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oonajaeadira · 7 months

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Detected

Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.

Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.

A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.

This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”

Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it.

That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.

But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.

So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.

It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.

You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.

Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.

And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.

So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.

When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall.

He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.

Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”

Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”

You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”

This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.

He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”

He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.

“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”

He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You got it, Detective.”

—-

Your pager goes off two hours later.

Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.

You’ve been waiting for the call.

Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.

You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.

The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.

Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.

Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.

And an awed smile spreads across his face.

Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.

“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.

A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.

He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”

“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”

“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante.

“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”

“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”

It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.

If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.

He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.

_____

Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.

There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.

_____

Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.

Easy.

You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet.

Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.

Time to get moving while he’s distracted.

_____

Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.

It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.

Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311?

When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….

It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.

Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.

You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.

There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.

But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.

There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.

With five women’s rings on it.

Yahtzee.

You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.

But your instincts are very rarely wrong.

Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.

You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.

No need to panic, you’ve got this.

As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.

He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.

Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”

Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.

____

True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.

It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services.

They see nothing, and say less.

When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.

Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.

You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders.

But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–

“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.

“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”

“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where else would you be?”

“I have a home.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”

Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”

It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”

“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”

“You went into his house??”

His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”

“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”

“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”

He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.

You could choose to ignore it.

But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…

And you should back away when he approaches.

But you don't want to.

Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”

As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.

Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.

And you realize that you are.

When you finally don’t have to be.

When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.

“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.

Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”

He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”

There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink.

22C. His standard.

Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.

Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.

And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.

_____

In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.

Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.

There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.

Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.

On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities.

Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.

Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?

____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#merge mansion fanfiction #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #year of tropes

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izvmimi · 6 months

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cw: underground fighter au, violence, smut at the end, minors dni. power imbalance. fem!reader. reader wears heels and is called 'princess'

"Sickening hit from our rising champion!" screams the announcer, and the entire crowd bursts into whoops and cheers as Katsuki's third opponent of the week collapses.

But Katsuki can barely hear them over the rushing of blood in his veins, the thump, thump, thump sound of his heart racing as it always does when he's in the middle of a fight. There may be ropes, a ring, a crowd, thousands - no, tens of thousands - of eyes watching, but for him, it's just him and his opponent facing off, struggling for dominion over the very ground split between them.

He lunges again because the man he's fighting is not down yet, wavering slightly as he tries to steady his feet and sturdy his stance, and Katsuki gets him again in an uppercut to the chin that lifts him off the ground with its force.

Brutal, yet effective.

It's enough to down him for good.

The referee calls off the rest of the battle and Katsuki is still wired, but he can at least hear the chants of his name now, the stomping of feet as people collect due on their bets. He's the rising champion, for sure, and money trickles in and out any time he shows up.

His injuries are few. Some scratches, a gently bruised lip, but nothing that would distort his handsome features - he's well aware that he makes money off of the fact that he's not only strong, but attractive, and with that thought, his eyes drift up to the ringside suite in an attempt to lock with yours.

He does spot you, but you're not looking at him through the spotless glass right now from your usually overstuffed luxury sofa; right now, you are instead preoccupied in a conversation with a suited man who looks about your age as well, leaned in close enough that you could smell his probably too expensive cologne. That man notices however, the red stare attempting to pierce him from the ring below him, as the referee raises Katsuki's hand and names him champion yet again. Katsuki takes out his mouth-guard and spits into the bucket his coach sets below his chin, and the man smiles at him, knowing what you don't already know.

---

"My daddy won't like it if you throw the match, just so you know."

The click of your heels are loud as you walk down the hallway, Katsuki just a pace behind you, cleaned up with hands shoved down his pockets and back slightly hunched. The scowl on his face is for show, he's thankful to have been invited to dinner by you, but the idea of trailing behind you like a trophy upsets him, especially if you won't consider him for real.

"Does your daddy want to step into the ring instead, princess?" he replies. His smirk widens, he's proud at the fact that you stop and turn to look at him, but when you meet him with just as smiley and expression, he's taken slightly aback.

"Careful you don't get your wings singed there, Icarus," you reply, cheerfully. Katsuki feels his stomach turn and heat rush to the crotch of his pants at the same time.

Over a veritably lavish feast, you entice him with talks of sponsorships, the chance to fight in bigger and bigger arenas, money, fame, notoriety. He chews on every promise and swallows every compliment, even if you are just buttering him up, because in his heart he can imagine that you are more than a rich, spoiled businessman's daughter and are actually enamored with him. After all, he watches your eyes linger a little too long on his arms as he stretches every so often to get more comfortable, how your voice pauses when you watch him gulp down glasses of water.

"So all I have to do is keep winning to get your favor?" he asks, with a grin. There's a double meaning to this sentence, one that you don't immediately detect, but when he leans in close and lowers his voice to tell you that he never loses sight of the things he really wants, you catch on quite quickly.

Katsuki keeps winning, and your company's pockets line with cash. Your connection is tangible, electric, and when your eyes do connect through the glass, and you're ignoring your suited beau to watch the way his body moves, the way he fights for your attention, it's not so surprising that he wins you over too.

"How do my wings look?" he asks.

Your cheeks are warmed still with affection and lust as you stare at his bare back, the gentle red of fingers pressed to skin and soft scratches markers of your affection. In your wine and love-drunk haze, it takes you a moment to understand what he's getting at, but then you let a finger run down the middle of his back, trailing gently down his slightly ticklish sides. He tenses, body scrunching against the mattress that just took a beating, and you laugh.

"Perfect."

He smiles and pulls you in closer, then rolls so that you're on top of him. You look down at him, lovingly, not because you own his image but because he's given himself freely to you, and you've returned it. His hands settle on your hips, then slide to your asscheeks, and he squeezes.

"I do think I'm flying too close to the sun, though," he whispers. You let out a soft moan as he settles you back onto his cock, and you rock back and forth in a soft undulation, a sharp deviation from the rough, hair pulling sex of just before. You press your hands on his chest, rocking your own hips to feel him as much as possible, softly panting as he holds you tighter and pushes into you deeper.

"Mm... why?" you breathe out, falling gently onto him. Your bodies meld and move as he kisses you and rubs you down.

"Just some jerk who can punch really hard, aren't I?" he murmurs. You stop, and you can feel his heartbeat against yours again.

You cup his face in your hands, and his eyes are soft, waiting for your response. You kiss him.

"You're the best I've ever seen," you reply.

"What happens if I lose?" he asks. You blink, taken aback by the question.

"We get you winning again."

You bite his lip, resuming the pace but he's slow to move, still unsure.

"And this?" he asks, his voice no more than a whisper. You press your forehead against his.

"This? This is forever."

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: katsuki #mimi's notes

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

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Don't Speak 43

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Not this guy again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hole up in the room you’re allotted. You don’t quite know what to do with yourself. You don’t have much. Just your journal, the tablet, and the few garments you packed.

You pace, sit, stare out the window, pace again. You make yourself dizzy as you walk in circles. You fall onto the bed and huff. You still haven’t cracked. For some reason, that tingle in the corners of your eyes evaporated once alone. The agonized tugging in your chest remains but you can’t summon a single tear. It’s as if your body’s numbing itself to the pain.

You watch the time in the margin of the small screen. Closer and closer. Just after noon there’s a knock on the door. You go to it but don’t open as she speaks through the barrier. Ann. His wife. She asks if you’re hungry. You’re not. Just tired but painfully awake.

She tells you to come downstairs if you change your mind. You won’t. You can’t bring yourself to face her. Or to put it more truthfully, to face the truth.

You plug in the tablet as the battery dwindles. A few more hours. Closer and closer. It’s the only thing that keeps you going. For a moment, you doubt yourself. Is it wrong?

Evening darkens the windows. You nestle into the chair in the corner as you rest the tablet on your bent legs. You try to busy yourself with a matching game but you can’t focus. You sit in the shadows and wait and wait and wait.

It’s just you and the screen. That tenuous limbo stretching on and on. Then it pops up. That notification. The camera app interrupts your matches with an alert; ‘motion detected’.

You tap it without a thought. Your stomach twists and your throat squeezes tight. You bite down on your knuckle as the app loads. Your teeth pinch but you don’t care. This is it.

The front door closes as Andy steps onto the mat. He tilts his head as he listens, unaware of the camera across from him, just as you had been. He narrows his eyes but shrugs. He sets his bag down, just like he always does, and unbuttons his coat with a sigh.

He hangs it and looks over his shoulder again. He scratches his chin before he lifts a foot, taking off one boot than the other. He yawns and stretches his arms, rolling his shoulders. A low growl rumbles from his throat.

“Dove,” he calls out, “I hope you’re not working too hard…”

He disappears into the front room. That’s the thing, the camera is stagnant. You can’t see it all but you can hear it. You turn up the volume as you hunch down, ears pricked as you hear his distant voice.

“Honey?” There’s the clink of porcelain then frantic steps. He comes back to the edge of the frame, “Dove!”

He stops at the bottom of the stairs, close to the lens. You see the tension in his cheek, the tick in his jaw. That expression that used to make you wilt. He stomps upstairs, once more out of sight. You hold your breath as the corners of your lips curve.

“Fuck,” his voice precedes him as he barrels back down, his shoulder brushing the camera. “Dove–”

He chokes on his holler as he backs up and faces the small white box. The ‘speaker’. His omniscient companion. He scowls and grabs it, dislodging it from the wall. He brings it close, looking down the lens.

“What?” He whispers in confusion.

You want to laugh. You want him to hear you laughing. But that fear he feels is nothing compared to the terror he instilled in you. Not just of him, but yourself. He made you afraid of your own skin, your own mind, your very being. In that moment, he can’t know even an ounce of the torture he put your through.

“How does it feel?” You whisper. “How does it feel?!” Your voice comes louder, “asshole!”

Your feet slip off the cushion and the tablet falls flat. You clap your hand over your mouth, hoping you weren’t careless enough to be heard past the walls. Your heart races as your breath burns in your throat.

“Dove!” Andy snarls at the camera, “come back. Right now. I forgive you, you can still come ba–”

You black the screen and his pleas mute. Just like he did to you. He never heard ‘no’. He never heard ‘enough’. You grip the edges of the lifeless tablet and shudder weakly.

“Sweetheart,” Dr. Kemp’s voice jolts you from your trance. You look up at him, horrified. How long had he been there? “Dinner’s ready. Come meet the kids.” He keeps his hand on the door as his silhouette is limned from behind. “They’re gonna love you.”

🕊️

“Harper, Avery,” Ann’s voice is firm, almost scary as she interrupts the children’s argument over something called Bluey, “we have a guest, please.”

You sit quietly at the other side of the table, on an island all your own. Steve sits at one end of the table, Ann the other, and the two children sit shoulder to shoulder on the other side. You look at your plate and push around the peas, mixing them into the mashed potatoes.

“Everything alright?” Ann asks. As you look up, you find her watching your fork.

“Yes,” you murmur with a tiny nod, sinking your chin back down as you try to fade out of existence.

Steve clears his throat. You wince and scoops up a mix of peas and potato. You force it into your mouth. You don’t want to be rude. Besides, chewing is a good excuse not to answer any more questions.

“What is she doing here?” The boy, Harper flings flecks of potato around his plate as he smashes his fork into the soft heap.

“That’s not a very nice question,” Steve girds. “She’s a friend, she doesn’t need a reason to be here.”

“Jasmine, Jasmine!” Avery chimes as she tilts her head back and forth.

“Avery,” Ann snips, “don’t you say that name.”

The little girl snaps her mouth shut and blinks in fright. You peek over at Ann as she forces a smile and shakes her head, the pretty flip of her blond hair brushing against her shoulders. She meets your eyes with a pretty laugh.

“We don’t like to talk about the past.”

“I’m sorry, mommy,” Avery babbles.

“It’s okay, honey, but you know Jasmine wasn’t nice,” Ann trills, her eyes clinging to you. “She was a nanny,” she lowers her voice, “and she really liked my style, mm. You know, sticky fingers.”

You nod as you glean her meaning. A thief. You squirm and take another bite. You hope she doesn’t suspect you of anything like that. You would never touch anything of hers. Ever.

Your eyes flit over to Steve. You find him watching you. His cheeks dimple with content.

“Like she says, leave the past in the past,” he sighs, “the kids are in school now and we found a private day care for date nights. It all worked out in the end. It always does.”

You try to smile and swallow tightly. You reach for the glass of water and gulp. The potatoes are garlicky and the peas shriveled and dry.

“It will, honey,” Ann adds on. “Now you’re here and you can start working on you.”

“What?” Harper crinkles his nose.

“Nothing to worry about,” Steve dismisses, “so, kids, tell me about school. How much trouble did you get in?”

You can’t help but wallow in dejection. You never had that. A father that cared about your day. You doubt you’ll ever have a husband to kiss your cheek. The only man who ever loved you, hurt you in ways no one else ever did. He never cared about you, just what he could get from you.

The food turns bitter on your tongue. You eat without tasting, stare without seeing, and suddenly, you’re alone. It’s only the clink of a plate that brings you back. You look up as Ann takes your empty plate.

“Hungry?” She preens.

“Oh, um, can I help?” You go to grab the plate but she keeps it out of your grasp.

“No, honey, you’re our guest. You just…” she bats her lashes as you as her pretty cheeks bulb and her lips pull taut beneath her pink lipstick. She reaches to pet your cheek, “just relax, okay? You’re safe, now.”

You don’t know how to answer, so you don’t. You find it hard to even look at her. She’s so perfect and pristine. Of course Steve loves her. You’re so stupid!

You look across the table at the empty chairs and hear the kids giggling and stomping in the next room. Steve’s deep timbre rumbles under their chirpy tones. You stand up numbly and sidle out from in front of the chair.

“If you need to go lay down, you go ahead,” she squeezes your shoulder, “the kids can be so rambunctious.”

“Thanks, i… think I will.”

You pad off and stop just in the archway to the front room. You peer through and see the kids playing on the floor; Avery brushing the hair of her doll and Harper bashing trucks together as Steve pushes around another. He sits on the floor with them. He’s too good for you, you knew that all along.

He looks up and catches your eye. He smiles bigger and you make yourself walk away. You continue upstairs and into the room. Not your room, the room they allow you. Just like before. You’re just another burden.

You go to the bed and move the tablet from where you left it on the pillow. You keep yourself from putting it on the night table and slide back the cover. There’s an endless slew of notifications. Messages in all caps; emails notifying of you a new rating on your Etsy shop. Bubble after bubble.

Andy. His texts swing between pleading and anger. From accusations to desperate declarations of love. In one, he says he needs you so bad, in the next, he calls you ungrateful.

You flip to your inbox and tap the link to your shop. Every item ranked one star. All the way down. Long comments about being a scam or low quality or just profanity from top to bottom. It’s no coincidence.

You clap the cover over the screen and set it aside. You’ve burned that bridge but you don’t mind the smoke. Better than standing in the flame.

You lay down, flat and feelingless. You stare at the ceiling until your eyes close on their own. You’re so so tired. You let yourself drift into a shallow sleep, the sort where the world exists just beyond a see-through curtain. Light, sound, and noise sifts through the cloudy layer of your subconscious.

The door snaps shut and you sit up with a gasp. For a moment, you’re back in the room at Andy’s house. It’s him standing at the foot of the bed, fuming as he snarls at you, ready to pounce. You shake off the daze and see clearly.

Ann stands with two glasses in her hands. The golden wine streams with bubbles as she smirks at you. You gulp and pull your legs up, folding them before you.

“Sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says, “I was hoping we could have some girl time while Steve puts the kids to bed.”

“Oh,” you frown. You're confused. You only just met her and she’s acting like your best friend. She’s too good to be true, just like her husband. Husband. Ugh.

“I had some pinot and I don’t usually have someone to share with,” she comes up the side of the bed and sits, holding out a glass.

“Well, er, I…” you accept it by the stem and stare through the yellow contents. “Thank you.”

“I checked with Steve that you’re not on anything it would interact with,” she assures.

You hold back a wince. Right, you’re still just patient to her. You’re surprised she let you sit at the same table as her children. You bring the brim towards your lips.

“Cheers,” she stops you and outstretches her arm.

“Cheers,” you clink your glass before rescinding it, greedily sipping. You remember not everything was so dire when you drank just enough.

She sips daintily, watching you over the crystal. She draws her lips away, a pink stain on the glass. Your cheeks are hot as you wait for her to look away. Does she hate you? Can she see right through you? Does she know about all those dumb emotions you’re drowning in?

She sighs and leans to place her glass next to your table. She sits back, planting her hand on the mattress as she angles herself toward you. She brings a knee up onto the mattress. You drink to calm your nerves.

“You are so pretty,” she says. You nearly choke as you sit up rigidly. Disbelief arches your brows and rounds your eyes. “Really, you are.”

“Um, thanks, you are too,” you eke out.

“You think so?” She challenges.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter.

“What makes me pretty?”

You shake your head, you don’t know what she means. You frown. “I don’t know… you… you’re makeup and… your hair. You… you have nice eyes.”

“Sweetie, you’re so cute,” she trills, “I could do you up. Put some makeup on you too, do your hair…” she touches your cheek again, brushing her knuckles along your skin. “You could put on something sexy.”

You grip the wine glass tight and pull away from her touch. You set the glass with hes and turn to push away. She catches your arm and rips you back. You whimper as she covers your mouth and pushes you down onto your back.

She bends over you and hushes you, her breath tinged with wine. She hovers her mouth just above her hand as she smothers you with her palm. You whine and curl your fingers around the blankets.

“You’re okay, sweetie,” she purrs, “just relax. You wanna be ready for him, don’t you?”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you murmur into her palm.

“Let me help you out,” she trails her other hand down your stomach, poking along the front of your pants and dipping beneath, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You lock up. You couldn’t move if you tried. This can’t be happening. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would she do this? Why would Steve let her? He wouldn’t, right? She can see right through you and your childish crush. She’s just trying to scare you away.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #steve kemp #steve kemp x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #don't speak #au #library au #defending jacob #fresh

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leezlelatch · 7 months

Text

Two Star Crossed Lovers

Copia x F!Reader - Forget about this? I hope not! Welcome back. I finally managed to pull up my britches and finish this. This was my first foray into Ghost fanfiction, and not only did it introduce me to a lovely community of writers, but helped me connect with and inspire many of you. I hope this is a worthy finish. And I hope you stick around to see what I do in the future. Thank you. Enjoy.

The wood of your bedroom desk is hard as you rest your chin against it. A sigh escapes your lips known only to aching hearts. You almost kissed Copia. Cardinal Copia. There, so brazenly upon his desk, his biretta on your head. And you think, perhaps, he was going to kiss you too. His utterance to be gentle with his heart echoes through your mind, and you want nothing more than to race back to his office and tell him yes! Yes, you will cradle his heart in the space next to your own because he deserves to be so sweetly and tenderly loved; your silly, beautiful Cardinal.

“What am I supposed to do, Portobello?” You ask your rat companion.

Portobello looks up from his very special pillow resting on the desktop and squeaks in your direction as if the answer is right in front of you. You roll your eyes and rest your cheek on a fist, grabbing a delicate morsel for your favorite boy to nibble on. Portobello rubs his little head against your fingers before snatching the small nut as if it were his first meal in hours, devouring it quickly before huffing in your direction for another.

“You’re right after all,” you say, handing him another. “I can’t just…stay away, and I can’t pretend like nothing happened either.”

Portobello rolls off his pillow to perch before you, standing back on his little legs in a T-Rex pose that makes you giggle. His little hands work to clean off his face, needing to look presentable for the grand speech cooking within his small mind about love, and loss, and birth, and death, and joy, and sorrow. An incredible feat of rodent thinking to get his beloved mother to confess her undying devotion to his father. Here it comes, Portobello Mephistopheles Cosimo Copia is ready.

“Squeak!”

You smile at your baby and scratch his little head. You wonder what it would sound like if rat noises were detectable to the human ear. Either way, there is a level of communication between you that you think is special.

“I know, I know. I already told him that I would come see him today.”

You pick up your phone and click on your most recent text with Copia, smiling softly in amusement:

You glance out the window at the dreary winter day, the tree which stands so proudly outside devoid of life as its branches flutter in the chill. Copia is going on tour soon, you think with a despondent sigh. You need to talk about what happened, you promised him you would, and yet a part of you fears that the heated moment in his office was just that...a moment. Nothing in his text betrays that he is nervous to see you, or is thinking about your almost kiss. You get up and begin to pace, Portobello's little head swiveling left and right as he watches you move.

You know your Copia better than anyone. It's the mantra in your head. You imagine him in his office, picking up his phone and then sitting it back down, the wood of his chair creaking as he fidgets, a hand coming up to run trembling fingers through his hair before falling into his customary nervous tick, forefinger and thumb rubbing anxiously together, the leather of his glove worn and discolored at the tips as he awaits your reply. And then the sigh of relief, the tension leaving his shoulders as he drops his head to the desk surface once you have agreed to lunch.

You stop your pacing to giggle softly, hand to your mouth as you grin around your knuckles. What would it be like? To be Copia's. You do not crave the light, you yearn for the cool, and gentle darkness found in the depths of his eyes. You ache for his embrace, all encompassing, like a blanket of stars across the night sky. His kiss that can snuff out any candle and drive out the hypocrisy of a false God. Darkness is not frightening, or bad...it is a companion. The Dark says you are not lost. You are found. Copia found you.

Resolved, you throw on a sweater and some warm socks, sufficient for walking across the courtyard from the residency to the offices. Portobello is tucked into the neck of your sweater, his head peeking out as you close and lock your door behind you. You live on the third floor in the northwest corner of the building which not only holds the dormitories, but also a recreational facility remodeled on the whim that Papa Emeritus III needed to maintain his "strong physique." But the add-on turned out to be beneficial for everyone not wanting to be caught outside in the Swedish cold.

The kitchens and mess hall are also found within the residency hall, convenient for anyone - Copia and yourself - to sneak out of bed for a midnight snack. But your personal favorite is the library, more specifically, the plush chair in front of the sprawling granite fireplace. The mantle is often decorated with a garland of herbs picked from the gardens to promote a cleansed space for study, thought, and escape into the fantasy realm of books.

The building which houses the clergy offices and classrooms is but a short distance away from the residency hall, their rooves nearly touching. Overall, the grounds form an unfinished rectangle with the church completing the furthest side. The abbey looks like it's falling apart on a good day although it maintains a quaint and reverential charm. Gardens full of vegetables, herbs, and the sweetest flowers pepper the landscape, affording a beautiful and tranquil walk between buildings. The church looms over it all with grotesques of Lucifer and his princes gazing out on the horizon, not the congregation; a reminder of their infernal presence, and deference to free will.

"Off we go, baby boy," you whisper to your rat as you make your way down the mustard runner which stretches down the expanse of the corridor.

The walls haven't been painted in years, and you're almost sure they were white once. A potted plant that is probably fake sits on a chipped console table splattered with pop culture magazines. A couple feet down, a green rotary phone lays off the hook on a wooden desk next to a phone book and a chair that has seen its fair share of booty calls. Slowly, things around the Ministry are improving the more money is made by the Ghost Project, like the recreational facility. Right now, there are just...more important things to attend to first before tackling the quite outdated Sibling dormitories. You find a warmth to the off-70s look, like a home that has been well-lived in, and well-loved.

The trip downstairs is quick, polite hellos not usually required once people see the very large rat poking out of your striped sweater, and you quickly make it to the bottom floor, pushing open the creaking doors to the crisp air outside. It's a little chillier than you anticipate, goosebumps erupting across your skin, the wind whipping through your hair. You hold Portobello a little closer. Your eyes are on the prize, the door to the offices opening and closing as Siblings and Clergy alike walk in and out bundled in coats and scarves. You weave around sleeping hedges and soil thirsty for spring, the fountain which captivated your attention the previous day looking just as chilled as you feel.

"Hej!" A voice calls to you as you pass one of the moving puffy coats.

Spinning around, you shiver, squinting a little as you are slow to recognize the Brother that greets you by name. Sandy hair hidden under a toboggan, grey eyes looking you over behind black framed glasses. Oh, he's from my Latin class, you think down at Portobello, sure your child can read your thoughts. It is your bond.

"Hi. What's up?" It sounds as awkward as you feel saying it. Lucifer, it's cold. Did you make a face? He's looking at you funny.

"Aren't you cold?" He asks, his eyes narrowing in on the lump that is Portobello, now hiding his face into the warmth of your skin.

"I'm good." I'm suffering.

"Okay...well, I was just wondering..."

****

Copia takes a sip of his coffee, a startled “Ai!” jumping from his throat as the scalding liquid coats his lips and mustache. He blots his mouth with a napkin, grumbling about shaving the damnable thing off before staring distastefully down at the brown liquid in his mug, Portobello’s little face printed onto the side of the white porcelain.

“Still hot…” he mutters, pushing back from his chair to move over to the little coffee station he keeps on a small table in the corner.

He has a pot, a couple mugs (although he hasn’t used any except this one you bought for him since), and his favorite dark roast placed next to little packets of hot chocolate he keeps especially for you. Kneeling with a groan, Copia opens the mini fridge under the table to pull out a container of milk, generously pouring it into his coffee. He tests the now pale liquid with a tentative sip, smacking his lips in satisfaction before rising.

Copia slowly steps through his office, patting his belly in a soothing gesture as he walks past the front of his desk, his eyes glancing over the many ledgers which require his attention this morning. He moves close to the window which overlooks the courtyard of the abbey. Frost lingers on the old panes, poor insulation allowing freezing cold air to hit his skin. He shivers a little and takes a sip of his coffee, sighing softly while watching the movement of the unholy congregation as they chat and scurry between buildings.

He holds the cup of coffee with both hands in an attempt to warm them with what little heat the drink has left. Copia hasn't stopped thinking about you, and to be perfectly honest, you are the only thing his mind is able to conjure these days. Every night he lays his weary body into bed, wondering what it would be like to draw you close to him, whispering sweet nothings as you fall asleep in each other's embrace. Perhaps sometimes he wakes from a blissful dream, his arms wrapped around a pillow, to face the painful realization that you are not there with him.

Last night was particularly difficult.

Your almost-kiss. Copia could strangle Terzo for interrupting the very moment he has yearned for since your midnight meeting in the kitchens some months ago. You felt so right in his arms, so entirely his as a blush crossed your cheeks and you smiled at him, that special smile which told him that you were willing to carry the burden of his old heart. Copia touches his fingertips to his lips, closing his eyes as if he can still feel your breath against them. He smiles sweetly, humming with the thought of you.

His eyes snap over to find the clock, and they inadvertently follow a trail from the wall to his desk to his cellphone sitting atop it, the black brick of a thing silent, but carrying your messages from this morning. How Copia agonized over texting you for lunch today, unsure of your response after the previous night. Should he have mentioned it? No, that's a conversation best held face-to-face. Copia wants you to feel safe and comfortable in his presence, and whether or not you choose to pursue a conversation about last night's activities is entirely up to you. He can wait. He will wait. And if you never return his affections, he will be glad to hold even a modicum of your attention.

As his gaze returns to the window, Copia makes a small harumph while taking in the frost on the ground. It’s supposed to be a cold winter, more so than usual, and the annual fight to keep the fireplaces going in these drafty corridors will begin anew. Copia leans a little closer to the window, his breath fogging the glass as he tries to make out a figure below near the fountain. He swipes at the glass with his sleeve, grumbling in annoyance, his eyebrow arching.

“Who in Lucifer’s name isn’t wearing a coat in this weather?” He murmurs to himself, trying to squint. It’s with a sickening drop of his heart into his gut as he realizes it’s you. You turn just enough that he can make out your features as you speak to…who is that? Copia leans so far into the window, his nose smashes into it, the cold shocking him back. Your image is blurred by the outline of his nose, and entirely fed up, Copia opens the window, practically hanging out of it as he peers down at you and the boy with narrowed eyes, his pupil nearly nonexistent in the expanse of white.

The boy stands close to you, too close, head tilted down to speak to you as you gaze up at him with that perfect innocence, that - well, actually you look fairly annoyed. The Cardinal huffs out a laugh as he watches your brow furrow, your feet shifting as you scoot a little farther away. Ah, my precious, The Cardinal thinks. What he does not like, at all, is how you’re shivering. He can practically see how red your sweet nose is from here.

Copia is gone from the window and out of his office door in the span of a few moments once he has gathered his thoughts, has reigned in the raging jealousy burning in his heart and lungs. There were more important things to attend to. That being, dragging his piccolina inside and getting her warm. Oh, you’ll hear it. The last thing he was going to do was let your health be disregarded so. Also, the Cardinal scowls, the boy should know better than to keep you out in the cold for an insipid conversation.

Siblings quickly move out of the way as the Cardinal, red cassock like a slash of blood against a winter’s day, glides through the doors to the courtyard. His eyes are on you like a hawk, his step firm as he approaches you from behind. His lips twist in satisfaction as the boy’s expression drops when his eyes find the advancing Cardinal, even going so far as to take a very big step away from you.

****

You watch with burgeoning fascination as fear flickers across your classmate’s face, and he moves swiftly away from you, throwing out a quick goodbye as he heads toward the residency. You tilt your head to the side, momentarily thrown off, watching his retreating back with barely contained relief.

“Sibling.”

Copia’s voice has you whipping around so fast, you feel Portobello slip down your sweater. Your hands come up to instinctually cup the lump underneath, and you watch Copia’s eyes flicker down to it with amusement before sharpening as they return to your face. You’re wracked with shivers from head to toe, eyes widening at the Cardinal’s rapidly hardening features.

“I believe we had an appointment,” the Cardinal continues, motioning with his head to follow him before he turns and heads back inside, not even looking to see if you’re following. You know better than not to, and make your way after his rapidly retreating figure. The warmth of the office building is a relief to your chilled skin, however your hands begin to burn, red and dry from the cold. You adjust Portobello, returning him to the neck of your sweater, his little feet resting under the lip of your bra. Copia doesn’t stop until he reaches his office, opening the door and gesturing inside with cool politeness as clergy members alike walk back and forth down the corridor.

You enter with trepidation, unsure of what to expect, your eyes falling on his half-filled cup of coffee sitting on the desk next to your Cardinal’s mountains of paperwork. You feel bad that he had to run all the way outside to fetch you, but your brow furrows with mirth when you notice the nose shaped smudge on the window. Was Copia watching you? Your cheeks heat. Was he jealous you were speaking to the guy from your class? Your heart gives a little pitter patter at the thought, and you have to school your features as you turn on your heel to face Copia. He closes his office door behind him, and then his hard expression drops in an instant.

The man is on you in a second, his gloved hands gripping your shoulders as he practically lifts you from the floor to deposit you by the fireplace. “Mio tesoro prezioso, dov'è la tua giacca!?” He frets. Copia falters for a moment, his hands out and fingers wiggling as he looks about the room for something, anything to wrap around your shoulders. With a determined frown, Copia hastily begins to remove his cassock, ripping the fascia off his waist to tangle on the floor in order to reach the buttons.

“Copia, this isn’t necessary,” you try to say, looking slightly alarmed with the ferocity in which he pulls the blood red material from his back to wrap around you.

“What isn’t necessary, amore mio, is your insistence to walk around outside without any coverings! You could freeze. Oh, your povere mani,” he groans, voice cracking as he reaches out to cradle your hands in his own, thumbs trying to work at your red skin to create friction. “What if you get frostbite, eh? What will your Cardinal do then?”

“...I’d imagine you wouldn’t be happy,” you murmur, eyes fixated on your hands.

“Certo.”

Copia pulls off his gloves, the leather looking stretched and wrinkled when not tight against his large, beautiful hands. You admire the dark hair on the backs of them, a small smile flitting over your features that broadens as he slides the gloves onto your own. The leather is so warm, wrapped around your hands like a hug, albeit a loose one that makes the both of you smile. Your eyes meet Copia’s and his expression is soft, freckled cheeks tinted pink as he gazes down at your hands, a slow smile creeping across his lips. He appears almost entranced by the sight of his gloves on you, his own fingers squeezing the material and trying to ensure they are on as tight as possible.

Copia catches your eye and blushes harder, clearing his throat, although he doesn’t let go of your hands. “Why were you outside, huh?” He murmurs, angling you a little closer to the fire. His eyes take in your entire form as if looking for any injuries brought on by the frigid weather. You can’t help but admire him in his black slacks and clergy collar, a sight you’re not very used to seeing. Copia is very rarely not pristinely dressed in his vestments when working, and when he isn’t, he prefers soft lounge clothes. Out of the hundred things you imagined was under his cassock, the black business casual outfit was farthest down the list. Although the hint of suspenders underneath is doing more for you than the fire.

“I was coming to see you, like we planned, but then that guy from my Latin class-,”

“Ah, he is a classmate? What eh…what did he want?” Copia interrupts you, his eyes falling to the crackling flames as his lips twist in displeasure. It makes you smirk, an eyebrow raising as you take in the tense set of his shoulders.

“He was asking me out,” you say as casually as possible.

“Che cosa!?” Copia’s head snaps back to attention so fast you’re worried it’ll fall off his neck, and you even put your hands up in surprise. His eyes are wide, the white nearly narrowing into a slit. This all happens in a matter of a moment before his expression melts, the circles under his eyes deepening as all color drains from his face and his gaze drops to the floor. “Forgive me. I…shouldn’t question what you do in your personal life. That is…eh, not cool.”

“Copia, I’m joking. He asked for class notes. That’s all,” you soothe, fingers coming up to gently touch his cheek. His lips part in a small gasp and his eyes flick to your fingers and then to your face.

“Hmm, not a nice joke,” he says softly, although there’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“No, it isn’t,” you agree.

There’s a beat of a moment between the two of you, your gloved fingers gently sliding across his cheek, rough with age and very warm. You notice a few flyaway hairs and brush them back behind his ear. Copia closes his eyes, blowing out a long breath through his nose. His hands cup yours and bring them to his chest, his fingers squeezing the leather wrapped so lovingly around them.

“We need to talk,” he whispers, his eyes opening, reflecting a heady desperation within the green and white depths. “But I am afraid, topolino.”

“What are you afraid of?” Your voice is equally quiet, your body gravitating closer to his. You reflect on the past several months. From meeting Copia in the Ministry kitchens to saving the rat who chooses this moment to climb from your shirt and settle on your shoulder. Copia chuckles softly, scratching Portobello fondly behind the ears.

“I’m afraid of losing this. I’m afraid of being alone again. I’m afraid of another decade roaming these halls at night like a wraith because I can’t be alone with my thoughts. I’m afraid of being cold again,” Copia sucks in a breath, blinking away the tears that are rapidly filling his eyes. “I’m afraid of losing my love.”

“Hmm,” you let out a small laugh, feeling the burn of tears behind your own eyes. “So all those ‘amores’ were real.” You give him a wobbly smile as he laughs a little, tears finally dropping and sliding down his cheeks.

“Sì, sì. I am not too subtle, eh?”

You take a steadying breath, your fingers gently wiping away his tears which sit on his gloves like rain droplets. “Copia, you could never lose me.” Your voice breaks slightly. “Knowing you has been the most beautiful experience of my life. And I want more of it. I want…,” you trail off, and turn to look at the rat on your shoulder, a smile brightening your features. “What do you say, ‘Bello? Should I kiss your daddy?” You hear Copia make a noise between a gasp and a squeak as Portobello’s little paws come up to clean his face. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You turn and wrap your arms around Copia’s neck, drawing very close to him. His hands flail at your sides for a moment before settling at your waist, his eyes as wide as dinner plates as he blinks down at you. “What do you say?” You whisper to him, your lips inches apart, breaths intermingling. “Amore?”

Copia smiles. Wide and crooked and radiant. He’s practically shaking in your grasp, and laughs a little incredulously before his eyes flutter closed, long lashes kissing his cheeks. “I say,” he murmurs, accent heavy and deep. “Ti amo cosi tanto.” And then his lips descend on yours.

His hands slide around your back and he crushes you to him, chests flush as he thoroughly kisses you with deep, long strokes of his tongue. He explores your mouth as if he is trying to imprint your taste onto his tongue. Months of pent up frustration breaking in a moment of unbridled passion on a cold winter’s day. Copia whimpers softly into your mouth, and at this point you can’t tell if the tears on your cheeks are his or yours.

You break away with a gasp, but Copia needs you close, unable to truly pull away just yet and cradles you against his body, his hand along your jaw as he presses little kisses to your cheeks, your chin, your neck. Anywhere his wandering lips can reach. He whispers sweet things to you, words you can’t understand but know all the same. Copia smooths your hair from your face and just gazes down at you with complete adoration, his head tilting to kiss your lips softly again - once, twice, a third time.

You giggle softly in a dreamy state that makes him smile that smile again, the one that reaches his paints. “Have something to say, piccolina?” He says softly.

“I’m pretty speechless…”

“That would be a first, hmm?”

He kisses you again as you begin to roll your eyes, and you sigh into the bliss of it all. His thumbs rub circles into your cheeks, his kiss unhurried and lingering. You press a hand to his chest and push lightly, and you pull away with a smacking noise as a confused frown crosses his features.

“I nearly forgot!” You say, smiling up at him. You take a deep breath, the next words from your mouth feeling so easy and so right, and something you should have done a long time ago. “Copia, I love you too.”

Copia’s arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you with him as he brings the both of you to the floor, his arms and legs locking you into a hug. His nose nuzzles at your cheek as he holds you so incredibly close, a boyishness to the older man as he radiates joy and warmth. “Ti amo, ti amo, I love you,” he whispers over and over again into your ear, his mustache tickling you. “You have given me everything. Oh, my world is so bright. Ah, my heart.”

Your fingers slide up his back, and you lean into his embrace, closing your eyes and enjoying the glory of your newfound love. Everything, finally, is going to be okay. Your life is going to be okay…no, it’s going to be more than that. It is going to be glorious. Happy. Full of love. Full of Copia.

There’s a sliding sound and Copia’s paperwork goes crashing to the floor in a small explosion of paper. You both look up, Portobello having at some point during the last few minutes left your shoulder and made his way to Copia’s desk. He sits in the center of the desk, looking innocent as can be.

“We should have another one,” you say, smirking as you look at your outraged Cardinal. He gives you a withering glare. “I’m just saying, he might-...” Copia cuts you off with a kiss.

And you definitely recommend co-parenting a rat.

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #Cardinal Copia #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv fanfic #ghost #ghost bc #copia #papa iv #poorly translated italian #portobello the rat #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader

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hogwartslegacyreactions2 · 23 days

Note

Welcome back!!! :) We all missed you

Could you please write one in which MC is an animagus and the characters react to them transforming?

Thank you so much and take it easy 😁

HLC REACT TO MC BEING AN ANIMAGUS

A/N: since no animal was specified, we're going with the classic kitty cat :3

MC finally did it! After months of prep, and some good luck, they completed the animagus ritual....only to become a silver tabby. Not as epic as they would have hoped, but still cool. They needed to show their friends IMMEDIATELY.

~~~

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: "Well aren't you adorable." He chuckles as he kneels down to pet MC. "I'm not surprised you became an animagus. I'm just disappointed you didn't ask me to become one with you." He picks up MC and carries them off. "Now I have a perfectly valid excuse to call you Kitten."

OMINIS GAUNT: "You know, I don't find it funny when you tell me you want to SHOW me something. My wand has its limits." He huffs and waits for MC to do whatever they were so eager to do. His eyebrows rise in shock. One moment he detects a person, the next, a small animal. "What in Merlin's name? You're an animagus??" He hears MC meow and rub against his leg, just like the castle cats. He smiles a little and reaches down to pet MC. "Whatever will we do with you?"

ANNE SALLOW: "Oh, not fair! I was going to go through with the ritual myself but the blasted mandrake leaf wouldn't stay put. Even so..." She picks up MC and cradles then in her arms. "Since you're here. You can be my lap warmer while I study transfiguration."

IMELDA REYES: "You're as mad as I thought. You risked your life to become an animagus, only to become a cat? I'd get my money back if I were you." She watches MC flop over and make some air biscuits with the biggest eyes. "...I see your point."

NATSAI ONAI: She has stars in her eyes and immediately changes in her gazelle form. She and MC dance around each other happily and run down the corridors to cause some havoc. It was entirely worth the detention.

GARRETH WEASLEY: "Brilliant!" He watches in awe as MC transforms and starts purring against him. He picks them up and puts them on his shoulder. "Let's go raid Professor Sharp's storage room. He'll never suspect a cat." He now has a new mantra: Gain kitty, do crime.

LEANDER PREWETT: He looks around to see if anyone saw what MC just did. He leans down and harshly whispers to them. "You do realize that ritual is against the rules here right!? It's so dangerous! You could have died! Let alone the fact that you aren't registered. You could get in serious trouble if you're caught." MC flattens their ears and growls, he puts his hands up defensively. "I won't tell, but be more careful. I'm serious."

AMIT THAKKAR: "By the stars, that's incredible! Was the ritual as hard as it sounds? How many times did you attempt it? Was it difficult to actually keep a mandrake leaf in your mouth for 30 days? These are questions I must know that answers to." MC just meows at him. "Oh...right."

EVERETT CLOPTON: "Whoa! That's amazing! Could you always do that?" He kneels down to scratch MC under the chin. "Hey, I need a favor." He grins devilishly and points at a distant group of students. "See the tall one? I need you to scratch the hell out of his legs. No questions. I'll pay."

POPPY SWEETING: She nearly screams from how cute MC's cat form is. She immediately scoops up MC and cuddles them close to her chest. "Please, for the love of Merlin and all magic, let me put little hats on you. My grandma knits all sorts of little hats and sweaters for her cats and I just KNOW they would look adorable on you." MC is locked in her arms. There is no escape.

ELAZAR FIG: "Extraordinary!" He was sitting at his desk when MC came in to show him their new trick. MC jumped onto his desk as a cat and slowly blinks at him. He reaches forward and gently pets their head. "I've always known you were capable of strong magic, and I'm glad you trust me enough to show me this, but do be cautious. Being an unregistered animagus is a big deal to some in the Ministry. Tread carefully. For now, you're welcome to nap on my desk."

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy reactions #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #imelda reyes #natsai onai #garreth weasley #leander prewett #amit thakkar #everett clopton #poppy sweeting #eleazar fig

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beskarandblasters · 9 months

Text

New York or Nowhere

Part one: Cool Ranch Doritos and Arizona Green Tea

Bodega Owner!Joel Miller x F!Reader

New York or Nowhere Masterlist

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Series summary: After a night out with your friends in Brooklyn you stop at a bodega (Beldro’s Deli) for some drunk snacks where you meet Joel, a Texan to New York transplant. You’re immediately enamored by him but your friends think he’s a creep. One night you go to Beldro’s without your friends and get exactly what you’re looking for.

Chapter summary: You meet Joel, owner of Beldro’s Deli, after a night out with your friends

Word count: 900 (this is just when they first meet, v smol chapter 😇)

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, no outbreak, canon divergent, drinking, Joel being kind of a creep, eventual smut, no use of y/n

You stumble out onto the street with your friends after a night out with your friends at the Brooklyn Mirage. You’re with your best friends; Jessica, Nathaniel and Charlotte— all four of you New York natives. It’s been a successful evening, each of you getting completely trashed and now ready for the next stage of a night out; the drunk snacks.

The nighttime air is humid and heavy, a stark contrast from the blasting AC in the club. Your friend orders an Uber back to Green Point on her phone, each of you preferring the quick twelve minute car ride over a forty five minute drunken stupor back to your neighborhood.

You’re relatively new to this area anyway, living only in Manhattan since you moved to the city. The Uber back to your neighborhood was lively, each of you talking about what snacks you were going to get. The driver drops you off at a street corner you’re unfamiliar with and before you can panic Jessica points across the street and shouts, “Boom, a bodega. There we go. If I don’t get takis inside me in the next ten minutes I’ll scream.”

“Girl, if you scream I’m walking away and pretending I don’t know you,” Nathaniel laughs.

“I’m pretending I don’t know all of you. You’re all so fucking loud,” you laugh, powerwalking across the crosswalk ahead of them.

You look up at the sign above the green awning; Beldro’s Deli. You’ve never been to this one before. Gotta get familiarized with the neighborhood somehow right?

You walk inside and the cool air smacks you in the face. Your friends pile in behind you, already acting like fools. You look over at the man at the counter; furrowed eyebrows, dark brown hair that’s going gray, white t-shirt that’s so tight his biceps are straining the fabric of the sleeves. And your attention is fixated on him for approximately five seconds until you notice the cat sitting on the ATM machine next to the counter.

“Look at this precious little baby!” you drunkenly shout, walking over to the cat and scratching its chin. So much for you not acting like a fool.

“What’s its name?” you ask, glancing over at the strange man at the counter.

“Her name is Cat,” he says gruffly.

“Cat?! That’s a terrible name,” you say, running your hand along her back.

“What about Muffin? Frito? Little Debbie??” Charlotte says coming up behind you.

“Okay now you’re just listing off stuff that’s in here,” you laugh, “How about… Ellie?”

“Ooh yeah she looks like an Ellie,” Charlotte says.

“You’re welcome. We just named your cat for you,” you say, looking back at the man.

“She’s not my cat,” he responds. This time you detect a southern drawl in his voice. He’s not from here.

“She lives in your store,” you shrug, “She’s your cat.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, shaking his head.

Charlotte turns to scan the aisles and Jessica and Nathaniel start to check out with their snacks in hand. As for you, you stay by the ATM machine petting Ellie and watching the man scan your friends’ items; watching the way his hands grip things and his biceps stretching the already tight fabric and the veins on his forearms bulging and- Shit, you got it bad.

“Aren’t you gonna get something?” Charlotte asks, finished making her selections.

“Y-yeah hang on,” you say, removing your hand from Ellie as hard as it is.

You scan the aisles and pick a bag of cool ranch Doritos and a can of Arizona green tea from the cooler. You walk back to the counter and see your friends are waiting outside for you. You put your stuff on the counter to check out. Now that you’re face to face with the man you can read his name tag; Joel.

He puts your items in a bag and hands it over to you.

“Don’t worry about it, sugar.”

“Wh-what? No way,” you say, reaching for your purse to pull out cash.

He puts a hand up and says, “Just take it.”

“If you’re sure… Thanks,” you say, grabbing the bag and going to leave.

“Have a good night, sugar,” he says, the southern twang just dripping from his voice that time.

“Thanks, you too,” you say, before heading out the door and meeting your friends on the street.

“Okay, is it just me or… Was he kinda hot?” you ask, wincing in anticipation of their responses.

“Girl, no,” Jessica says, shaking her head.

“I think you’re just lonely,” Nathaniel laughs.

“Shut up! I am not,” you say, getting a little defensive, “He had that older, mysterious man vibe.”

“Nah, he was just a creep,” Charlotte says, shaking her head.

You roll your eyes and Jessica teases, “Sorry, you’re never living this down.

They tease you all the way back to your building where they bid you a good night. And with that, you all go your separate ways. As you lay in bed with your Doritos and Arizona tea you think of Joel and ask yourself— is he really a creep?

He charged your friends for their stuff but not yours. That’s all he really did that could be considered creepy but your friends weren’t even there to witness that.

Is it just because he’s southern? It could be that. Your friends are sometimes New York elitists to put it nicely…

You go to bed that night thinking of Ellie and decide that if anything… you should get a cat.

Banners + dividers by cafekitsune

End note: I just had to get their little introduction out there!! I hope you all follow along for the reader and bodega owner!Joel’s adventures 🖤

Follow @beskarandblastersfics and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post a new fic!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller au #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal joel miller #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction

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rinneroraito · 3 months

Text

Good Girl

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen Raye Pember die.

My eyes sting and I press my eyelids shut for a good minute or two as I sink back into the couch I shared with The World’s Greatest Detective, L. I bring my feet up on the couch, pressing them against my chest as I exhale sharply. Even though I had my eyes shut, I could feel his wide eyes on me.

“Miss Uehara, if you’re feeling too tired to continue I am allowing you to leave. I can take care of this on my own.”

Eyes still closed I raise a finger at him, prompting him to pause his thoughts or even discard his suggestion.

“I’m alright, Detective. Can we take a break though? Just a few minutes, I want to take my eyes off of the screens so I can have a fresher view of it.”

“That’s alright, you can go ahead and take a break. I’ll be right here.”

“Take a break with me.”

I open my eyes and meet his gaze, the shadows under his eyes making his stare sharper than he intended.

“Just a few minutes, it’s going to help you, too. We can just sit here and talk.” I suggested, but it came out more as a plea than anything.

He scans me with his shadowed eyes, pondering my suggestion.

“Alright, fifteen minutes then. Does that work for you?”

“That’s plenty enough, thanks.”

I peel my eyes away from him as I reach into my jacket pocket for a lollipop. It could have been the way I was almost begging to take a break from watching the surveillance footage that gave it away, but it was very apparent that I was on edge. I know that he noticed.

My nails scratch against the candy’s wrapper as I try to open it.

“What the fuck...” I mutter to myself in growing frustration as the wrapper stays stuck to the lollipop.

“Let me.” L reaches out a hand to me, offering to open it. I hand it to him with a frown and he takes it from me, holding it daintily with only his thumb and forefinger.

“You seem to be on edge, Miss Uehara, are you getting frustrated over the latest developments in this case?” He asks as he wraps his other thumb and forefinger around the base of the lollipop’s wrapper. Once he gets a firm grip around it, he twists the stick around and the wrapper crunches open.

“Frustrated is one thing, I’m… Angry? Confused? Dispirited” I shake my head. “It’s a lot of feelings to process, a mixture of emotions I have to keep in check or my judgment could be clouded. Not a good look for a Detective or an Investigator to be taken away by their emotions too much, that’s what I believe.”

I turn to him and he’s already peeled off the wrapper from the lollipop.

“It’s just as I thought then, considering the scale of this case is nothing compared to what you used to handle at the NPA. Here.” He offers the lollipop back to me, holding it upright by his thumb and forefinger.

“I don’t want it anymore.” I huffed sullenly.

“Please don’t be stubborn, Miss Uehara.”

He stares at me, and despite the piercing abyss that were his dark eyes, there seems to be a gentleness in his gaze.

“This is an incredibly high profile case after all. The fact that you’re here persevering despite your conflicted emotions and managing them as healthily as you can is nothing short of commendable. Now here, it’s yours. I helped unwrap it for you, please take it.” He reaches the candy closer towards me that it was pressed against my lips, his face still sporting the usual stoicity he’s associated with.

“You’re doing your best, you’re aware that you need help and you should accept it.”

The light from the screens made him look uncanny, hauntingly captivating.

I gingerly open my mouth and he places the lollipop snug against my tongue. My eyes widen as his thumb and forefinger drop to my chin, pressing them upwards to close my mouth.

His words come out calm and as comforting as he could sound.

“You feel like this case is like that lollipop you were struggling to unwrap. But I’m here to help, and just because I’ve offered my assistance doesn’t mean it’s mine alone, it’s ours. Do you understand?”

Biting down gently on the stick of the lollipop, I nod, still holding his gaze with wide eyes.

“Good girl. You’re doing well.”

My eyes grow wider as I feel my ears start to burn. And I could swear his stoic expression had transformed ever so slightly into something more smug.

“Interesting...” He says as he slowly inches his face closer to mine, tilting his head, inspecting me.

“Miss Uehara, do you happen to be blushing?”

My hand finds its way on his chest, preventing him from getting any closer. I look away in an effort to hide my flustered expression, trying to get my bearings.

“Let’s get back to work, Detective. You can ask me about that later.”

I look up at him. And for a moment, there was the ghost of a smile on his pale face.

#l lawliet #death note #death note l #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet x y/n #l lawliet x you #oc x canon

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icyharrington · 1 year

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would there be any way for you to write a scenario where //plus size reader// is tutoring eddie in algebra and he asks you what you want out of it, so you ask him to tutor you in giving blowjobs because you’ve never done it and he’s taken aback,,, nsfw, lots of praise, gentle eddie pls 🥺💛

haiii okay so! i have another plus size request in my inbox rn so i decided to just make this one for anybody! so yea im sorry about that also eddie's a SMIDDGEEEE rough in this (not super rough tho, like just a tiny bit of hair pulling and pushing ur head down to deepthroat) cuz i forgot that you asked for gentle eddie but he's still pretty soft in this. so yea this took me ridiculously long to write for no reason so i hope y'all like it lmfaooo

contains: blowjobs, deepthroating, inexperienced reader, praise kink, soft dom eddie, dirty talk, hair pulling

wc: 3.3k

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see the point in any of this,” Eddie says, after a several-minute-long period of silent staring at the math textbook that sits in between you. You’re sitting on the cluttered carpeting of his bedroom, with both of your backs propped up against the side of his bed. “Where the hell are all these letters coming from? It’s like they’re purposely trying to make this as confusing as possible.”

You shake your head, leaning over to take a closer look at the text. “The letters are just placeholders for other numbers. You have to solve the equation to find out what they are.”

“What am I, Sherlock Holmes?!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated show of defeat. Eddie’s a smart guy, but math is certainly not one of his strong suits, which is why you’re here in the first place to tutor him. You’re not exactly a math genius yourself, but you’ve been managing to pull B’s and A’s all semester in algebra, and with Eddie assigned to the seat right next to yours, it didn’t take very long for him to catch on.

He’d started out copying your answers during tests, attempting to come off as inconspicuous despite him breathing down your neck to get a glimpse at your work. When you finally called him out for it, he’d been apologetic and somewhat embarrassed, which made you feel sorry for him; wanting to help, it was then that you offered to give him a few free tutoring sessions.

Eddie brings his knees up and settles his elbows against them, the heels of his palms pressing into his forehead in exasperation. “Honestly, (y/n), thank you for offering to tutor me, but I think I’m a lost cause.”

“You’re not a lost cause, Eddie. You just need to study more,” you say, reaching out to place a hand on his denim-clad shoulder. “I bet if we do a couple more sessions you’ll be able to land a C on next week’s test.”

Eddie peeks at you from between his hands, the yellow overhead light reflecting brightly in the dark roundness of his eyes. “No way. You’re not giving me any more free tutoring sessions.”

“I don’t mind helping you, Eddie,” you say, patting him where your hand still lays. And it’s true- while he might be difficult to teach, he’s still a good-natured, funny guy, and you’ve grown to enjoy his company. In fact, you’ve even began to detect the faintest hint of a crush in the pit of your stomach, having been charmed by his smile and laugh and general mischievous demeanor. With Eddie being Eddie, though, it’s almost impossible to tell if he feels the same way, since he’s always putting on a show, never allowing his true emotions to show through his theatrical exterior. “I like hanging out with you.”

“Really? I kind of just assumed you found me annoying,” he grins, dropping his large hands to settle them atop his slender thighs. “But still- I’m not going to milk your generosity any more than I already have. I might be poor, but I’m not a fuckin’ bum.”

“Well, maybe you can just do me a favor or something?” You scratch your chin pensively, racking your brain for something you could ask Eddie to do for you. What could a guy like Eddie Munson do for you, anyway?

“What kind of a favor?” Eddie questions, apparently just as perplexed as you are, his head cocking to one side. “Man, I wish there was something I could tutor you in, but, uh, I’m kind of failing most of my classes.”

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, his statement jumping out to you for a reason you’re unsure of. You glance at Eddie’s sheepish face as he tucks a strand of dark hair behind one ear, drumming the fingers of his opposite hand against his thigh; you can’t help but find him ridiculously handsome when he’s like this, all shy and indecisive, and you ignore the sudden urge to lean in and kiss him.

You try to imagine how Eddie would react if you were to make a pass at him; you’re fairly inexperienced, so you haven’t gotten much practice in the department of flirting, which makes you worry you might say something idiotic if you try.

Licking your lips, you shrug noncommittally, praying that your face doesn’t reveal your current topic of thought. “Maybe you could tutor me in something, like, not school-related.”

“Such as?” Eddie surveys you with his big eyes, blinking rapidly to communicate his impatience with you. “Listen, (y/n). I’m really not good enough at anything to be a tutor.”

Shifting, you toy with an idea that’s begun to form in the back of your mind, inflicting a sudden sense of urgency in your gut. It’s risky, but so tempting, with him this close to you.

“There’s still things that you know more about than I do,” you start, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater as a means of avoiding his eyes. You’re easing your way in now, testing the waters, and holy fuck, are you scared. “Y’know, like music, dungeons and dragons… and other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” Eddie says skeptically, crossing his tattooed arms across the front of his beloved Hellfire tee. “Those are the only two things I even do. I’m a simple guy.”

“Well…” you mutter, hugging your legs closely to your chest in an act of self-soothing. You’re running purely on adrenaline now, numb to the doubtful thoughts that nag at you incessantly. “Do you remember yesterday, when we were talking about that rumor that went around about you?”

He furrows his brows, obviously caught off guard by your seemingly random change in subject. “The one about Cheryl giving me a blowjob in the prop closet? I already told you, (y/n), that wasn’t a rumor.”

Cheryl is Eddie’s acquaintance from his times working backstage for the school plays, and the thought of her flirting with Eddie with her high-pitched voice and bleach-blond hair makes you want to throw up. You hadn’t known she was the type to give blowjobs, and at school, no less; the information had been enough to make your head spin- was everybody at Hawkins getting more action than you?

“I know,” you say slowly, stretching your legs out to recline in front of you. “That’s the ‘other stuff’ I’m talking about. You actually have a sex life, I don’t.”

Eddie chuckles, looping his fingers into one of the frayed tears on the front of his jeans. “I’m not, like, a sex god or anything like that. I’ve just fooled around a few times, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but at least you have an idea of what you’re doing.” There’s a gnawing anxiety creeping up within you, and you want to smack Eddie over the head just for being so damn clueless. Peering at him from underneath a veil of dark-painted lashes, you can see the confusion in his face, but to your relief, he doesn’t seem upset by your persistence- maybe this won’t end so horribly, after all. “Sometimes I just get nervous, y’know? ‘Cause what if I meet someone I want to fool around with, but I make a complete idiot out of myself because I don’t know anything?”

Eddie lifts his gaze to meet with yours, a half-smile making its way across his full lips. Fuck- is he starting to pick up what you’re putting down? You feel your heart skip a beat, palms prickling with sweat as he opens his mouth to speak. “What exactly are you asking me for right now, (y/n)? ‘Cause if I didn’t know any better…”

His words trail off, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he observes you quizzically; he’s unsure of himself, with a visible heat flooding the pale expanse of his cheeks. After a prolonged beat, you say, “maybe you could show me how to do it right? So it feels good?”

For the first time since you’ve met, Eddie Munson is speechless. His skin darkens to an even more conspicuous shade of burgundy, his arm lifting to scratch at the back of his neck, and you begin to wonder if you made a mistake.

“Do…what right?” he asks you, though the tone of his voice tells you that he’s already well aware of what you mean. “You want me to tutor you in-“

“-blowjobs. Yeah.” You cut him off without really meaning to, but it’s not like your mind is focused on trivial things like manners at a time like this. “I mean- only if you want to, obviously.”

He stares at you blank-faced before breaking out into a wild grin, amused giggles bubbling up from the back of his throat. “You want me to repay you- by letting you give me head? Kinda sounds like more of a benefit for me than you, hon.”

“Just ‘cause it benefits you doesn’t mean it won’t benefit me, too.” You subtly inch your way closer to Eddie until your hips are side-by-side, encouraged to continue when he doesn’t back away. “I wanna know what it’s like.”

“You sure you’re in your right mind right now?” Eddie says wryly, sizing you up, adorning you with goosebumps at the invisible sensation of his dark eyes dragging up and down your body. “You didn’t get into my stash or something while I was in the bathroom?”

“I’m very much sober, Eddie,” you assure him, hesitating as you prepare to go even further, your palm finally dropping to rest on his thigh. He stirs ever-so-slightly at your touch, although he manages to keep his excitement contained for the most part. “I really do want you to teach me.”

“I don’t know how helpful I’ll actually be, but…” he gestures down at his crotch, where his erection is starting to press through the front of his pants obscenely. The view is satisfying, knowing that you’re the one responsible for it- if you’d have known it would be this easy to get Eddie Munson in the mood, you probably would’ve tried your luck with him a long time ago. “I’d definitely be willing to give it a try.”

“Really?” you say hopefully, letting your fingers trail in the direction of his hard-on until you’re toying with the front button of his jeans. “You’re sure?”

His eyes shoot down to where your hand is, your thumb and forefinger playing idly with the metal zipper. He nods rapidly, allowing you to proceed in unfastening his pants, your hands shaking as you do. “Are you sure about this? I mean, damn, you really wanna get blowjob lessons from the freak of Hawkins high?”

You don’t respond, rolling your eyes dismissively at his frantic line of questioning; nudging his bent legs so that he stretches them before him, you start pulling his pants and boxers down to pool around his hips. Eddie lifts himself up to assist you in the task, and in a matter of seconds his thick cock is on full display for you, flushed and thick and leaking.

“Holy shit…” you murmur, in a daze; it’s the first dick you’ve ever seen this close-up, and it’s so more intimidating than you could’ve ever imagined. You wonder if all dicks are this massive, or if Eddie is just particularly well-endowed, as you extend your arm to feel along his length experimentally.

“Was that a good holy shit, or a bad holy shit?” Eddie asks bashfully, nodding his head forward so that his long hair can obscure part of his face.

“Eddie, your dick is huge,” is all you say to shut him up, and he’s unable to resist the cocky smirk that teases at the corners of his lips.

He dips back against his bed so that his head is nearly flush with the mattress, pushing his hips out to elongate his body. He groans and stretches, his t-shirt hiking up around his midsection to reveal his soft belly, your gaze lingering there for far longer than it probably should. “Ah, c’mon. I’m not that big.”

The smugness is palpable within his protests, and you narrow your eyes as you position yourself on all fours next to him. “Just tell me what I should do first.”

“Well…” he looks at your face for awhile, before switching his attention to your cleavage, which is completely visible now that your baggy sweater is hanging off your body. Pretending not to notice, he says, “Usually you’d, um. Want to get it wet. Maybe stroke it a little with your hand before you put it in your mouth.”

“Like this?” You shift your weight onto your knees so you can sit upright, holding your hand out in front of your mouth and spitting into it crudely. Eddie inhales sharply, closely examining your every motion as you draw your arm away from yourself, a string of spit connecting your palm and bitten lips.

His cock is warm and silky to the touch as you wrap your fingers around it, and you take note of the way he hisses when you begin to move your hand up and down his generous length. “Y-yeah. Like that. That’s- fuck- good.”

You quicken your pace, a triumphant feeling washing over you as his head lolls back towards the ceiling, his stomach clenching and releasing in direct response to your manipulations. “And then what?”

Sinking down until your elbows are on the carpet and your back is arched up high, you bring your face closer to his cock, blinking up innocently in wait of his next set of instructions.

Eddie clears his throat, obviously making an effort to come off as unfazed, although neither of you are strangers to the truth. “You can, uh, put it in your mouth now.”

You’re perhaps a bit too hasty in your movements, because by the time Eddie’s cock is halfway in your mouth, he eases you back by your hair, stinging your scalp.

Rather than pissing you off, however, the sensation travels straight from your head to your cunt, and you let out a strangled moan.

“Shit- sorry,” Eddie says, his big hand stroking your skull where he’d tugged on it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You take him out of your mouth but remain close by, your spit-slick lips hovering mere centimeters away from the tip of his cock. “You didn’t. I, um, actually liked it.”

He raises his eyebrows, seeming equal parts surprised and pleased by your declaration. “Oh yeah? Guess I’m helping you learn a little more than just giving head, huh?”

Flicking out your tongue, you administer tiny licks to his slit, lapping up all of the pre-cum that’s gathered there; Eddie really seems to like this, because he fists your hair in one hand, a string of profanities spilling out past his lips. “F-fuck. Yeah, atta girl. Gotta take it slow at the beginning.”

Greedy for more of him, your tongue begins sweeping up the side of his dick, tracing lazily alongside the veins that travel throughout. When you’re certain you’ve covered every square inch of him with your hot tongue, you return once again to latch your mouth over the tip.

“Damn. No fuckin’ way you haven’t done this before,” he manages to say through grit teeth, fisting a clump of your hair to give him better control over your actions. “Yeah, that’s a good girl. Nice and easy.”

It’s undeniable what his praise and guidance does to you- your thighs are clamped together in a desperate attempt to create friction between them, hips rocking back and forth as you try in vain to rid yourself of the hungry feeling that’s taken you over. You bob your head down to usher a couple more inches of him into your gaping mouth, flattening your tongue against the side so as to fully embrace his salty taste.

“Ahh, shit. Fuck yeah, (y/n). That’s so fuckin’ good,” he urges, applying some pressure to the back of your head so you can swallow another several inches of his length. “Little less teeth. ’S’it. Yeah, see how deep you can take it.”

He gathers up your hair to keep it from getting in the way as you start to take him into your throat, your nose almost up against his pelvis as you choke and sputter around him. It’s difficult to breathe with your mouth this filled, but Eddie’s raspy words of encouragement serve in keeping you motivated.

“Keep going, sweetheart. Doing such a good fucking job for me,” he groans, his grasp on your hair loosening to that you can do as you please. With tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, you work to take in the entirety of his cock, gagging noisily when you feel it brush the back of your throat. “Your mouth is like fuckin’ heaven, babe.”

Your lips curve upwards at the compliment, but you’re incapable of thanking him, your mouth overflowing with nothing but him; as an alternative, you focus on bringing Eddie to his orgasm, painfully curious to discover how he’ll look and feel during his moments of release.

“Put your hand underneath. Yeah, right there,” he sighs approvingly as your fingers cup and massage his balls, bouncing them lightly in your palm as you continue to suck him. You’re on autopilot at this point, your rhythm impeccable and unrelenting; the noises of your wet mouth working at him are vulgar, your head plunging down on him again and again like you’ve been starved for a year. “Good fuckin’ girl. Yeah, you like choking on my big dick?”

You whimper at this, the vibrations from your throat transferring straight to his cock. Eddie’s grip on your hair tightens as he bucks his hips up underneath you, causing you to drool uncontrollably all over his thick length.

“Mhm. Take it nice and deep for me,” he mutters lowly, his head tilting upwards so that you're only able to see his parted lips and sculpted jaw. “Gonna cum in your mouth now. Think you can handle that, babe?”

You nod weakly, speeding up until his breathing becomes choppy and irregular. Your jaw is aching with exhaust, but you don’t dare stop- you’re too close to the finish line to start showing any slack now.

“Fuck, (y/n)-“ he gasps, and then his cock twitches, a spray of hot liquid coating the inside of your mouth as his veined hand keeps you securely in place. You find yourself struggling against his tight grip as the bittersweet taste of his cum paints your tongue, but you steady yourself enough to swallow it all.

Eddie takes in a shaky breath as he combs his fingers through your hair affectionately, giving you the opportunity to sit up and recover. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, (y/n). Now I really feel like I owe you something.”

He shimmies his clothes back up so that he’s covered again, his tongue sticking out thoughtfully from the corner of his mouth. His face is flushed and rosy, forehead kissed with the soft glow of sweat, and for the second time today, all you want is to kiss him.

“So… I did okay?” You wipe your slick face with the back of your sleeve, running the fingers of your opposite hand through your unkempt mess of hair. Sure, it’s pretty clear that he’d enjoyed himself, but there’s still a part of you that craves his verbal confirmation.

“Are you kidding? That was some A-plus head in my book. You didn’t even really need me to help you,” Eddie smiles, casually looping his arm around your shoulders, the basic act of which fills your abdomen with butterflies. “But y’know what? I realized that I kinda like being a teacher.”

You poise an eyebrow, a suggestive glint in your big doe eyes. You've got him. “Yeah? Why don't you show me what else you can teach me?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #mine #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson blurb #stranger things blurb

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intheticklecloset · 4 months

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Bungo Stray Dogs Coffee Shots #31-40

A collection of the BSD Coffee Shots I've done, compiled for the sake of ease. These are all stand-alone stories. Many are from my 2023 Peppermint Mocha Event.

~~~

31) Lee Dazai, Ler Chuuya

“I love that you’re being so clingy today, chibi~”

“Shut up. I’m freezing my ass off,” Chuuya snapped back, snuggling in closer to his partner despite himself. “And you’re warm. That’s it.”

“Aww, really? Here I thought you loved me.” Dazai let out a forlorn sigh even as he wrapped his arms around the redhead and pulled him in closer.

The two of them were snuggling under a large blanket on the couch, Chuuya sitting in Dazai’s lap and wrapped around him like a koala. Despite being the one to have the blanket actually on him, he was still shivering. The recent cold snap outside had caused some power outages in the city, and lucky them, their place was in one of the sections that lost power. Chuuya usually didn’t mind inclement weather, but right now it was hitting him hard, making him less combative than normal.

Hence his sitting in Dazai’s lap right now. And snuggling against his chest. And soaking in his warmth as much as he could.

Dazai couldn’t say that he minded.

“You look adorable, all pouty like that,” the brunette teased gently, kissing his cheek. “You know, there are some other ways we could keep warm, if you’re interested~”

Chuuya blushed, but covered it up by keeping his head firmly tucked under Dazai’s chin and growling, “I don’t want to move.”

“We don’t have to,” Dazai purred into his ear.

The redhead let out an annoyed huff, then grabbed onto the detective’s sides underneath their blankety cocoon and squeezed.

Dazai yelped, but to his credit, he never let go of Chuuya, even as the smaller man began scribbling and scratching at his sides and torso, making him giggle helplessly in his trapped position. “Chuhuhuhuhuuya…”

“I don’t know what ideas you were having when you said we could keep warm in other ways,” the mafioso teased, knowing full well what Dazai had meant, “but this is where my mind went.”

“Chihihihihihibi wahahahahants to plahahahahay, does he?” Dazai snickered, holding him closer and burying his face in his long red hair. “Fihihihihihihine by mehehehehehe.”

Chuuya tsked. “You would like this, you moron.” But his words had no bite to them, and it really was making it even warmer under the blanket.

By the time the power came back on, neither of them felt like they needed a heater anymore.

32) Lee Chuuya, Ler Dazai

Chuuya blushed so rarely, it was always a treat when Dazai got to witness it.

Like now, when the redhead was starting down at the paper in his hand with wide eyes and red cheeks, at a loss for words for once in his life.

Well – for a few moments, anyway.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” Chuuya tried to snap, but it came out sounding more like a genuine question.

Dazai gave him a lazy smirk. “I’m sure you can read, chibi.”

“But…why would you think I’d want—?”

The detective shushed him with a finger to the lips, making Chuuya blink up at him in surprise and annoyance.

“Whenever you want me to wreck you, just hand me that paper.” Dazai gave him a gentle smile that was so unlike his usual teasing, nonchalant smirks that Chuuya didn’t know what to do with it. “I’m giving you a free pass to not have to ask me or provoke me first.”

Chuuya glanced down at the paper in his hands.

No way would he actually use this stupid thing. That would be humiliating. As good as admitting he wanted it.

Absolutely not.

Dazai had to admit, he was impressed that it took so long for his partner to get over himself and actually hand him that paper.

It had been three whole weeks, and – determined to make Chuuya actually fess up – the detective hadn’t once tickled him into hysterics in all that time. He hadn’t so much as poked a ticklish spot. It had been awful, really, but to see the mafioso finally come stomping up to him with the paper in his hand had made it all worth it.

“Here,” Chuuya growled, shoving the crumpled paper at his chest with a huff and a beautiful pink blush on his cheeks. “I’m redeeming this damn thing. Just do it already, you bastard.”

Dazai took the paper, glanced down at the “tickle me Chuuya” he’d scrawled across it, and gave his partner a slow smirk. “I knew you’d come around.”

“You said I wouldn’t have to ask for it if I gave you that—ack!” Chuuya yelped as Dazai grabbed onto him and pulled him down onto the couch, quickly moving to sit atop him and dig his fingers into the redhead’s ribs.

Chuuya squealed and arched his back, hands instinctively coming down to stop him before shooting up to cover his face instead as he cackled helplessly, squirming beneath the detective, whose smile could light up the whole of Yokohama.

“You bahahahahahahahastard! I hahahahahahahate you!”

“Sure you do, chibi,” Dazai replied, grinning as his mafioso partner let himself give in and laugh, squirming and blushing freely as the brunette’s fingers danced across his ticklish spots. “But just so you know, the fact that you love it when I tickle you is one of my favorite things about you.”

Chuuya tried to sputter out an indignant reply, but it was impossible when he was having so much fun, so he promised himself he’d chew Dazai out later and just focus on laughing his heart out for the moment.

It wasn’t like he could really deny it, after all…

33) Lee Sigma, Ler Dazai

Sigma was not at all used to Dazai’s shenanigans yet, though it gave him some small comfort to know that even his coworkers at the ADA were only barely used to them, and they’d known him much longer.

So when the brunette in question snuck up behind him in the hall one day and pressed his cold hands to Sigma’s neck, the taller man was only mildly embarrassed to have let out such a loud shriek in response.

He whirled around, putting his back to the wall and glaring daggers at the detective, who was bent over at the waist laughing, still bundled up in his bulkier outerwear for the winter. “That’s not funny. And highly immature.”

“Oh, come on, don’t go Kunikida on me,” Dazai replied through a wheeze, reaching out to jab his ribs playfully. “I get enough of that from the man himself.”

Sigma didn’t understand the sharp jolt that shot through his body in response to Dazai poking him, but he gasped and shrunk back all the same.

Dazai’s eyes lit up, and all of a sudden the other man had a terrible feeling he was in trouble.

“W-What?” he stammered, pressing himself against the wall as much as possible as Dazai approached him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You could have told me you were ticklish~”

“T-Ticklish? What…what does that mean?”

For a moment, the detective stopped in his tracks, looking utterly stunned. But it passed quickly, and he smirked instead. “Ah, right. I bet you didn’t get many people trying to tickle you at the casino.”

Sigma had no idea why that word was making his stomach do flips, but he couldn’t say he entirely disliked the feeling. “Ti-ckle?”

Without another word or warning, Dazai began rapidly and sporadically poking his ribs and belly, and – inexplicably – Sigma let out a squeak, followed by a spew of giggles he had absolutely no control over whatsoever. He was mortified, but the detective didn’t seem surprised in the least. In fact, he seemed…excited?

“W-Whahahahat? Whahahahat are you – D-Dahahahazai, wait!”

“Aww, you are ticklish! How cute~”

“B-But whahahahahat does that mehehehean? I cahahahahan’t stop—” At that moment Sigma let out another squeal and instinctively twisted away, only to be followed by Dazai pinching along his hip on the opposite side, effectively forcing him to squirm in place against the wall, still giggling helplessly.

“Can’t stop laughing? Good.” Dazai grinned, winked, and kept up the gentle assault. “That’s the whole point.”

Part of Sigma felt like he should be fighting back – pushing the brunette away, calling for help, something – but there was a larger part of him that really didn’t want to get away at all. He was laughing, after all, and he couldn’t remember a time he’d been able to giggle so freely.

Besides, Dazai looked like he was having fun, too. And if that were the case, why shouldn’t he let it continue?

34) Lee Dazai, Ler Chuuya

“Where are you going?” Chuuya growled, pulling Dazai closer to him by the ankles before straddling his thighs, pinning him in place. “A minute ago you wouldn’t leave me the hell alone, and now you’re trying to run away? I’m hurt.”

Dazai was cackling breathlessly, hands gripped around his boyfriend’s wrists as he wheezed, “Plehehehehehease, Chuuya!”

“You thought canceling my ability would be enough to free you, eh? You forget how good I am at no-skill combat.”

The detective could only laugh helplessly beneath his partner, already red in the face and gasping for breath as Chuuya continued to drill into his hips without mercy. He tried to buck him off but couldn’t even manage to do that.

“Plehehehehehehease, I’m sohohohohohorry! I’ll leheheheheheave you alone, I swear!”

Chuuya smirked down at him. “Still cold? You look like you’re warming up to me, Dazai. I knew you liked being tickled, but this much? Really?”

“The fihihihihihire is rihihihihihight behind me, you ahahahahahahass!” Dazai shot back, tossing his head back with a scream and clamping his arms to his sides when the mafioso dove into his armpits. “NOHOHOHOHOHO PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE NOT AGAIN!! CHUHUHUHUHUHUUYA I’M SOHOHOHOHOHORRY!!”

The redhead chuckled, watching his boyfriend fall to pieces beneath him with no small amount of satisfaction. Yes, his partner loved being tickled, but to get him to the point where he was truly desperate for it to stop and would do anything to make it happen? It was nigh impossible to achieve, and Chuuya had done it in mere minutes. He was proud of himself.

“Let’s see…what do I want you to do for me…?”

Dazai’s laughter was turning frantic, and Chuuya knew he didn’t have long before he seriously needed to stop, but he was going to draw this out as long as he could, damn it.

“AHAHAHAHAHANYTHING!! ANYTHING YOU WAHAHAHAHAHANT CHUUYA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Chuuya hummed, kept digging into his worst spot for another few moments, then finally slowed to a stop and grinned as Dazai sucked in a huge breath of air, mirthful tears streaming down his face. He was utterly wrecked, and the redhead was loving the sight of it.

“I think,” he said at last, “I want you to take me somewhere really nice for dinner. As a bonus Christmas present.”

“Okay,” Dazai said instantly, a clear indicator that he was well and truly done with tickles for the day. “Wherever you want. Just name it.”

“Good.” Chuuya smirked, brushing his partner’s bangs from his face. “And if you’re really good, I’ll reward you for it afterward. Yeah?”

Dazai’s eyes widened, but then it seemed to register what the mafioso was implying and he smirked right back. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”

35) Lee Chuuya, Ler Dazai

“YOHOHOHOHOHOU FUHUHUHUHUHUCKING CHEHEHEHEHEHEATER!!”

“I’m not cheating. This is strategy~”

Chuuya screeched with hysterical laughter, arms flailing, trying to grab onto anything he could to get this all to stop – Dazai’s coat, his wrists, his stupid face – anything! But all he could manage to do was lay there in the freezing snow and laugh himself hoarse, unable to roll away and escape this torture thanks to Dazai’s ingenious positioning.

The brunette curled his fingers into the redhead’s inner thighs, pressing in with just the right amount of vibration, and Chuuya nearly wheezed as another round of laughter overtook him. He grasped a handful of snow and tried to shove it in the detective’s face, but all that did was make Dazai’s playful gaze turn playfully wicked.

“Still trying to win the snowball fight, eh, chibi?”

“I HAHAHAHAHAHAHATE YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOU!!”

“Why don’t you give up? Then this will all be over, and I’ll be the winner, just as I should be.”

Despite his growing desperation to get out of this ridiculous position, Chuuya screamed, “LIKE HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELL!!”

Dazai chuckled, and the sound only made the redhead panic even more. The next thing he knew there was pressure on his knees pinning his legs to the snow as well, and Dazai was leaning forward to kiss him, but he was still fucking tickling that goddamn spot—

Chuuya tried to wrench his mouth away so he could breathe, gasp for air, laugh his lungs out, but Dazai followed him relentlessly, never allowing him more than a split second between kisses that eventually descended to his neck just above his scarf.

“Give up, chibi?” Dazai teased into his ear before biting it playfully.

Chuuya was more than ready to give up – the tickling was driving him onto a whole other plane of existence, and he felt like if he didn’t get it to stop he was going to expire right here and now.

“STOP STOP FUHUHUHUHUHUCKING STOP DAHAHAHAHAHAHAZAI!!” Chuuya screamed, the desperation in his voice clear even to him, not that he cared about that right now. “I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T ANYMORE, PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE STOP!!”

Mercifully, Dazai did in fact stop, immediately shifting his weight so he wasn’t pinning Chuuya but rather straddling him lightly, and he allowed the redhead a few moments to catch his breath and gain his bearings before leaning down to kiss him again and murmur, “I win~”

And Chuuya – thoroughly wiped out and beyond the capacity to fight back, his nerves still singing from the ticklish assault – managed only two words in response:

“Fuck. You.”

36) Lee Dazai, Ler Chuuya

Chuuya was always frowning.

Well, okay, not always – but often enough that getting a smile from him was a rare occurrence. It was so hard to get him to grin at something let alone laugh that when it did happen, Dazai cherished every moment.

Like now, when Chuuya’s eyes were bright and his lips turned upward in the barest hint of a smile as he gazed outside. It had been gloomy and snowy the last couple of days, but today it had finally let up, allowing the sun to light the city and warm up the streets with its rays.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Chuuya said now, turning to face his partner, schooling his features back into their usual indifference. “We’ve been stuck inside the last couple of days.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Dazai yawned, stretching out on the couch, getting comfortable. “I don’t want to go outside. It’s cold.” The truth was he wouldn’t mind going out with his partner; he just wanted to see that adorable look of frustration that would inevitably cross Chuuya’s face when he didn’t cave immediately.

It appeared seconds later, just as predicted. “Seriously? I’ve spent the last couple of days getting dragged into whatever you wanted to do to pass the time, but now you can’t go on a walk with me? What, are you too good for exercise now, detective?”

Dazai winced a little at the title. Chuuya only called him “detective” when he was upset. Whoops.

“Fine, fine,” the brunette relented with an exaggerated sigh. “But I might need a bit more convincing.”

The redhead glowered at him, then marched over to where he lay on the couch and plopped himself in Dazai’s lap, making his partner let out an “oomph!” of surprise. Then he used his two pointer fingers to jab into his ribs – not moving, not actually tickling, just sitting there threateningly…or perhaps promisingly.

“Come on a walk with me,” Chuuya said, smirking down at Dazai’s reddening cheeks and widening eyes, enjoying the wobbly smile that threatened to slip free already just at the tiniest hint of what was to come. “And when we get back, I’ll wreck you into next Sunday if that’s what you want.”

Dazai couldn’t help how flushed he’d suddenly become; it had been too long since the last time Chuuya had really destroyed him with tickles, and he’d missed it. Badly. “R-Really?”

Chuuya grinned one of his genuine grins and wiggled his two fingers, making Dazai choke on eager giggles and shoot his hands down reflexively. The redhead pulled away and winked when his partner pouted at him. “Only if you come with me.”

The brunette hesitated, but not for the reason Chuuya was probably thinking. “Can you…give me more now? Just a minute, I swear. Then I’ll go with you if you promise to wreck me when we get back.”

Chuuya blinked, then smirked, then burst into laughter, which both warmed Dazai’s heart and made him feel a tad embarrassed. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, as the redhead was pinching and squeezing his sides within the next second, and Dazai gasped and giggled happily at the feeling.

“You want it bad, huh? All right,” Chuuya teased. “But you only get a minute of this until you get your ass off the couch and take a walk with me."

37) Lee Atsushi, Ler Akutagawa

Akutagawa reacted before he even thought about it.

“Weretiger!” he shouted, Rashomon flying out from his coat to wrap around Atsushi’s waist and pull him roughly forward just as the icicle broke off the ceiling and crashed where he’d been standing.

Startled, Atsushi turned around and blinked at the shattered ice on the ground, then turned back to thank Akutagawa only to realize they were now pressed up against each other, faces inches apart. He gulped.

Akutagawa’s eyes were hard, but the way Rashomon didn’t let go of him told Atsushi how upset he was. “Don’t stand directly beneath icicles like that, you idiot! I’m going to be the one to kill you, not some damn winter weather!”

Atsushi couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”

“Idiot,” Akutagawa said again, his eyes dropping to where Atsushi had his arms behind his back. He frowned. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” Atsushi said quickly.

Akutagawa gave it a moment, then leaned in to kiss him. The weretiger made a surprised noise, then melted into him, especially when the kiss lasted more than just a few seconds. Eventually Atsushi wrapped his arms around Akutagawa’s neck, and that was when the mafioso finally pulled away and smirked at him.

“You’ll have to let me go,” he teased. “And when you do, I’ll see what you’re hiding.”

Atsushi’s eyes widened, but then he smiled defiantly. “I don’t have to let you go.”

“Hmm.”

“Ah! Ahahahaha, wahahahahait, no fahahahahair!” Atsushi whined through a mess of giggles, desperately trying to keep his arms around Aku’s neck as his partner tickled his ribs and sides.

“Better show me, weretiger,” Akutagawa chuckled.

“Nohohohoho! Ahahahahahaku!” Atsushi blushed at the few people who had turned to look at them, grinning at the playful scene. “Stohohohohop, we’re in puhuhuhuhublic!”

“And?”

“You wohohohohouldn’t wahahahahant me to—”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Akutagawa to know that he was right. He stopped immediately, letting out a sigh. “Fine. If you don’t want me to see what you’re hiding—”

Atsushi shoved something into his chest, and Akutagawa looked down in surprise. He blinked. “A chocolate bar?”

“I was going to save it for Christmas Eve,” Atsushi admitted, blushing. “But you did save my life just now, so I guess you can have it early.”

Akutagawa took the chocolate bar, holding it almost reverently, then looked back up at his partner and drew him in for another kiss. Atsushi kissed him back, this time not caring about the looks they were getting. “Thank you,” the mafioso whispered after a moment, touching their foreheads together.

Atsushi smiled. “Merry Christmas, Ryu.”

38) Lee Atsushi, Ler Lucy

“You’re doing great, Lucy!” Atsushi encouraged, a gentle smile on his face as he drifted alongside the redheaded girl, who was hugging the wall of the skating rink as if her life depended on it. “You can let go now; I’ll be right here to catch you if you fall.”

Lucy huffed at him. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Catlike Balance. And don’t just say stuff like that so casually!”

“Huh?” He blinked at her, genuinely confused. “But it’s true. Come on, Lucy, you can let go.”

She grumbled under her breath, but eventually pried herself away from the wall one hand at a time, wobbling unsteadily but able to keep her balance for the most part. She attempted to push off gently, gliding forward two feet at a time.

“There you go, see? You’re a natural,” Atsushi praised, grinning, skating along beside her. It was true he was able to pick up ice skating fairly quickly thanks to his inner catlike qualities, but he thought Lucy was picking up relatively quickly in her own right, too.

“This is ridiculous,” she grumbled. “I look like a child.”

“Everyone has a first time on the ice, you know. It’s no problem. No one’s looking at you weird or anything.”

Lucy turned her head to glance around and confirm what he was saying, but the instant she did so her balance was lost, and she began to flail. Atsushi rushed forward to help her just as he promised, making sure she didn’t fall, but in her attempt to steady herself she grabbed onto the nearest thing – which happened to be the weretiger’s hips.

Had he reacted any differently, she’d have been mortified at herself. But the way he squeaked and giggled while never letting go of her only made her blink at him in surprise.

“Atsushi?” she asked. “What was that?”

“N-Nothing,” he murmured, gently guiding her hands back to the wall instead of his waist. “I’m just kind of ticklish there. You surprised me.”

Lucy stared at him, then gave him a playful smirk. “Ooh, ticklish, huh?”

Atsushi whimpered, but it was no use. She reached for him again, this time holding his waist while tickling his ribs, and he squealed with giggles again, attempting to back up but taking her with him thanks to her grip on him, and soon they were both too far away from the wall to fall back on it if need be. Others skated by them with knowing looks in their eyes, but Atsushi could only giggle and squirm in her arms.

“Luhuhuhuhucy!” he whined. “Plehehehehehease!”

“What’s the matter?” she teased back, far too pleased with herself. “Don’t cats like getting their bellies rubbed?”

He’d have argued that he was a tiger, not a cat, but he was too wrapped up in his own laughter to manage it. What had started as an ice skating lesson for Lucy quickly turned into a giggly, tickly dance on the ice for both of them.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to say he didn’t enjoy it.

39) Lee Fyodor, Ler Dazai

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dazai,” Fyodor said as he put on his coat, reaching for the doorknob.

Suddenly a hand was on his wrist, tugging him away from the front door. “Baby, it’s cold outside~” Dazai sang in what was probably supposed to be a purposely bad singing voice.

Fyodor smirked a little. “I’m not staying the night.”

“Baby, it’s cold outside~”

“You realize this song implies the singers wish to engage in some kind of unseemly activity—”

Dazai tugged him away again, further into the living room, grinning. “Baby, it’s cold outside~”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“I’ll say a lot more if you stay the night with me,” Dazai replied, wrapping his arms around Fyodor’s waist. “Come on, it’s Christmas Eve. What’s the point in leaving? You’ll be here in the morning, won’t you?”

“If I stay, you know you’ll try to convince me to do something other than sleep, and I’m not in the mood for—”

Suddenly the detective had whirled him around and pushed him back onto the couch with an “oomph!”, straddling his lap as he smiled at him innocently. “Beautiful, what’s your hurry~?”

“Dazai—”

“Your eyes are like starlight now~”

“You’re singing it all out of order, you goofball—”

With a mighty flourish, Dazai reached his personal crescendo while sliding his hands up Fyodor’s back to trace along his spine. “Baby, it’s cold outside!”

“Ah!” Fyodor gasped, a wobbly smile on his lips now as he arched away from the detective’s touch. “Dazai, dohohon’t—!”

“Won’t you stay, bunny?” Dazai teased into his ear as he began to tickle lightly, drawing muffled giggles out of his partner. “I promise we can just cuddle and sleep, nothing else. Unless you want to~”

“Wihihihihihill you lehehehehehet me tahahahahahalk, dahahahahamn it?!” Fyodor cried, unable to help his wide smile and blushing cheeks as Dazai darted around to scratch at his sides. “Fihihihine, fine, I’ll stahahahahahay, you evil gehehehehehenius!”

“Evil genius? Me? Better check the mirror, bunny,” Dazai teased, then kissed him before he could protest further.

They did, in fact, only cuddle and sleep as promised – with some light tickles thrown in on both sides to make the night a bit more fun.

40) Lee Poe, Ler Ranpo

It was exceedingly difficult to focus on the task at hand when Ranpo kept trying to show off all these different writing quills.

To be fair, they were beautiful – pretty designs, soft plumes, and the pens themselves were of very fine quality. Poe would have been happy to own any of them. But Ranpo’s enthusiasm was distracting him, because while they would have made excellent writing tools, they would also been great tools for…other things.

“Look at this one,” Ranpo said excitedly, grabbing Poe’s hand and brushing the feather end of the quill along his palm. “Sooo soft, right? You would hardly feel it!”

I’d feel it in other ways, Poe thought, but cleared his throat and managed, “Y-Yes, quite so. It is very nice.”

“Ooh, or this one!” The detective swapped it out with yet another quill, and so their afternoon continued.

They’d gone out with the singular mission of finding gifts for the other members of the ADA. It was a half-date, half-errand, and Poe was happy to spend time with him either way. But those quills…

“I want to get one for you,” Ranpo said suddenly, squinting up at him. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Huh?” Poe sputtered, growing even more flustered at the thought of owning one of those beautiful, tickly quills. “I-I…we’re not here for…”

Ranpo waved his hand. “I know, I know. But I still have to find a gift for you, too, and I think one of these would be perfect. You like them, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” Poe admitted.

“Then pick one! Which one is calling out to you? Which one can you see yourself writing the next bestselling novel with?”

Poe’s eyes roamed over the array of quills Ranpo had shown off to him so far.

Then suddenly the detective had pulled him down to whisper in his ear. “And which one do you think would tickle the most?”

“Huh-wha?!” Poe staggered back, slapping a hand over his mouth to keep from screeching. His eyes were wide, but Ranpo’s were knowing. Too knowing.

“You can’t get anything past me. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up every time I brush one along your hand or arm. So, pick your favorite, and later we’ll have some fun with it to break it in. Okay?”

Poe blushed, but he couldn’t deny that Ranpo was right. Shakily, he reached out for the one with the softest plume; it was a bonus that it also happened to look pretty. He barely had it off the shelf before Ranpo had snatched it from him, wiggling along his ear playfully.

“Ranpo,” Poe hissed out a giggle, covering his mouth again. “Not here!”

“Don’t worry, Poe,” Ranpo teased, winking at him. “I won’t let anyone else have the privilege of seeing you laugh your heart out while I tickle you with this~”

After that, Poe was more than eager to finish up their errands so they could move on to their new evening agenda.

#fanfiction #tickle drabbles #coffee shots #quick prompts #sentence starters #bungo stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #soukoku #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryuunosuke #shin soukoku #ranpo edogawa #bsd edgar allan poe #ranpoe

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chuuyrr · 1 year

Note

hiii this is my first ever request and i’m a big fan of your fanfictions! may i request a fyodor x scarlet witch! s/o where they both are working together? i don’t really have a specific scenario for it but the idea would be really cool!

the hex was the easy part

bungo stray dogs x scarlet witch! reader

masterlist of the series

╰➤ CW(s): spoilers for bsd s4, reference to wanda maximoff in mcu's doctor strange in the multiverse of madness

╰➤ PAIRING(s): fyodor dostoevsky

╰➤ SYNOPSIS: in which you, the scarlet witch, turns out to be fyodor dostoevsky's s/o, much to dazai osamu and the armed detective agency's dismay as you betray them.

╰➤ SONG SUGGESTION(s): haunted by laura les

if there was one thing about you, it was that you had once been a member of the armed detective agency, even being proclaimed as one of its extraordinary members, much like nakahara chuuya is to the port mafia due to your great talent.

[surname] [name].

you were even dubbed the "scarlet witch" of the detective agency because of your red psionics, but they regarded you as someone who is genuinely determined to serve and kind despite how dangerous your chaos magic may be.

however, following an incident in which you and your ability went haywire, you immediately defected from the agency and fled, wishing to be in "exile" because you were ashamed and guilty of the conduct you had performed.

because of how tremendous and dangerous your ability, your chaos magic, was, so many lives were lost that day. it fact, it was so great that it goes against dazai osamu's no longer human ability, which means he can't nullify it like other gifts.

it was a beautiful and sunny afternoon, and you were plucking branches from your apple trees that were no longer useful on your little home somewhere a little out of the way from the city, when a familiar voice sounded from behind you.

"so, this is what you've been up to, belladonna." dazai chuckled softly as he approached you, glancing at the tree branches in your grasp, "you've been plucking branches it seems."

you found yourself smiling at the familiar nickname that your former colleague at the armed detective agency had always given you. with that, you turned behind your back and faced dazai, who was still dressed in the same long brown coat and bandages as the day you met him.

"i knew you'd show up eventually," you sighed softly, shaking your head and fiddling with the tree branches you'd pulled.

"you're probably here to talk about what happened in the past, huh?" you shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "i've made mistakes and people were hurt that day, dazai" you said softly, looking down at your feet.

"hey, now. i'm not here to talk about what had already happened, belladonna," dazai said softly as he gently moved a palm to your cheek, catching your tears with his thumb, "and besides, i'm certain you have already repented to decide to do the right thing."

"then, why are you here?" you questioned, blinking as you looked up and tilted your head at dazai, mustering a light giggle in your voice, "don't tell me you're here to convince me to return to the armed detective agency, dazai."

"hmm, maybe it's something like that," dazai said, scratching the back of his head with a slight smile on his lips, "but yes, i do need your help, sweet belladonna. something is about to happen and i need additional eyes and ears."

"hmm, is it fyodor dostoevsky?" you muttered softly, thinkingly holding your chin with index finger and thumb.

"huh, i haven't said an exact thing and yet you already have a clue," dazai replied, his brow furrowed slightly.

you bit back a smile as you shook your head at dazai, "well, he did used to be a former enemy of the detective agency, especially during the cannibalism virus incident. if it weren't for you and fitzgerald's eyes of god, he wouldn't have been arrested, but given that man, he's just not one to simply rest, and i fear that fyodor getting arrested is just the start of something bigger."

dazai started by saying, "you know, belladonna, sometimes i wonder if you're too smart for your own good, or maybe, it's really just your chaos magic or mind reading ability," his tone dropping an octave as he fixed his gaze on you.

"hmm? what do you mean by that, dazai?" you asked, tilting your head at him.

dazai responded in a solemn tone, "i'm not thinking of that demon fyodor right now, thus it would be impossible for you to read my thoughts to be able to say that."

with that, dazai's gaze darkened, "and another, sweet belladonna, i don't remember telling you how i found him with the help of fitzegerald and his eyes of god. you weren't in that café nor have i gotten contact with during that time as you were helping the others out, and most importantly, the way you're addressing that demon is putting me off."

you stared at dazai for a brief moment, blinking before a smile crept on your face, "you know, the hex was the easy part, but the lying?"

you sighed and shook your head with a sweet and compassionate smile, but it didn't take long for it to become sinisterly cold as you continued speaking, "not so much."

your red psionics had sprung from your fingertips and taken over the entire place with the wave of your palm. as reality warped before his eyes, dazai took a step back, his eyes widening slightly.

the cottage you lived in from afar, together with the apple trees and farm that had been an illusion the whole time, turned out to be a red terrible barren landscape of dead trees and blood red skies devoid of any indications of life.

when he turned around to find you in a different outfit, his heart plummeted a little as he took in his new surroundings. you were no longer wearing your red coat, but the regalia and robes of the scarlet witch, which appeared corrupted as the tight bodice of your outfit looked like cracks in glass. your lids and lips were deeper, your features were sharper, and your fingertips were dipped in an inky blacky color.

"oh, belladonna.. you really are deserving of the nickname of that deadly flower," dazai said with a bittersweet smile as he shook his head and faced you, "such a beautiful and dangerous, yet tainted little thing have you become because of that demon fyodor. it's a real shame, truly."

you chuckled softly, tilting your head at dazai at the mention of your darling, "my beloved only showed me truth."

dazai suddenly felt a lump form on his throat as he furrowed his brows, "your.. beloved?"

a dark laugh escaped your breath, "you had no clue? my, my. i was expecting more from the intelligent and strategic mind of yours, dazai. i guess fyodor's way better than you. obviously."

as it dawned on him, dazai quickly raised his guard and began to back away from you. you willingly chose to remain behind during the cannibalism incident and you purposefully caused the accident to give yourself an excuse to ultimately defect from the armed detective agency.

everything went as planned by you and fyodor.

"just what the hell do you and that demon have in mind?" dazai's tone had changed to a cold and harsh as his narrowed eyes glared at you.

"to do god's will," you said, a sinister smile coming across your lips as you lifted a hand, allowing red psionics to ooze from your fingertips, "create a world without sin that is."

your red psionics seized him instantly and held him by the collar and coat, raising him from the ground as you twitched your blackened fingertips, just before he could flee, "ah, ah, ah~ you're not going anywhere just yet, dazai."

"belladonna, if you're going to kill me, just do it already," dazai smiled darkly at you, "you know death is something i will always welcome with open arms."

"kill you? oh, no!" you shook your head as you placed your hands on your hip and smiled, "i can't possibly do that, even if i wanted to and could do it with just a snap of my fingers."

"then, why is that? what do you want from me?" dazai raised a brow at you.

"because i want to see how the other side's king will play against my own king in this game of chess, and more importantly," with a flick of your finger, dazai was dragged towards you by your red psionics and you pressed your lips against his ear, "you can bury the past, but it will come back, one way or another, and i will make that your very reality, dazai osamu."

just as dazai was about to snap at you, reality warped before his eyes once more, and the next thing he knew, as he looked around with heavy and sharped breaths, you were gone without a trace, and he was no longer in the red hellish barren landscape you had created using your chaos magic, but in a race track, and it wasn't long before he was approached by a blind man with white hair and red tips.

[ author's notes ! this was way shorter than i had originally planned. oh my god, but hi, yes! today's offer is evil! scarlet witch! reader hehe. ok but fr, i wanted this to be a bit longer but with everything that's been going on in my life, this is the best i could do for now. fyodor isn't even exactly in this writing, and i'm so sorry for that, but i hope it still suffices. thank you so much for requesting and reading (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

p.s. ! sorry i haven't been active. i think it's been four days since i've written anything!! i'm actually done with my final term and final year of senior high school, and will be graduating real soon, but transitioning from high school and college is hectic because of the requirements and stuff, so yeah. i'm going to be on semi-hiatus because of it sadly :( ]

[ join my taglist, perhaps ? @atomi-mi @anonymousewrites @magpiemissy @anqelically @96jnie @lovesick-fairy @soleelia @celestair @irethepotato @idunnomynamesince2005 @nianre @sigmasdarling @lenasvoid @achlysyo @youdidntseemehere21 ]

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downywrites · 8 months

Text

I still haven't learned how to tag properly :')

"N-now, now. We don't need to be so h-hasty, do we?"

Heizou took a step back, eyes flicking back and forth to the walls surrounding him. The shadows blocking the only way out chuckled, each in their own unique way. The detective cursed his lack of foresight: he knew reinforcements were to come, especially in one of this specific band of treasure hoarders' bases.

He hadn't, however, expected them to be here as quickly as they were. The anemo user had been doing fine taking down the waves of thieves, before the sound of footsteps forced him to take flight. It was just his luck, then, that the hoarders had so many dead ends in their base.

His face paled as they drew near, blocking out what little torchlight there was to see their (probably triumphant) faces. Holding his fists up in a fighting stance, he narrowed his eyes at them. "Seriously, guys. I was just assigned to check your stuff, nothing more! Why don't we settle this with a little slap on the wrist and I'll make my way out!" The redhead chuckled nervously as they backed him further into the wall behind him. Icy cold stone grazed his back. "Ah!- C-come on, wait a minute. Let's talk this ou-"

In the darkness, someone's hand grabbed his wrist. "Stop talking." Instinctually, his other hand came up to punch at the attacker. However, in the almost pitch darkness, his fist found air. His heart beat like a jackhammer as the grip on his arm tightened. "Boys, get him. Don't let this one escape."

If the situation as a whole did not set him off already, the obvious threat made his adrenaline spike. "N-No!" He swung again, eyes widening in the darkness as his other wrist was caught. Pulling at his arms and kicking at the men's legs, he felt a few of his strikes hit the target. A grunt of pain made him grin a panicked smile. "Ow, he got me!"

Another laugh from the first hoarder made his hair stand on end. "Too bad we already got him. Knock out the shrewd little thing. We've got a special tip from someone about this one. And besides, I think it'll be fun to mess with him after all that arresting he's been doing." A pressure on his neck made him gasp and kick out again frantically. 'No, no, no, no!' Even as he struggled, though, he knew it was fruitless. He had no advantage in this situation, especially with him being pinned in such a way. The pressure increased. The sensation of incoming unconsciousness soon followed. With the last of his strength, the anemo user sent out a weak blast of air from a kick, hoping that someone-anyone- would notice his absence.

The leader of the group grinned as he went limp in his hold. "You know what to do, right?" The others made their assent known. "Tie him up to the interrogation rack. You know the intel, right? I think he'll be more than ready to talk."

–

Heizou awoke to the sound of..nothing. Odd. The area that he lived in was noisy. So why..?

"Ah, look who's awake. Took you long enough."

A hand, certainly not one of his fellow detectives, scratched under his chin condescendingly. Eyes snapping open in both surprise and fear, Heizou tugged at his arms. The rough texture scratching at his skin made him wince. "What-?" It took a few moments of blearily looking around at his very unfriendly surroundings, however, for him to realize what had happened before he lost consciousness.

Glancing at all the people standing around him, he chuckled nervously. "Ah, I guess I have an audience." The treasure hoarder's hand moved to his cheek, a spot of prickling warmth he wanted to pull away from. "That you do. Now, I've heard that you've stuck a lot of our men in the slammer. Tell us where they are and how to get them out.. and you run free." He left the unspoken threat out of his words. "So, little prodigy..are you going to be a good pal and tell us, nice and easy? Or are we going to have to give you a little more 'hospitality' here?"

Heizou hesitated, eyes flickering to meet his for a split second. He stopped, turning away from him. It could have been mistaken for shyness. Moments later, the chortle he let out rang within the warehouse. Shoulders shook in the dumbfounded silence. "...really? You think threatening me with pain's going to help your case?" A crooked grin spread across his face as he looked back over to the shocked man. His eyes glittered with mischief. "Oh, do go on. Anything you say against me could be and will be used against you in court."

The leader rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. This again. Anything new? Every government official and their mother says this stuff to us."

"But never under pressure," Heizou replied. "Nobody I know would be gutsy enough to do this. And the only reason I'm doing it is because I know you can't do anything to me."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because if you hurt me.. I wouldn't tell you a thing. There is nothing you can do to rattle me. Nothing has been able to shake me, even during the most rigorous training underneath my higher-ups." Confidence oozed from his voice as he spoke. "What could you possibly do that they haven't already trained me for?"

From his spread-eagle position, Heizou was in no way able to escape (or even anticipate) the soft, sudden sensation from behind him. A single finger, teasing and testing the waters, barely grazed at one of his exposed ribs. Eyes widening, he squeaked at the touch.

He turned away from them to hide his blush, but there was no way they hadn't noticed one, if not both, of the telltale reactions. 'Please tell me they're not going to do something outside of my training regimen. Please, please tell me they're not.' The person behind him chuckled. "I think you were right about that intel, boss. The kid detective's a wee bit ticklish." Blood rushed away from his cheeks, before returning with a passion. "H-hey! First of all, not a kid. Second of all, d-don't even think about it! I-I'm not that ti-er.." His voice gave out mid sentence. "Ti-tickl.." He hoped to any archon listening that they didn't notice his failure to deliver.

It seemed that they were not listening.

"Aww, the kid's so ticklish he can't even say it! And he's so flustered that he didn't even pick up on the fact that one of his lil detectives ratted him out." Heizou's mind snapped back into focus. 'Wha- somebody gave them intel..? But who would-' The stream of thought he had was readily silenced by another light whisper over his ribs. He bit back a whimpery laugh, eyes scrunching closed. The leather creaked as he tugged on his wrists again reflexively. 'Damn it, I can't focus when these people are around me! I need to get the info to headquarters before something else gets through. But first..'

"W-what did they say about me? That I would be here at this time?"

Wine-colored hair got into his face as he whipped around to find the person who spoke in the darker areas of the room. A small reflection, most likely a coin from the size of the blip, shifted in the general area. "Oh, no, no. All they said is that you'd be too hard to crack the normal way." They moved closer, revealing a smirking face and a wiry, thin frame that reminded him of an old, ragged cat he saw on the streets a few days ago. "Oh, and that you're a little tick-lish." The space in between the two syllables was drawn out with another flip of his coin. Surely, this man was up to no good.

A small shiver went up his spine as the person behind him followed the edge of his rib. "Gh! Cut it out!" The person smiled, ruffling in his coat for something. The dark shade of the vesture gave him no idea of where his body began and where his clothing ended. If Heizou was in any state to do so, he'd taunt him with that idea. Whoever was behind him was not making that action an option, though. He wasn't sure if the person would speed up or move. Any show of weakness could mean his 'demise', of sorts. "Ah, there it is~" He pulled out an artifact, red and white with a gleaming shimmer in the thin lighting. Shifting it around so the light bounced off of it, he made eye contact with the steadily more nervous detective. "Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not going to hurt you." The man moved closer. "Unless you're nervous that you'll let something slip when we're tickling you?"

Heizou had nowhere to go. Eyes wide and worried, the anemo user tugged at his hands again as he neared him. He shook his head. "D-don't you dare. Don't you dare!"

Slowly, almost painfully, the feather grazed the underside of his chin. His mouth wobbled a bit, tugging at a small smile. For the second time, he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the looks he was bound to get. "E-he!" His 'attacker' chuckled, a sharp, almost acrid sound in the near silence around him. "Aww, look at him! Such a big, dignified detective, but he can't even keep himself from giggling at a stranger's touch!" The murmurs of assent around him only made the light touch worse. Heizou tried tucking his chin. A gloved hand grabbed him gently by the jaw. A warning. "Ngh-hehe!"

"That's the spirit, kid. Look, I don't think anyone here wants to rough you up too bad. We ain't that mean, we know you prefer sweet-talking. Nevertheless, even the sweetest talker knows at least a little info we need.." Heizou squirmed around weakly, protesting through his choked laughter. "Noho, cohome ohon! Thahat's nohot fahair!"

"Not fair? I think we're being pretty nice by giving you all this time to get used to us tickling you. Unless you want us to go faster?" He shook his head no, but the treasure hoarder ignored it with a knowing smile. "Oh, of course I will! Anything for such a cute little detective." The tease in his voice made him whine through his protesting. "N-NoHo! Ihi dihihidn't sahahay thahat!" Fingers dragged across his jaw, stopping the insistent spark of ticklish energy in favor of teasing at the sensitive skin. With the last little bit of self restraint, Heizou stopped himself from giggling too giddily at the gentle touch. If he showed he actually didn't mind this too much…

Unfortunately, it seemed like one of the sharper-eyed criminals noticed his relatively carefree behavior. "You know, for all of that protesting, you don't seem to be pulling away from Boss' hands. Do you..like this?" His eyes, already scrunched from his forced smile, scrunched closed again in a weak effort to ignore the tease that set his stomach aflutter. "Nahaha! Ihihi dohoho nohohot!" Even as he spoke, their boss' hand trailed over his sweet spot with little knowledge of where he was touching, grazing his nails over his trembling jawline and scratching ever-so-lightly behind his ears. He leaned in with a small smile. "I don't think lying will help you right now, detective. Anyone with a sense could see that someone who is as strong as you could definitely have struggled more than you have." His retort came out strangled and desperate. "Nohohot soho! Ihihi knohohow behehetter thahan toho trihihiy!"

Almost without warning, the hands that traced up his ribs before found his ribs again, scribbling in the divots with pinpricks of blunt pressure. The sensation ripped through his body like a shock of cold water, forcing a gaspy squeal out of his throat. Whoever was behind him found that amusing, a soft cloying chuckle ringing in his ears from their mirth. "Ohh, how cute. He squeals, darling! I wish we could 'interrogate' him forever!" Unable to escape the tickles, he squirmed against his bonds with a renewed sense of desperation. The woman behind him (he guessed it was a woman), however, gave him no way to relieve himself of the sensations. Her honeysuckle voice dripped with the sweetest honey as she teased him in more ways than one.

"Do you think this cute little detective's sweet spots are on his chin and jawline? Because his cute little giggles were to die for then~" He shuddered at how spot on she was. "Oh, I think that was a yes." And, before he had any way to refute that, her nails scraped lines over his upper ribs, slipping underneath his clothing to tickle the soft, covered skin with a little giggle. "Eee! Nohoho mohohore, plehehease! Nohoho mohohore!" Heizou couldn't believe his own words. 'Begging? Because of…this? How low can I go?'

If the people around him thought the same, they didn't say anything about it. A few of them muttered little comments to each other, setting his nerves on edge. 'What are they saying about me? Ugh, this is worse than I thought. I need to get out, and fast!' The treasure hoarder in front of him finally spoke again. "So, Shikanoin-san…will you talk?" The woman behind him slowed her touch to a tortuous slide of nails against his ribs, moving upwards to his exposed underarms. He tugged at his arms uselessly, before shaking his head. "Ihihi wohohon't gihive ihihin toho thihis!"

"Ahh. That won't do. Darling?" The woman spoke with an excited lilt to her voice. "Yes, dear?"

"I think we'll need to wreck him. As you expected."

The words sent a shiver down his spine. Small flashes of anemo flickered around him, lashing in desperation at the lady behind him. If she paid it any attention, Heizou didn't know. "N-no, dohon't!" Her nails dragged burning lines to the edge of his underarms. A raspy chuckle from the man in front of him and another hand making contact with his trembling bicep. Biting back a whine and turning away from the two of them as well as he could, he flushed deeply at the embarrassing pre-emptive giggles that spilled from his unwilling mouth.

He couldn't stop himself from squealing when her hands finally scribbled in his underarms. The shocks of ticklish energy made him buck and squirm like he was actually in pain. "AHA! NAHAHaH- PlEhEAHASE!" As if spurred on by his pleading, the nails focused more on the spot that made his arms tug on his restraints. "Nuh uh, no mercy for you until you give us the location. We have all day, little cutie~ oh, and we have tools, too! Isn't that fun?" Wound up and sensitive from all her teasing, the ticklish haze he was in did not do his usual eloquence justice. Instead of snarking back like he intended, all that came out was garbled, breathy laughter. "Seriously, hun. Can we keep him? His blushy little face and his sweet little laugh is something I'd wanna hear every day!"

Through teary eyes, he saw the outline of the leader circle behind him as well. Underneath all of the teasing, fluttering sensations, a burst of panic seized him. It must have shown in some way, because the man soothed him with a pat to his shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. I'm not going to hurt you." That gave him little comfort. His hands, rough but very, very careful, skirted down his ribs to squeeze at his sides. He smiled at the squeaky, pleading laughter that Heizou couldn't tamp down well enough. Alternating between scribbles and insistent kneading at the firm muscles there made the poor detective babble out nonsense. The female treasure hoarder cooed at the sweet reactions he made. "Oh, detective~ What's wrong? Speak up, sweetie. I can't understand you."

"EeE! PlEHe- aha! Naha! IhiIEE!" The detective threw his head back, trashing about in his bonds as well as he could muster. Unable to beg for mercy or speak in a coherent way from the fuzzy haze of overstimulation and embarrassment, he did his best to squirm away from their curious fingers. Fingers shifted from his underarms to rub slow circles in the hollows in a weak calming gesture. Teary-eyed, his laughter calmed down enough for him to beg properly within a few minutes. "Plehehease, noho! Mehehercy, mehercy! Ihihi cahaHAn't tahaHake thihihis!"

The treasure hoarder hummed, as if he was lost in thought. "Hmm…how about no? Luhu, get me the blindfold and the tools. Don't let him see them." Luhu, whoever that was, made a noise of affirmation. Another shot of adrenaline filled his senses. Of course, nothing came of his struggling and small flickers of fearful (but mostly desperate) anemo. Without his vision on his hip, it was nigh impossible to channel his flow of energy. It didn't help that he couldn't move enough to generate enough energy to begin with.

As the footsteps behind him got louder and quicker, and as the sound of a table being settled behind him came and went, he sagged in the bonds with defeat. If he was any lesser of a detective, he would have accepted his fate with a tone of fear-tinged despair. Fortunately (and this was the only thing he found fortunate about this) he was strong enough to keep his chin up.

After the noises subsided, the silence in the room made the already existing butterflies in his stomach take to even more perilous flight. He clenched his fists together, tightening his grip until his nails dug deep lines into his palms. "So, are you going to talk to me now, detective?" Heizou shook his head weakly. "I-I won't." He squared his jaw and tucked his chin in to protect himself. A hand, gentle on his heated skin, tilted his head back up. "Nuh uh. Keep your head up so we can hear your pretty little giggles. I want to hear you babble through your laughter, cutie." Whining softly at the sweet lilt of her voice, the detective did his best to ignore the butterflies that took flight in his stomach. A slow, burning line of sensation sparked in the edge of his jawline as her hand moved. The other treasure hoarder grinned at the silent sign of submission.

Eyes the color of sand darted about nervously as his footsteps neared his restrained form once more. "A-ah?!" His hand explored his ribs again, grazing against the raised ribs with much less finesse. Even though his inexperience with such actions was obvious, the poor anemo user was too wound up to take much more than what the two of them were dishing out. So, as a soft brush scraped against his bicep, the couple weren't surprised at the subsequent gasp and violent jerk from the bound man.

"No- plehehease dohohon't!"

"Aww, begging again? Already? Maybe you're more wound up than we thought you'd be."

His breath hissed between his teeth as he bit down. Copper bloomed in his mouth. He didn't mind it. Thrashing about as the bristles sent sparks up and down his arm, a small, garbled plea escaped through his defenses. If the interrogators noticed the way he had bit through his skin, they didn't say a word. Continuing to tease with the softest of touches, their hands and tool sent more shivers down his spine than he thought was possible. He was a strong detective, and yet…

The ticklish energy spread through his body, leaving him defenseless, weak.

He hated it. And yet, when the brush danced from the edge of his arm and teased the back of his ears…he couldn't do anything but whimper through his light laughter. "His face is so cute…look at him, darling!" Tucking his chin into his chest to protect himself was the only option that went through his head. A hand darted out to tug his head up again. "Hmm. I thought you'd behave after all that begging. Guess I was wrong."

The treasure hoarder's hands dug into his sides without warning, forcing a bark of startled laughter from him. "There we go. No more of your little misbehaviors, or we'll make this worse for you." His cheeks reddened at the way his voice failed him. "A-AHahA! IhIHi- ehe!" The woman's brush sent tingles down his spine as it scraped against the back of his neck. His hair raised at the soft, almost nonexistent touch. "Ple-EhEASE!"

At the first coherent word they had been able to rip from his unwilling throat, the two of them leaned in to listen. The gesture was almost condescending, a mockery of the way they thought of him before. Heizou didn't have the energy to worry about it.

"I-ihi'll tahalk."

#downywrites #lee!heizou #genshin impact tickling #genshin tickle #my writing #my fics

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renranren · 10 months

Text

TWC what-if scenario: what if the detective became a cat?

Out on a pair mission with their LI, the detective got drenched in some unknown potion and turned into a cat. The Agency's staff said they will return to human form in a few days. Meanwhile, LIs will need to take care of them during this time.

- Gave you a trademark monologue ramble about how reckless you were, how you should had listened to her, how the situation could have been worse, how defenseless you are in cat form, why you need to be under their protection at all times until the potion’s effect wears off. All of this while assembling a cat tree, scratching post, and a cat bed in their bedroom. “F will not enter my room without permission. You will be safer here than your own room.”

- "I did some research and found the best cat food brand but the pet shop in your small town does not sell it and those in nearby town all ran out. No matter what form you take, your safety and well-being are still my...our priority," muttering about nutrition and started cooking your three-course homemade cat meal.

- Did their best not to touch you but never brush you off when you approach. One morning A woke up to find you sleeping on their chest. Afraid to wake you up, A just laid there like a statue (not because you are so tiny or adorable or precious or anything just that cats need more sleep).

- "I'm more of a dog-person but I can't deny that I don't enjoy this." Let you lie on their lap while they read. One hand on a book, another lazily petted along your body, or scratched under your chin or behind your ears.

- Brought out the softest, most comfortable piece of clothing they own to use as your bed and cat-proof your bedroom. Stayed the night with you. Didn’t mind about cat hair on their own clothes.

- Let you get away with anything, "Just please don't scratch the furniture or throw up on the rug." Set up A's training dummy as your scratch pose just in case.

- Cooked you cat-friendly meals and treats. Others caught them spoon-feeding you. Yeah, spoil you rotten.

- Loved brushing your fur while telling you how pretty you are. "Let me hear your purr. Now, that's my kitty."

- "Babe, you are absolutely adorable!" They practically shrieked with excitement while picking you up and spinning you around. "Don't worry, babe. We will have a lot of fun!"

- Three hours in and already set up a social media account for you. "I have to spread your cuteness, babe!" The account got erased by the Agency’s tech, of course.

- Dressed you up in whatever cloth they can put on you and take you out while wearing matching outfits. Took tons of pic and video.

- Tried out every cat viral video they saw on the internet (definitely the purrito one). "We only have three days before you turn back. Not that I don't adore you in your human form but we might not get this chance again."

- Helped get rid of cat food because you couldn't stomach it and sneaked human food for you behind N's back. Sweet F.

- Refused to touch you for the first couple of hours. They are not familiar with animals, and you are so small. What if they accidentally broke your leg or something?! After a quick Cat-101 lesson from N, they finally let you approach.

- Hesitatingly petted you and the first time they heard you purr; they just froze. Your buzzed purr and blissed out expression were incredibly soothing for them and made they feel warm inside.

- Kept you on their lap while you were stargazing together at night. Absentmindedly petted you and played with your toe beans the whole time. Spoke softly to you about everything that came to their mind.

- After knowing that cats love sunspots, they drawn a curtain open just a little for you. They still avoided sunlight but really enjoyed the scent and warmth the sun left on your soft fur, holding you close for hours after that.

- Would probably put you in their jacket in front of their chest if the weather was cold.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc what if scenario #twc a du mortain #twc n sewell #twc f hauville #twc m

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lorcandidlucienwill · 6 months

Text

Lucien finally loses his shit and does something batshit crazy part 5

Everything I did in my adolescence, I did for my sisters. And you would take that away from me? After Lucien makes a bargain with the Mother, the Inner Circle finds itself in a full panic due to the missing feysand mating bond.

Lucien pulled out of the fervor dream to find himself on the floor. Nesta was hovering over him, water in hand and slapping his face. “Wake up,” she muttered. “Wake up!”

“I’m awake, I’m awake!” Lucien yelled. Nesta relaxed and sighed in relief. Lucien slowly sat up and realized he had bled from his mouth at some point. It must have been the result of the overload of magic he had used just to get to the bottom of the bond. And as he had cleaved his way to the bottom, it became clear why no other had succeeded. At the root of every bond was the Mother herself.

And he had struck a bargain with her.

And the evidence had been marked on his body, though it appeared nothing like a Night Court bargain tattoo. No, this tattoo was a mosaic of all the colors fire took and stretched from his right elbow all the way to his shoulder.

“You just…dropped to the ground. Out cold. I was about to go search for a healer,” Nesta said. Her voice was calmer now, but it still trembled ever so slightly as she lightly traced her fingers over his new tattoo.

“Stop that. You’re making me itchy,” Lucien grumbled. Indeed, as Nesta’s hand mercifully fell away, he scratched it intensely. Then her words hit him. “Were you…worried about me?”

Nesta snapped, “More like worried about how I’d carry your dead body back to Feyre. You’re quite bulky.”

Lucien smirked. “There’d be no need for that. It is Autumn Court tradition to be cremated, so that we return to the element we are made of.”

Nesta stared him down. “Are you an Autumn Court male? Last I heard, you’re practically an exile there.”

Lucien waited for the sting that usually followed such words directed at him, but somehow it didn’t quite hit the mark. Perhaps because he and Nesta were the same, in many ways. “Exile though I may be, I still have fire in my veins.” Lucien’s power was drained, but he gave himself over to the animalistic instincts present in every Fae. He knew his face was completely feral as he stared into Nesta’s eyes. He could’ve sworn her eyes simmered silver in kind. “And I’m the son of a High Lord. They’d have no choice but to do me justice.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You Fae males and your arrogance.” Lucien didn’t bother to deny it. Then she snapped her fingers. “Well, since you’re clearly just fine, you’re cleaning that up.” She gestured with her chin at the pile of blood that Lucien must have spit out at some point. Lucien stood up and gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish, Lady Nesta.” He could’ve sworn Nesta smiled for a ghost of a moment before her signature glare returned.

Meanwhile, back at the Night Court Palace…

Rhysand’s face was pale and sweaty as he impulsively pulled at invisible lint on his suit. There was now a hole in his clothing from where he had been plucking “lint,” but Rhysand didn’t seem to have noticed at all.

He was screaming at Azriel. “How did you not detect this?! Go check the kitchens! Cassian, go do something! You’re so useless just standing there!”

Cassian practically ran out of the room, running into a desk and knocking everything on it to the ground. Rhysand snarled and pounced on Cassian, throwing him halfway across the room.

“Rhysand! What the hell is wrong with you?” Feyre screamed. Feyre had seen Rhysand angry, but like this… it was terrifying.

“Why are you reacting this badly? It’s only a mating bond, for Cauldron’s sake! It doesn’t change anything! Leave my friend alone!”

Rhysand snarled at her too. A bite of magic, and her mouth was sealed. “It is so much more than that. This means somebody is messing with us. Probably your bitchy sister figuring out how to use her magic. I’m going to go kill her.”

Feyre couldn’t speak, but that didn’t stop the terror from rising to her face. Her sister. For Nesta and Elain, she had sacrificed everything. She couldn’t let Rhysand take that away from her. She didn’t know who this madman before her was, but it certainly wasn’t her husband.

Feyre reached for the Day Court High Lord’s kernel of magic, unsealing her magic. “You dare mute me, High Lord?”

Rhysand stilled at pure venom in Feyre’s voice. “Feyre darling-“

“Don’t call me that,” Feyre hissed, and stalked towards Rhysand. “You’d kill my sister?” she said quietly.

Rhysand’s portrait of wrath faltered. “If she did this-“

“I don’t give a shit about a stupid mating bond! Everything I did in my adolescence, I did for my sisters. And you would take that away from me? For a stupid bond? What the hell would that change between us?”

Everything, Feyre suddenly realized. Everything. Everything Rhysand had done for her had come at a cost. And how much of it would he have done had he not been her mate, had he not been able to read her mind?

Feyre started second-guessing every moment between them. “You don’t even know Elain. The mating bond is just a physical reaction override your good sense.”

“Is that what it did to you and Rhys?” A conversation between her and Lucien ages ago. She wondered if he had been right.

As realization dawned on Feyre, horror spread on Rhysand’s face. “Feyre, please-“

He reached for her, but Feyre threw a hard shield over herself. The look of surprise as Rhysand landed on his ass was nearly comical.

“You’re a liar! And a cheat!” Feyre screamed. “If you think I’d want that, you clearly don’t understand me at all!” Azriel had come back into the room with Nuala, Cerridwen, and Elain in tow. The sight of Elain with a pie in her hands and Azriel beside her with a sword in his hands, shadows whirling as he debated whether he needed to defend his High Lord was nearly comical.

High Lord, Feyre realized. Azriel’s loyalty was and will always be to Rhysand. Same with Cassian.

She suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. What had she done, what had she done, what had she done.

She couldn’t be here, in this palace, in this court. It was suffocating. She did the only thing she could. She winnowed.

Rhysand just continued to sit there on the floor, gaping like a fish, as Azriel and Cassian fussed over him like nannies. Elain quietly walked out of the room, nobody even registering her presence as Rhysand started hyperventilating.

“She was far more cunning than we ever realized,” Rhysand breathed after about 45 minutes, where Azriel and Cassian had carried him to a bed. “That power,” Rhysand shuddered as he recalled the behemoth he had felt that day in Hybern. The only Fae he feared. The only Fae stronger than him. A Fae who possessed a sharp mind to go with that cauldron of power. “I’m scared, Cass Cass,” was all he managed to get out before sleep overtook him.

#fanfic #pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #anti rhysand #anti feysand #pro feyre archeron #feyre archeron #pro nesta archeron #anti inner circle

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five-rivers · 1 year

Text

Seascape Chapter 1

AO3

Same kind of premise as Baroque and Turpentine, but AU to them. I'm going to do this one in chapters.

After they finished sparring, and Danny was laying in the snow, trying to get his energy back, Frostbite floated several feet overhead, looking at something down past the edge of the island.

“Are you, um,” said Danny, breathing hard even though breathing was at least somewhat optional for him, “are you looking for something?”

“Not precisely,” said Frostbite. “More… examining something. I believe your color vision is better than mine. Would you mind checking something for me?”

Danny peeled himself out of the very comfortable snowbank and flew up to hover next to Frostbite. “What is it?”

“There,” said Frostbite, pointing. “Do you detect any difference in color in that direction?”

“Um,” said Danny, blinking, squinting, and tilting his head to one side. “It’s a little bluer than usual, maybe?” He turned to look in other directions for comparison. “Yeah, it’s bluer. Kind of that sea-blue-green whatever color. Is that a bad thing, or…?”

“Oh,” said Frostbite, beaming. “No, no, it’s excellent. Excellent news. I thought I might be deluding myself.”

“So… what does it mean?”

Frostbite blinked at Danny for a moment. “Ah, yes, I forget that you are young enough that you have never seen the turning of the age.”

“Uh, yeah. Yep. I can confirm that I do not know what that is.”

Frostbite nodded. “It is… something like changing seasons, only less predictable.”

Less predictable did sound like the Ghost Zone.

“So, is it going to be, like, green-blue season or something?”

“To be entirely proper, it is a cyan age,” said Frostbite. “Although some people also call it a blue age.”

“And things will just be… cyan?”

Frostbite chuckled. “There are a great many more changes than that. I think you will like this age. Cyan ages tend to be… peaceful.”

Danny tried to imagine a color change making any of the ghosts he knew less violent, and failed miserably. “How’s that?”

“It’s, hm.” Frostbite scratched his chin. “It can be a little difficult to explain all at once. I believe we managed to retain some sculptures and murals from the last cyan age that you can see. In the meantime, I will do my best to explain as we return.”

“Sure,” said Danny, with a shrug, starting towards the village at a sedate pace. He was trying to be, well, cool, but his curiosity was well and truly piqued.

“An age,” said Frostbite, after a moment, “is like a season. But it is also a change to how the Realms work, how they are structured, how they behave. The ambient ectoplasm color is something of an indicator, showing the character of the age we are turning to long before any major changes. Green ages, of any shade, tend towards the chaotic, diverse, and individualistic. Some would call them natural. Others say they are merely anarchic.”

That did match more or less with what Danny had observed of the Ghost Zone and the ghosts.

“You mean, it’s not always people wanting to fight all the time?” asked Danny.

“Well,” said Frostbite, scratching the back of his neck, a character tic he’d picked up from Danny, “not all the time, Great One. But, yes, the turning of the age comes with altered appearances and instincts for most ghosts, and although the core of who we are does not change, much else does. For example, red ages engender very hierarchical, stratified societies with a great emphasis on obedience.”

“That doesn’t sound great,” said Danny.

“Red ages aren’t all bad,” said Frostbite. “But I imagine that going from a green age to a red age would be quite a shock, especially for you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because despite the nature of green ages, you tend towards attempts to be social, even to fit in, to some degree.”

“So… a red age would make me, what, more social?”

“You might find it difficult to resist the instincts of your new form, yes,” said Frostbite.

Danny grimaced at the reminder that, somehow, they were going to get new forms. Whatever that meant. “But what about blue ages? Cyan ages, I mean,” he corrected himself, wanting to use the right words. “What do they do?”

“Specifically with regards to society… City states and democracies are very common. But with regards to everything else…” He paused, thinking. “Most ages align with one or more, how should I put this, human conceptions of the otherworld. To fantasies. Red ages tend to appear hell-like, to use it as an example again. One persistent fantasy is that of a world under water.”

“Like the Drowned Quarter.”

“Very like the Drowned Quarter,” agreed Frostbite. “But vast. An ocean that encompasses all the Realms.”

Danny… wasn’t sure how that would work. “So, kind of like it is now, but… wetter? Floating in water instead of in the air?”

“No,” said Frostbite. “There is a reason I wanted to show you the murals.” They had reached the village again. “Come, Great One.”

They entered the cave complex that also hosted the Infi-Map and a number of other artifacts the Far Frozen protected, but peeled off the main tunnel, taking a smaller one that Danny had never been down before. There was a square cave at the end of the tunnel with a statue in the center, each of the cave’s three uninterrupted walls covered by a large mural made of gold, ice, and stone.

“Here we are,” said Frostbite. “These were made in the last cyan age, which was quite some time ago.”

“Huh,” said Danny, walking around the statue. It was made of ice and a bit bigger than Frostbite, with wide, flipper-like paws and a substantial tail. It looked a lot like a cross between a polar bear and a sea lion… and maybe… Danny glanced back at Frostbite before turning to the murals.

All three were seascapes, icy ones, with huge glaciers both above and below the water. Beings like the one in the statue swam through waves, but they weren’t alone. Mermaids and mermen with seal-like tails and strange patterns on their torsos swam alongside them. Overhead…

“Is that another ocean in the sky?” asked Danny, who was half sure he was interpreting the picture correctly.

“It is,” said Frostbite. “It is not a constant feature, but it is quite common in cyan ages.”

“Right, right. Um, are these…?” He hesitantly pointed at the polar-bear-sea-lion beings.

Frostbite chuckled. “Yes, that is what we yetis become. In fact, our tribe’s history indicates that we were first founded in a cyan age, which is perhaps why we enjoy them so much.” He sighed, happily. “Ah, and it may be of more interest to you to note that those are halfas.”

“Wait, what?” asked Danny, head whipping back and forth between Frostbite and the mermaids - merpeople? - Frostbite was pointing at. “Really? How?”

“Halfas are much more common in cyan ages,” said Frostbite. “For one, natural portals in the ocean become much more common, and historically sailors–”

“I get it, I get it,” said Danny, quickly. “But… you said for one? Are there other reasons?”

Frostbite nodded. “Many halfas born in cyan ages do not remain in contact with the Realms when the age changes. They, ah, in cyan ages the transformation halfas use is changed quite a bit. So, when the age changes, they can choose to stay human. Most do. But when the age changes back, their descendants tend to return, called back by the water. I do hope they do this time as well. It has been a long time indeed, and I think it would be good for you.”

“Uh huh,” said Danny, who, if Frostbite hadn’t said something super concerning, would probably be asking dozens of questions about the families. “But what do you mean my transformation is going to change? Am I going to be stuck?”

“Not at all! Not at all!” said Frostbite, reassuringly. He patted Danny’s back. “The ones I knew transformed by removing their skin.”

“What,” said Danny, not at all reassured.

“Their- Not in the way you are thinking, Great One. They would have a sort of garment, usually a coat, which they would put on when they wished to transform. It would… meld with their skin and change them to the form you see here.” He pointed at the murals again. “Then, to become human again, they would take it off.”

That sounded awfully familiar. Something Sam mentioned, maybe? Something to do with seals… He shuffled through his eclectic mythological knowledge. “Selkies,” he said, finally. “That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“That was one word that was used,” agreed Frostbite. “But you can see why it would be very easy for them to simply… not wear their coats again.”

“Because they didn’t want to be changed.”

Frostbite nodded.

“That’s, um. That’s. That’s a lot,” said Danny, looking at the murals. He… genuinely didn’t know how he felt about all this. He wasn’t sure if he could say he liked the Ghost Zone as it was, but it was familiar, at this point, and… “Frostbite, how is that going to happen for me? I mean, am I just going to transform one day, and then I’ll have, like, a sealskin coat flop off of me?”

“I confess, I’m unsure,” said Frostbite. “As I said, few halfas ever stayed through the end of the age.”

“Cool,” said Danny. “That’s… cool.” Maybe he’d just have his suit be his ‘coat’ or something. Hopefully. He could be lucky sometimes.

“But as a positive for you,” said Frostbite, clearly sensing Danny’s lack of enthusiasm. “You won’t have to deal with ghost attacks anymore, yes?”

“I mean, the portal is still going to be there, so…”

“Very few will go through it,” said Frostbite, confidently. “In addition to no longer being able to fly–”

“Wait, what?” asked Danny, that little casual piece of information much more upsetting to him than the skin thing. “I won’t be able to fly?”

“Many powers are altered in these changes,” said Frostbite, apologetically. “But, again, as ghost becomes mer, attacks on your town should stop. Very few of us can stand to be on dry land during cyan ages.”

“But I won’t be able to fly?”

Frostbite gave him a cautious pat. “I’m afraid not, Great One, but swimming is very similar.”

Danny, somehow, had doubts.

#danny phantom #dannymay 2023 #dannymay #dannymay 2023 day 11: underwater

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