospital is the last place you want to duke it out with him anyway.

“There wasn’t any heroes aroun—”

“Oh, that’s it!” The heavy sarcasm laced in his tone raises your mouth into a snarl, eyes hardening on his own deadly crimson ones. “The selfless cripple stepped up when there was no one around to help out! Rather than waiting for help with the other civilians, you thought you could play hero, right?”

Smacking his hand from your clavicle, you purse your lips to guard the hateful words bubbling in your mouth from spilling out into the open as Bakugou fans the raging flames in your stomach. In order to keep the situation from escalating any further, you reach over for the red call button on your bedside to give both of you time to cool your heads.

Before your fingers can graze the button Bakugou snaps, trapping your wrist within his larger hand. With your other arm hanging uselessly in a cast, he’s free to entangle one hand into your hair, harshly pulling on the locks to tilt your head up towards his bulky form that climbs up onto your bed and straddles your waist.

“You just can’t quit, huh? After almost fucking dying on your last mission and landing yourself months in this hell hole, you still didn’t learn a fucking thing. It’s all a game to you. Nothing scares you, not even an A-list villain.” You wince at the cracks in his voice. “Did you miss it here? Why do you bother getting all beat up when I can kill you right here—no need for any of this pointless bullshit if you’re dead!”

“Shut up, asshole. Don’t start with me,” you warn, cursing your weakened muscles for being unable to fling Bakugou off your lap. It’s laughably easy for him to pin you down and halt your fruitless flailing with a brawny thigh to your abdomen that knocks the wind out of you.

“This is what you wanted! You needed to hear how great of a person you are, right? Saving people even when you’re off-duty—even when you got discharged this fucking morning! How heroic of you!”

The last thread of your sanity snaps.

“Shut up Bakugou! You know that’s not what I became a hero for!” Your voice raises to rival his own deafening volume, lungs aching from your sudden screeching added onto your previous injuries.

“Hah? Don’t make me laugh.” The menacing smirk etched onto his face only serves to rile you up further. “You did all this for you, didn’t even give a second fucking thought about other people—spare me your fake righteous crap.”

“What did you want me to do? Watch while innocent people get slaughtered by villains—”

You’re cut off by a stinging pain in your scalp, Bakugou’s sharp pull to your hair angling your face up towards the ceiling as he drags his knees closer to your waist.

He smashes his forehead against yours. There’s not enough force behind his pounding to leave a mark on him, but the lacerations near your temples open up once more, oozing blood down the sides of your head.

Bakugou’s features scrunch up, poison still spitting out of his mouth, but eyes watering with unshed tears all the same. “What is it gonna take for you to learn to save yourself first, dumb fuck? Should I help you get back on death’s door for it to get through your goddamn skull?”

Your expression instantly softens at the helpless worry scattered in the burning reds and gentle pinks of his irises. “I did evacuate with the rest of them, Kats. We were all huddled up in the storeroom, but I saw a kid run back when he heard his mom screaming outside.”

The tension in Bakugou’s face melts off, leaving the defeated slouch of his brows, mouth relaxed into a frown. He lowers back until he’s seated in your lap, releasing your wrist in favour of tenderly wrapping his arms around your waist and cuddling his head into your neck while cautiously avoiding your wounds. “You still should’a stayed where it was safe, idiot.”

You giggle lazily with no amusement behind the act, lifting your hand up to his sturdy back to trace abstract loops into the spandex. “He was yelling out the filthiest curses I’ve ever heard. I think even his mom was shocked—I saw her lecturing him about it afterwards.”

Bakugou grunts into your sensitive skin, understanding your plight without needing to hear your explanation. You two fall into a comfortable silence, reveling in one another’s presence with an occasional nip to your nape.

“Come live with me.”

A short, estranged cry escapes your mouth. Bakugou remains unmoving, curled up into your torso. “Kats?”

“Maybe it’ll stop you from holing up in this stupid place all the time.”

You land a smack to his shoulder blade, scoffing at the implication that your pockets are so despairingly empty that you are forced to rely on the free services gifted upon injured heroes. “You know I pay rent whether I’m at home or not, right?”

He presses his fingers into your sides, massaging the sparse areas that aren’t covered in wraps of bloodied bandages. “I don’t fucking care. Move in with me, your apartment is shitty anyway.”

You hum, shifting around to fight off the numbing sensation spreading throughout your lower limbs. “That’s not what you said the last time you were there.”

Shivering at the snarky grin pressed into your neck, you tighten your hold on the tight fabric hugging his waist. “That’s because I spent the whole day fucking your brains outta your—”

You dig your own fingers underneath his ribs to silence him from tainting the innocent atmosphere of the hospital any further. His spine straightens as he removes his head from your shoulder, looming over you with a cocky smirk. “Live with me.”

“It doesn’t even sound like a question at this point,” you point out, unable to resist pecking his lips after.

“Because it’s fucking not.” Bakugou chases after your retreating mouth, swirling his tongue with yours once reunited. His long fingers grasp onto the back of your head, bringing you infinitely closer.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you

[probablytenderjourneys]

Jude and Cardan headcanons - taking place during and after Jude's abduction, part 1

With Jude gone, Cardan felt like he couldn't breathe. His mind kept coming up with all different kinds of cruelty Queen Orlagh, Balekin and Nicasia could inflict on Jude. Are they feeding her? Is she glamoured? Is she mad at him? Is she waiting for someone to go save her? Did they break her, his mortal, his seneschal, his Jude?

Every night, he walks past her chambers, wanting to go inside but stopping himself because it would be unbearable to stare at the empty bed, the empty desk, the unused clothes.

Some nights, he gives in. He goes inside and curls in her bed, hugging her pillow, trying to find a piece of her there. Her specific scent is starting to fade away.

One morning, Cardan opens the door to leave and bumps into Madoc. The General looks mildly disoriented for a second, his eyes searching Cardan's. Cardan starts walking and hears Madoc say 'It's difficult for me too'. They never speak of their encounter.

Cardan hates the sight of Taryn's red eyes, the pleading in them evident. What right has she to look like that when she chose Locke over her own sister, when she betrayed Jude, when she chose Locke's fickle love over her sister's steady one? The sight of her is a reminder of the twin he lost, a brighter, more vibrant version of this whimpering girl. It's revolting. Why is she safe when his Jude, his scheming, ruthless, strong Jude is lost to the sea?

Cardan spends as much time as he can with the Roach and the Bomb. They don't say much, because what is there to say? But they appreciate each other's company no matter what. Until one day, when the Roach suggests that if returned, Jude might be working for Orlagh. Who knows what they're doing to her? Cardan shudders at the thought of Jude being tortured into obedience and wants to yell at the Roach for even thinking Jude can be broken by the people holding her captive, but he doesn't have it in him to argue. He simply stands up and leaves. In his chambers, his hands are shaking and tears sting his eyes. He feels pathetic and angry at himself but at the end of the day, King or not, he's also just a boy who suffered at the hands of Balekin. If he treated his own blood like that, how is he treating Jude?

The worst part of being prisoner of the Undersea, for Jude, is Balekin. She can resist Queen Orlagh's brutality, her slaps, her sharp laughs, her desire to humiliate Jude. That she can take. What hurts is how Balekin is a constant reminder of Cardan. Of the life she had on land. Of the people she's missing with such intensity that her heart might break and break until there's nothing left in it. She hates that Balekin keeps commanding her to kiss him; how she has to pretend that it's Cardan she's kissing to keep the sickness she feels at bay. How her memories of Cardan's soft mouth are tainted with those of Balekin's cold lips. She hates how she kissed Balekin more times than she kissed Cardan.

When Cardan first receives word from Orlagh, he's ready to accept all her terms without a second of hesitation. It is his council that begs for enough time to consider other options; it is the council that suggests that maybe the life of a mortal isn't worth the price they have to pay. Cardan has never been inclined to murder anyone, but the threats that leave his mouth would make even Jude proud.

He is the High King of Elfhame and he would gladly burn his kingdom to the ground if that meant getting Jude back.

No one argues when the air around Cardan starts crackling, the smell of a storm noticeable, the room in which they stand shaking.

Madoc doesn't totally agree with Cardan's choices and he really doesn't like the boy being the High King. What he is surprised to find, however, is that he likes Cardan- not Prince Cardan, not King Cardan, simply just Cardan- way more than he likes Locke. He might be incompetent at being High King, but at least he cares for Jude way more than Locke could ever care about Taryn.

Taryn hears of Cardan's display of power and feels a pang of jealousy. What would Locke do if she was the one to disappear?

After agreeing to Orlagh's terms, Cardan can hardly sleep. What has become of Jude? What will he see when he can finally look at her again? He can't stop his mind from racing so instead he drinks and drinks and drinks until he's so drunk he can't even dream. When he wakes up, it's time to go get his Jude.

At first, Cardan can't even see her. She looks so small, so unlike herself, all her muscle gone. She's a shadow of herself, hair dull and hanging limp, skin ashy, like that of a corpse, a dress that hangs on her as if hanging on a leaf. She can't keep her back straight as she usually does, and when Cardan sees her eyes he actually takes a surprised breath. The gleam in her eyes gone, the wicked challenge erased from her gaze as if with a sponge. Wiped clean. He wants to scream at Orlagh that this is not his Jude, not his seneschal, not the mortal who schemed his coronation and fooled so many of the Folk.

Jude Jude Jude Jude, come back come back come back to me, Jude my Jude, come back he thinks, as a prayer, as if the mere power of his thoughts could heal her.

He clenches his fists, hard, to hide the shaking of his hands and to control the power that threatens to unleash itself and kill everyone in sight. He must act the role of the King.

It takes everything in him not to run to Jude when she steps on land but he must keep his mask on; cold, indifferent almost, composed.

He can't help looking after her when she is taken away, longing and sadness so evidently etched on his face, Madoc feels the need to clear his throat to remind the Kingling to hide his weaknesses. He knows what it is to fall for a mortal and the almost constant worry that comes with it. They are fragile beings. Even Jude.

#jude and cardan headcannons #the folk of the air #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #madoc #taryn duarte #locke #Cardan's POV #balekin greenbriar #jude's abduction #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing

[fandom-monium]

For the Holidays

Summary: In which Spencer does not want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

WC: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), Morgan trying to be a good big bro (and wingman)

Spencer Reid does not hate Christmas.

“Reid, come on⎼”

“No.”

“Just listen to me.”

“I did, and it’s a stupid idea.”

No, really. Because hating Christmas would imply he didn’t care. Which he does.

Like when Garcia never fails to drag him into decorating the bullpen every year. Obnoxious Christmas music plays in the background as they bomb Hotch’s office, and it’s worth the smile on his face when he walks in the next morning.

It would mean hating Rossi and his extravagant dinner parties. And yeah, he always hosts but these are just as special if not more so. His mansion is decked in fairy lights and streamers, the food are traditional holiday recipes, and the whole place seems a little less massive.

And he doesn’t hate his breaks. He nearly spits out his coffee when Morgan grumbles about how he almost tripped and fell over from the ice. He has to scramble away as the older man bats at him.

Or when Prentiss drops off holiday-themed pastries? Mhm, just thinking of the ribbon-tied box makes him salivate.

Hating the Christmas card is completely out of the question. Henry and Michael make them every year for the entire team, and JJ makes an effort to shake them out carefully for. It has a boyish charm Spencer never had at their age, a mess of glitter and construction paper. He displays it on his desk anyway.

And you. It would mean hating all the various hot chocolate beverages you’ve made since December started.

Apparently, it’s serious business⎼the art of hot chocolate making. You’ve leaned against his desk, hands waving about as you try to articulate to him the relevance, going over anything and everything you can remember of its history and significance. Of course, he knows all of this already, but he likes you too much to stop you. He almost releases a loving sigh. Instead, he settles for nodding and grinning at you, and he doesn’t really get it but he loves it: the hot chocolate, your pensive expression as you await his critique, even though by now he’s sure you know he has no other comments except ‘delicious’.

He loves it all. He loves you⎼all of you guys. Obviously.

So, no. He does not hate Christmas.

But that doesn’t mean he loves it either.

Which is why, when Morgan leans against his desk, he greets him as normal, a smile forming on his lips as he sets his book down. There is no danger here, except Morgan’s guns. And the heinous green and red envelope between his fingers⎼

Where the hell did he get that.

Spencer’s blood froze. His collection of trauma was nothing compared to this.

Now here he is, packing away his things so he can go home to his warm, cozy apartment and order takeout like he does every year. He's not one for change. No need to break tradition.

But Morgan is acting like a child. Wait, no, even children are better behaved than this. Children at least give up faster.

“I’m telling you, it’s a good idea.”

“As a certified genius, I can say with all honesty, it is not.”

“I promise you it’ll be fine,” Morgan reassures him, voice soothing. The letter, colorful and bright and an eye sore, mocks Spencer. He wishes his reflexes were faster, so he can snatch the abhorrent cluster of sparkles and poorly printed holiday cartoons. And shred it.

Maybe if he glares hard enough, it’ll burst into flames.

“Morgan, my class hated me. The whole school hated me,” Spencer shoves another book into his satchel. It's harder than he means to, and he sends a silent apology to Stephen King; he usually handles his books with care. But not right now. Now, he's tired and exasperated and he just wants to curl up on his couch with The Doctor. "I'm sure I won't be missed."

"But you’re the life of the party!"

Spencer looks up.

Morgan winces, "Yeah, even I wouldn't believe me.” Spencer snorts, continuing to stuff his belongings into his satchel. Morgan’s relentless however. “But you deserve to show them up. You’ve got degrees⎼plural⎼and you're a hotshot FBI agent.”

“Are you not aware of the tragedy that is my high school social experience?”

“Oh, I'm very aware, and thank you for being vulnerable with me. But it's because I care that I’m telling you.”

Morgan’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder, making Spencer pause. He meets his gaze, the man’s expression solemn.

“You deserve to rub it in their faces until the only thing they can smell is your success.”

Morgan grins when that draws out a laugh from him.

Spencer huffs, “Shouldn't we be the bigger person here by not going?”

The older man grimaces, retracting his hand as if the idea offends him. “Fuck that. Be a show off! They deserve to be knocked down a peg after what they did to you in high school.”

Spencer bites his lip. Yes, he’s accomplished, and yeah, as Morgan said, he’s a ‘hot shot FBI agent’. But the memories surge in like a broken dam, cruel laughter and harsh words crashing into him as if he’s twelve years old again. He’s an adult now, so he doesn’t topple over from the impact like before, but the pain is a phantom limb, old and familiar, and leaves a pit in his stomach.

He was a child prodigy then. How would going back as he is now be any different?

Morgan's heart clenches when an unspoken pain flits across Spencer’s face, glossing over his eyes. He can't imagine how deep the emotional scars go, but he knows Spencer needs some form of closure from his past. So when he found the invite, he knew they had to seize the chance. If he wants to continue to move forward, Spencer has to learn to let go. And right now, this is his first class ticket. It’s why he’s pushing this so hard.

This is for Spencer.

But the doctor shakes his head, a strained smile tugging his lips. “Morgan, I had no friends. Even if I go, what am I supposed to do once I arrive? It'd be awkward enough as is.”

“True,” The older man contemplates, a light bulb going off as he snaps his fingers. “You know what you should do? Ask (Your Name) to go with you.”

“(Your Name)?” Spencer jolts, fumbling to catch his phone. Despite being a man of science, his eyes dart around, like you’re a demon summoned at the mention of your name. “Wha-what? Why?”

“They could act as your buffer. And you did say you wanted to be closer with them. This is the perfect opportunity,” Morgan shrugs. Like his suggestion is common sense, logical. Maybe it is.

But this is you they’re talking about. You would never. You’re too cool for a silly high school reunion.

At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself as Spencer’s face pinches. He catches his lip with his teeth. “Morgan, I appreciate the… thought, but I could never ask (Your Name).”

“Ask me what?”

… Oh no. You are a demon.

Spencer whirls around in time to see the glass door shut behind you. You stand there in all your poise and beauty, the fluorescent lights softening your expression. You're bundled up in a matching coat and scarf, the knitted beanie snug on your crown and clashing with your outfit (Garcia told you it’s not your Christmas present, but you’ve worn it everyday since). There’s sprinkles of snow all over you.

You’re not a demon, Spencer decides, even as you brush a clump off your shoulder, nose scrunched in annoyance. More like a snow angel.

You tilt your head curiously when Spencer doesn’t answer immediately. There’s a knowing look on his face as Morgan, realizing the poor guy probably won’t respond any time soon, steps up.

“(Your Name), I thought you went home already.”

You cross the bullpen. “I was. Garcia walked me down and I got to the courtyard. Then I realized she had me so distracted that I left my phone charger,” You rummage around your desk and without looking up, you reiterate, “So ask me what?”

Spencer blinks. “What?”

“You had something to ask me, right?”

Right. That. He runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “Actually, I don’t⎼oof.”

Morgan jabs his side, “Yes, there is something Reid needs to ask you.” He sends him a meaningful look.

“Shoot.” You nod to them before rifling through your desk drawers. Nope, not there. You card through files and office supplies, oblivious to the conversation Spencer and Morgan have with their eyes, shooting looks and mouthing at each other.

You bend over your desk as Morgan gestures, Ask them!

Spencer shakes his head vigorously, No!

Do it, or I'll do it for you, he mouths.

Spencer squints at him. You wouldn't.

Morgan smirks and Spencer's heart drops to his stomach. Before he can run, shout for help, literally anything, the man slings a buff arm around his shoulders, forcing Spencer to slightly bend down to his level, hugging him to his side.

He's trapped. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Fuck.

“Reid is going to his high school reunion,” Morgan starts, biting back a grin when the nerd squirms against him. Both men boys watch, one excited and the other petrified as you disappear behind your desk.

“That’s nice.”

"Yeah. But all his classmates are older than him and married…“

“Uh-huh…” You scan the dark floors, half-listening as Spencer frowns at the unnecessary detail. He never told Morgan such a thing. He didn’t even know, so how would Morgan-?

“So, can you guys pretend to be a couple or something?”

Thud.

“What!?”

Luckily, neither of you notice the other’s surprise as Spencer chokes on air at the same time you let out a pained hiss.

Morgan lets him pull away, withholding a snicker. “You good, (Your Name)?”

“I’m okay!” Your head pops up from under your desk as you rub the top of your head. You blink owlishly. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me to pretend to be your partner?”

“Yes! But Reid’s partner,” Morgan emphasizes, slapping the doctor’s back hard enough he nudges forward.

You stand and Spencer straightens up, trying not to fidget as your gaze burns into his. You’ve known each other for quite some time now, and while Spencer likes to think he knows you pretty well, it bothers him when your expression becomes unreadable. He knows it shouldn't but it does. He’s a profiler, yet your thoughts are completely obscured by a mask. It only makes him more nervous than he already is.

His skin feels hot when your eyes trail over him, and he prays his scarf is enough to cover the flush spreading from his neck.

He's about to disintegrate when you finally answer.

"Okay."

His brow shoots up and his heart flips. You move away from your desk as he sputters, "Really? Are⎼are you sure? I don’t want to put you out of your way.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Why?” You step closer, and he can’t breathe, not without it hitting your face. You stare him down the bridge of your nose, eyes narrowed. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

“What? No, of course not!”

You raise an eyebrow expectantly. “Then it’s settled? We’ll pretend to be a couple for your reunion thing?"

A beat of silence. Spencer realizes you're waiting for his confirmation. But panic rises like bile in his throat and he hesitates.

Maybe he should back out now, retract the entire conversation and take the embarrassment like a man. Tell you he was never planning to attend the stupid reunion because his classmates were (and probably still are) assholes. Honesty is key to any relationship after all.

Especially between coworkers. Ahem.

A flicker of movement and Spencer glances over your shoulder. Morgan nods frantically at him, teeth flashing as he grins wider than before. He gives him two thumbs up.

Maybe, for once, he should pull a Morgan and just vibe it.

Yeah. Yeah!

Swallowing, he nods to you, giving you his signature white-person smile because he's sure if he speaks he might blurt out something completely inappropriate. Like statistics on workplace relationships (they’re great reading material, okay).

Your lips quirk up. "Cool. Text me the details when you get the chance.”

You brush past him before he manages a reply, your footsteps fading. Morgan waggles his eyebrows at Spencer. Spencer blankly stares after you.

“What just happened?”

“You just got a date to your reunion. A fake date, mind you, but you’re welcome nonetheless,” Morgan smirks at him. “So, you got a plan, Pretty Boy?”

His face falls, and the hearts in his eyes⎼shit, had they always been there?⎼chip slightly.

He does not have a plan.

Deleted scene:

“Did you do it?”

“It went all according to plan, Mama.”

AN: I fucked myself over and wrote 7k+ and still counting. Now it’s an unplanned holiday mini series. This kind of stems from Bonding as this uses Mysterious!Reader. Also, I seem to be into pining (fuck established relationships, suffer in silenceee). Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope you still enjoy this one shot!! 

One of the biggest disappointments of CM: Spencer doesn’t confront his high school bullies. I read several fics of him doing so, but a lot of them have the bullies be just as much of an asshole as they were to him in the past, but he deserves more closure. 

This will be my take on it. It’ll be a lot of pining but I hope to focus on the his hardships in a less angsty, dramatic way.

Hope you enjoy it!! There will be at least 3 parts?

Also, spread the usage of the term ‘partner’, which can be used for same-sex and opposite-sex relationships.

#spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #mgg fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg fic #my writing #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds

[adhduck]

Oh Well, I Guess We’re Gonna Pretend

AO3

(Major spoilers for rqg 207)

Wilde is at a party with all his loved ones, and everything in his life is finally falling into place.

He’s also unconscious on the floor of the world’s last safehouse, and something is coming for him.

--

“Come on, Oscar, dance with us.”

Wilde blinks, realizes Hamid is standing in front of him with his hand outstretched; probably a symbolic gesture, considering he’d be hard-pressed to pull someone double his height.

Smiling, Wilde sets his half-empty champagne flute on the table. “Of course. Care to join, Zolf?”

Zolf, who’s slouching in the next seat with his long, worn coat tucked around him in a fabulous display of I am not a party person, scoffs fondly. “Absolutely not. ‘Sides, it’s yer party, Wilde, not mine.”

“It’s our party,” Wilde says with mock offense, putting a hand on his chest. “Didn’t you hear my toast?”

“Half of it, maybe.”

Wilde rolls his eyes, but relents and squeezes Zolf’s shoulder; presses down a smile when Zolf catches his hand for a second and pats it. “I’ll get you to have fun one day, Zolf, mark my words.” He’s rewarded with a gruff little mumble, and then Hamid tugs on his coattail to pull him away.

[Cel is still reeling from the shock of electricity when they see it. It’s large, with a body that could be humanoid if not for the oversized head, how its body seems not to take up space but distort it. If not for the six-foot swords it has instead of arms.

Instinct kicking in, Cel pulls two bombs from their pockets and throws them in rapid succession. Even with their hands trembling a little – they always do, the first few moments of combat – Cel know each one is perfectly weighted and near perfectly aimed.

The creature doesn’t even flinch.

It only takes a moment to process what that means – limited bombs, a 5% chance of hitting at best, almost a third of their own health taken in one hit – before Cel abandons the idea of attacking and reaches instead for Hamid. He’s desperately light, clothes singed and hissing; as Cel pulls him to their chest, he curls instinctively into the touch.

“Hang on, little buddy,” they whisper, trying fiercely to sound sure. “You just keep dreaming for now; I’ll keep you safe.”

They just need to get him through the door.]

There are a few people dancing, but the clear stars are Azu and Kiko—partly due to Azu’s shimmering, lightly glowing pink gown, but mostly because of the dance itself. It’s a bright, lively partner dance Wilde hasn’t seen before, where they pull in and out of each other’s embrace with twirls and dips and lots of laughter. It looks equally exhausting and exhilarating.

Azu notices him mid-spin and brightens immediately, waving him over. “Kiko, you mind if I show Wilde the ropes?”

Kiko grins and gracefully steps back, half-bowing in the process. “Yeah, sure. Long as I can watch.”

So Azu works Wilde through the steps, out of sync with the music at first to get them right, then faster as he gains confidence, and soon they, too, are spinning and laughing. “You,” Wilde says when they pause to catch their breath, adjusting the frill around his neck, “are an excellent dance partner, Azu.”

Azu preens a little. “Oh, thank you! Though I doubt I’ve got much competition, knowing Zolf.”

Chuckling, Wilde glances at the man in question to find him looking back, chin in hand and a fond smile tugging at his mouth—for a moment, at least, before he darts his eyes away with flushing cheeks. Wilde’s heart sings.

[Azu looks sharply between her friends – half of them unconscious, all of them wounded – and the advancing creature. It seems completely unconcerned by the weapons being pulled as it wades into the fray, dodging a heavy swing from Zolf without even acknowledging him. The swords protruding from its shoulders are almost as long as she is tall.

We can’t win this, Azu realizes. Not while it’s this strong. Pressing a hand to her chest, where her pendant rests safely beneath the armor, she calls to her goddess with words of love and protection and rage. The divine energy builds in her chest, bringing the dull glow of her armor to a bright shine; she throws her hand outwards, flinging the energy with it in all directions, and there—at last, the creature hesitates. It stops as suddenly as if caught in a rockslide, making a noise halfway between a groan of pain and the grinding of stuck gears, and Azu starts to feel hopeful.

Then, it raises its blade.]

Azu catches the movement and smiles conspiratorially. “You know, there are gardens out back that are much quieter than in here.”

”Ah, but you forget,” Wilde replies, putting on his best performer voice. “That just guarantees Sasha will be there, hidden amongst the foliage, waiting to strike.”

Giggling a little, Azu says, “The worst you’ll get from her is some rumors about you and Zolf that are actually true.”

Wilde gasps in (mostly) faux horror. “Don’t even say that.”

Azu laughs for real now, a full and surprised thing, and pushes his shoulder lightly. “Go spend time with him, the party will survive without you a while.” Wilde pouts a little at that, and she tips her head toward Hamid; he’s dancing with complete abandon a few feet away, wings half-unfurled and arms raised high in the air as he spins. Already, a few people have been pulled into his orbit, letting their awkward shuffling loosen into something more inelegant, more natural. “We’ve got it covered. Now go, before you start having deadlines again.”

“To be fair, we have an entire holiday between now and then,” Wilde argues—a bit superfluously, considering he’s already moving away.

Zolf greets Wilde’s approach by sitting up in his chair, eyebrows furrowed and hands raised defensively. “If you try to get me to dance, Wilde, I swear to gods—”

“Already learned my lesson with that one, darling.” Zolf’s ears go a little pink, and Wilde is powerless against the urge to lean into it. “Of course, there are plenty of dances we haven’t tried together—”

“Oh, sod off,” Zolf says, kicking Wilde lightly in the shin; his ears are red, though, so he’s already lost the fight.

[Augusta makes no noise as she’s stabbed through the heart; dead before the pain had a chance to wake her. It’s a mercy, perhaps, but one Cel refuses to let happen to anyone else.

The creature shifts, pulling back its bloodied weapon with Hamid as the clear target, and Cel lunges towards the door, clutching Hamid fiercely against them—and is stopped cold as the creature pierces right through Hamid’s chest.

Like Augusta, Hamid doesn’t cry out when he’s stabbed. He doesn’t move, either; not even when the blade is yanked back out with just force it nearly tugs him from Cel’s arms. Panting, they gather him back against their chest, whatever miniscule safety that might entail, and feel for a pulse. It’s there, thank gods, but only just. He might only have seconds left, and there’s nothing they can do.

At the corner of Hamid’s mouth, Cel can see a smile – the kind he might give during the opening toast of a party, now just the shadow of some wonderful dream – and they do not cry, because what fucking good would that do?]

Just to seal the deal, Wilde drops to his knees in front of Zolf’s chair, bringing them almost eye to eye, and flashes his shiniest grin as he teases, “Don’t worry, I know you love it.” He allows a few seconds for Zolf to huff and pointedly not answer, feeling his chest radiate with warmth, then adds, “Anyway, want to get out of here?”

Zolf’s eyebrows raise, then quickly furrow. “What’re you- that was an awful transition line, ya know. Unless you’re tryna seduce me or somethin’, in which case, why.”

“I’m always trying to seduce you, Zolf, it just never works,” Wilde replies easily. “That’s why I enjoy it so much. And anyway, that’s not what I was asking about. There’s apparently a garden out back, and I thought you might want to take a walk with me.”

“Ain’t you got allergies?”

“It’ll be quiet out there. Poetic.”

Zolf considers for a second, looking Wilde over with a slowly forming smile he’s definitely not conscious of, and for a moment there’s nothing else Wilde wants more than this: kneeling in front of the man he loves, basking in his quiet attention, knowing there’s exciting work ahead and time enough to rest before it comes.

[Zolf spins around, ready to level another attack – he hasn’t hit the thing yet, but maybe if he aims a little lower, forces it to turn for him instead – when he sees the blade sliding out of Hamid’s chest. No. Absolutely not. Without checking it’s clear, he rushes forward, dropping the glaive to his side and redirecting that power into the tips of his fingers. He licks his thumb, presses it firmly to Hamid’s forehead, and, with a low note of please humming in the back of his chest, mutters words of hope and determination into the staticky air.

The wound heals almost immediately, closing like a budding flower in reverse to leave a raised, slightly jagged line of scar tissue; the only proof of how close Hamid was to death. His wings flutter, trying to unfurl in the confines of Cel’s arms, and for a moment, he stirs. Zolf and Cel both breathe out in relief, but by the time he opens his eyes, the poison overcomes him again, and he curls back into Cel’s chest with a contented sound, asleep and completely unaware of the danger around him.

Not exactly what I had in mind, Zolf thinks, but there’s no sharpness to it. The poison in the air was strong enough to knock out people twice Hamid’s size, so he can’t imagine how strong it must be on him. And besides: this might not be a fight where all of them – any of them – get out alive. Can he really blame Hamid for wanting to dream instead?]

“All right, Wilde,” Zolf says at last. “Let’s go for a walk.”

The gardens aren’t particularly large, but they use the space well—bright flowers lining the walkway, bushes and trees bunched together to create the illusion of depth and privacy. Beneath the largest tree, there’s a clear spot where the light filters through like sparkles and the roots breach the soil in just the right way to make a sort of alcove.

It’s exactly the sort of place Wilde would’ve yearned to write poetry in as a teenager, so of course he tugs Zolf over to sit down.

“Thought this was a walk,” Zolf says, eyebrows raised, but makes no argument when Wilde lays down with his head in Zolf’s  lap. His fingers quickly find their way into Wilde’s hair, untangling it little by little, and Wilde can’t stop himself from pushing into the touch with a little hum. Thankfully, Zolf just chuckles, scratching lightly at Wilde’s scalp for a moment before continuing.

There’s silence for a few moments, and Wilde idly searches for a pun he can use to fill it; it’s difficult to focus, though, when Zolf is gathering his hair into sections for a braid, those careful fingers brushing occasionally against his temple, his neck, his jaw.

Finally, what Wilde settles for is: “I hope we’re actually allowed out here. I’d hate to go home early because Grizzop took a swing at me again.”

Zolf snorts. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve always wished I had seen that in person.”

“Some partner you are,” Wilde grumbles, trying not to melt when Zolf tucks a few shorter strands of hair behind his ear. “S’posed to defend me, not join the enemy.”

[Zolf does a rapid once-over of Cel to make sure they’re not injured as well. They’re panting and wide-eyed and definitely only not in shock because there’s not time for it, but seem physically all right, which is about as much as he can hope for right now.

He glances to the door of the lab, where Ada and Skraak also seem to be managing okay—and, importantly, where there’s clean air and a door between them and the monster. Grabbing Cel’s arm, Zolf injects as much authority in his voice as he can and orders, “Get in there, close the door, be safe.”

Without waiting for a reply, he sets his glaive on fire and turns back to the fight. They might not all make it out of here – always a risk, in this line of work – but he’ll still do his damndest to make sure at least some of them do.]

There’s no response, save for a suppressed smile and the continuous back-and-forth motion of Zolf’s steady hands. Wilde basks in it for a moment, getting to lay quietly in the grass without even his allergies interrupting them. It brings to mind when he was a child, rolling down muddy hills with his sister and seeing how long the world tiled after they reached the bottom, dazed and laughing.

“She would have loved this party,” he says, brushing a hand through the barely damp grass at his hip. “Isola, I mean.”

“You could’ve brought her, you know,” Zolf replies. “I could’ve- I dunno, watched her, or somethin’. Not like I was doing much anyway.”

Wilde laughs. “She would be terrified of you.”

[Moving has already proven dangerous, so Cel shifts Hamid in their arms and throws him through the door; once he’s safely inside, they swallow their alchemical allocation and pull a previously untouched potion from their jacket. Dragon’s breath—the one they’d been so excited to get after seeing a glimpse of Hamid’s power; the one they’d chattered back and forth about days or maybe months ago, excited to see when Cel might try it out.

“Not leaving you,” Cel says firmly to Zolf’s back, and chugs the potion. Lightning crackles in their body once again, except this time, it feels powerful instead of painful. This time, Cel is going to be helpful instead of helpless. Whatever it takes.]

Zolf snorts. “Oh, so that’s why I haven’t met her yet.”

“Yes, I’m just absolutely terrified you’ll smite her with all your holy rage,” Wilde deadpans, twisting obediently when Zolf taps the side of his head. “Or gods forbid, convert her to hope.”

“Oi,” Zolf says, tugging lightly on Wilde’s hair. “That hope has saved your arse twenty times by now.”

[Azu catches sight of Hamid breathing and nearly crumples with relief. He’s not dead, she didn’t kill him, she might not have to lose someone else—but there’s not time for that, not yet. They have to destroy this thing first, before it hurts anyone else.

She swings her axe as hard as she can, a scream building in her throat as it moans through the air, and – miraculously – it connects. There’s a satisfying thunk, a sharp note of pain; but as she goes to hit it again, it seems not just to dodge, but actively unform and reform around her axe. Learning. Adapting.

In the second it takes for Azu to regain her footing, the monster sinks one of its blades into Sumutnyerl’s chest. The air seems to freeze for a moment, but the strike is lower than it intended, in the stomach rather than the heart, so maybe it isn’t fatal, but Azu doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.]

Humming noncommittally, Wilde turns his head to look at Zolf, and when he sees the concentration in Zolf’s summer sky eyes, he’s pierced all over again with the force of how much he loves this man—and how much he, in return, is loved. Gods, Zolf is smiling the way he only ever does for a Campbell, and he’s braiding Wilde’s hair as if it’s the most important work his hands have been tasked with, and he looks so utterly, brilliantly happy that Wilde can hardly stand it.

“You alive in there?” Zolf says, tapping him lightly on the cheek.

[There is only one person left unharmed, the horror of the situation made almost a farce by Wilde’s oversized neck ruff and glittering cape. Almost, but not quite, because when the creature turns – body shifting in and out of focus, sword-like arms dripping with the blood of every other being in this corridor – it turns for him.]

Wilde smiles, catching Zolf’s hand before he can pull away. “Yeah,” he murmurs, stupidly fond with it, and rests his lips against Zolf’s knuckles. Zolf’s breath hitches, staring with undisguised awe and quickly reddening cheeks, and Wilde can’t even look at him, he’s so happy. He ducks his head, pushing it against their joined hands; feels Zolf’s warm callouses all the way into his bones. “Thanks to you.”

[There is only one person left.]

“Wilde,” Zolf breathes; a prayer, a promise. Lips press clumsily to his hair, brush his temple as they soak in each other’s presence. “You saved me, too, ya know. So- so many times. I need you, yeah? And I- it- gods, I’m horrible at this, but I just, you’re

[Zolf sees it, this time, when Wilde dies. Sees the sword pierce his chest – right in the heart, a perfect shot – and yank back out with almost careless indifference before the creature turns and does the same thing to Sumutnyerl.

Even dead, Wilde manages to look artistic. His ridiculous cape is flung out beneath him, one arm draped above his head, the barest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He’d been this way after the crash, too, impaled almost a foot off the ground with his limbs dangling and chin flung up to the sky; the perfect semblance of a martyr being raised into heaven. Had he been unconscious then, too? Zolf thinks. Or did he feel the spike go all the way through his chest before he succumbed from the pain?

Doesn’t matter. Zolf had time to mourn when he saved Wilde then; he doesn’t have time now.

Skraak and Ada both attack, but Zolf doesn’t know if the hits land, refuses to process anything that isn’t Wilde and the mere seconds left before he’s gone for good. He throws himself forward, landing hard on his knees beside Wilde’s head, and starts to pray. The magic builds like strong drink in his throat, and he clumsily wipes the blood from Wilde’s mouth as the spell reaches its peak—and is nearly knocked over as the monster deals a crushing blow to his temple.

His vision goes briefly white, blood already dripping down his cheek and jaw, and the magic begins to fizzle away, but he refuses, he refuses. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Zolf presses a hand firmly to the desecration of Wilde’s chest, cradles his cheek with the other. He’s still warm with hope, and Zolf channels that into his prayer, pressing their foreheads together in a way that might’ve been painful, had Wilde been awake to feel it.

Please, he begs the power inside him; begs anyone who’ll listen. Please. Let this be enough to bring him back to me.

The magic bubbles inside Zolf once more, sparkling and bright and warm, and there’s no way to know, really, if it’s enough. It doesn’t matter, of course, because he doesn’t need to know. Because when he presses his mouth to Wilde’s, stroking his cheek and breathing every last ounce of that vital energy into his body, Zolf has hope.

And there, where Zolf’s fingers curl tenderly against Wilde’s neck, new and weak but steady all the same—a pulse.]

 The first thing Wilde registers is breath on his face, warmth in his throat—then pain, all over his body but especially in his chest, gods, what happened? He opens his eyes, hoping to regain his bearings; Zolf is there, face mere inches away from his own, which is a nice start.

Realizing he’s awake, Zolf pulls away, fingertips brushing against Wilde’s cheek as he goes. His other hand is pressed firmly to Wilde’s chest, and there’s blood running freely from a wound at his temple. He looks about to cry.

If Wilde didn’t feel unmoored before, he certainly does now. “Zolf- wh- what-”

In lieu of an answer, Zolf pulls Wilde to his feet. There are flashes of movement to the side, none of which Wilde is capable of processing yet; Zolf grabs his arm, which is easier. He looks resolved, in that urgent way he used to get just before leaving on solo missions; Wilde has just enough time to be scared about that before Zolf pulls him close and says, “Get the others out and be safe.”

Wilde opens his mouth in question, but Zolf’s already shoving him away. He stumbles backwards a few steps, more out of shock than actual force, before losing his balance and landing hard on his elbows just inside the lab. His neck snaps back a little, making his vision swim, but he blinks hard to clear it and now, now, he sees it all. The creature. The dead. The ones left standing.

For just a moment, Wilde catches sight of Zolf’s face before he turns away. His eyes nearly glow, lips parted around gritted teeth, and there is rage in his features like Wilde has never seen before. Then he raises his burning glaive, this idiotic man that Wilde loves so unbearably much, and growls, “Right. It’s yer turn now.”

#this fic and i did hand-to-hand combat for NEARLY TWO WEEKS before i bested it #please appreciate it in my honor #rqg #rusty quill gaming #zoscar #rqg wilde #rqg oscar wilde #lolomg #cel sidebottom #rqg azu #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #zolf smith #rqg 207 #rqg fic #zoscar fic #rqg fanfiction #zoscar fanfiction

[harrypotter-imaginess]

Commission info for Love Letters from your favorite character here!

- Honestly, your probably meet him through his Dad or all people

- You meet Arthur at the store, you’re probably at a department store or the grocery store

- Maybe you work here, maybe you just come there weekly to run errands

- But you’re probably a personal shopper

- And you’re looking for something in particular, but every time you go to that section, there’s this lanky middle aged man just standing there

- And you really don’t want to get involved

- But your over active imagination gets the best of you

- What’s if he’s a widower? And he’s just not used to shopping because his partner did all of that

- Or what if he’s trying to get a gift for his new love interest and he’s just trying to get back out there

- And well, if he is a widower, and he just needs some help- shouldn’t you help him?

- Isn’t that just the right thing to do?

- So even though you don’t want to get involved, you very hesitantly approach this red haired man

- “Um, excuse me sir- but is there something I can help you with?”

- He lights up when you approach him

- Looks like the poor thing is a widower

- “Would you explain the purpose to me of this item?”

- He’s holding up a bath kit, one that comes with a bath bomb, some bath salts, and bubble bath soap

- “Um well it’s a bath kit sir”

- He looks at the package for several ing moments before pointing to the circular bath bomb

- “Is this a sweet? Is it a treat you eat when you’re in the bath tub?”

- You practically fall over yourself rushing to tell him that no, it is in fact not a treat

- “It’s like a bubble bath type of thing, you drop it into the water and it turns the bath a certain color, this ones a fortune type so after it’s done fizzing out you get a little fortune.”

- “Well isn’t that fascinating, you Muggles are quite remarkable”

- You don’t think it’s that amazing, just some baking soda and aromatics

- Also what’s a muggle? Is that some middle age slang for young people?

- You help him to the register, and you think that’ll be it, you’ll probably never see him

- So imagine your surprise when you see him again next week, this time in front of a completely different section with the same expression

- “Well hello again, can you help me with this?”

- It’s sort of a fast friendship, you learn a little more about him with each visit

- He is in fact, not, a widower

- He has 8, no 7 children

- And he works for the government

- “A glorified paper pusher really” he says, but you get the feeling he’s being humble

- “How old are you, if you don’t mine me asking?”

- You tell him and he smiles

- “That’s how old my Son is, you two would be a good match.”

- “Which one? Don’t you have seven?”

- He smiles, because you still count Fred as his child even though he’s gone, just like him

- “Take your pick, I’ve got a whole volleyball teams for you to pick from”

- You laugh

- He’s a nice guy, the exact image of what a dad is, you think

- You like him

- Arthur likes you too, he thinks you would be a good match for Percy, maybe George

- He wants to give Percy a fighting chance, he’s a good boy-

- But he’s got his nose stuck in a book most days, Arthur considers it lucky if he ever gets married

- So it’s in early winter that he drags Percy with him to the department store hoping he’ll run into you

- “Why do I have to come along again?”Percy asks grumbling as he walks beside his father

- “Because I’m buying gifts for my department-“

- “You never buy us any gifts” Charlie teases from his other side

- Arthur also brought Charlie, to seem a little less obvious about his intentions of setting you up with one of his children

- He figures Charlie is the most harmless, if you see Bill... well that would be disappointing for you

- considering he’s married and all

- And the scars might raise more questions than he’s willing to answer

- And then Ron was busy at the ministry today, an emergency or something.

- He’s already decided as he walks through the store that if this doesn’t work out, he’s bringing George next week-

- And if that doesn’t work out, well-

- Maybe Ginny would be more your type

- how solid are Harry and Ginny really

- He’s so caught up in his own mental gymnastics that he doesn’t realize one of his sons isn’t following him until he’s well inside the store

- “Where’s Percy?”

- “Oh, he left like 15 minutes ago to take a phone call for work, but I bet he snuck off to that bookstore across the street.” Charlie says casually eyeing a brightly colored display

- Arthur sighs, well he does need to get some gifts for the kids, almost Christmas and all

- “Hello Arthur, what are you dissecting today?” You ask when you see him

- “Just picking up gifts with my son-“

- A small frown lilts onto your face, his son?

- It’s only a little shift of your head and you see him

- Well isn’t he just gorgeous

- He’s got a firm build, toned arms littered with dozens of scars and burns

- His face is chiseled, with a light dusting of red hair, matching vivid hair is long and pulled into a bun

- And the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever seen

- Damn what a hottie

- Arthur should have told told you his son was a total smokeshow

- And he’s got 6 of them?!? Are they all this gorgeous?

- Arthur doesn’t miss the way you look at Charlie

- And one glance at Charlie is all He needs to know that the feeling is mutual

- Why didn’t he think of Charlie?

- Well- actually he had started to think that maybe Charlie just didn’t feel that way about people.

- And so, to be supportive, he wasn’t going to push him into any romantic relationship

- But well since he seems to find you pleasing-

- “This is my son Charlie-“ he says putting both his hands on Charlie’s shoulders and jerking him closer to you

- A light red begins to dust Charlie’s cheeks, wether it’s from embarrassment or attraction he’s not sure

- You fidget in front of him feeling oddly self conscious

- “Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N)”

- He takes you hand in his with a firm squeeze and you feel a little lightheaded

- His hands are surprisingly soft

- On closer inspection he’s got a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose

- Adorable really

- “So how do you know my dad?” He asks when Arthur is busy /giving you two time to get to know each other looking through the candle selection

- “Oh um I don’t know I guess we just became friends talking about how stuff works?”

- It’s a little weird to think about it, Arthur is your dads age, but he’s like your friend?

- It’s kinda weird tbh

- You wonder how Charlie’s digesting it but he just grins

- “Yeah that sounds like Dad.”

- It’s cute, the way he looks at his Dad

- You remember hearing about Charlie, that he works far away and that Arthur and his wife worry about him. And that he likes animals

- It’s kind of like meeting a celebrity, you know all about him

- except for the fact that he’s a wizard of course

- Well, it was nice meeting one of Arthur’s famous son’s, you suppose he’ll go back to Romania soon and -

- “I was wondering-“ he leans down, his voice low “if you might do me a small favor?”

- Your eyebrows thread together and your head tilts to the side a bit

- “It depends on what it is”

- Charlie only grins

- And so you find yourself standing in front of King’s Cross Station on your next free day, wearing a nice outfit that seems neither too causal, or like you’re trying too hard

- Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt until you see Charlie round the corner

- Well doesn’t he look absolutely delicious

- He’s wearing a crisp white collard shirt and a sweater over it, with a pair of khaki trousers

- Very dark academia

- “Sorry have you been waiting long?”

- You shake your head

- “No only a few minutes, have you thought about what you might want to get him?” You ask and he flashes a little and shakes his head

- “The best I could think of was a gadget of some kind?”

- You nod, you can work with that

- The favor Charlie wanted was pretty simple

- He needed help picking out a Christmas gift for his Dad

- Oddly wholesome in its own way

- You take him to a large department store

- “Maybe this pasta maker?”

- “No, Mum’s already got one”

- He should know, his dad enchanted it to make pasta on its own

- “Than maybe this waffle maker?”

- He shakes his head again, they had one and it did not end well

- You go to several stores throughout the day, but there’s nothing quite right at any of them

- Eventually you both slump down on chairs, untouched mugs of tea in front of you, both of you utterly exhausted

- “This is so much harder than I thought” you mumble, Arthur seems like such an easy to please person

- “I’m sorry” Charlie says, honestly the reason neither of you can pick something is because he can’t be honest with you

- Yeah his Dad loves muggle gadgets, but he loves them because he wants to take them apart, to see how it works

- And then he wants to enchant certain parts to make the contraption even better

- But he can’t tell you all that now can he?

- Not when you’re a muggle

- He sighs leaning back in his chair

- Maybe he shouldn’t have asked you for help, he saw how close you and his Dad were, like you were already family-

- But it’s unfair to you to monopolize all your free time like this-

- “It’s no problem really, this is actually really fun”

- You’re not lying, hanging out with Charlie is really fun.

- Usually spending time with people you’ve only just met exhausts you

- But being with him makes you feel comfortable, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm

- Guess he’s kinda like his Dad in that way

- You feel your mouth quirk into a small smile at the thought.

- He kinda looks like his dad too on closer inspection, around the jaw and-

- “Are your ears pierced?” You ask, and Charlie immediately flushes. A hand nervously fluttering to his ear

- “U-um yes, I did it when I was younger-“ he lets out a nervous laugh

- You raise an eyebrow

- “What did some girl break your heart?”

- He sputters at that

- “N-no of course not”

- You feel a wicked grin curling on your face, he’s awfully fun to tease

- “Boyfriend then?”

- He’s burning so bright red that you think steam might actually start coming out of his ears

- “N-no it was nothing like that,” his eyes are looking into his mug, fingers still twiddling with his earlobe.

- “My brother and I got them at the same time with our other friend. It was really their thing, wanting to get the piercing that is, I just joined to be apart of it”

- You can certainly see it, Charlie getting swept up in his friends things.

- “Besides this sort of thing... it doesn’t really suit me” he lets out a nervous laugh and you feel your heart swell

- “I think it would look great on you” The words leave your mouth without even thinking and you feel your face grow hot when they do.

- What are you saying!?!

- You’re embarrassed, but Charlie’s flattered.

- He’s never been the favorite sibling, he’s not as brave as Bill, or as funny as George, Percy’s the smart one, Ron’s the charismatic one, and Ginny’s the athletic one

- He hasn’t got anything to compete with honestly-

- All he can do is try to emulate his siblings, he guesses he’s still trying to figure out who he is

- Which is a little pathetic at his age- at least that’s how he feels

- But hearing you say it would look good on him- well it makes his heart flutter

- Meanwhile you’re completely ignorant to the fact that you’re making his heart race

- Completely caught up in your own embarrassment

- Geez you’re just blurting stuff out like a kid

- A lightbulb goes over your head

- “Hey I think I might have an idea of what your Dad might like!”

- You practically tug him into the the next shop, his face contorted in confusion until you show him what you thought of

- “Oh Merlin, it’s perfect”

- You’re both standing in the toy section of a department store

- Charlie’s watching the bubble machine like it’s the best thing he’s ever saw

- His dad is going to love enchanting it

- While Charlie’s asking the clerk about gift wrapping and other things you wander around the store

- Stopping when you see a rack of candles

- They’re the ‘homesick’ candles, with a scent that’s a place

- And then you see something else glint from the corner of your eye

- “Thank you so much for your help today-“

- You’re both standing in front of king’s cross again, you’re about to go home

- Charlie takes a deep gulp, if he was brave like Bill he might ask you on a date- a real day

- But he’s not

- So he’ll just thank you for your time, and ask for a business card so he can send you a tasteful gift with maybe a card asking to spend time again with you

- But before he can get the words out you thrust something out to him

- It’s a neat folded striped pink and green bag

- He takes it carefully on his hands, leading inside

- “Candles?”

- You nod

- “They’re those homesick candles, they have a scent for places, I got you London and then another one that says English country- it’s amber, honeysuckle and moss, I thought you might like it” you’re blabbering-

- There really wasn’t a need to do anything like this for him

- But well- you know he probably feels so homesick, not to mention his rowdy siblings

- So maybe this will offer him some comfort

- But he’s not looking at the candles he’s looking at something else that’s glinting beside them

- Thick fingers gently pinch the end of the thick paper square

- It’s a pair of earrings

- They’re Dragon Earrings

- “Oh that.” You look at the item with a wide expression “it’s really like a gag gift, I know you work with animals and you’ve got the piercing so-”

- Charlie’s grinning

- “You didn’t have to do all this.”

- “O-oh no, it was no big deal at all, I um- I wanted to.” You give him a shy smile and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach

- He’s never going to be as brave as Bill, or as Smart as Percy, as funny as George or loyal as Ron.

- But he wants to be kind

- As kind as you, if not more

- “No, I couldn’t possibly let you do something like this for me, especially not after all your help today”

- You feel yourself deflate, ah you were overstepping weren’t you?

- It’s just- you’ve heard so much about him and you work so well together,

- You had started to think of him as a friend

- But clearly it was too much -

- “Let me take you out to dinner sometime,” your eyes snap to his face, which is dusted with pink, deep brown eyes staring into your own

- “To repay you for all the kindness you’ve shown me today”

- You feel a smile spread across your face, arching into a goofy grin

- He’s looking at you hopefully, pieces ears burning red. A matching hopeful smile curled onto his face

- “I would love to”

#Harry Potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter reader insert #Harry Potter headcanon #harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley x mc #Charlie Weasley imagine #Charlie Weasley headcanon #Charlie Weasley reader insert #harry potter hogwarts legacy #harry potter hogwarts mystery

[sokkastyles]

I've seen arguments that the scene where young Azula tells young Zuko about Azulon ordering Zuko to be sacrificed is her "warning" her brother out of concern, but that's...not what happens in the scene. Even if this was Azula showing concern for Zuko in her own way, she still terrorized him, but also you have to totally ignore the context to claim that she told him because she was concerned for him.

Young Azula: [Sing-songy.] Dad's going to kill you! [Seriously.] Really, he is.

Young Zuko: Ha-ha, Azula. Nice try.

Young Azula: Fine, don't believe me. But I heard everything. Grandfather said Dad's punishment should fit his crime. [Imitates Azulon.] "You must know the pain of losing a first-born son. By sacrificing your own!"

Young Zuko: Liar!

Young Azula: I'm only telling you for your own good. I know! Maybe you could find a nice Earth Kingdom family to adopt you!

Young Zuko: Stop it! You're lying! Dad would never do that to me!

Not only does Zuko not believe her (and this scene is the origin of "Azula always lies," showing Zuko's awareness that he can't trust his sister and his confusion over her attempts to manipulate him), but he's visibly frightened by her words, and his fear brings her visible glee. He tells her to stop and she keeps going, clearly enjoying the affect her words have on him.

And when she says it's for his own good, these are words that Azula often uses on Zuko, to manipulate and control him. They are also the red flags of an abuser. Azula does this to Zuko throughout the series, presents herself as an authority who only says or does things for her brother's "own good" to deflect blame and make him look like the irrational one. This is gaslighting. What she says about him finding a nice earth kingdom family to adopt him isn't out of concern, either, but to emphasize that he is not wanted by his family and to take pleasure over torturing her brother with this.

And Azula knows she's doing this. Yes, she's a young child here. Yes, she also is a victim of Ozai's abuse. But she's perfectly aware that she is hurting her brother and she's also aware that her cruel behavior is not socially acceptable. Which is why she tries to hide it from her mother.

Ursa: Your father would never do what to you? What is going on here?

Young Azula: I don't know ...

Ursa: It's time for a talk!

I'm not sure what certain Azula defenders would have expected her mother to do here, when coming upon one of her children terrorizing the other.

I do think that Azula here had already begun to see her mother as against her, although I think that was Ozai's doing. While Ursa tried to teach her children proper behavior, Ozai was love-bombing Azula for displaying cruel behavior, particularly towards her brother because her father taught her that her worth was dependent upon being better than Zuko. Since Ursa tried to protect Zuko, to Azula that would mean that Ursa must have hated her. Why else would Ursa give affection to Zuko, who according to the worldview Azula had internalized, deserved to be hurt? So she begins to see her mother as an obstacle to proving her own worth, which involves putting down and proving herself better than Zuko. This is shown in her reaction to Ursa's disappearance the next morning.

Young Zuko: Where's Mom?

Young Azula: No one knows. Oh, and last night, Grandpa passed away.

Young Zuko: Not funny, Azula! You're sick. And I want my knife back, now. [Zuko tries to grab it, but misses as Azula quickly moves out of the way.]

Young Azula: [Tauntingly.] Who's going to make me? Mom?

That last line really emphasizes the relationship between Azula, Zuko, and their mother. And you can see Zuko's expression change to one of fear as he realizes that his protector is now gone. Azula is gloating because she thinks she's won, which is why the first thing she does when her mother leaves is to take her brother's knife and use it to taunt him, to emphasize to him that he is no longer protected. Of course, the tragedy is that Azula also lost a parent who genuinely loved her and tried to protect her from Ozai, something that she does not yet understand, but I think that by the last episode, when she cries over the vision of her mother in her mirror, she does on some level understand what she lost that day, but it's buried under a lot of resentment, hate and trauma.

#zuko #azula #ursa #ozai #atla meta #abuse cw

[junicai]

Aria at Award Shows

Iconic Outfits

2020 AAAs NCT Daesang Award  

Peoples’ jaws dropped when they saw Aria sidle up alongside the other 23 boys, strolling out like she owned the building. The heels gave her enough height to be nearly level with Renjun - something she wouldn’t let the boy forget - her hair dyed back to a natural black like it had been during NCT2020 promotions. It was rare that Aria didn’t look slightly apprehensive about stepping out onto a red carpet, but the confidence was rolling off her in waves. As she walked, the slit in the dress seemed to keep on going, trailing up her leg and changing the otherwise classy dress into something that left the innocent bystanders in the first row suffering from a high chance of a heart attack.

tldr; Aria’s hot and people are Noticing.

2019 Show Champion NCT 127 ‘Superhuman’ 

NCT’s second win with Superhuman left a huge divide in nctzens; a rift between those who were ot21 stans and ot22 stans (sans and plus Aria). Up until then, there had been rumors around whether Aria was to leave NCT now that there was a new girl group supposedly debuting under SM. Their management team had refrained from publishing a response - but that only lead fans to create their own speculations and theories. This outfit played perfectly into the growing rumor; with the large circular pendant on Aria’s bracelet having two chrysanthemums etched into the gold. The flower symbolized happy endings and goodbyes, with nctzens taking this as the proof that Aria was truly set to leave NCT in the coming months. 

tldr; nctzens need to learn how to Chill.

2017 M! Countdown NCT 127 ‘Cherry Bomb’

Unfortunately, this era was the cause of a lot of strife for Arizens; the stylists either hit it out of the park and Aria was drop dead stunning - or she ended up looking a little like a bratz doll a toddler had gotten their hands on. Unfortunately for Aria, their first win with ‘Cherry Bomb’ left pictures of her in a plastic, obviously dyed blue skirt and cherry pink hair to match immortalized on the internet forever. 

tldr; arizens hoped that her stylist got fired after this era. the plastic skirt wasn't the worst thing they'd done.

Other Iconic Outfits

Seating Arrangements

Depending on the venue, idols are normally sat on straight rows of chairs and benches, or at round tables. Given the choice, Aria would always prefer to sit at one of the tables, as not only does it give her a chance to not have to worry about her legs being seen while being covered by the tablecloth - if there is one - but it lets her keep everyone sitting near her in her direct line of vision. 

However, should she have to sit in one of the main rows, she’ll normally end up squished beside one of three boys - Donghyuck, Yuta and/or Renjun. Should one of those three be unaviliable, Doyoung and Jeno are usually quick enough to fill in the empty space. 

Donghyuck would always be her first choice, was it not for the boy’s incessant energy that sometimes left her nerves fried before their performance. Most days she adored the company - adored him and his efforts to get her mind off their impending songs with various games and ways to pass the time (they're not allowed play footsie anymore though, because Aria stomped on his foot with her heel once) - but other days she just needed someone to hold her hand and say nothing. That’s where Yuta and Renjun come in.

As Aria’s found out over the years, for all the man’s tactile affection and loud displays of love, Yuta’s highly perceptive to when she needs some silent comfort. Now, she’s not sure if he’s that perceptive to everyone or just her - but either way she’s not complaining. 

With Dream, Renjun is the one she’ll sit with and doodle on the white napkins that are laid out on the table for lord knows what reason. After being bored out of their minds for their first few award shows, Renjun had snuck two black ballpoint pens into the venue in the inside of his red suit jacket. The drawings had become somewhat a tradition, and the best doodle normally is uploaded to bubble shortly after the show has ended. 

All in all, Aria’s normally quite content to sit in the centre of the large group of boys - split over several rows or tables, boisterous and bubbly with energy. The only real downside to it all is the lack of blankets available to protect her modesty once she is seated. 

Most venues split the idols fairly evenly between the boy and girl groups - with blankets being allocated especially for the seating of girl groups. This meant, unfortunately, that when NCT files into their seats and sits down, there is rarely something in the close vicinity that Aria can borrow quickly without causing a fuss.

Sometimes she gets lucky - other female idols might spot her and are normally kind enough to hand over one of their cushions or blankets, content to share with their neighboring member. Occasionally though, Aria has no such luck and is left to either pull down her dress multiple times per minute to cover the prickly feeling over the tops of her legs when she felt like eyes were boring into her, or wait for some kind of break so she could go find a spare covering.

Aria supposed after the third time something like that had happened, her members were getting fed up with it all. 

At first it was their plan B: should some type of cover-up not be available in their immediate vicinity, Johnny or Lucas or Jaehyun - once, even Dejun - or another member who ran hot near-constantly would shrug off their jacket and fold it over Aria’s legs, pulling it up and then lifting her hands to place them in her lap to hold their jacket there. 

Eventually it became their plan A however, now commonplace for Aria to go looking for the member who was wearing multiple layers and who wouldn’t suffer from the loss of their outermost one.  

Iconic Moments 

Twitter: [180821] and people rly say nct doesn’t care abt aria :/

Red carpets were always something to dread, in Aria’s eyes.

The cameras flashing bright enough to blind you, and the knowledge that if she stumbled or - god forbid - fell it would be immortalized forever on Koreaboo’s newest blog post. 

However the worst bit, was always the footwear. High, stiletto heels that left her teetering around on nothing more than her tippy-toes, precariously balanced as she made her way up and down stairs, over carpet and tiled flooring alike. 

Aria was used to wearing heels, but the one’s she performed in were usually fitted with various types of ankle support and a thick heel to give her balance. Wobbling around on a heel the same width of a piece of uncooked spaghetti was not something she’d willingly choose. 

Not to mention the blisters. 

Designer shoes were gifted to the company on a regular basis - shipped over just in time for Aria to slip into the pair before stepping out of the van into the sea of bright flashes and reporters. It always seemed like designers were too pre-occupied with making a shoe look good rather than making them actually wearable. 

The first time Aria had been gifted a set of heels - early 2018 - she made the mistake of assuming that they would be in similar comfort as her performance heels. 

Two hours later and with a wad of bloody tissue stuffed into the back of them, Aria had learnt her lesson. 

From then on, it was commonplace for Aria to bandage her heels before she went out to shows - not quite as heavily as she normally would for a performance, but just enough to stop the skin splitting under the constant abrasion. 

She’d only been caught out badly once - but it was all caught on camera by a fan sitting close by, and spread over twitter like wildfire. 

Aria had limped her way back over to where NCT 127 was sitting, lips pressed together in a tight line and hands clenched in the tight material of the leather trousers she had been given to wear. The trousers stopped a few inches above her ankles, so the red mess of her heels was clearly visible as she hobbled over and sat down with a thud onto the seat. 

Donghyuck placed a hand on Aria’s shoulder, leaning in so that he could see her face behind the curtain of hair that she had let fall to hide her tear-filled eyes from him. 

“Riri?” Donghyuck whispered to her, thumb beginning to rub soothing circles into her arm. “Hey, Riri? What’s going on?” 

Aria only shook her head, gesturing to the pair of torturous heels on her feet.

Donghyuck inhaled sharply when he saw the blood trailing up her leg and soaking into the back of the heel. He turned to his side to elbow Doyoung, grabbing his attention.

“Hyung. Hyung.” He hissed, Doyoung turning around with an over-exaggerated sigh. 

“No, Hyuck, I told you I’m not going to-” Doyoung cut himself off upon seeing Aria’s pain-filled face. “Aria? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” 

Donghyuck slid off his seat onto the ground despite Aria’s protests that the floor wasn’t clean, get up, and explained what had happened to his hyung. Sliding her heel off as slowly as he could to not pull at the skin more, he muttered apologizes to Aria as she inhaled a shaky breath before exhaling it on a small, wet cry. 

“Hyung, did you bring anything for Taeyong-hyung’s shoulder that we could use?” 

“Yeah, yeah I did give me two seconds.” Doyoung bent into the small bag that he had tucked underneath the seat, pulling out a length of bandage that was stowed away in the outermost pocket. 

Donghyuck took it from Doyoung’s hands with a small ‘thank you’, moving to kneel back down in front of Aria and taking her ankle back into his lap.

“Hyuck, no I got it, c’mon the ground isn’t clean-” 

He silenced her with a look. Aria settled back into her chair - defeated - and Donghyuck wrapped the bandage around her heel as quickly but as painlessly as he could manage. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Twitter: [190323] HSHS ARIA IS A CARAT WE’VE WON LADIES N GENTS

Maybe Aria should have been paying more attention to the camera that was slowly panning around the idols, projecting their faces up onto a large screen beside the stage, but she was too engrossed in the current group’s performance. 

“그렇다고 네 맘이 작다는 게 아냐,” Swaying gently side to side and mouthing along to the lyrics, Aria was happy enough to smile along to the song and move her hands in a small mimickery of the choreography she’d taught herself off the group’s dance practice video she’d watched only a few dozen times. 

It wasn’t until Mark poked her in the side that Aria broke out from her own little bubble, twisting her head to look back at him and then up at the screen when he pointed. 

There, her face, staring back at her from the big screen was enough to make her mouth drop open a little bit and her eyes widen. She clapped a hand to her mouth before turning to hide her face in Jaehyun’s shoulder, shaking with embarassed laughter. 

Aria could hear Taeyong’s teasing laugh in return, before a hand came and ruffled the hair on top of her head, that she swatted away.

--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Twitter: [170911] lmao same aria

Aria knew she was there. 

She knew that she was sitting right there and that she was in one of those really skimpy dresses stylists loved to put girls in because apparently female idols don’t deserve modesty and Aria knew that she had a blanket for once and she should share it but oh my god.

It was Chungha.

Aria was going to pass out. 

Taking side glances every few seconds only confirmed the fact that Chungha was pulling down her dress to cover as much of her legs as possible, tucking her ankles together and underneath the seat.

Ok.

Ok, she could do this. 

Aria took a steeling breath, before shifting on her seat to face Chungha on more of a diagonal. She lifted her hand before lowering it slighly, looking away. 

Should she- no ok she’s doing this. 

Without giving herself time to talk herself out of it, Aria moved to rest her hand on Chungha’s arm. The older woman jerked slightly - startled - and Aria was quick to apologize. 

There was no audio in the video uploaded - the original poster having been too far away to capture much - but the two women talked for a moment before Chungha pointed to the blanket and then herself.

Aria nodded emphatically, and Chungha’s face crumpled into something fond, bowing her head in thanks before they unfolded the blanket another time and Chungha scooted an inch closer to Aria so they’d both fit. 

Chungha sent Aria another grateful smile before refocusing on the performances - apparently not noticing, or perhaps choosing not to comment on the rather obvious red tinge that the younger idol’s cheeks had taken on.

#*aria.misc #ew shes so rushed #ill fix her later promise #nct 22nd member #nct 24th member #nct dream 8th member #nct additional member #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #wayv #superm #nct extra member #nct addition #nct additions #kpop additions #ad #nct female oc #nct female member au #nct female member #kpop!oc #kpop #kpop addition

[tothemeadow]

A New Year’s gift from me to you!

~*ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ TᗯO*~

warnings: NSFW, semi-public sex

words: 5.1 k

Prologue | Chapter One

-

“Not interested.”

All it takes is those two words, two dreadful words, and Kyojuro’s groaning in disappointment. Tapping his fingers against the chair’s arms, he pushes his lips out in a pout. Giyuu merely rolls his eyes at him, gaze flicking back to whatever is displayed on the computer’s screen.

It had only been a mere suggestion, nothing more. Go out, get some drinks, maybe find someone to take home. Lord knows how much Giyuu needs to get laid; the guy’s stress is palpable, and Kyojuro wants to help his friends however he can. Maybe all it takes is to get his dick sucked, nice and fucking hard. And, if he plays his cards right, have someone clinging onto his arm by the end of the night.

Kyojuro isn’t an idiot, nor is he blind. Giyuu is beautiful, looking like he stepped right out of the pages of some goddamn fairy tale. Hell, even his bank account is real pretty, every single zero making it even more dazzling. What he means is that Giyuu can have anybody if he truly wanted to. The problem is, however, is that a sack of potatoes has more charisma than the poor man. Giyuu isn’t much of a social butterfly, unlike Kyojuro.

It kind of sucks.

“Aw, come on, man,” Kyojuro groans, “let me take you for a night out. You need some time to sit back and relax. Let someone else take care of you.”

“You’re being awfully persistent about this.”

“That’s because I want what’s best for you, duh. You run some bigshot company and need me to explain that to you? What was the point of you traveling overseas for university if you don’t put that knowledge to use?”

With a sigh, Giyuu turns away from his computer and rests his elbows on his desk. Like the rest of his office, it’s a solid piece of modern, expensive style. The wood gleams with the rays of sunlight pouring in through the windows, looking almost too neat to be believable. There’s not a speck of dust in sight. It’s not the first time Kyojuro’s visited Giyuu’s office, but it always amazes him just how clean and immaculate the space is. It really reflects its owner, his simple yet sleek style.

“Kyojuro,” Giyuu starts, threading his fingers together, “you literally told me you wanted me to take someone home.”

At that, Kyojuro smiles. “And what’s your point? You go to some Ivy League school and not partake in some parties? No keg stands? Beer pong? Fucking the brains out of some busty blonde?”

“Not everyone is a certified sex symbol,” Giyuu states coolly. “You don’t see my face on the cover of magazines advertising an article about some upcoming film where I blow everyone to bits and take a dame to bed.”

“Ohohoho, somebody’s getting frisky, I see. That is a sign, my dear friend. You need to get your dick wet and pronto.”

“Don’t belittle me.”

Raising his hands in mock self-defense, Kyojuro flashes Giyuu a knowing smirk. “You’re only proving my point. And if you don’t want to meet somebody random, why not let me hit up someone I know? I can set you up.”

Giyuu scoffs. “No thanks.”

“Oooo, what about Mitsuri or Shinobu-“

“Don’t ever suggest that,” Giyuu hisses. His entire face scrunches, much like he just tasted something incredibly sour.

Bursting into a fit of laughter, Kyojuro leans forward in his seat, hands gripping onto his sides. “Shit, man, I forget how funny you can be sometimes!” Wiping away at his eyes, he sits back, a spare giggle or two escaping from his lips. “Speaking of Mitsuri… I guess she really hit it off with Idris’ girl’s friend.”

Instead of saying anything, Giyuu merely raises an eyebrow. However, he still looks incredibly disinterested.

“Oh, you remember her, don’t you? The one from the party last week? Long legs, nice ass? I think her name was (y/n)?”

At the mention of your name, Giyuu visibly perks up. Heh. Hook, line, and sinker.

“It’s a damn shame, don’t you think? Somebody so fine got nabbed before I even had the chance to make a move,” Kyojuro continues, willing his voice to take on a wistful tone. He sends Giyuu a wink. “She’s a solid ten, don’t you think?”

The movement is so, so subtle, but Kyojuro knows he’s got Giyuu right where he wants him. Giyuu clears his throat, then – a poor attempt at trying to come off as disinterested. “It’s a good thing Mitsuri found someone she likes so much,” he says, completely bypassing the question.

“Mitsuri likes her, alright; likes her even better in bed.”

It takes all of Kyojuro’s willpower not to laugh, it really does. He can practically see the gears turning in Giyuu’s head, the slight tinge of red blooming on the tips of his ears. Jeez, if it takes this much to get Giyuu flustered, then he’d pay to see what would happen if he took Giyuu to a strip club.

“And I’ll tell you what,” he continues, crossing his legs and cocking his head. “Mitsuri’s willing to share her with the rest of us, but only if she wants it.”

“What… What are you talking about? What do you mean by sharing?”

Clicking his tongue in amusement, Kyojuro uncrosses his legs and shuffles forward, just barely sitting on the edge of the chair. “Exactly what it sounds like, Giyuu. Doesn’t that sound nice? Imagine having a pretty thing like that sitting on your lap.”

Again, Giyuu scoffs. “You’re starting to sound like Tengen.”

“But you didn’t say no to what I just put in your head.”

Giyuu grumbles something under his breath, but it’s too low for Kyojuro to understand. No matter; there’s a knock at the door, then, and in pops Giyuu’s personal secretary’s head. A cute boy – Kamado Tanjiro – with honest eyes and a genuine smile. The earrings he wears swings in his lobes. “Tomioka-san, you’re three o’clock appointment is here. Shall I tell them you’re busy?”

“Don’t worry about it, Tanjiro,” Kyojuro says. Drawing himself up to a stand, he smooths out the wrinkles in his pants and salutes Giyuu with two fingers. “Think about what I said, Giyuu. There’s fun to be had.” With a final smirk, he brushes past Tanjiro and leaves.

-

It’s only been a few days since that experience with Mitsuri, but you can already tell that something’s changed. Granted, you still feel a bit odd about the whole situation, but another, darker side of you is pleased. Daki is more than ecstatic to have you as a sugar sister; before, whenever you’d go shopping with her, you’d only help pick out clothing for her since everything was way too damn expensive. Now, though… Now things are different.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Daki gushes from where she sits. Perched on a fluffy stool in front of her vanity, she carefully applies a set of false eyelashes. “Like, think of all the fun things we get to do together! Don’t get me wrong, Idris is great, but some of those parties he drags me to can be an absolute bore. If you’re there, well, it’s bound to be more fun! Besides, think of all the yummy treats you’ll get to have…”

From your spot on the couch, you guffaw at your friend’s attempt to hype you up. Carefully, you dip the brush back into the bottle; the nail polish Daki picked out is a shade of pastel pink with pearl undertones. She said Mitsuri really had a thing for pretty pink things, so it was only natural for you to fit that bill, obviously.

“Yes, because stuffing my face with macarons and bubbly is how I want to spend my time,” you say, sarcasm dripping heavily from your words.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t love that,” Daki throws right back at you. “Besides, you wanna be extra sweet for Mitsuri, don’t you? Don’t act like Mitsuri didn’t already have her head stuffed between your legs.”

“Daki!” you shriek. You scramble to catch the bottle of nail polish before it spills all over the place. “Don’t say things like that!”

“Pffft, what for? It’s true, you sneaky bitch! You’ve been glowing ever since your date with her! Did I not tell you that sex with Misturi is the bomb?”

“Okay, okay! You were right!” you exclaim, bursting into round of giggles.

Putting her mascara away, Daki gets up from her spot and moves to where you sit on the couch. Lifting your legs, she slithers in next to you and props your feet on her lap. “Give me that,” she says, taking the nail polish away from you. “Are you and Mitsuri going on a date anytime soon?”

As you nod, a sheepish smile grows on your face. “Yeah – she’s taking me to a theatre tonight, actually. I guess there’s some play she wanted to watch with me.”

“Aww, well isn’t that cute!” Daki chirps, not looking away from the task at hand. “Wait,” she says, suddenly looking up at you, “that means I get to play dress up, right?”

Since being Idris’ sugar baby and all, Daki is no stranger to the luxurious lifestyle and the vast amount of clothes and accessories that comes with. Furthermore, Idris even bought her some swanky apartment, filled with top notch appliances, spacious rooms, and yes, you guessed it – a walk in closet. It’s where you sit now, gazing at the numerous wracks of clothing, the shelves of shoes and purses. It put you in mind of Barbie’s closet, actually, with just how many articles of clothing Daki owns.

You guess you could consider yourself lucky that you and your best friend are the same size. Sure, you’ve shared clothes with each other throughout the years, but once she started her “collection” of designer products, it was game over. You became her personal doll, then, and Daki loved every second of it.

The smile on your face grows at Daki’s excitement. “Who else would I have to pick me out the perfect outfit?” you coo. Daki giggles, then, her green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Chop, chop,” she says, pushing your feet away and standing up. You take a moment to admire the neatly applied nail polish adorning your toes. “I have the perfect outfit in mind for you, and it’s bound to have Mitsuri drooling all over you!”

“Are you sure about that?” you tease, lolling your head to the side.

Scurrying over to a wrack of dresses (all of which are designer, you’re sure of it), Daki pushes some to the side and grabs one that has you gasping. Powder blue in color, the bustier top and layered tulle skirt almost seem more befitting of a princess rather than yourself. Standing up from the couch, you walk over to her, eager to get a better closer. Lacey pastel flower decorate the top layer of tulle and travel up the bustier, all looking so delicate and sweet. It’s a beautiful dress, that much is for sure.

“I’ll do your hair and makeup, too, okay!” Daki exclaims. She really is too sweet for her own good sometimes.

Later that very evening, you’re sitting in the back of a sleek, luxurious car. Mitsuri sits next to you, looking as perfect as always; with her curled hair pinned high on her head, you’re graced with the elegant slope of her neck, the diamond choker wrapped around her throat. A few curly wisps of pink and green hair frame her face, give her a youthful look. She’s so breathtakingly stunning that it’s leaving your throat dry.

Mitsuri busies herself with messaging someone on her phone – she’s already apologized for letting her work get in the way of your date tonight – but you don’t mind, not when you get to gaze at her lovely being. You’ve already began to familiarize yourself with her brand and the creative looks she specializes in: sultry, elegant, and enough to bring a person to their knees. Perhaps that’s what you tell yourself as your eyes scan over her bare skin; it’s for fashion, of course, not because you’re a shameless pervert.

Still, the choker adorning her throat is a bit too enticing, especially with its delicate chain hanging from its center, nestled between the valley of her voluptuous breasts. Why does she always have to have her cleavage on full display around you? Doesn’t she have any idea how much it makes your brain melt?

“You’re staring,” Mitsuri murmurs, her attention still on her phone. The corners of her mouth curl into a smile. “You’re not distracted, are you, sweets?”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” you whisper. “It’s not my fault that you’re too pretty.”

A pleasant blush blooms on her face. Sparing a moment to glance at the chauffeur, Mitsuri clicks her screen off and puts her phone back into her purse. “Come here,” she says, her voice dripping with honey. Wrapping an arm around your waist, she pulls you closer, barely brushes her glossed lips against your ear. “You don’t want to start something like that, do you? I don’t want to be rude and ruin the back of this car.”

The giggle in your ear is enough to send shivers down your spine. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, sweets, is that I don’t want to have someone clean your cum off of this leather.”

You gasp as a wave of heat strikes your very core, wraps around your insides and gives them a good squeeze. “Mommy,” you plead, keeping your voice quiet.

“And your hair and makeup look so nice,” Mitsuri continues. “It’d be a shame to ruin it before you get to show it off.”

Shit, Daki was right. Turns out she knew exactly what she was doing.

“All that matters is that Mommy got to see it,” you purr, leaning more into her warm body. Your eyelashes flutter when her soft breast makes contact with your arm. “It doesn’t matter who else gets to see it.”

The grip around your waist tightens. “(y/n)…”

“Kanroji-san, we’re here,” the chauffeur’s voice suddenly cuts in. It’s enough to snap you back to reality; glancing out the window, you’re greeted with the sight of a brightly lit theatre and a line of patrons waiting at the ticket booth.

“My, my,” Mitsuri says, “looks like it’s going to be a packed house tonight. It’s a good thing I booked some tickets ahead of time, huh?” Turning back to you, she flashes a lovely smile and caresses your cheek. “Have you ever sat in a balcony seat before, darling? You’re going to have a great view.”

“Wait, seriously? Aren’t those super… expensive…?” as you trail off, realization dawns upon you. Of course Mitsuri would buy out some of the most expensive seats in the house – it’s only natural of her to do so. Still, the mere idea of how much they even spent throws your mind in for a loop.

“And your reaction makes it even more special,” Mitsuri purrs. “Come on, let’s go get seated while there’s still time.”

Opening the car door, Mitsuri steps out, and then she promptly turns back to you to help. Linking her arm around yours, she leads you inside the theatre; taking some twists and turns, she leads you up a secluded staircase that, in turn, takes you to the proper balcony. A gasp escapes from your mouth before you can stop it. It’s utterly breathtaking from where you are, the large stage set below you, the sea of people swarming to find their own seats.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Mitsuri asks you as she joins you by the ledge. Setting her elbows on the wall, she looks around the theatre, a thoughtful hum vibrating in her throat. “And just think, sweets, that this is all for you.” Turning to you, she perches her chin in a hand. “I’ll show you so many things that you’ll love, darling. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mitsuri,” you murmur. Swallowing thickly, you push back the creeping urge to cry. How did you get so lucky meeting someone so genuinely sweet?

“Hey now,” Mitsuri continues, still using that honeyed tone, “don’t get sappy. If you start to cry, then I’ll start crying as well!”

Beckoning you over, she takes her seat and watches as you take the one next to hers. The balcony itself is small, with enough room only for three seats. And, as far as it seems, you’ll get to spend the entirety of the play alone with Mitsuri, away from wandering eyes. Hands intertwined with hers, the two of you fall into easy conversation and mild flirting to pass the time. Both of you are practically petting each other’s thighs through your dresses when the door opens; snapping hands away from each other, you turn to see who the unexpected newcomer is.

“Giyuu?”

Coming to an abrupt stop at the sound of his name, Giyuu’s eyes widen. Once he sees it’s only you and Mitsuri, he visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping. “Um… Hello, ladies. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Drawing around the corner, he stands awkwardly before the empty seat. He offers a polite bow, but you notice right away that his eyes refuse to meet yours.

“This is certainly a pleasant surprise!” Mitsuri chirps, a dazzling smile spreading on her features.

“Tomioka-san,” you say, trying to put his nerves at ease, “please, sit down. I don’t bite.”

Still, Giyuu refuses to meet your eyes, but he does as you say and takes the seat next to you. It may be the dim light of the theatre, but you swear there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

Okay, time to try this again. “Tomioka-san… I wanted to thank you for last time. For trying to comfort me when I was so obviously out of place at that party.”

At that, Giyuu clears his throat, and then he finally looks at you. Instead of saying anything, though, he merely grunts and nods his head. You offer him a small smile.

Just as you remember, he’s devastatingly handsome, his gaze a cold, steely blade. On the outside, he seems incredibly intimidating; dark hair, black getup, sharp eyes. You know there’s more than what meets the eye, and Giyuu is the epitome of that very concept. The aura surrounding him is calming, reassuring. You barely know the guy, only met him once, but you already like him.

“My, Giyuu,” Mitsuri speaks up, leaning forward in her seat so she can look around you, “don’t you look nice! I always told you that you would look great in black on black, but you never listen to me! Now look at you! You look like you just came straight off a runway! Don’t you think so, (y/n)?”

Mitsuri has a point, of course. Dressed in a black suit, black button up, and black shoes, Giyuu is the textbook definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He almost seems flustered by Mitsuri’s comment; he looks to you, an unreadable glint in his eyes. Slowly, you nod, humming your agreement.

“I think he looks absolutely dashing,” you say, a small giggle following afterwards.

Giyuu’s eyes drift down, skim across your pretty dress, but you notice the way they linger over the bits of your bare skin. Hastily clearing his throat, his eyes flicker back up, the blush on his cheeks darkening the slightest bit. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “That color really suits you.”

With a smile, you look away, trying to ignore the excited thumping of your heart. Unbeknownst to you, Mitsuri sends Giyuu a glare, but then it melts away into a knowing look. Giyuu catches her eyes, and a silent conversation passes between the two of them.

Perhaps you should’ve paid more attention to them. You should’ve noticed Giyuu’s lingering stares, the way Mitsuri’s hand stayed on your thigh the entire time. But no, you were so enraptured by the play on the stage, stuck in a state of constant awe by the performer’s exquisite ways.

It’s about three fourths of the way through when Mitsuri finally places her lips against your ear, her warm breath fanning across the delicate skin. “Sweets, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, hmm? You’re ruining the experience for Giyuu.” Confused by what she meant, you begin to turn your head to her, but she quickly stops you in your place. “Now, now, don’t make it so obvious. Instead of watching the show, he’s been watching you. I wonder why that is?” She breaks into a low, sultry laugh. You’ve only seen her act this one once, and that was when the two of you…. Well, you know…

“I noticed the way you were looking at him earlier,” Mitsuri continues. “He really is such a pretty man, isn’t he? Especially dressed in all black like that… It’s almost kind of exciting, isn’t it?” Again, she chuckles. “Now, this is entirely up to you, sweets, but I don’t have a problem sharing.”

What? What was that supposed to mean?

“I know, I know, this is all too sudden, but think about it. He’s a pretty man, wouldn’t you agree? I’m not saying you have to, but wouldn’t it be nice to see him in between your legs?”

This time, you snap your head to her. “Mitsuri!” you whisper-yell, “What the hell are you trying to do?!”

“Don’t act so prudish, sweets,” she purrs, her fingers trailing over your jaw. “Just look at him.” Taking your chin in hand, she directs you to look at Giyuu instead. Only one half of his face is illuminated from the light coming from the stage, but you can see the hungry glint in his eyes. “He’s practically undressing you with his eyes, sweets. How does that make you feel?”

“Tomioka-san…”

“Please don’t consider me lewd,” Giyuu starts, his voice just above a raspy grumble. “But I… I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he confesses. “It isn’t fair to you of me thinking that way.”

Swallowing thickly, you release a shaky breath. “And what were you thinking, exactly…?”

Closing his eyes, Giyuu takes a moment to collect himself. “I want what you and Mitsuri have.”

On your other side, Mitsuri giggles. “Hear that, darling? Isn’t that so endearing? Giyuu practically just confessed to you!” Leaning in close, she presses her soft breasts against you. “And I’m perfectly okay if you want to say yes. Everyone deserves some happiness, hmm? Don’t be shy, now. Neither of us are foolish.”

This really is all too sudden. You never your night to head in this direction, nevertheless hear Giyuu tell you that he wants what you and Mitsuri have. Does that mean he also wanted to have a certain arrangement between the two of you? It’s not like you’re against it – Giyuu is certainly handsome, after all – but wouldn’t that make you seem desperate?

“If you’re on the fence about it, why don’t you give a go, just for tonight?” Mitsuri suggests. “We can forget all about it if you want. And if you don’t, well… Things should be fun, shouldn’t they?”

“I… I guess.”

“Wonderful. Giyuu, I give you my blessing to make an impression on our sweet little darling here,” Mitsuri purrs. “Don’t mess it up for yourself.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Giyuu grunts. He holds out a hand, then, a silent question displayed on his face. You glance between his face and his hand; your mind is rapidly going in loops, wondering just what he had in mind exactly. Gingerly, you place your hand in his, gasping when he suddenly yanks you up as he stands. “We won’t be gone for long,” he mutters at Mitsuri.

Mitsuri waves a dismissive hand, an uncharacteristic smirk playing on her pretty face. “Take your time. I know that you’ll need it.”

Giyuu pulls you away, leaving a giggling Mitsuri in your wake. The door to the balcony closes with a click that echoes down the silent hallway. Now that you’re completely alone with him, the realization of what this whole ordeal means comes crashing into you. Giyuu is being dead serious about this, and, well, you are too, apparently.

The two of you remain quiet as he pulls you down the hallway, his grip on your hand both gentle yet strong. He stops outside of a bathroom door, glancing both ways before dragging you in; after he’s checked for any potential bystanders in the bathroom, he locks the door. It’s then that you realize that this is the first time seeing him in bright lighting, but damn he looks just as fine. This is the first time that you’ve also stood directly next to him as well. He’s a lot broader than you anticipated, his shoulders tapering into slim hips.

“I meant it when I said it,” he tells you. The sheer sincerity of his voice strikes something deep within you, leaves you rooted to the spot. “This isn’t the way I wanted things to play out, but I uh, had someone put this little idea in the back of my head and it won’t go away.”

“You… really couldn’t stop thinking about me? I’m flattered, Tomioka-san. I didn’t know I left such an impression on you.”

“Heh. You’d be surprised.” Your breath catches in your throat as takes both of your hands in his, his thumbs drawing soothing circles into the skin. “Listen… I’m not… I’m not really good at this thing,” he says, voice low. “Relationships have never really been my forte.”

Ah, so that explains a lot.

“I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I never pegged you for the sweet type,” you tell him.

“It’s called being considerate. I know plenty of people who wouldn’t hesitate to screw someone over.”

“You’re so serious, Tomioka-san. I can… Let me help you relax. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Giyuu hums, pulls you closer. “It’s not too late to turn back, but I really want this,” he murmurs. “Humor me?”

Before you know it, you’re backing up, the back of your thighs colliding with the counter; Giyuu lifts you with ease, setting your ass on the counter, and slipping between your legs. His mouth descends upon yours, touch almost featherlight as he kisses you. You urge him to press harder, your hands abandoning his hold and grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket instead. Giyuu grunts as you pull him even closer; sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, you pull it outward, relishing in the hiss that escapes him.

You shouldn’t be surprised with the way things go; time blurs, yet the moments seem so sharp. The pretty tulle of your skirt gathers around your hips, Giyuu’s strong hands gripping onto your thighs in such a way that it seems like he’s afraid to let you go. His mouth bleeds gold as you take kiss after kiss away from him, tongue sweeping into his mouth and licking away at the insides.

Things only grow more intimate from there; soon enough, you’re unbuttoning his shirt, hands pressing in and drifting across his skin. He’s surprisingly fit, but then again, it only adds to his godly visage. He’s openly moaning into your mouth at this point, hips bucking forward and seeking out that delicious friction. You choke on a moan as his clothed cock drags across your slit. Your panties are beyond ruined at this point, soaked all the way through and leaving a mess on the front of his slacks.

“Mmph – I bet you feel even better inside,” Giyuu breathes. “I want to… I want to see you wrapped around my cock.”

“Yes, Giyuu, yes,” you plead. Frantically, you undo the pants of his slacks, slip your hand inside his boxers.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses. His hips absentmindedly buck into your touch, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. His voice is so low, so fucking gravelly – it’s wonderful, and fuck if you wouldn’t want to listen to it on loop.

Your insides tighten at the schlick, schlick, schlick noise that fills the bathroom, echoing all around you. Your pussy clenches around nothing, another drop of arousal seeping through your panties. “You said you wanted what I have with Mitsuri, right?” you purr. “Let me… Let me call you Daddy.”

It’s clear that the name causes something to snap inside of him; a growl rips itself from his throat, and his eyes flash with a darker, more animalistic gleam. Urging your hand off of him, he promptly pushes your panties to the side; your body tenses with excitement, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. Giyuu moans as he sheathes his cock inside of you, his hands gripping onto your legs and wrapping them around his slim hips.

“Oh, baby,” he purrs, his hands slamming down on the counter either side of you, effectively caging you in. “Feels so good… so tight…”

“Daddy, come on,” you whine, “we don’t have all night. You wanted this, remember? So fuck me, already. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Giyuu murmurs into your ear. Sliding his hips away, he snaps his cock right back in, your velvety walls eagerly sucking him in. “I plan on doing so much more. You won’t regret it, baby. Not on my watch.”

“Just don’t ruin the dress,” you mutter, placing your lips against the pounding vein in his neck. “It’s not mine and I really don’t feel removing your cum from it.”

Giyuu sucks a breath in through his teeth as you suck a mark into his flesh. “Then I guess I’ll just have to cum inside, huh…?”

“I fucking dare you.”

“That sounds like a challenge, baby. Don’t mind if I do…”

-

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they’ve been gone for a while, now,” Mitsuri says quietly into her phone. “Giyuu really needed to let loose, huh?”

“That sneaky little bastard,” Kyojuro says. He sighs. “And I invited for a night out, too. Dammit. Why does everyone else get to have fun while I don’t?”

Mitsuri giggles. “You’re really that jealous of Giyuu, huh? It’s actually really funny. Maybe I should tell Tengen, just to see what his reaction is like!”

“What, so he can join in on your little ‘arrangement’ you’ve got going on? What about me, huh? I thought we were friends!”

“And we are! If (y/n) wants anything to do with you, that’s entirely up to her. Wait, hold on – the door just opened. Talk to you later, Kyojuro!”

“Wait, Mitsuri-“

Click.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny pillars x reader #kny hashira x reader #kny pillars #kny hashira #diamonds are a girl's best friend series

[unsettledink]

Worth the World - Fluffuary Day 23

Prompt: Flowers

Words: 5463

Summary: Valentine’s Day is not Peter’s favorite holiday by a long shot. And it’s not just because he’s a little jealous of everyone else showing off gifts from their partners. 

But it’s still really nice that an unknown someone sent him a gift this year. Or two. Or— okay, this is getting out of hand.

*

Valentine’s Day.

Ugh. 

Peter sighs. Without a doubt, this is his least favorite holiday. It’s just…

It’s not, as MJ would say, because it’s an over commercialized performative display of heteronormative romance (or something like that; he might have gotten it jumbled up a bit). It’s not even that he doesn’t have—and never has had—someone to spend it with, like Ned tends to suggest. Though that sucks too. 

It’s watching his classmates get flowers and silly singing telegrams and cakes, watching them wander around the rest of the day with balloons trailing behind them and juggling their gifts, everyone seeing it. He’d said as much to Tony—Mr. Stark—a few days ago when he’d apparently been too mopey to be ignored. Which is kinda embarrassing.

He hadn’t known how to really explain the difference between being sad not to get anything and not being sad he didn’t have anyone. It— he would have been just as happy if May sent him something silly; it was about people knowing. It was— kind of selfish, really. No matter how he stumbled around trying to say it, it just sounded bad. In the end, he’d settled for saying it was about wanting to feel normal again, for a little bit. 

He knows Tony doesn’t think much of that. 

It doesn’t really matter. Peter’s never gotten anything before, and it’s not like that’s going to change just because it’s his senior year.

Most of the teachers have given up on getting anything real done during Valentine’s Day, with all the interruptions, but not Mrs. Powell. She’s right in the middle of drawing on the whiteboard—and as far as Peter is concerned, first period is too early for trig--when someone knocks on the door. First delivery of the day, looks like. He stares out the window; at least he doesn’t have to think about math for a few minutes.

“Peter Parker?”

Honestly, it doesn’t even register for a moment. It’s not until Ned pokes him in the side that Peter’s brain stutters back out of shocked white noise and starts running again. “Uh,” he says. “That’s me? I mean, I’m Peter Parker.” 

Someone giggles. 

The lady delivering just smiles at him though. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she says, and hands him a tall, slim vase, with just one perfect, dark red rose. Peter stares at it. 

Ned elbows him again. “Who’s it from?”

There’s no tag, no note, nothing. “I don’t know,” Peter tells him. “It doesn’t say, so…”

“Oooo,” Flash says. “Parker’s got a secret admirer. Yeah right; you probably sent it to yourself.” Peter can feel how hot his face is and it probably just makes him look really guilty, but he didn’t. Not that he can prove it.

“Back to the reason you’re actually here,” Mrs. Powell says sharply, “maybe Flash can tell us the formula we need to use here.”

Peter has no idea if Flash gives the right answer or not, because he can’t stop staring at the rose. Can’t stop thinking, his mind spinning too fast. 

Someone sent him a gift. 

Part of him is still running through possible gift givers; not MJ, surely not. He can’t even imagine that. Ned’s heard him sigh about getting nothing plenty, but there’s no reason he’d do something now. May? Maybe, and he can totally see her forgetting to even include a note. 

Maybe, he thinks with a sudden swoop of his stomach, it’s a prank. Please don’t let it be a prank. Maybe— maybe there actually is someone who likes him. Maybe there is. 

But even with all that running through his mind, it’s background noise to the single, enormous feeling of actually getting a gift for Valentine’s Day, in front of everyone. 

It’s really nice. 

No one pounces on him in the hall between classes to yell ‘gotcha!’; he gets a few looks and a few smiles, but nothing suspicious. Maybe it really is for real. 

Second period, Mr. Jackson doesn’t even try. Just puts on a movie and grades papers while everyone gossips as other deliveries start arriving, flowers and a teddy bear with candy and a singing telegram, and Peter is no longer the only one drawing attention, thankfully. It was nice getting it early in the day, though. 

“Mr. Parker?”

It— it can’t be. He misheard. Right? 

He raises his hand, slowly. 

A gold box is deposited on his desk, all fancily embossed and no label. No note. 

“Well?” Peter looks up, startled; he hadn’t even heard MJ scoot over in front of his desk. Well, it’s not like Mr. Jackson is paying attention, though it feels like everyone else is. “Are you going to open it?”

“Um,” Peter says. “Yeah, I— I guess? What if it’s like, a glitter bomb?”

MJ looks at him like he’s lost a few marbles. “Ooookay,” she says. “You’ll still have to open it eventually.” 

True. “Well, here goes,” he mutters, and lifts off the top. 

It’s chocolate covered strawberries. Really fancy ones, all decorated and different colors and some are even rolled in stuff. They smell amazing, not kind of artificial like a lot of strawberries do. Not that it’s something he noticed before the bite, but—

“Not glitter,” MJ says, and Peter laughs a little. This is crazy. “No note?”

Maybe they are from her? “Nope,” Peter says. “Uh, you want one?”

They taste pretty amazing too. He ends up sharing them with a couple other people; there’s at least two dozen of them and while he probably could eat them all before they got mushy, he’s pretty sure he’d feel sick. 

He catches Ned in the hall after class. Gives him a strawberry too and takes a couple minutes to freak out at him before third period, because neither Ned or MJ share it with him. “Are you really, really sure it’s not MJ?” Ned asks him.

“I mean, does it even seem like something she’d do?” He doesn’t think so, but then— he might be wrong. 

Ned barely considers it before he shakes his head. 

Third period brings reading Hamlet out loud and a dozen roses. 

They’re lighter than the first one, with a dark yellow center. Really, really pretty, and he gets a couple people ‘awwing’ over them. He still has no clue who is sending these. This is nuts. It’s just— it’s straight up crazy. No one else has gotten more than one delivery yet, and he’s gotten three. Who is it? 

He pulls the first rose out of its vase and tucks in the center of these roses, trying to ignore the way a bunch of his classmates are looking at him and giggling. It stands out against the lighter ones; Peter bites his lip.

Please don’t let this be some elaborate prank, he thinks. He can’t really imagine why someone would put this much effort into it—and money, roses aren’t cheap for Valentine’s Day!—just to make fun of him, but then he doesn’t really understand why people started making fun of him in the first place. 

Maybe it’s Flash. He wouldn’t care about the cost and he’d probably love to humiliate Peter in a big, showy way. 

Ned’s mouth drops open when he sees Peter carrying this newest gift. “Wow,” he says. “This is crazy.”

“That’s what I said!” 

He can’t concentrate even a little bit during fourth period. Ned keeps looking over at him every time Peter’s leg starts jittering again, but he can’t help himself. He feels nearly sick with nerves, waiting for whatever is next. Because three times— three times is a pattern. Three times means there’s almost definitely going to be a fourth. 

There is. 

This time it’s a box, a little bigger than his hand. He’s pretty sure this one isn’t a glitter bomb either, but he still hesitates. 

Stares, once he’s opened it. “Dude,” Ned says, craning over. “What is it?” 

“Uh,” Peter says, tilting the box so Ned can see too. “It’s a watch.” A really fancy looking watch; it’s not flashy, not like some of the really crazy watches Peter’s seen Tony wear, but sleekly elegant. Slim and dark and just— pretty. Something Peter could actually see himself wearing. 

“Is that a Piguet?” Flash says behind him and Peter startles. “Seriously? When did you nab yourself a rich sugar daddy?” He eyes Peter, a slow once over. “How? I mean, come on, Parker.” 

He says it all loud enough that people are staring, of course, and Peter’s face is so hot it hurts. “That’s not—” he says, “I’m not— I don’t! They’re not that kind of gifts!”

“Like you know anyone that could afford something like that,” Flash says before he saunters off. Why is he such a dick? 

“You’re not though, right?” Ned says, much quieter. Peter gives him a betrayed look and Ned holds up his hands. “I don’t think you would!” Ned says. “It’s just. Really weird, that’s all.”

“I know,” Peter says, staring down at the watch, and a little of the excited, pleased shine has been rubbed away by Flash making things all… sordid. For second, he almost just closes the box and shoves it in his backpack, but— no. No, he’s not going to do that. 

It fits like it was made to measure, and it looks good on him too. 

MJ shares fifth period with them; “So?” she says. “Was there more?” Peter holds up his wrist and MJ’s eyebrows rise. 

“Wow,” she says. “That’s actually really nice looking. I was kind of hoping for something flashier.” 

Peter glares at her. “This whole thing is flashy,” he mutters, but even if he’s feeling pretty embarrassed… he’s kind of enjoying it too. 

“Bets on what’s next?” MJ asks Ned. Ned shakes his head. Peter doesn’t say anything, but he’s pretty sure it’s going to be flowers again. 

Maybe he should have bet, because he’s right. It’s roses again, two dozen of them, a slight lighter red than the first, and every single petal is edged with gold. Not like, yellow flower color gold, but literal gold foil or paint or something; it actually shines under the light. 

Ned and MJ stare at them in silence right alongside him. “Well,” Mj says eventually. “That’s— flashier.” 

“But like, classy,” Ned says. “I wonder if that’s real gold. That’d be crazy, right? Can’t be.” 

Peter would almost be willing to bet it is. 

He’s really, really wishing he had the first clue what’s going on. 

He needs help carrying them to lunch, so Ned takes the smaller vase. (Okay, he could have carried them all but he would have had to sticky something and it might look weird.) He’s already getting plenty of attention; the glances and smiles from earlier have turned into stares and whispers, and in the cafeteria there’s all the other grades that haven’t seen things delivered. Peter kind of wants to hide out in the library for lunch or something, but he’s hungry. At least he can have a little break, right?

Wrong. So wrong. Because it seems like the second they set Peter’s flowers down, there’s a polite throat clearing behind him. 

Peter turns, and there’s a guy with a bunch of bags. “Um. Hi?” 

“Are you Peter Parker?” When Peter nods, the guys nods too and steps past him to put the bags on their table. They stare as he starts pulling out container after container after container, and there’s a noticeable hush at the tables around them, more and more people watching. 

“This is a new one for me,” the guys says, casually. “Never thought of doing something like this for Valentine’s? But I might steal the idea for myself, next year. Anyway. Happy Valentine’s Day; enjoy!” 

Peter pries open a container and the most amazing smell wafts out. His stomach straight up growls. “I… I guess this is lunch?” he says. Takes another look at the pile of containers. “Lunch for all three of us, actually.” 

“I am dying to know who is doing this,” MJ says, opening another container, and Ned’s not wasting any time either. 

“You and me both,” Peter says.

“Seriously,” Ned says and passes him a tray. “You don’t have any ideas at all?”

Peter shakes his head. 

The food is good; scratch that, the food is amazing. Somehow everything is hot and nothing is soggy and every single thing is something Peter likes. There’s a soup in particular that Peter makes Peter nearly moan when he takes the first bite. 

It’s… familiar? How— why does he know this dish? Where has he had it before?

He closes his eyes when he takes the next bite and tries to stop thinking for a second. Not very successfully, but it doesn’t matter because the memory hits him like a brick. 

He’s had this in Tony’s workshop. 

Peter doesn’t know the name of the place—though he’s pretty sure it’s a lot closer to Stark Tower than it is to his school—but he knows this dish. Tony orders in food for them pretty often and this had shown up once and Peter had eaten every bit of it. Had been really obvious in how much he liked it, because it showed up several more times without Tony ever saying a word about it. 

No one else would know that. 

“Peter?”

He looks up; Ned’s frowning at him. “You okay?” he says. “You were just staring at your food for ages.” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, his mouth dry. “Yeah, uh, I’m fine. I’m— yeah, fine.” He makes himself start eating again, but as amazing as it tastes he’s barely registering it, because Tony sent this. Tony had to have sent this. There’s no way someone else would just choose this out of the way, definitely does not deliver here restaurant, or this specific meal. And if Tony sent this, it means Tony sent everything else too. 

Peter’s doesn’t know what to do with that fact. Theory. No, fact. 

Tony sent him— why? Why would he do this? What possible reason could there be? It’s just— it’s crazy. Peter’s pretty sure it’s not a joke, even if Tony finds it funny, but that only makes it harder to understand. 

Is it pity? Did he hear Peter complaining about not getting things and decide to fake someone being into him so Peter wouldn’t feel left out? Does he feel sorry for Peter? 

Was he ever going to tell Peter it was him, or just let him keep wondering forever? 

He can’t wait for school to be over now, because he needs answers.

Fifth period, he knows exactly what to expect, and Tony—probably Tony, 99% sure Tony—doesn’t disappoint. Roses, more roses, over two dozen for sure but Peter’s not counting, white with dark, dark red edges. Roses, and every time Peter ever smells roses again he’s going to think of this; he doesn’t know if that makes him want to cry or not. 

Because even if Tony isn’t doing this for a laugh, or out of pity, he’s not doing it because he actually is interested in Peter like that. 

And Peter desperately, desperately wishes he was. 

By the time sixth period comes around, everyone in class knows that Peter Parker is (supposedly, thanks Flash) getting a gift every hour from his sugar daddy, and everyone is watching him, just waiting for what’s next. Peter hunches his shoulders and puts his head down and gets more and more tense as the minutes tick by and nothing appears. 

It’s not until the last ten minutes of class that the gift is delivered, late enough that Peter had started to hope that maybe that was it. This gift comes in another box, about the same size as the watch box but slimmer. Peter takes a deep breath before he opens it. 

Snaps it shut a minute later, before Ned’s even had a chance to lean over. 

Oh, god. 

“Peter,” Ned hisses. “What is it? Come on, man. Why do you look like that?”

Peter shakes his head; leans over and whispers in Ned’s ear. “It’s a key,” he says. “A— a car key.”

Ned’s just as wide eyed as Peter feels. “They got you a car?” Ned whispers back.

“I think so?” Peter says. He doesn’t know what else to think about the key and fob in the box. Or the little card tucked in with them: Don’t worry, FRIDAY has the wheel until I get the chance to show you some real driving.

He guesses Tony isn’t trying to hide after all. Oh my god, Tony got him a car. Probably a ridiculously expensive, ridiculously fast, ridiculously flashy car, and Peter doesn’t even know how to drive. Not really. Stealing Flash’s car doesn’t count for much. What is he going to do with a car? Where is he going to keep a car?

What is Tony thinking? 

He knows what he wishes Tony is thinking, as impossible and hopeless as it is. Because it is. It is, utterly and completely, no matter how Peter wishes this was Tony wanting to… to court him, in his usual over the top way. No matter how much Peter wants to think that this might actually mean something, it doesn’t. He knows that. 

“You still don’t know who it is?” MJ whispers, and it’s really unnerving the way so many people are staring at them. 

“Uh,” Peter says. “Actually—” He sighs. “It’s Tony.” 

For a minute, she doesn’t get it. “Tony— wait. Are you. You mean. Really?” 

“Does that mean you’re, you know,” Ned says, making vague gestures. “Together?”

“What? No! Of course not!” 

“So he just… does this sort of thing?” MJ asks.

“I don’t know,” Peter says. “I guess? I don’t know what he’s thinking.” 

“Does he even get that it’s super weird?” Ned says, and Peter shrugs. Everything Tony has been involved with that included Peter has been pretty weird. Where is this supposed to fall on that scale? 

Seventh period lasts forever, Peter resenting every second. He’s almost free. He’s so close to escaping and being able to ask Tony what the fuck is going on. Just half an hour. Just twenty minutes. Just—

“Peter Parker?”

No, no no no. 

He puts his hand up and his head down, and when he lifts it again, there are roses everywhere. Dozens and dozens and dozens, every one of them the dark red of the very first one. How many are there? Did Tony buy out an entire florist? What is he thinking? What is Peter going to do with all of them? He doesn’t even know how he could get them home. 

This is a nightmare; Peter puts his head back down and groans.

MJ laughs softly, and when he looks at her she’s sort of petting one of the roses. “He’s really going for some grand gesture thing, isn’t he,” she says. 

If Tony was— if Peter was— if they were actually together, or if Peter believed for a second this was leading there, this would be incredibly romantic. Really, really excessive and ridiculous, but still. Really romantic too. And Peter would still be blushing so hard he almost thinks it’s never going to fade, but he’d also be so— 

So happy. 

Instead, he just wants to cry. 

Miss Ahuja gives him permission to leave most of them in her room for a few hours, until he can figure out what to do with them, so Peter just takes the gold tipped ones and the yellow and red ones and the very first one with him. 

And almost runs right into Happy when he comes out of the classroom. 

“I— Happy?” Peter says, because this day just keeps getting weirder. 

“Hey, Peter,” Happy says. “I was told to help you carry stuff to the car. What kind of stuff are we talking about? Why can’t you get it all?”

“Um,” Peter says. Leans back and pushes the classroom door open; Happy pokes his head in and sighs. “Wait, the car?”

“So it’s like that,” Happy says, whatever that’s supposed to mean. “Alright, kid. Got any friends to help out?” 

“Yeah, um, Ned, can you—” and Ned’s already grabbing a vase, MJ right behind him. “Seriously though, the car?”

“The car,” Happy says. “Which I need the keys for. What?” he says when Peter frowns. “Tony had the thing dropped off, I guess.” 

“Right,” Peter says. “Because that makes perfect sense. Why would he—” He sighs. “Right. Keys.”

“Could be worse,” Happy says while Peter digs out the box and hands it to him. “Could be a giant bunny.”

“A— a what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

The car is not what Peter was expecting. Okay, he’s sure it’s incredibly expensive and fast, but it’s not flashy. At least, not overtly so, like a lot of the cars Tony drives. It’s silver and sleek and a convertible, so at least there’s still something wholly impractical about it. It takes them three trips to bring out all the roses and they completely fill the backseat, Peter having to stick a vase down by his feet as well. 

“Where am I taking you?” Happy asks. “Home? May’s going to have fun with this.”

Oh no. No. “Actually,” Peter says, “could you maybe take me to the tower? I, uh. Think I need to talk to Ton— Mr. Stark.” 

Happy snorts. “Going to read him the riot act, huh? Good luck with that. Not that he doesn’t deserve it,” he adds, looking over his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Peter says, weakly. “Yeah, that.” 

It festers inside him on the drive, this awful little fragment of hope that’s been growing ever since lunch. This tiny voice that keeps saying, what if he does? What if he is? What if he feels something? 

It a really stupid voice and a stupid idea, but he has to ask something. Even if he can’t come out and ask it straight up, he has to at least ask something.

“Good luck,” Happy says when Peter climbs out. Pats him on the back. “Keys’ll be in the side pocket when you’re done.” Peter nods, not really paying any attention. 

Tony’s in the workshop. Of course he is. 

For a minute—for two, three, four, and FRIDAY doesn’t say anything so it’s okay—Peter just watches him, and wants. 

Tony notices him eventually, like he always does, even when he’s in the middle of something. “Hey!” he says. “How’s it going, kid?” He grins, slow and obviously pleased with himself. “Have a good day?”

Peter walks a little closer to him. “I— I had a really weird day,” he says. “Um. I mean, thank you? That was— really—” Words fail him and he waves his hands around vaguely; he doesn’t even really know what he’s trying to say.

“Oh, you’re wearing it,” Tony says. “Good, here— lemme show you something. Right, so, tap the face three times and then turn the outer ring clockwise.” Peter does, because at this point, why not. 

There’s a click, and then a moment later the watch is unfolding itself, spreading up his arm and down his palm. Is turning into a variation on his web-shooters. Peter stares at it.

“It doesn’t pack quite the punch your usual ones do,” Tony says, “but it’s easier to keep on hand all the time. Hopefully you can wear this anywhere without raising eyebrows, and it’ll be closer to hand then the nano ones even.”

Everything Tony has done today has been excessive and over the top and way, way too much, but this— this is the thing that breaks Peter. This is the thing that makes it obvious, makes it so, so obvious, that Tony put thought into this. That Tony didn’t just do this on a whim or for a laugh. 

Right?

“Tony,” Peter says, slowly. “What— what exactly did you mean, with all this?” 

“What did I mean?” Tony says, just as slowly, confused. 

“Was it— was it a joke? Or—”

“No!” Tony says, cutting him off. “God, no, it’s not a joke. Peter— shit. I just. You sounded so down about being invisible for Valentine’s, and I thought— that, that you could have something nice for it. Should have something nice for it. And I could fix that? I—” He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “I wanted to give you a nice day. And— a little flex, you know? Since you have to hold yourself back so much already, I thought— why not show them someone thinks you’re worth the world?” 

“Oh,” Peter says.

“I fucked up,” Tony says, “didn’t I. I’m sorry. I should have just— was it awful?”

“You didn’t— no,” Peter tells him, and he means it. “No, it wasn’t awful. It was nice, I did have a nice day. It’s just…”

“I know,” Tony says. “Too much.” 

Yeah, but. If they were— 

Peter liked it. 

“So,” he says. “It was because you wanted to be nice,” and it’s so, so hard to force the next words out. “Was… was that it? All it was?”

Tony hesitates, looking at him. “Yes?” he says. “Was— is there something else it should have been?”

He was wrong. He knew it, he knew it and yet it still felt like a weight sinking right down though his chest, into his stomach. “No,” he says. Shakes his head. 

“Peter,” Tony says. “Was there something else you thought it was?” And, a moment later, when Peter can’t quite bring himself to say anything but can’t quite manage to leave either, “Was there something you wanted it to be?”

He should say something. He should say something, because roses and watches that turn into web-shooters and Tony wanting people to think someone loved Peter. He should— “It’s just,” he says. “It’s. You know. Valentine’s Day. I thought— I hoped—” No, that’s not right. 

“I wanted it to actually be because you—” God, he’s so terrible at this. 

“Kid,” Tony says so softly, and this is where he tries his hardest to let Peter down gently, isn’t it. “Come here, will you?” 

There’s no point in saying no, so Peter goes to him. Comes even closer when Tony gestures him forward, and then Tony reaches out and sets his hand on Peter’s hip and pulls him a step closer, until Peter’s standing between Tony’s legs. There’s a faint flutter of hope trying to rise up again, and Peter tells it to fuck off. This isn’t that. 

“I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t occurred to me,” Tony says, and Peter stares at the casing on Tony’s chest, unable to look higher. “I’d— I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t on my mind while I was deciding what to get you, that I haven’t— haven’t thought of you like that. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

He’s not hearing this right. He can’t be. 

“I couldn’t do that to you, Peter,” Tony says, and he sounds tired. “It’s more than a little fucked up for me to even be interested, much less act on it. I don’t— you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and I don’t want you to end up damaged in the ways this sort of shit can. You don’t need that living in your head forever, don’t need me dragging you down.”

He is hearing this right. What the fuck. He is— and Tony is— 

“Why are you so sure it’s going to go so wrong?” Peter asks. “It doesn’t have to?”

“It does,” Tony says. “It will. It— it always does, Peter. There are some gaps you just can’t bridge. And when it’s your first, it doesn’t ever really fade. It just. It doesn’t. I don’t want you to end up like—” 

He sighs, and Peter finally looks up. Tony looks as miserable as Peter feels. “I want you to be better than me, kid.” 

Peter thinks. Chews on his lip and takes his time because he has to do this right, he has to say this right, and Tony gives him that time. Just waits, quietly watching him, his hand burning on Peter’s hip. 

“You keep saying what I don’t need,” Peter says finally. “And what you want, and like. I know you don’t think I’ll make smart decisions, and I know you want to protect me, but… why can’t I know what I need? What about what I want? For once, can I get to choose what happens to me?”

Why does everyone always think they know what’s better for him than he does? Maybe he’s still a teen, but he’s not stupid. 

Tony’s pulled back a little, looking at him closer. “Alright,” he says, after what feels like ages. “What do you want?”

Maybe— maybe he can hope. “Can we try?” Peter asks. “For a little? At least see what happens? Because—” He swallows, hard. “Because I really want this, even if you think it’s a bad idea.”

“I just don’t want you to do something you’ll end up regretting.”

“Well,” Peter says, “that’s kind of already happened. A lot. So.” 

The silence goes on and on and on, neither of them moving, and Peter doesn’t know what else to say. 

So he ends up just blurting out the next thought in his head, like an idiot. “Would you— would you kiss me? Please?”

He doesn’t think it’s going to happen, even when Tony’s hand settles against his cheek, even when Tony leans in, even when Tony’s lips are almost on his. It doesn’t seem possible that it’s happening, but it is, and oh, fuck, it’s so good. It’s soft and barely more than brushing their lips together and even so, when Tony pulls back Peter sways after him, this tiny noise catching in his throat.

If the first one was good, this kiss is mindblowing, Tony’s lips opening under his and his tongue against Peter’s and his arms around Peter, pressing them together. Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s neck and clings, moans into Tony’s mouth and wishes he didn’t have to breathe. 

“Jesus, Peter,” Tony whispers. “You can’t make noises like that, or I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

“Don’t,” Peter says, trying to tug him back. “Don’t bother. I don’t even want you to.” 

Tony laughs and while Peter could make him get closer, he doesn’t want to use his strength like that. 

“Okay,” Tony says, “so I knew it was a bad idea the second I bought it, and I didn’t think I was ever actually going to be able to give it to you, but I got you another gift.” Peter kind of doesn’t care all that much, but if Tony’s telling him now, there’s probably a reason. 

“It’s over there,” Tony says, nodding at a different desk, and when Peter—very reluctantly—steps away to go there, Tony’s right behind him.

There’s a flat, rectangular box on the table, black, about as big as Peter’s laptop; it’s surprisingly light when he picks it up. 

Inside, there’s this— this pale, pale pink, almost white, thing. This thing that’s all mesh and lace and a lot of straps and Peter’s not even really sure how it should go on, but his breath catches anyway with how hard and fast the want hits him. 

“Please,” Tony says, pressed right up against his back, his chin on Peter’s shoulder. “Please tell me if this is too much, too fast, but I’m thinking you could go upstairs and put that on, so I can take it right back off. Yes? No?”

Peter can’t breathe. He nods, over and over, vigorously, and Tony laughs against his neck. “You want to try that in words, baby?”

Baby, Peter thinks, his brain completely short circuiting. “Yes. Yes,” he manages eventually, “I could absolutely do that. I would really really like to do that. I would love to do that.”

Tony sucks in a breath, and Peter can feel how he shudders, clinging a little tighter to Peter for a moment. “Okay,” Tony says, so softly Peter’s not even sure it was meant for him. “Good.” He steps back. “I’ll see you soon.”

Peter picks the box up; makes it halfway to the door before he gathers enough courage to stop, to turn back and say “Tony?”

Tony’s head snaps up, and he looks worried. 

“Don’t take too long.”

There’s a second where Tony’s eyes just go wide, and then he’s smiling, grinning, growing slowly across his face. It’s so much happier than he’s looked since Peter showed up, and it feels— it feels incredible to know he made Tony smile like that. He made Tony happier. 

He’s going to make Tony feel a lot of things. He’s sure of it.

*

AO3

#fluffuary #starker #ironspider #tony x peter #peter x tony #tony stark x peter parker #mcu #spiderman #posted a little late whoops #that got completely out of hand #my work #fanfiction

[scrumptiouslittlesimp]

you know what i want 😸

Yes, yes I know what you want, you thirsty mofo-

•~~~•

word count: 1.3k words

Pairing: Albedo x female reader

warning: I don’t think there are any

Summary: when Albedo came back, there was nothing he could draw. Until he saw the prettiest scene, you.

note: brain is rotting by the time I ended this fic so I don’t think the ending is that good so just be prepared.

After finishing his research in Dragonspine he decided to visit Mondstat to visit you and Klee. You and Klee were ecstatic, after not seeing your precious best friend for so long it felt like your light was coming back to you when you heard that he was visiting.

Waiting for him in front of the gates of Mondstat, you and Klee were already waiting for him, sitting on the stairs in front of the adventurers guild. “Albedo!,” / “big brother!” both of you screeched in unison as you see the tiny shadow of Albedo. He wasn’t even past the gate yet but you and Klee ran out and tackled him to the ground, disturbing all of Timmie’s pigeons.

Klee clung onto Albedo’s leg as you jumped behind him and wrapped your legs on his waist, circling your arms around his neck. “We missed you!” you both screamed in unison. Albedo chuckles and pets Klee’s head, “I miss you guys too,”

He carries you and Klee to the Knights Of Favonious Headquarters. You nuzzle your face into his hair, breathing in his scent. You don’t see it but he has a smirk on his face, happy that the two people he cared for the most had missed him.

Entering the Knights Of Favonious Headquarters all three of you send a smile to the two guards stationed outside of the headquarters. They sweatdrop at the position you three were at but recognizing The Chief Alchemist, the daughter of the famous adventurer Alice and the assistant of Headmaster Jean, they let the trio in.

Entering Jean’s office you let go of Albedo and so does Klee. You kneeled down, having the need to since you were in front of your boss. Albedo bows and Klee climbs you back, thinking you were kneeling down so that she can get on your back.

“Ah Albedo, I see you have returned,” Headmaster Jean smiles as she looks up from her pile of paperwork, “how long do you plan on staying?” You and Klee frown, right, he was only here for a while and would soon leave again. You occasionally sent letters but they just weren’t enough.

“As long as these two let me, headmaster Jean,” and with that, you stand up from your kneeling position, Klee quickly wrapping her short arms around your neck so as to not fall down. “Really!” you exclaimed, a bright smile coming on your face. He nods and ruffles your hair as the smile on your face becomes even larger.

Headmaster Jean smiles, watching the interaction. “Alright, you should relax for a while, bring y/n and Klee with you as well, I presume you guys would want some time together?” and she looks down to continue her paperwork. You and Albedo bow and head out of the office.

“Big brother! Since we can be with you the whole day, can we go to Windrise! I have a cool treasure to show you!” Klee says as she jumps off your back, now jumping up and down in excitement. “Is it another bomb?” Albedo asks with a raised eyebrow.

Klee pretends she doesn’t hear anything and grabs your hands and drags you out of the safety of the walls of Mondstat and towards Windrise. Stopping at the bottom of the large old tree, Albedo sits down, "why don't you find the treasure and bring it here Klee? I know how you always forget where you put your treasure so why don't you go find it with y/n, I'm a little tired from travelling so I want to rest a bit," Klee nods excitedly, quickly grasping your hand in hers and dragging to to where she thinks the treasure is.

Grabbing out his sketchbook, he looks around to find something to sketch to find nothing he finds interesting. His eyes roam around and they stop when they see something that made them open a little wider than normal.

You were running after Klee, presumably playing tag. A huge grin was present on your face and the sun was shining directly on your face, making you raise your hand to shade your eyes from the bright rays. Sweat was running down your forehead as you continued to chase Klee around. He captured the scene in his head, quickly sketching it out on his sketchbook before even a tiny detail of the memory fades.

As he adds the final details to the sketch, Klee and you finally come over to him, you were drenched in sweat with your hands on your knees, panting, while Klee was still jumping up and down from excitement. “Big brother! I found the treasure! And me and big sister played tag too!”

Albedo puts his sketchbook down, looking up to see a giant red ball that had flower patterns messily drawn on it. He grabs it, analyzing it. He smells it, smelling a combination of multiple flowers. He forgets that the drawing he drew of you was still on view for everyone to see.

Klee, being the innocent, oblivious child she is, grabs it and shows it to you, “Look! Big brother drew big sister!” she says, displaying the drawing he made of you. Albedo hearing what Klee said, quickly whips his head up from the flower themed bomb and to the two figures in front of him.

He panics and accidentally drops the bomb, accidentally activating it. Flowers spray everywhere as you and Albedo make eye contact. There was a slight blush on your face. Albedo usually never draws anyone, it was weird that he suddenly drew you. He only drew things he either found interesting or beautiful.

Time seems like it’s passing slowly as the flowers rain down and you and Albedo look at each other. One with eyes of confusion and the other with eyes of panic. “Big brother, why did you activate it! I wanted it to be a surprise!” Klee’s loud whine brings both of you back from your trances.

Albedo looks at Klee, kneeling to the level of the small child. “I’m sorry Klee, why don’t we make a new one? I’ll wait here with big sister, you already know where the pretty flowers are right?” Klee nods, going on her way to get a new batch of flowers.

“So, do you find me interesting or beautiful? Which one is it,” speaking in a teasing manner, trying to defuse the tension. With that statement Albedo’s cheeks turn a bright color of crimson. “Both,” he mumbles out. Not expecting that answer, your eyes widen a little.

“Hey you know what, being friends with you is kinda boring,” you said, looking at him with an awkward smile. His heart drops and you could see it in his face. Quickly waving your hands in front of your face you continued your sentence, “I-I mean, wanna date me?” you fidget with your fingers, never thinking that you would ask your best friend that question.

“W-well we’ve been friends for who knows how long now, maybe we could pick it up a notch? And maybe because i’m kinda in love with you hehe” you said, but mumbling the last part quietly. Albedo stays quiet for a little bit, making you more nervous.

Instead of using words, he crouches down in front of you, “Klee has been gone for a while, we should check on her,” he says, looking away from you, but you can see from the tips of his ear that he’s blushing. A smile pops onto your face, knowing Albedo, this was his way of saying yes.

Climbing onto his back, you wrapped your arms on his neck a little tighter then you did earlier, smiling as you did so. Leaning your head to sit on his shoulder, you give him a little kiss on the cheek, smiling as you did so.

His arms carrying your legs tighten. Albedo never thought about getting into a relationship, thinking his life should just be dedicated to research, but hey, maybe this wasn’t that bad.

#xreader #genshin #genshin impact #angst #fanfic #fluff #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #albedo imagines #genshin albedo #albedo imagine #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo scenario #albedo scenarios

[redhoodieone]

My Best Friend’s Wedding Part 2

Hey everyone! I finally got my writing mojo back so enjoy this chapter! 😉

Warnings: Language.

The loud and sudden crash startles Y/N over the phone. But Jason tried to save himself from falling, but to no use as he collapses to the floor; oomphing loudly.

“Jason? Jason, are you okay?” Y/N’s voice brings him back to reality. The concern and kindness in her voice makes his cheeks flush red in embarrassment. “Jason?”

Jason jumps to his feet. He can feel his blood pressure rising from just the panic that’s rushing throughout his entire body. He runs a hand through his spiked hair and bites his bottom lip worryingly.

“Oh, I’m fine. Sorry. I tripped...tripped, forget it. That doesn’t matter. Did you just say you’re getting married?” Jason asks loudly. He doesn’t even realize he’s raising his voice or is sounding shocked more than ever.

“Yes! Yes, I am! Look, I know it’s so sudden and it may sound complicated and-”

“Sweetheart, no. Inception is complicated. Shower sex? That’s complicated. You getting married in five fucking days isn’t complicated! That’s-that’s...fucking insane!” Jason yells.

He can hear Y/N sigh sadly on the other line. She hasn’t said a word yet, and Jason knows that deep down, he can never be mad at her. Never.

Just the thought of himself being enraged at her is impossible. Y/N’s the perfect woman he’s ever met. He’s spent most of his entire life taking care of her, looking out for her.

Jason knew the shitty life he had before Bruce and Alfred gave him a home. With an absent father and a drug addict mother, Jason always had to fend for himself. And eventually, he had to live on the streets; surviving by mugging adults and stealing food from stores. There was even a time where he predicted he would die out there; maybe from mugging the wrong person or just starvation. He had no hope. No dreams. No one to live for.

Until he met Y/N.

He found her trying to fight off an older gentleman; an overweight drunk who was trying to get the poor teenage girl on her knees to suck his dick. She was scared. She was crying. She was begging him to let her go, but the man made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he wanted.

But Jason gave that piece of shit what he deserved: a broken jaw.

And ever since then, Jason told her to stick with him and he’ll take care of her.

Even when they were homeless teenagers, Jason would steal food for her. The poor girl was always so terrified of getting caught; mostly because she was afraid of getting separated from him.

Jason and Y/N were practically orphans and living on the streets. If any of them were caught by the law, they would most likely be tossed in orphanages or with Jason’s luck, be sent to juvenile detention.

And plus Jason was always fast and smart. He got away with everything. He always seemed to impress Y/N when he would steal food for them. Their love for bread and chocolate donuts was always taken care of by him.

But as most stories go, Jason did get caught once...from stealing an old man’s grocery bag on the sidewalk.

Who just so happened to be Alfred Pennyworth.

And with that, Jason was adopted by Bruce Wayne, and Y/N was adopted by Lucius Fox.

Jason even remembers threatening Bruce to find a good home for Y/N. He promised her that much. And lucky for him, Lucius and his wife loved Y/N as their own daughter, and she was always able to visit Jason and his brothers.

But why was Jason so enraged right now?

Jason knows the anger he’s displaying right now isn’t directed at her.

No. No, he’s definitely angry at himself.

He’s pissed off at the fact that Y/N’s getting married. Period.

To some “super” guy...or whatever she said.

He’s pissed off because she doesn’t even know this guy. And what’s the rush? Shouldn’t engagements be six months or a year? Jason knows he doesn’t know a lot about weddings, mostly because marriages and weddings are not his thing. But why does Y/N want to get married? Why does she want to marry some guy she doesn’t even know? Why are they rushing into this? Jason doesn’t know, okay?

He barely realizes he’s still on the phone and he’s not even talking. Whether he’s still angry or afraid of what she’ll say, he’s not sure if he should even be speaking at all.

“Are you angry at me?” Y/N softly asks. The sadness in her voice breaks his heart.

Jason knows he’s not angry at her. He’s...feeling something in his chest but he can’t quite place what feeling it is. “No. No, I’m not angry at you,” he hesitates to answer. “I guess I’m just...surprised.”

“I know. I’m sorry that I just dropped this huge bomb on you without giving you any warning. But this...I’m still surprised too. I’m...I’m engaged, Jason. I’m getting married, and-and this is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want you here. I need you here with me. Please say you’re going to come. Please,” Y/N pleads.

Jason knows he can’t say no to her. He has never in his entire life said no to Y/N. And he knows deep down that he still can’t.

“Yeah. I mean, yes I’ll be there for you, sweetheart. You know I always will,” Jason admits, and for the first time in his life, he knows he means it.

“I’m so happy to hear that. Do you think you can fly out tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, yeah I can fly out tomorrow.”

“Okay, perfect! I’m going to let Conner know!” Y/N says and even giggles.

Jason’s heart stops beating. “Who?”

“Conner Kent, my fiancé. Listen, I’ll call you in the morning, okay? I need to talk to Conner and get the guest bedroom set up for you. Have a good night, Jaybird!”

Jason freezes up once Y/N hangs up on him. He imagines her smiling, laughing, and running off to find this Conner Kent, the man she’s supposed to marry.

He is finally able to pull his cell phone from his ear and stares down at it with all the anger he’s feeling again. He dials a number. Tim Drake.

Jason puts the call on speakerphone and grabs his suitcase from his closet. During the ringing, he starts tossing in clothes: boxers, pants, a couple of t-shirts, and his finest suit. His obsessive and unorganized thoughts continue to rush through his head until Tim answers.

“Hello?”

“Tim, I need you to search and find out everything you can about Conner Kent,” Jason demands.

“Why?”

“Because...that motherfucker is going down.”

#dc comics #batman #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd

[bohemianrequiem]

The Tablet of Vesuvius Caper

Despite the holiday season being over, and the crowds of eager tourists that entailed having gone home, security was no less tight that night at the Piazza del Campidoglio. Especially at the Piazza’s flagship building, the Capitoline Museums.

“Which, despite it’s name-“Player’s voice remarked quietly into her ear. “-Is actually only a single museum containing multiple different groups of archeological finds, relics, and artwork. Pretty neat, huh?”

Carmen couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of her lips as she swiftly crossed the distance between two adjacent buildings. Safely in the shadows, she replied, “Extremely.” Her voice silent on the warm wind that blew in from the Mediterranean. “But did you know that the Capitoline Museums are also widely regarded as being one of the first museums in the world after it was opened up to the public by the Pope in 1734?”

“Not bad, Carm. You’ve definitely done your research. Now it’s time to hope the research I did was all correct too. I’ve got the passcode generator fired up, so just get to the Museums’ emergency backdoor and I can make a key to get us in.”

Having gone over the layout of the Piazza and the various buildings that called it home again and again in preparation for this caper, Carmen knew that the door Player spoke of was just a short distance ahead of her. Although it was officially an emergency exit only to be used in case of a fire or similar disaster, it’s purpose tonight would be as their perfect entryway into the Museums unseen.

Or at least, it was meant to be. As Carmen approached the door, she noticed that the passcode protected lock already shone a bright green. Meaning someone had unlocked the door and intentionally left it so, most likely to help speed up their get away.

“Player, we’ve got trouble.” She swung the door open and stepped inside.

“You’re telling me. Cameras are already down, and I’m not the one who turned them off. You’ll be going in blind, Red.” His voice wavered as he spoke. His worry for Carmen’s well-being evident from his warning.

“I’ll manage. You just focus on getting those cameras back online.” As she moved through the Museums back hallway, Carmen wracked her brain for who might have been able to infiltrate the building before her.

El topo and Neal were both out: Topo would have just dug his way in, and Neal would have likely opted for using the ventilation system rather than the backdoor. What about Mime Bomb? Or maybe Tigress? They had both used Dr. Bellum’s technology to gain an edge against her in the past.

“Whoever hacked into the Museum’s security definitely knew their stuff. I can barely find any trace of their online infiltration.” Player remarked. Carmen listened intently for a moment before opening another door that led further into the interior. Now she was passing by walls of centuries old artwork, heading towards the section possessing what both her and VILE were after.

“Are you saying you won’t be able to reactivate it to give us an advantage?” She peered around a corner before proceeding to the archeological relic gallery.

“Never said that Red.” Player’s smirk was practically audible, as a few keystrokes later he snapped his fingers. “Bingo! I’ve reactivated the cameras in the wing you’re headed. And…. oh no.”

Carmen stiffened as she heard the crackle of professional issued radios reverberate off the walls around her. As stealthily as possible, she slipped open the door leading to the archeology wing and closed it shut behind her. “I could hear security in the artwork gallery. Who do you see? Tigress? Le Chevre? The Mime?”

“None of them. It’s somebody I’ve never seen before.” A few moments of silence. “He has it! Carmen, he has the Tablet of Vesuvius!” That’s all Carmen needed to hear. With a sudden burst of speed that threw all caution of being caught to the wind, she rushed into the main viewing room just in time to watch as a man in a bright blue coat gently tuck the treasured tablet away in a rough-spun drawstring bag.

Having heard the sudden commotion, the man looked over his shoulder and shot her a curious half-smile. “Oh, you’re new.” He had neat sideburns stretching down to his bottom jaw, an impeccable black button up, and a contrasting red tie. He wasn’t much taller than Carmen herself but carried about him an air of relaxed confidence. Like he’d done this same thing a hundred times.

“I could say the same for you. Aren’t you a little old to be a new graduate of VILE’s? Or are they having to start calling in the benchwarmers just to keep up with me?” She took a few strides forward, urging the man to keep talking and keep his mind off trying to find a way past her.

“Lady, I’ve honestly got no idea what you’re on about.” He tucked the tablet bag close to his chest, as if he were carrying a small child, and took a few steps backwards from the recently pilfered display case. “What I meant was that you must be a new friend of Pops’. It really warms my heart to see him playing so well with others. A fellow detective trying to track me down, am I right?”

Now it was Carmen’s turn to stare incredulously at the man across from her. “Pops? Who on Earth are you talking about?” He was well within range of her grappling gun. If she could just get a clear shot at the bag, then the tablet would be safely in her hands.

The stranger looked her up and down. “Y’know now that you mention it, you do have significantly better fashion sense than most detectives and private eyes I’ve encountered.” His grip on the sack tightened. “Which can only mean that you’re a rival thief here to steal the same treasure as me.”

Carmen smirked and shrugged her shoulders. “Guilty as charged. Now put the relic back where you got it from before I have to take it from you.”

The male thief quirked an eyebrow. “A thief who steals precious treasures just to return them. What a waste! I, on the other hand, have a much better idea of what to use the tablet for.” Carmen only had a moment’s time to react as he raised his hand in the air. Reflecting off the moonlight streaming in through the windows, her eyes caught a small spherical object between his fingers just as he slammed it down to the floor.

In an instant, the area where the thief had been was rapidly being enveloped by a layer of thick white smoke. “Player!” Carmen called into her earpiece, rushing into the smoke to find any trace of her quarry.

“I’ve got eyes on him. He went out a door at the back of the room leading off the main showroom.” Despite the heavy smoke hampering her vision, her expertly trained eyes cut through it and homed in on the door the thief had absconded through. Without a moment to lose, Carmen rushed towards the door and nearly stampeded over the man on the other side.

Before she could make any kind of comment about having caught up with him so easily, Carmen saw why the man had stopped in his tracks so early on in their chase. Standing halfway through the narrow hallway was a figure dressed up in lime green and black punk rock attire.

“Paperstar.”

“Carmen Sandiego.” Her piercing gaze shifted to the blue coated man beside her. “And associate. I’ll say this once. Hand over the relic and I’ll let you both leave this place. Try to run away and…” She produced a sheet of brightly colored construction paper from a holster on her thigh and deftly folded it into a dangerously accurate looking replica of a shuriken.

The male thief scoffed, pushing his way past Carmen and closer towards the VILE operative. “Or what? You’ll pelt us with your papier-mâché?”

Paperstar frowned. “I’ll do much more than that to you, monkey face.” She reared her hand back and threw the paper shuriken with all her weight behind it.

“Monkey face?! Why do people keep saying-“

“Move!” Carmen tackled him to the ground just as the folded weapon sliced through the space they had previously been occupying. It lodged itself deep into the mahogany door behind them, earning a nervous squeak from the blue sporting thief.

“Crap! Nice save, Red.” He wiggled his way out from underneath Carmen and reached deep within the folds of his blue jacket to produce a small pistol. Just barely had the sound of crinkling paper reached his ears did he notice that Paperstar had now resupplied herself with half a dozen paper shurikens.

“Stop it! Both of you!” While the male thief was still down on one knee, Carmen had already thrown herself back up onto her feet and was yelling in a hushed tone. “If you two go to shooting and throwing things at each other, the guards will be on us in seconds. Then nobody gets the tablet.”

The other two thieves seemed to consider this for a moment. “That tablet belongs to VILE, Carmen. Make this easy on yourself for once and have your henchman give it up.”

“Henchman? I’m nobody’s hired goon, little Miss ‘Papercut’.”

Before further aggravations and taunts could be hurled, Carmen spoke; “The tablet *belongs* in a museum. Not to you, not to VILE, and especially not to this guy.” She glowered down at the thief, eyes shifting to the tablet hidden away inside the drawstring bag in his other hand. “What does VILE even want with such a random piece of Roman history?”

Paperstar shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Perhaps unused to going so long without folding something with her idle hands. “Professor Gunnar simply tells me what to steal and where. I make a point of not asking too many questions, unlike a certain little Black Sheep.”

Now it was the blue coated thief’s turn to interject on Carmen’s behalf. “Maybe I could be of some help in shedding light as to why any of us are interested in this little beauty.” He stood up, pocketed his weapon, and dusted off his jacket’s shoulder pad.

“The Vesuvius Tablet, one of the most famous relics recovered from the site of the ancient Roman city of Pompeii. Famous, in fact, for the depiction of Mount Vesuvius on it’s front and the seemingly indecipherable text on the back. It’s neither Roman nor Greek, not even early Persian or Aramaic.”

“So, it’s in a language nobody’s ever discovered.” Carmen had read up on the history of the tablet. From it’s recovery in 1750, to it’s public release to the Capitoline Museums’ archeological gallery just last year. Despite those countless hours of research, she still couldn’t understand why VILE sought to pillage the item.

“I never said that, Ms. Sandiego.” He smirked, a knowing thing that did little to make her thing the tablet was any better off with the male thief than VILE. “According to some confidential reports from the first excavation team sent by the king of Naples, the Tablet of Vesuvius initially read something like a map. However, the further the tablet was taken away from it’s resting place in Pompeii, the more illegible the words on it became.”

Paperstar chimed in, a giggle playing on her lips. “You don’t seem to know when to shut your mouth, do you, old man? I can help with that.” She shifted a foot backwards, preparing herself for the coming encounter.

“So I’ve been told. I’ll try to keep this short and sweet then.” He lightly jabbed at Carmen with his elbow. “How about you go high and I go low, Red?” He whispered.

“What? But just a minute ago you were the one throwing smoke bombs and running away from me.”

“Yeah, well, seeing as you’re not the one trying to merc me at the moment, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to suggest a team-up. After all, I get the sense you and this girl really don’t care for each other.” The stranger did have a point. After all, the absolute worst Carmen would do is leave him tied up for the proper authorities to find. Paperstar on the other hand….

“You’ve got me there. Let’s move!” Shurikens as deadly as steel sliced through the air as the pair of thieves pressed an advance towards their neon green assailant. With a high jump, Carmen pushed herself off the side of the wall and aimed a kick towards Paperstar’s head.

She dodged but stayed distracted long enough for the blue coated thief to get in close and swipe her legs out from underneath her. “No!” The paper wielder fell flat on her back, with Carmen’s boot soon digging into her gut.

“Too slow, Papercut. Better luck next time?” She quipped. Before Paperstar could spit out the vitriol that was surely brewing between her lips, the communicator on her arm flashed bright green.

“Paperstar,” The voice of Professor Gunnar emanated from it. “Local authorities are en-route to the Museums. It appears a detachment of Interpol is already present on the grounds. This is an Alpha zero-one situation. Vacate the region and return to the isle immediately.”

“Interpol.” The male thief murmured. “Just what I needed.”

“Devineaux.”

“Zenigata.”

The two looked up at each other. “Wait, you have someone from Interpol chasing you?” Carmen probed.

“For the better part of my entire career, yeah. You?”

“Something like that. He’s more of a minor annoyance, but-“

Paperstar’s eye roll was nearly audible. “Wow, great, you two are such besties. Now let me up so I can-“

“Ah, ah, ah. What’s the magic word?” The thief dug into his pocket and retrieved a bundle of cylinders consisting of interlacing bamboo strips. He swiftly set out about attaching them to Paperstar’s fingers, much to her protest. “There, I’d like to see you try and fold paper with your fingers all stuck together.”

“What - CHINESE FINGER TRAPS?!” She raged, only succeeding in making them tighter the more she pulled. “LITERALLY WHY DO YOU HAVE THESE?”

“Oldest trick in the book, kid. Well, the book I just made up in my head, but you get the idea.” He pointed down the hallway. “There’s a stairwell that leads to the roof down this way, Red. Let’s motor and leave our little paper tiger for the cops.”

“Let’s.” Carmen agreed with a smile. They made their down the hallway just as Paperstar finally moved herself into a sitting position against the wall.

“I will find you, Black Sheep! VILE will find you! And when we do, there won’t be anything left for-“

“Jeez, maybe I should have brought one for her mouth too.” The thief opened the door. “Ladies first.”

“You think?” As she slipped by, Carmen carefully slipped the weighty bag from the blue thief’s hand. As he turned around to jeer one last time, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“Toodles, Papercut. See you around!” With the two of them safely within the stairwell, he slammed the door shut. Only then, when Carmen was halfway up the stairs, did he notice he was missing something. “Hey! No fair, I thought we had something going there for a minute!”

“Sorry, but I don’t exactly play well with other thieves.” With the door to the roof now in reach, she slowed and called back behind her. “Speaking of, they don’t usually go this long without at least telling me their name. What’s you?”

The blue jacket wearing thief appeared at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at her, something like anticipation gleaming in his eyes. “My name, Ms. Sandiego? My name is Lupin the Third, grandson of the original gentleman thief, Arsene Lupin. And when I set my eyes on a treasure, I never fail in stealing it.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Lupin, but I think you’ll just have to let this one go.” Carmen placed a hand on the doorknob.

“Real quick, Red. Why do you think these people, the ones you call VILE, are after that tablet? And what’s stopping them from stealing it again later after you’ve left?” He took a few steps up the stairs. “Like I said before, that tablet isn’t just a pretty picture of Mount Vesuvius, it’s intended use is as a map leading to something. Only way to ensure VILE won’t want to steal it again is to steal whatever it leads to, right?”

Carmen wavered. If the tablet really was a map and it lead to some kind of…treasure, then VILE would stop at nothing to get their claws on it. “Okay, Lupin. So what exactly are you suggesting I do with it?”

“Well, seeing as I’m the only one privy as to how the map needs to be decoded, I’d say you can hold onto it for me. Don’t think of it so much as stealing, more like borrowing.” He chuckled. “How about another team-up? You hold onto the tablet, I can show you how to decode the map, and we take whatever VILE would have any interest in stealing. Sound like a plan?”

Player’s voice buzzed in her ear. “Carmen, Interpol forces and local police are surrounding the Museums. Zack and Ivy have the car running, but it might not matter if you hang around too long. How do you wanna play this?”

She debated for only a moment. The man was letting her keep the tablet, so in any case she’d still be coming out on top. He may have been a thief, but he at least seemed earnest about wanting to work together to outset VILE from getting their hands on the relic.

“Okay, fine. My people will talk to your’s and we’ll get a meeting place set up. There, we can decode the map and find whatever it leads to.”

“Music to my ears, Red.” He joined her nearly at the door. “Now, how‘s about we make our escape?” Making sure that the tablet was secure in her hands, Carmen opened the door into the warm Mediterranean night.

Bright spotlights illuminated the entirety of the Museums’ rooftop. From squarely in the center, a man in a dull burgundy trench-coat faced the opening door.

“LUPIN!” He yelled. “I knew you’d be here. You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back to Italy after last year.”

“Pops! So good to see you again after my, shall we say, extended hiatus?”

Carmen quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Long story, I met Leonardo Da Vinci. I’ll tell you next time. You get out of here, I’ll keep the Old Man and Interpol busy.” He winked. “I’ll see when I see you.” And with that, Lupin strutted out to meet Inspector Zenigata as Carmen excused herself to the shadows.

True to his word, the Italian police force seemed much more preoccupied with keeping their sights on Lupin than Carmen herself and she was able to beat a hasty getaway to Zach and Ivy’s waiting vehicle.

“Carm,” Player started once they were safely on the road. “Do you really think that Lupin guy’s legit? How do know anything he’s saying about a treasure map on the Tablet of Vesuvius is true?”

“I’m not sure. He seems earnest enough, but…” Carmen stared at the ancient relic in her hands, turning it over. “Maybe he’s on to something. See if you can turn up anything about those excavation reports he mentioned, the ones from the 18th century.” She checked her watch. “In the morning. You’ve got school tomorrow, right? I can’t have my white hat getting detention any time soon.”

Player grumbled. “Pfft, hackers don’t have bedtimes. While I’m at it, I’ll see what I can find out about this Lupin III guy. He sure seemed to know his stuff.” He shifted on the other end of the call. “Goodnight, Carmen. You did good tonight.”

“You too, Player. Sleep well.” Carmen ended the communication and leaned forward between the two front seats. “Guys, take us back to the hotel. I think it’s time we all got some shut-eye.”

“You got it, Carm. Ivy, get my ‘Post-caper tunes to rock out to’ playlist started. I’m going to merge.”

~~~~

“So, Lupin, you really think she’s the real deal?” Jigen hung a hand outside of the Fiat 500’s passenger window, gently shaking off the ash from the still burning end. He returned it to his lips and took a long drag. “She better be, seeing as you gave up the relic just to earn her trust.”

Beside him, Lupin thoughtfully scrolled through a number of news articles on his cellphone. “‘La femme rouge’, the red woman. She breaks, she enters, and apparently, she steals before others can. She’s done some impressive work.” He laid down his phone, reaching into the backseat to procure a book recently pilfered from a private collection. “I believe this could be the start of a beautiful friendship, or at least a mutually beneficial one.”

“And how about Pops? Was he happy to see you again?”

“As a clam. I gave him the old runaround, then borrowed a uniform from an extremely unfortunate Interpol agent at the scene and slipped away. Poor soul, was not a good day to wear the underwear with the hearts on them.” The two shared a chuckle. Jigen snuffed out his flame, just in time to help Lupin light one of his own.

“Now, what’s this about a treasure you were telling Red all about? You know I’m always down to get our hands on something shiny, but I’d at least like to know what kind of scheme you're cookin' up” Jigen pulled his lighter away from Lupin’s cigarette, giving him a few moments to take a couple starting puffs.

“Old pal, have I got a story for you.” He propped the book up on the steering wheel and turned a number of pages in. “And this one’s called ‘The legend of the Tomb of Hercules.’”

#Carmen Sandiego #Lupin III #my writing #Jigen Daisuke #Inspector Zenigata #Zack and Ivy #Infinity War is the most ambitious crossover- #Posts Carmen Sandiego meets Lupin III