#so as far as any defense goes this is the best my exhausted little brain can do and i hope it does justice to the story in some small way

[whorangdan]

tease

request! for 🌚 anon, thank you for the request and for being so understanding and patient💓 im sorry this took so long. it's not exactly what you asked for but i did my best to include what you wanted and i hope you enjoy it regardless, thank you so much<3

around 2k words, mingyu’s a tease and reader punishes him, mingyu’s shy with his wants, reader is v understanding, overstimulation, service top!mingyu, very light degradation, praising, light crying, pretty soft i’d say, aftercare, pls excuse any typos

“what in the world are you trying to pull, mingyu?” you look over at your boyfriend and he puts his hands up defensively.

“i’m not doing anything, i swear!” he backs away from you and you roll your eyes. he’s been acting excessively clingy these past few days. regardless of the time and place, mingyu would find ways to sneak light touches on your body, teasingly stroking your inner thighs or resting his hand a tad lower than usual on your back. he was very obviously trying to get a specific reaction out of you yet whenever you questioned him, the boy would feign innocence. still, you allow him to wrap his arms around your waist and lean his head on your shoulder. “am i bothering you?”

letting out an exasperated sigh you turn around in his arms, now facing him. he glances down at you cutely, the corners of his lips curling when he tilts his head.

“of course you aren’t,” you reassure, “just wondering why you’ve been so touchy lately, not that i mind or anything but you can’t possibly think i haven’t noticed.” mingyu doesn’t respond, instead choosing to take your hand and lead you to your room. you can already infer what he wants and when he motions for you to lean against the headboard you obey. he straddles your thighs and pulls you into a kiss, bringing one of your hands to his hair. you pull on the hair at the back of his head and deepen the kiss.

mingyu pulls away from the kiss to tug at your shirt, glancing up at you for permission. you wordlessly nod and once mingyu’s unclasped your bra you take the chance to remove his shirt as well. leaning forward you attach your lips to his jaw, trailing wet kisses down his neck. you bask in the high-pitched whimpers mingyu lets slip past his lips, groaning against his skin. at this mingyu only whines louder.

“you’re so pretty for me, puppy,” the pet name has mingyu shivering, and you feel his hips grind against yours ever so slightly. you shuffle out of your bottoms, now laying completely naked under him. you untie the drawstring on mingyu’s sweats and help him out of them, smirking at the dark patch already present on his underwear. “desperate, aren’t we?”

mingyu nods pathetically, his frame shaking above you. you slip his underwear off and grip his cock, watching as whines escape his lips at the feeling. your hand pumps his length, toying with the head and using the precum as lube. by now your poor boy is withering above you, his hands shaking and struggling to hold his body up.

“please...i need more…” his voice is shaky when he speaks and you smirk at his begging.

“aw, poor little puppy is so desperate he can’t even speak.” deciding to take pity on him, you guide his cock to your folds, teasingly rubbing his head against your core. the sensation has you moaning as well but you bite your lip, holding back your noises.

mingyu whines from above you. “no, don’t do that,” your eyebrow quirks, “please, i want to hear you.” your eyes widen the slightest bit at his words. mingyu rarely voiced out his wants. of course, he let you know what he liked but besides the basics he usually followed your lead, doing what you asked and only ever saying anything when he didn’t feel comfortable (which wasn't often, he was always on board with your plans). it’s not that you didn’t allow him to, and he does like what you two do now, mingyu was just shy. you look up at him and he flushes, averting eye contact. “or don’t. it’s okay, you don’t have t-” you cut him off with a kiss, using your free hand to pull him closer to you.

“hey, gyu, it’s alright. you don’t have to apologize. does puppy like to hear how good he’s making me feel? Is that it?’ he whimpers at your words, now rutting his hips against your core. you moan, not holding back this time. you guide his cock inside you, the two of you sighing when his hips are flush against yours.

“no cumming without my permission, you know that right?” you warn. he nods desperately, his hold on your hips tightening as he tries not to fuck himself into you. “good boy, you can move now.” with your permission he thrusts his hips up, immediately hitting your sweet spot. you muffle your moans into his shoulder before you remember what he said and pull back, your moans and his whines filling the room.

you grip onto his shoulders, “harder, is that really all you can do? how pathetic.” with the way you stuttered through the sentence anyone would be able to tell you were lying, but you knew mingyu would be too far gone to even notice. and you were right. mingyu had his face buried into your neck, nipping at the skin and whimpering with every thrust. at your words he mewled, his hold on your hips tightening and his pace quickening.

you were shameless with your moaning, releasing every sweet sound against his ear. mingyu wasn’t lying when he said he liked your noises, somehow fucking deeper into you the more you moaned.

his thrusts quickly became sloppier and his whines became higher, and his trembling thighs were a dead giveaway that he was close.

“is pup gonna cum? does my sweet puppy want to cum?” mingyu finds himself nodding again, begging and pleading to please let me cum, i’m so close please. “make me cum first then maybe i’ll think about letting you cum too.” mingyu immediately moves one of his hands down between your legs, circling your clit with his thumb as he moves in and out of you. the feeling has your toes curling, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. mingyu’s thrusts don’t falter as he works you to your orgasm. you cum with a loud gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist and clenching around him. he works you through your orgasm and when you catch your breath you force him to pull out.

“what was that for?” he stops whining when you push him down onto his back, straddling his legs and gripping his cock.

“cum whenever you need to, puppy.” he nods and you rub his head with your palm, your other hand stroking his shaft. mingyu throws his head back, beautiful and drawn-out moans leaving his lips. he grips the sheets when he orgasms, his lips shaping into a quiet moan. you keep pumping him and he looks down at you when you don’t stop, his eyes confused and worried as he tries to connect the puzzle pieces in his brain.

“did you seriously think i was going to let all of that go? really, mingyu?” his eyes widen when he realizes what you’re referring to and he goes to explain himself but you beat him to it. “no, mingyu. you knew exactly what you were doing. this entire week you’ve been nothing but a tease and had the nerve to act as if you weren’t doing anything! such a little slut.”

your palm is still rubbing his head and you dig your thumb into his slit lightly, watching as mingyu thrashes against the pillow at the overstimulation.

“please, i’m sorry okay. i really am,” he interrupts himself with a loud moan, “i won’t do it again. just no more. too sensitive.”

you shrug at him, “you remember your safeword, right baby?” he nods defeatedly and recites it, making you smile. “good boy, puppy. say it if you need to.” your wrist makes quick work to pleasure him, your grip tightening.

It’s not long before mingyu’s toes are curling and his thighs are trembling. he cums for the second time, his eyes teary and nothing but a gasp leaving his lips. he pants, expecting you to be done but whimpers pitifully when your strokes don’t slow. he’s staring down at you with hazy eyes, shaking his head and thrashing his body, doing his best to get away from your touch.

you slow your hand. “just one more puppy, just one more and it’s done, okay? It’s okay to say your safeword if you need to,” you lean up to kiss his cheek, “you’re doing so good for me.” he nods, leaning into your touch when you kiss away the stray tears that fall from his eyes.

once mingyu’s calmed down your pace goes back to normal. his hips are thrusting up into your hand, hands gripping the pillow above him tightly. you press a kiss to his thigh and rub your palm against his head again. a strangled moan rips out of his throat when he cums for the third time that night, his back arching off the mattress.

his eyes are closed when you look at him again and you would’ve believed he was sleeping if it weren’t for his hand weakly reaching out for yours. you coo, intertwining your fingers and kissing his knuckles. “oh, puppy. you were so good for me,” you go to pull away to clean up and mingyu whines sadly, his grip on your hand tightening. “okay, baby, okay. i’m right here, i’m not leaving.”

you’re still straddling his thighs so you’re grateful you only have to lean down slightly to pick up your shirt from earlier. you use the shirt to clean yourself then move to clean mingyu. it’s difficult with one hand but you manage to wipe mingyu’s stomach and soft cock quickly, shushing him with kisses when he whimpers at the fabric rubbing against his sensitive member.

you mindlessly toss the shirt across the room before repositioning the two of you so you’re under the covers, mingyu’s head tucked under your chin. his eyelids are heavy, no doubt exhausted after the three back-to-back orgasms, but you can tell that he has something to say. you hum and stroke his hair, waiting. it comes after a moment. “i'm sorry for teasing you this week…i just didn’t know how to approach you with what i wanted.”

“it’s okay, baby, i understand,” and you mean it. the two of you have been dating for a couple of months now and while you weren’t ashamed of vocalizing your wants, you knew mingyu was just naturally shy, especially when it came to topics like these. “which is why i’m proud of you for telling me what you told me earlier, i’ll be sure to keep it in mind and be more vocal for you in the future,” your tone is playful and teasing, and mingyu whines and nuzzles his head further into your shoulder in response. “no need to be embarrassed, puppy. you can tell me anything, alright? even if it’s just something you want to try,” he opens his mouth to say something and you answer his question before it’s even out, “don’t worry, if i’m uncomfortable with it i’ll tell you, and we can stop whenever we need to. we have a safeword for a reason.” you reassure. mingyu nods gratefully and brushes his lips against your neck before drifting off to sleep, holding you closer to him.

after that night mingyu became more open about his interests and wants in bed. you tried multiple new things together and while some were misses (like the time he tried domming - per his request - and immediately after cuddled into you and explained, “i can’t do it! It just feels weird, definitely not for me,” you laughed at that and kissed his forehead before adding on, “i prefer domming, anyway.”), most of them weren’t and they added to your sex life greatly (not that it wasn’t good before, it was just different when they were ideas mingyu chose to dive into). none of his requests were ever denied by you either, not because you forced yourself to do it or anything, but because they were all things you had been interested in as well, and you couldn't be more glad that you got to explore such things with your sweet boy.

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#requests #sub mingyu #sub seventeen #sub mingyu smut #sub!svt #sub!seventeen #sub!mingyu #dom reader #dom!reader #sub!idol

[ddarker-dreams]

Comfortably Numb. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

warnings: mentions of anxiety, just general uneasiness. word count: 2.6k.

Home is where the heart is. 

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. If only that were the truth, you bitterly lament. 

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You’ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?” 

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.” 

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you could have it either.” 

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet another one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment. 

That’s just about the best way to describe it, you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy. 

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.” 

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker and nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].” 

How considerate of him to spell it out for you. 

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. Leaning more towards the latter, you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right. 

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance. 

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals from. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance. 

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you? 

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.” 

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back. 

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?” 

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?” 

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.” 

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow. 

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him. 

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip. 

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.” 

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.” 

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one. 

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.” 

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten. 

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?” 

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. Why? What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place. 

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.”  

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- science experiment, instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, what is he planning-- 

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.” 

#chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer imagine #chrollo imagine #HunterXHunter #Hunter X Hunter #hunter x hunter imagine #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenario #my stuff #commissions #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader

[mossybank]

Baby You're a Haunted House — W. M.

Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Y/N helps Wanda grieve and gain closure on Pietro's death in their own special way, a perculiar way to flirt in the eyes of others. — au/non-canon accurate timeline

A/N: Baby You're a Haunted House is a song that's been stuck in my head on a loop, and although it was only meant to be a place holder title I've actually become quite fond of it.

semi-proofread

Y/N had been meaning to talk to Wanda for a while, amongst all the chaos of Ultron, they didn't get a proper opportunity to introduce themself; and to do it afterwards, as the girl realised she'd lost her brother, just seemed crass. They thought that maybe now they'd left it too long to introduce themself, coming off as rude and tone deaf for not doing it earlier, but the longer they avoided doing this the worse it would become.

In order to give themself an excuse for waiting so long, Y/N made Wanda a welcome hamper of sorts. They'd scoured the Eastern European aisle at the shop in hopes of finding something Sokovian, hoping it would remind Wanda of what was once her home, but they also feared that would be cruel, they didn't want her to feel anymore homesick than she most likely already did.

Eventually they threw a few things together, mostly sweets and snacks of the sort that they thought she'd enjoy, and anxiously knocked on her door before entering sheepishly.

"Hey, uh, I—" They glanced at Wanda and then at her TV before fixating their gaze to the floor, it was much less intimidating, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no," Wanda shook her head and paused the TV, the laughing track stopping, "Nothing important."

Y/N knew Wanda would have a Sokovian accent, she was from the country for gods sake, but that didn't stop the tips of their ears from heating up at the sound of it. It was typical, but Y/N simply had a thing for accents, and they hoped Wanda hadn't noticed.

"I wanted to introduce myself, I've know we've met before," Y/N cringed, righting a robotic threat to earth seemed like a bit more than just meeting, "But we haven't met-met... I, um, I brought you a gift!" They held the gift basket out awkwardly, a lopsided smile overtaking their face.

Wanda chuckled quietly at Y/N's antics and shuffled from her position of the edge of her bed, making space for Y/N to sit beside her and patting it. Y/N quickly obliged, placing the gift basket between them.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like so it's a bit of everything."

"Thanks.. No one else has done this for me." Wanda said fondly, looking through the basket with a content expression, "You didn't need to do all this."

Y/N looked down at their hands, and shrugged, "I just wanted to make sure you felt welcomed here and stuff, y'know? I know what it's like to be a new Avenger, it's a lot of change at once so I just want to make sure you're doing okay."

After some small talk, the two decided to watch one of Wanda's sitcoms together. Y/N wasn't too sure what it was called, but they'd definitely ask her later in order to binge it themself.

"We used to have movie nights as a child where we'd only be allowed to speak english to help us learn it," Wanda's expression dropped temporarily, gazing to the side. Y/N followed Wanda's gaze, eyes landing on a framed photo of her and Pietro.

"... I'm sorry." Y/N said hesitantly after a second of silence, "If there's anything I c—"

Wanda's expression caused Y/N to stop talking, she'd clearly heard that phrase repetitively from everyone.

"The only thing you could do to make me feel better would be to bring him back." She said bitterly before looking at Y/N, her sour tone dropping off of the end of the sentence as her eyes met their, "I didn't mean that, I shouldn't... It's not your fault."

Y/N shook their head, cutting Wanda's apology short, "No, no! You have every right to be upset and excited, but.." They trailed off, a moment of debate in their brain, "If you, um, really wanted to see him again, I could try help?"

Wanda raised a brow, frowning slightly as if she thought Y/N was making some sick joke.

"The little ghost army thingie back in Sokovia when we were fighting Ultron? That was me! Uh.. Trying to reach Pietro would take time though.. Usually ghosts follow people around but I haven't seen him.."

Wanda sighed and shook her head, "You don't have to do that for me, you looked exhausted from how you used your powers back there."

"But I'd like too! And it'd be a great bit of training even if it didn't work, I've never been able to summon anyone specific before." They tried to reason, but ultimately they wouldn't do anything without Wanda's permission.

"... I'll think about it."

It was a week later when Wanda next spoke to Y/N regarding their conversation about Pietro, they'd spoke in between but dancing around the topic of a dead brother was difficult work. Eventually, they had to discuss it once more.

"I'm willing to try, but if anything goes wrong, that will be it." Wanda comes to the compromise, presenting her deal to Y/N one morning in the kitchen. Y/N looking at Wanda and nodding, zoning out slightly and taking in her features, only snapping back into reality as boiling liquid came into contact with their hand.

They cursed, almost dropping their mug, foiled by the classic sitcom trope of overpouring your coffee and burning yourself as the result of some stupid crush.

"Oh, Y/N! Are you o—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine!" They reassured, shaking their hand dry, ignoring the sting of the burn, "If you give me an hour, we can try immediately!"

Wanda nodded and promptly left, she longed to truly make sure Y/N was okay but held back,she’d dread to come off too doting this eraly in their relationship. Y/N's shoulders slumped and they let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. They'd barely knew Wanda, whatever they were feeling had to go away soon, it was just unprofessional when their whole thing right now was helping the girl talk to her brother one last time!

The medium was pulled out of their deprecating thoughts by a boisterous chuckle, turning their head, they recognised it to be Thor.

"Ah, young love," The god teased, giving Y/N a firm but well-meaning pat on the back, "Good luck, young Y/N."

Y/N blushed and defensively assured Thor that is was 'nothing like that', but it was clear to everyone else that it absolutely was.

Arriving to their semi-impromptu séance, Y/N gave Wanda a run down on what was going to happen. Usually, when summoning a spirit, Y/N only summoned those already around, but it seemed Pietro had already moved on from this world- it made sense, his death was somewhat honourable and he didn't seem to have any unfinished business or grudges- that just meant Y/N's process would be a little more difficult and required a few more attempts. For a summoning like this, they'd have to temporarily leave the mortal realm, appearing to those around them as unconscious. Luckily for Y/N this was something they were particularly good at, often doing so accidently and getting stuck when their powers first manifested as a child.

Laying down on the floor, Wanda knelt beside them with a soft grip on their hands ready to wake them should something go wrong, Y/N closed their eyes, the last thing they felt before slipping away being Wanda tenderly stroking her thumb across their knuckles.

With a start, Y/N woke up, sitting slowly and looking around their surroundings. Blue, everything was blue here and although usually a tranquil colour, here it was chilling and made everything feel off. Standing up, Y/N thought of a game plan, there was no point wandering around the blue plains of this realm, they'd get nowhere; not that there was anywhere to go or find regardless. The best way to find a spirit was to call out to them, and so that's just what they did.

If they steadied their breathing and kept quiet enough, they could make out distance conversations in hushed tones, they sounded like gibberish to them though— whether they were speaking English or not, they didn't want Y/N to know what was being said, and so that's how it stayed.

Their first few attempts at summoning were futile, each time they'd wake up with a start, taking a surprisingly deep breath and breaking out in a coughing fit, Wanda vigilantly by their side to help them through it, always offering a glass of water or a cough drop. 

The pair began to hang out outside of Y/N’s attempts to contact Pietro, by now the two both knew they most likely wouldn’t find his spirit, but neither of them mentioned this, thinking giving up on the summoning would mean they’d stop hanging out. Of course this likely wasn’t the case, but anxieties between the two certainly made it seem so.

One thing the two seemed to bond over a lot was food; it was what Y/N used to introduce themself to her and now Wanda was teaching Y/N a childhood recipe, opening herself up to them. There were little things the two did that everyone on the team seemed to notice except for them; for example, when telling Y/N to stir the food, she place her hands softly over their own to show them how to do it, her touch lingering longer than it should have. Occasionally other avengers would point this out, only being met with blushes by the two of them and various statements of denial, but with those statements of denial came coy but questioning looks from one to another as if to ask if they really meant that.

“It’s always best to try summoning on a full stomach, you never know how long it’s going to take so you should always be in good condition.” Y/N explains, cleaning the plates they’d just used to eat.

“How did you get your powers?” Wanda asked, warily, getting her powers wasn’t the best experience of her life and she’d hate to know something similar had happened to Y/N.

Drying up the plates, Y/N leans against the counter and faces her, “They run in the family.. sort of .. I mean, everyone on my mums side has some kind of fascination with the supernatural, but I’ve by far shown the most power in generations, apparently.”

Hearing that put a smile on Wanda’s face, she was glad it was something that came naturally to Y/N and that they could so easily embrace it.

Done with the washing, Y/N held an arm out for Wanda, her gladly taking it, and the two walked side by side ready for another attempt.

Y/N found themself once again in the place they'd now dubbed their own personal blue hell. They shivered, fiddling with the fraying hem of their sleeves and looked around. It was empty, of course, it always was. Occasionally they'd accidentally summon someone, but sensing that they weren't wanted, they often left quickly.

"Pietro?" Y/N yells, cupping their mouth to try enhance the sound of their voice, it was no use, "Wanda misses you.."

They were yet to find a buzz word to pique the spirits attention.

After a few more minutes of waiting, Y/N sat down, they sighed exaggeratedly,

"Quick bastard, powers probably made him move realms quicker too.." They muttered angrily in defeat, about to begin their process to return back to Wanda.

Just as they closed their eyes, Y/N felt a sudden gush of air pass them, jumping, they looked around. Nothing.

Groaning, Y/N put their head in their hands, at this point they were just being teased.

Another gush of wind went by and Y/N swore.

There was one final gush, stopping when a bright light stood in front of Y/N. It was impossible to make out what, or rather who, it was, no features discernable through the blue light that shone out the figure, so bright Y/N had to cover their eyes.

After a few seconds, Y/N knew they needed to question it, ".. Pietro..?"

The figure moved, tilting its head and trying to speak back, but just like everyone else here, it was distorted and hard to make out.

The longer Y/N looked at the figure, the less it began to shine, features becoming more readable.

Just as its face was finally revealed, Y/N only just catching a glimpse of its face, they awoke back in Wanda's room, the red-head leaning over them with a worried expression.

"Y/N!" She exclaimed, helping them sit up and handing them tissues, it was only then that they realised their nose had been bleeding, "I was so worried." She kept her hands on their shoulders.

Y/N looked at her confused, tilting their head in question.

"I—.. You, you starting shaking and mumbling something, then your nose started bleeding," She looked down nervously, "I've been trying to wake you up for ages, nothing was working.."

She was clearly distressed, her hair a mess from running her hands through it and tears brimming her eyes.

"Wanda..." Y/N pulled the girl into a tight hug, "it's okay, I'm fine," They reassured.

Wanda sniffled and pulled back, "We.. We should stop trying to do this.. I don't want it to hurt you." She says sternly after calming down.

Though disheartened by the comment, Y/N knew it was coming, Wanda’s one condition from the start had been that they stop immediately should something go wrong.

As Wanda and Y/N had feared in their heads, they didn’t seem to speak as much since stopping the seances. It was weird, like something had changed, Y/N would try make conversation with Wanda but she’d only give them a guilty sort of look and make an excuse to leave the interaction.

It started to frustrate Y/N after a while but they didn’t want to push her, they knew they never should of suggested summoning Pietro, it would only bound to cause more heartbreak for the poor girl. Knowing this, they wanted nothing more to fix it; they never wanted to go against Wanda’s wishes, but they were just so close the last time they tried and knew that they couldn’t give up till they succeeded.

A week later, Y/N was content, but clearly exhausted, they would try summon Pietro’s spirit often, thinking that they could surprise Wanda, but they’d gotten so used to trying with her by their side offering comfort that it know became difficult to carry out this ritual alone. By now they'd accepted that perhaps this one spirit was just too far gone to bring back.

Reluctantly, contradictory to their original plan of letting Wanda approach them first, Y/N decided they needed to say something. They refused to go see her empty handed though, they made her an overly extravagant mug of hot chocolate in order to satiate her sweet tooth. Besides, it was much better to talk over a drink.

Opening her door after knocking was awkward, making a mug for themself too, the whip cream and marshmallows piled high, Y/N had no hands free. This caused them to need to do an awkward elbow maneuver with the door handle, the drinks threatening to spill. Wanda gave Y/N a funny look for a second, questioning their difficulty to open the door, before noticing the two mugs in their hands and quickly made her way over to them to take them.

“It’s just the way you like it..!” Y/N says, looking down at the floor and grimacing at where some of the hot chocolate had stained right outside of Wanda’s room; they’d have to remember to clean that up later if a janitor didn't get to it first.

Wanda smiles, humming, she thanks Y/N and puts the drinks down. The two sip on them awkwardly for a minute, unsure of what to talk about without addressing the elephant in the room. The two of them seemed to think alike, breaking the silence in unison,

“I missed you.”

Both seemed shocked by the others words, eyes widening and cheeks dusting a warm hue, before laughing. 

Wanda held her hand out for Y/N and they took it, hands resting intertwined on the coffee table, “I’m sorry for avoiding you, I just... seeing you like that.. I felt like it was my fault.”

Guilt pang in Y/N’s chest and they shook their head, giving Wanda’s hand a comforting squeeze, “It’s my fault, I should know my limits, I do know my limits, but I decided to exceed them anyway. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Maybe,” Wanda starts, a teasing undertone in her voice which lightens the mood, “You could take me out to apologies?” 

The suggestion alone was enough to knock the wind out of Y/N, they did a double take before finally bringing themself to respond, “Like a.. like a date..?”

“If that’s what you want.” God, this girl could be the death of Y/N.

“You know, this whole time I’ve been berating myself in my head for liking you.” Y/N chuckles, letting Wanda in on the secret, knowing from her amused expression that she had been doing the same, “so, its a date then?”

A wide smile spread across their face being able to say that, widening further as Wanda nods in confirmation. This whole time Y/N had thought the only way they’d be able to get to Wanda’s heart was to bring her brother back, that ended up not being the case at all. 

They realised when thinking this, zoning out, they’d been staring at Wanda this whole time, who looked back at them with a bright red blush across her face, the sight was almost too adorable for Y/N to handle.

Wanda looked at her and Y/N’s joined hands and then back to their eyes, “Could I.. kiss you?” she asks catching Y/N off guard, “To seal the agreement to our date!” She adds on flustered, the line sounding much smoother in her head than it did aloud.

Y/N didn’t seem to catch the awkwardness in her words, nodding enthusiastically, then toning it down quickly thinking that it was too much, and lent forwards, Wanda doing the same.

They closed their eyes, tilting their head to the side in order to not ruin the moment by accidently bumping noses or heads.

As their lips touched, everything felt just right, it was like electricity and fireworks, like the perfect first kiss every book seemed to describe. It was like a gush of fresh air, and as the two pulled away they gave each other matching coy smiles. Fully invested in each other, it was like nothing else existed around them. Maybe that’s why they failed to notice a new addition to the room.

A fake gagging sounds comes from behind the two, causing them to jump and quickly look for the source of it. Like the realm Y/N had traveled to many times before, this figure was blue, but now in the realm of the living it wasn’t as bright nor did it sound so distorted. It took a second, but the two finally realised what, or rather who, was in Wanda’s room; Pietro.

Wanda gasped, letting go of Y/N’s hand and standing up, hesitantly approaching Pietro who gave her a smug smile. The two looked at each other for a while before going in for a hug, Pietro spinning Wanda around. Y/N’s heart warmed at the sight , though it also frustrated them a bit, if they’d known all it would take to summon him was to get with Wanda, they would have made a move much sooner.

Y/N got up and nervously stood behind Wanda, not wanting to say anything and ruin their reunion. Tears brimmed in Wanda’s eyes, but this time they could tell they were from happiness. She stepped away from Pietro and put a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm.

“So you two are a thing now?” Pietro questions, crossing his arms and giving Y/N the classic look of an over protective brother who would kill them should they hurt Wanda. Looking back at Pietro, Y/N noticed he was still slightly transparent, he wouldn’t be able to keep up a physical form in this realm for long.

Wanda looked down, blinking away her tears and looking back up with a smile on her face, corners of her mouth quivering slightly, “You didn’t see that coming?” She uses Pietro’s catchphrase against him, voice wavering slightly as she does so. Hand still on Y/’N’s arm, she lead them and Pietro back over to the table, the three would have a lot to talk about till Pietro had to leave once again.

Taglists;

Wanda Maximoff Taglist — @tatesimper

#wanda maximoff x reader #Marvel x reader #Scarlet witch x reader #Wandavision #Mcu #Avengers #Pietro Maximoff #Quicksilver #One shot #Headcanon #Imagine #Drable #Elizabeth olsen x reader #Gender neutral reader #Male reader

[smol-and-grumpy]

What I Want Most - Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean’s life has been all work and no play lately. When Gabe, his friend, coerced him into tagging along to a club, he couldn’t say no as Gabe has been pestering him for a while now. What Dean didn’t expect was that he’d meet his match in that club in the form of a stunning woman with underlying daddy issues.

Warnings: Daddy kink, a smidge of angst, teasing

Word Count: 2875

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

“Please take a seat,” 

Mrs. Mills shows Y/N where she should be sitting, and it’s right next to Dean.

Fuck.

She’s going to be the one competing with him?

This is ridiculous.

And in that moment, Dean just knows that he’s fucked.

He could easily handle another male competitor. Hell, he wouldn’t have any problems with female competitors either because they’re even easier to wrap around his fingers. But her? 

Shit.

Dean wants to rub over his face so bad. Wants to pinch his eyes. Maybe they betray him? Maybe his mind only wants him to see what he really wishes to see.

This is a bad dream right? How is he supposed to be working with and against someone who he knows the taste of? Someone who he knows likes to be fucked hard and swallows his cum like it’s the best fucking thing? Someone who lets him come deep inside so she’d be dripping him for days? 

Jesus.

Dean has to bite down on his bottom lip so as not to make a sound. 

He just imagined her still dripping his cum. He shoved two loads deep inside that sweet cunt. The chances are high that she’s still leaking him.

His dick stirs uncomfortably at the image in his head. It also doesn’t help that he catches a whiff of her perfume when she walks past him. It intoxicates his brain. 

She’s standing there right next to him and it feels so familiar, yet so painful. 

“Mr. Winchester?” 

Her voice penetrates his thoughts, jerks him back to reality and Dean scrambles himself out of his seat to stand up because that’s the correct thing to do, right? Fucking etiquette. If it was up to him he’d had her over his knees and spank the shit out of her for not telling him where her new workplace is.

Y/N’s holding out a hand for him to shake and he takes it, feeling the electric current traveling up his arm as soon as he touches her. 

Call me daddy, he wants to say, but doesn’t. Instead, he forces out a smile, “Call me, Dean,” 

“Right,” She says with a nod, “Dean. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” 

That’s something he really means and there’s just a brief moment of eye contact before she looks away, pulling her hand out of his grip. Too soon for his liking but he reacts fast, pulls up the chair for her to sit on. 

“Thank you,” She smiles and Dean can read that. It’s one that says that she’s not entirely sure about Dean’s motives. Not sure if Dean is angry or not. 

He’s not really angry if he thinks about it. At least not at her. At fate maybe, but she hasn’t done anything wrong. 

They sit and listen to what the bosses have to say but Dean couldn’t concentrate. He watches her out of the corner of his eyes. Her business persona is very different from the playful baby girl that came on her daddy’s cock, came on Dean’s cock. But he likes the professionalism of her too. Like, she’s all tough and serious, is a fucking good girl indeed. She’s even taking fucking notes!

She’s really in for the win, and Dean wonders if he should tell them that he doesn’t even want the promotion that fucking much. But again, where’s the fun in that, right? Because yeah, it could be fun working with her, against her, over her, under her, buried deep inside of her, even though it would also be pure torture.

Finally, the bosses have stopped talking and disappear with the promise of sending them the schedule of their project support meetings for the weeks ahead.

However, Dean’s heart jumps when he sees her wanting to stand up and leave too, but then Mrs. Mills tells her to stay behind and get acquainted with Dean and he watches her sitting back down in her chair. Yeah, thank you very much for that, Mrs. Mills.

As soon as the bosses have gone, Dean stands up and the pushing back of his chair makes the metal screech along the floor. She squints. 

“Jesus, Y/N!” He hisses as he walks the two steps to stand behind her, “Why didn’t you tell me where you’re going to be working?”

“Well,” She says but she doesn’t look up to him, instead she keeps her eyes trained on her notebook, “In my defense, I didn’t know, okay? I knew that it was a Dean but I didn’t know that it was going to be fucking you!” 

He leans down, braces one of his hands on the back of her chair. His other one is on the table while he practically cages her in. From here her scent is even more alluring. It does things to him that he can’t even explain. Partly, it makes him want to eat her up alive.

Dean noses at her hair, inhales deeply, doesn’t care if she thinks he’s a freak because let's be honest here, they’re both fucking nasty and he thinks that they’ve established that. 

“Why did you leave without a word?” He asks in a low voice. 

She goes still, doesn’t even breathe as far as he can tell.

Slowly, she tilts her head around and their noses almost touch. It would be easy, so easy for him to kiss her but he doesn’t. Instead, he stares her down but he wasn’t prepared that she’d stare back. 

God, she looks absolutely gorgeous. His dick twitches in his pants because his dick fucking remembers.

“I didn’t think it was more than a one night stand, Dean,”

“Well, it probably wouldn’t have been if you wouldn’t have left.”

He can’t believe his own words. But it’s the truth. The girls he takes home are never more than a one night stand and yet, he can’t explain why he thinks that she is more than that. Can’t explain why his cock, his body, his mind, his fucking heart wants her so much. He might also sound like he’s hurt and maybe he is. And it’s not even her fault. Dean should have made himself clearer after he tucked her into bed but he was just fucking exhausted and by the way she was too, he thought that she’d sleep longer than he would.

“What would you have done, Dean?” She asks, her voice a whisper because they’re still so close, “I don’t think any good would have come of it if I had I stayed.” 

“I don’t know,” He shakes his head. His mind raced at the question. Yeah, what would he have done?

He grins, “I would have maybe fucked you again, because goddamnit, I can not forget how your sweet cunt clenched around my fat cock,” 

Y/N’s tongue darts out, wets her lips and Dean replicates it. 

“Dean,”

“I just knew that it wasn’t a one time thing for me, okay? I knew right before I fell asleep that I wanted to see you again. There was hope in my fucking heart that I would get to make you come again. I hoped that I would fucking see you again. I fucking hoped that you’d still be there when I woke up, that you would let me treat you right, that you’d fucking let me bring you home, take you out, the whole shebang,”

“It wasn’t just a one night stand for you?”

“No!” He’s still leaning close and smashed his fist on the table, making her flinch, “Jesus Christ! I thought I just said that?”

“You mean you want to carry on with the fling?”

“It’s not just a fl—” He lowers his head, rests his forehead on her shoulder, “God, you know what? Forget it… but yeah, I want to carry on. More than anything,” He mumbles. 

“But—”

“Yeah,” He huffs out, “This is going to be hard,”

“We’re adults, we should be able to work together.” She whispers softly. Too soft, and he can hear it, can hear the longing she has because he feels fucking same.

“Should we?” He asks, just to make sure. Adulting seems to be fucking hard right now.

“Yeah,”

“Goddammit,” Dean curses under his breath, “Do you know how hard it is for me to pretend nothing happened? How hard it is to fucking pretend that I don’t want to bend you over the next surface and fuck you senseless? Do you have any idea how all I want right now is to feel your sweet pussy around my dick again and I had to fucking jerk myself off last night with the image of you on top of me and hearing you call me daddy over and over again?”

“You did?” There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah,” He frowns, but he chuckles afterward.

“How hard is it?” She asks, raises one eyebrow at him. She looks absolutely cocky.

“Jesus,” Dean growls, and it’s time, he can’t hold himself back anymore. He moves forward, catches her lips. The familiar feeling is there again, the way she presses closer, the way she fucking lets him kiss her. He breaks the kiss only to murmur “So fucking hard, baby girl,” against her lips.

She laughs, and Dean doesn’t really want to part from that sweet fucking mouth, but he knows that he has to. They’re at work for god’s sake. Reluctantly, he pulls himself off her but not before he pulls her bottom lip between his, gives them a little suck and a bite, just to hear her moan against his mouth.

  Somehow, they have managed to agree that it’s work first and play later. It doesn’t help that while the bosses see how she’ll be holding up, they just put another desk into Dean’s office. So now, they are sharing offices too. 

It doesn’t help her sanity, to be honest, but apparently, she’s been holding up better than he does. Dean has been avoiding her since the meeting, doesn’t want to be too close, and she knows the reason why and it’s really amusing to her.

*

In the afternoon, Y/N’s working on a project while Dean was at a meeting and she needed binders from the shelf, so she took off her shoes and rolled her chair to the bookshelf to get to the top one. 

Pulling out one binder, she rifles through it to see if the numbers she needs are in there when Dean walks in.

He was so quick to be by her side, holding her chair for her while balancing his laptop in his other hand and he curses under his breath, “Jesus, Y/N, that’s not fucking safe. Next time take a chair without wheels, okay?”

It’s really cute how he cares, she can’t lie about that. But she wouldn’t be who she is if she didn’t find things to rile him up.

“Yes, daddy,” She whispers with that grin that’s more than mischievous and he groans audibly while he rolls his eyes to the back of his head.

He’s faking annoyance but he’s not letting go of that chair she’s standing on, holding it for her and she thinks he takes the opportunity to look at her ass too because, when she finishes, he turns away, taking wide strides to his desk and maybe she’s wrong but his legs were bowed more than they usually are.

 *

 It’s only late afternoon now, and she’s working across from him. She’s distracted while she reads over the schedule they just sent her. 

Oh god. There it is. The warm feeling of something running out of her. 

It’s Dean’s cum.

And even though she cleaned herself thoroughly it still keeps leaking out. Just how much did he come? Seriously. 

“Did you get the schedule?” Dean asks from behind his monitor. 

“Yeah,” She almost squeals because of the warm feeling, and now his cum is pooled in her panties.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,”

Dean gets suspicious, stands up behind his desk to peak over, “You sure?”

“It’s nothing you want to know,” She mumbles, her hands going over the mouse to open up her schedule.

“Why do you think I don’t want to know?” He asks and now he’s walking around his desk to come stand next to her. He’s at least semi-hard because his pants are bulging. She can see it even better when he’s not wearing his suit jacket. Well, to be fair, that thing is hard not to notice. 

“Because,” She states, “It’s not going to help you,” 

“Well, there’s obviously something that makes you feel uncomfortable and if it’s me, I need to know,” 

“Dean, stop!” She groans, “Your cum just leaked out of me, okay? It’s nothing. Are you happy now that you know it?”

He rubs a hand over his face, the scruff sounds loud in the otherwise quiet office, “Jesus, this is torture! I can not fucking work like this!” He throws his hands in the air and shakes his head and turns 360° around for the dramatic effect.

Y/N cocks an eyebrow and shrugs, “You wanted to know,”

Dean leans down then, one hand cups her face, thumb brushing over her cheek, “I know, I’m sorry, baby,” He kisses her, teeth nibbling along her lip, just a little, not even long enough but it already leaves her wanting more, “You’re making this really hard for me,” 

Chuckling, she cocks an eyebrow at him, “How hard?” 

A groan leaves his lips, “You’re a bratty little thing, ain’t you?”

She shrugs.

“One day, I’m gonna spank you raw,” Dean says as he turns around to walk back to his desk.

“Don’t promise what you can’t keep... daddy,” She calls after him and there’s another groan when he lets his weight help him to flop down into his chair.

 *

 Dean left earlier than her. Well, it wasn’t exactly early as it’s now 7.00 PM and she still has her presentation open which she is going to hold on Wednesday morning. It will be her first presentation before a bigger audience. Not really the big bosses but some who will attend are at least a level higher than her. She really wants to make it right, but also she knows that there’s no forcing it. Her head hurts from all the numbers she tries to put on the presentation and maybe Dean’s right, maybe she needs a distraction. Tomorrow will be another day. 

By 7.45 PM she reaches home. Well, the apartment looks pretty sad to be honest. She didn’t have the energy to do a lot of unpacking and there are still boxes standing around. And well, Dean said that he hated the way she left, but what he doesn’t know is that she hated it too. She just thought it was the best for both of them.

It was particularly hard to have left because it seemed like they have so much in common. It might be weird because they didn’t spend a lot of time getting to know each other and the majority of that time was spent fucking but sometimes, when it clicks, it just does and you know it. And with Dean, there was that level of familiarity when she first saw him. Something she hasn't encountered in a very long time.

Y/N takes her heels off by the door, shedding clothing on her way to the bathroom in desperate need of a shower. It’s to clean herself, but also to cool herself down. The day has been a roller coaster ride and even though Dean had a harder time to conceal his emotions, she can’t lie that it was easy for her either. She was constantly leaking throughout the day, sometimes more, sometimes less. And then there’s Dean who occasionally comes so close to her from behind and she has automatically gotten wetter from the feeling of his firm body pressed against hers. Taking off her panties in the bathroom, she takes a look at her crotch. They are truly ruined. It’s white and sticky and still damp. 

 *

 After the shower, she walks out with her hair still wet and a towel around her body, and even though she knows that she should leave work behind, she can’t really help but to check her phone to see if there has been an email. Maybe there’s something that she’s forgotten to do today, maybe someone is still waiting for an answer to their question. People seldom stop working once they leave the office in the financial world. Yet, it’s a world she chose to be in and she has gotten used to it.

As soon as she lights up the screen of her phone to look at it, she has to grin. There are no emails but there are texts from a number she doesn’t recognize.

Thumbing over her screen, she opens them up.

Oh, no.

How did he get her number? 

Instead of being upset, though, she can’t help but grin.

D: Here’s the thing, baby girl

D: I want you to pack the things you need for work tomorrow and come by asap

D: Don’t wear pants. Wear a skirt, no underwear

Chapter Three

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#what i want most #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

[myketheartista]

The Masquerade: How They Came To Be

This is a small headcanon type of thing that I thought of the morning after the stream, so I’m obviously obsessed with these two so much to the point where I made lore for how Sir Billiam and his butler met. To make things easier on myself, I just called the butler Ranboo since I didn’t want to mess too much with canon by giving him a new name. 

***Warnings: Light violence, mentions of killing/death, manipulation (from the egg, but just thought I’d include it just in case)***

**Please remember that this is not canon. I took some liberties and assumed a few things based on prior knowledge. Oh, and don’t take things out of context. This is NOT shipping, and I’m putting this here because I know some people will question the way I write them interacting. I don’t condone any shipping with Ranboo or Techno, and that goes for any and all characters they play.

Please enjoy! And leave your thoughts if you’d like :)

Billiam finds the egg. Builds the mansion around it to keep it safe and hidden because it seems like something bizarre enough that could earn him a good sum of money. Sell pieces of it, get rich, live a long, good life swimming in wealth.

He wants to see what it does too, but the more time he spends with it, the more corrupts his mind becomes. Soft whispers that scratch at the walls of his head, telling him to give-- give himself, give others, just give to the egg. And in the beginning stages, it isn’t so bad. He just sees the egg as something valuable. Value slowly transitions into a sort of obsession. He must protect it, feed it, take care of it so no one else will hurt it. If he helps the egg, it’ll help him.

So when he finds a young boy wandering through the endless sea of trees surrounding his estate, he grows a bit defensive. It’s just some random kid, an inch or two shorter than Billiam with messy chocolate brown hair and a dazed look in his eyes (Oh, and he’s definitely lower than a commoner, just look at the mess he is!). Tattered clothes, no shoes, patches of dirt dusting his face and hands; he’s an awful sight. But a peculiar one at best with the notable pointed ears and extra set of canines fitted snug next to the original pair. Whatever he is, Billiam knows that he isn’t a threat, and he can recognize that much through the fog clouding his brain telling him to get rid of this unwelcomed stranger. More than anything, he pities him, and a frown crosses his lips when he tries to get some answers out of the kid, but he’s met with a confused tilt of the head and awkward silence. Well, by observing his overall condition, Billiam concludes that he has no where to go.

So...he takes him in. Not because he cares! He really shouldn’t and doesn’t care for someone of such low status, but seeing Ranboo scarf down a whole plate of whatever Billiam could find along with some cake and a few glasses of water makes him feel a bit uneasy...about- about how much food he can eat, yes, of course. If he’s going to be staying here, he can’t go around eating everything they have. He’ll have to set some ground rules for this new guest. Such as throwing out those old clothes and giving him one of his own dress shirts and a well-made vest he never ended up wearing. Ranboo asks him for help with his tie much too often, and that’s something that should aggravate him, (inability to do anything on his own, how annoying) but he finds himself walking Ranboo through the process each time he’s called for. All the while, as he helps this kid learn the ropes and shows him around, those harsh whispers demand he stop. Get rid of him. He stares at Ranboo, the boy who can’t even speak the language of this planet, can’t remember where he came from, hates eye contact and taking showers, doesn’t even know what he is, and he wonders how the egg could even tell him to kill someone as innocent as him.

Billiam decides he’ll be his butler. Ranboo doesn’t protest since he doesn’t even know what a butler is, but he agrees without complaint. Some conversation over dinner that turned into a fake contract that neither of them signed, but Billiam made the deal that Ranboo can stay if he does his part which was simply obeying him when he asked for the butler. This...quickly got out of hand. Whenever there’s a party and a handful of guests crowd through the front doors, Billiam makes it known that he has a butler, and a very bad one at that. Calls him in that sing-song voice and requests he fetch their new arrivals some wine only to degrade him and claim he’s going a week without food afterwards. Ranboo really doesn’t mind, partially because he can’t even refuse or talk back due to the limitations of his knowledge of the unfamiliar language of this place, but he’s also become a bit dedicated to serving Billiam. The man practically saved his life and gave him everything he could want. When he is allowed to speak, he’s always asking how many words since that’ll guide him towards forming a more accurate sentence with letters and syllables he’s not used to. More often than not, he sticks to humming his responses to make it easier on himself. Even then, there’s not much to worry about. He’s bad with social interaction and the guests rarely pay attention to him, so he often hides in the corner as they all participate in their games and conversations regarding the economy. The more he excludes himself, the more he misses the frequent disappearances of the guests. He never questions Billiam where they went, why they left so early into the evening, why the mansion has terrible lighting problems, (they should get that fixed, it’s quite troublesome) he just enjoys the eventual peace and quiet that fills their home once everyone is gone. 

The parties increase throughout the months that Ranboo resides there. It’s exhausting being a butler when all he’s required to do is follow people’s orders-- how does Billiam do it? He’s the one who hosts them, greets everyone, plans the festivities and everything. He should ask him about that sometime. Instead of pestering him, he finds himself watching from the stairs as Billiam catches up with yet another group of friends. Hm...why doesn’t he just invite the same people over? Being rich must make you a lot of friends. But these people seem snobby and annoying. Ranboo doesn’t like them very much. He prefers to stay the way he is, and if that means he remains a “commoner”, then so be it. Billiam, on the other hand, doesn’t mind stepping into a new character every time he hosts one of these masquerades. The weird airy sound to his voice makes him appear friendlier, more trustworthy, but it always makes Ranboo put a fist to his mouth to stifle his laughter. It’s utterly ridiculous and almost childish, but it’s entertaining nonetheless.

He enjoys the soft conversations they share in their far too big of a home when things are back to normal (And when did he start calling it their home?). They usually pass the time by Ranboo asking questions and Billiam responding to the best of his ability which makes him seem smarter than he probably is. But for someone who can’t seem to remember where they came from or how to communicate, Ranboo is grateful for anything Billiam can give him.

So one night, when he thinks they’ve grown close enough to where Ranboo can consider them friends, he wanders the mansion to find Billiam-- wants to ask him something, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s been months since he’s lived here, and he thinks he knows every nook and cranny of the mansion but…the longer he stares at that duplicate of a spider painting Billiam apparently commissioned someone to make despite the same painting hanging just a few feet over, he starts to feel an itch in the back of his mind. And when he finds the courage to move it aside, finds a secret entrance to a room he’s never seen before, he’s honestly baffled. The atmosphere of the room makes him feel off, and that itch starts to grow, manifests into a voice trying to peel through his thoughts and gain control. It makes him feel...uncomfortable…wrong. And when he sees Billiam standing at the end of the room, back facing him while he stares at a large red mass with vines trailing off of it, up the walls and across the floor tangling around Billiam’s feet, that discomfort shifts to something a little colder. He wanders into the room with light feet and a dry mouth, struggling to get his voice to work.

“Sir?”

The word doesn’t feel as foreign as other words do since it’s the one thing he’s gotten the hang of saying. He sees the visible tension build in Billiam’s shoulders and watches him turn around slowly to look at him, a chill trickling down his spine when he spots the sword in his hand. He gets no response, just a rather lifeless stare from Billiam. He speaks up again.

“Sir, what are you doing?”

It’s as if he was stuck in some sort of trance cause in an instant, a soft smile breaks out onto Billiam’s face and he gestures at Ranboo.

“What wonderful timing! Come closer, I’d like to show you something.”

Ranboo feels strange, but he pushes down the crippling sensation of dread pooling in his stomach and walks up to settle next to Billiam. He feels the light touch of a hand on his back, tensing up as he stares at the oddly shaped...something before them.

“What is this?”

Billiam looks so giddy when he hears the question.

“It’s the egg.”

And Ranboo breaks away from the “egg” to stare at Billiam.

“Pardon?”

Billiam looks at him, and it’s now that Ranboo notices the glint in his eye, the way his once brown irises swirl with red, and the look he gives him reminds him of the expression he wore when they first met.

Pity.

“My dear butler, it’s the egg! It’s a truly magnificent thing, is it not?”

And Ranboo can only stare awkwardly between the egg and the man who he’s lived with all of his life because what the hell is he going on about?

“I, uh,... I don’t seem to understand.”

Billiam’s expression softens, still holding that little ounce of pity that Ranboo has begun to dislike.

“You’ll understand soon enough. Come.”

And the hand on his back gently pushes him forward, guiding him as they walk, and Ranboo feels his heels involuntarily drag against the stone floor, putting up some resistance. That pool of dread begins to manifest into something else. An icy, prickling puddle of fear. Billiam is putting himself behind him as Ranboo draws closer to the egg, and the whispering only grows louder, clawing at his brain and sending a jolt of pain to his skull as it screams at him. It’s becoming too much, it hurts, but Billiam’s hand seems to latch onto the back of his vest, twisting and pushing him downwards just inches from the egg to where he’s on his knees and his hands are planted on the cold concrete below him. He realizes, as goosebumps trail up his arms and his eyes begin to sting, that he’s never quite felt fear before up until now. He doesn’t like it too much. All he can do is stare at the red in front of him, watch as the little vines underneath his hands sprout up from the cracks of the floor and curl around his fingers. The grip on his vest tightens, and he’s painfully reminded who’s doing this to him.

“Do you hear it?”

He just nods, exhaling shakily and struggling to take in any air as the panic settles inside of his chest.

“It’s loud.” He voice wavers as it comes out weak and afraid, and he hears Billiam hum, pleased with the answer.

“What’s it saying?”

And he can’t respond because he doesn’t know, it’s speaking a language he’s never heard, he can’t translate it. He feels the urge to hurt, to kill, to follow, to obey, feels fingers digging into his brain and pulling him forward as if he understands what it’s saying after all, but it all seems like gibberish to him. He feels nothing but everything at once. The grip on his vest tugs lightly, and he swallows thickly.

“I...I don’t know.” 

He can practically feel the disappointment radiating off of Billiam when he gives the answer, and he suddenly regrets saying anything at all. He hears Billiam shift and the grip loosens by just a hair.

“Is he not worthy?” Billiam mutters to himself, but…it sounds like it’s directed to someone. Some thing. Ranboo doesn’t know, but it’s said so quietly and sounds…sad. After a few seconds of silence and Ranboo watching those tiny red vines curiously curl even more around his fingers and onto his hand in an attempt to travel up his wrist, he feels the hand leave his back. A sigh escapes him, and he goes to push himself off of the ground to sit on his knees, but a sharp pain quickly replaces the hand, breaking through the layers of fabric and grazing the skin of his back. A strangled noise crawls out of his throat and he ducks his head, trying to arch his back away from the tip of the sword angled towards him.

“Sir?” He sounds so pathetic, so desperate, he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions but he feels like he’s about to be killed by the man who took him in and that’s certainly not settling well in his stomach. Billiam remains silent and that’s what scares him because silence doesn’t seem like a good thing, especially in a situation such as this. The silence lasts for what seems like minutes, but he hears a frustrated huff come from behind him and the sword disappears from his back right when he thinks it’ll slip through him.

“Stand up.”

Ranboo is quick to obey, ignoring the trembling in his legs and wringing his hands together to calm the light shaking that’s taken over them. He hesitantly turns to look at Billiam who’s staring back at him with those red eyes that seem a bit duller this time around. He wants to back away when Billiam moves towards him, but his feet refuse to move and a hand comes down on his shoulder, gentle and somewhat comforting despite the situation.

“You don’t feel anything?”

It seems like he’s desperate now, looking for an answer that will settle the uncertainty bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, and red eyes beginning to lose their glow. Somewhat back to normal. Ranboo pauses for a long moment, hesitant, terrified, legs shaking and throat closing up at the thought of what Billiam will do if he receives an answer he isn’t particularly fond of.

“...No.”

It takes his entire body to force the word out because even though he was on his knees moments ago, pleading that he’d wake up, that this was just a very intense dream where everything felt too real for his liking, somewhere deep down he believes Billiam won’t be mad and kill him right where he stands. That expression only reassures him because it’s coming from the only person he knows to trust.

Billiam sighs again and looks down, a bit defeated, maybe even confused because what is he to do now? He can’t even go through with sacrificing this kid he’s grown a damn attachment to and that’s a problem. If he isn’t the one to admit it, the egg is there to remind him. His hand slides down Ranboo’s arm, hanging limply by his side as his voice grows quiet.

“Do you trust me?”

And Ranboo doesn’t have anything else to say but the immediate “Yes.” that follows. Billiam looks up at him, a bit surprised but gaze a tad softer than it was before.

“What was your name again?”

Ranboo’s hands wring together some more, and he mindlessly picks at the vines that have embedded themselves into his skin. He goes to speak, but his tongue falls differently against the roof of his mouth and clicks against his teeth in a way that Billiam won’t understand. And even though that ends up being true, Billiam still smiles at him and a trickle of warmth spreads throughout Ranboo’s chest.

“Just do as I say, and you’ll be fine.”

Ranboo can’t find it in him to defy what Billiam says.

So when he gives him the sword and tells him to kill the guests that enter their home, he does so without question. He follows his commands as gentle as they are, and he listens to the garbled whispering brushing the edges of his mind. And if his eyes appear a bit redder when he goes to look in the mirror, he doesn’t bring it up to Billiam. He still picks at those little red vines that have melded into his skin as he watches the larger vines of the egg curl around the bodies he’s dragged to this secret room, hidden away from any curious eyes. And throughout the ruthless killings and Ranboo’s slow descent into madness, Billiam continues to treat him the same way, apologizing later on for the small scar on his back. He simply shrugs the apology off and gives him a smile, dragging…what was his name again? James? The name rings a bell, but he disregards the vague feeling of guilt crawling its way into his chest and continues to drag him away by the legs.

Even when he goes back to get Karl and sees the edges of his body disintegrating into little white speckles of what looks like dust, he doesn’t question it or show Billiam. Delivers his body to the egg regardless of whatever strange deterioration Karl’s body was undergoing. Another party, another meal for the egg. As long as Billiam is happy, so is his loyal butler.

#headcanon machine goes brr #dsmp drabbles #dream smp #tales from the smp #sir billiam #ranbutler #technoblade #ranboo #mcyt #dsmp #dream smp fanfic #fanfic #long post #dream smp fic #tftsmp #AND THERE WE GO #took me a few days to edit it and make it pretty but #i just thought of this the morning after the stream and i just #LOST my mind #i just enjoy soft billiam taking this kid in and making him a butler #them being goofy and having almost a mentor and apprentice typa thing goin on #and i do think ranboo isnt as effected by the egg at first because i like the whole desire thing #ranboo doesnt have any immediate desires since he never knew WHAT to desire but #after ranboo discovers billiam with the egg i think his desire becomes to serve billiam to the best of his ability #so he begins that slow descent into madness as i said above #but yeah! i like the headcanon that ranboo is still part enderman in this period of time but #more human than anything #still six feet like irl ranboo bc billiam is pretty tall for bein piglin and all but #the only traits he really has are extra pointy teeth and pointed ears #his height is barely effected

[bansheeoftheforest]

Can we get some rambles about some Moreau's Revenge AU? Like more in deoth about how everyone reacts and feels? Maybe some Emma reaction? Jacob? The public? Does feral!Jekyll ever hurt anyone badly? Do he and Zosi play alot? Is Hyde still there, just trapped in the subconscious of Henry's mind? When he's back to himself, does he still maintain some of his feral behaviours? Does he slip into his feral state as a defense mechanism?

Ok i just gotta mention I love it when people come up with aus, thrust them onto me, and then tell me to come up with ideas/the canon for the aus, I'm not even sarcastic, I just love that everyone has collectively decided that I'm an au hoarder and therefore, I should have all the aus and I should also be the one making the content for them. I love my job and I love all my little kitties bringing me dead mice all the time <3

Also! I'm just going to ramble every single fact that my brain comes up with, and this is specifically going to be about the Feral!Branch of the au <3

Henry got kidnapped after walking home from a dinner with a few of his close friends. Moreau stalked him until Henry was alone, to which he knocked him out and dragged him off to his funky hideout.

It takes a whole month before people find Moreau's hideout. By that time Henry has already been severely beaten, his bones are broken and his body is bloody, yet that doesn't stop him from prowling his tiny cage. Much like an abused dog, he completely ignored his wounds or just made them worse by biting on them, or by trying to stand on his legs when the rescuers found him. Instead of cheering and being relieved, he snarled and growled and tried to swat at them with his claws.

The first four that got into the hideout were Brokenshire, the Commissioner, Jenkins, and Wipple. The four of them were already friends with Jekyll and they were the most worried. While the other police arrested Moreau, they took it upon themselves to find Henry.

They found Henry in a small labspace, laying on the floor while whimpering. The moment he saw them he became aggressive. The only indication that he really was not human anymore was his eyes, sharp teeth, claws, and pointier ears. Subtle changes that were enough to tell them that there was no awareness behind those large eyes.

The sound of pain and anger that Henry made when they had to muzzle him is a sound that will forever haunt every single police officer from that day forward. They had to cuff his arms and practically drag him to the police vehicle, despite the muzzle he managed to make his displeasure and pain quite clear.

They brought Henry to the Society immediately, and made sure that no one else saw him. They but a sheet over the cage they kept him in and told anyone who asked that it was a runaway monster that they were going to dump with the Lodgers. They made the Lodgers gather in the foyer before the revealed who actually was in the cage.

The Lodgers were, to say the least, shocked and horrified. Not only was Henry so badly beaten that he could barely stand by himself, but the way he snarled and swatted after them invoked such a... Uncanny feeling within them. It wasn't really until then they realized how serious all of this was, the whole situation with Moreau.

All Lodgers were absolutely disgusted with what Moreau had done to Henry, but Ito, Maijabi, Jasper (plus Rachel and Robert, of course) were the most affected. The police had to physically restrain them from rushing up to the cage because if Henry got close enough he would not hesitate to hurt them. Brokenshire and the Commissioner (God I swear to god I'm THIS close to oc-fying him oh my god) both have scratch marks from trying to get close and calm Jekyll.

The police helped the Lodgers move Henry to an empty lab room where he could be alone. They still kept him in a cage for quite a while, yet the moment that they had gotten him into the room, Robert completely burst out crying. He really could not believe that happened to his best friend, he is unsure if they even can save him, yet he swears to himself that he will make sure that Henry is safe. He was this close to decking an officer who, during a meeting that he attended at the police station with those present during the day of Henry's rescue, suggested that they put Henry in Bethlam.

Robert did not allow anyone to get into Henry's room, mostly for their own safety, and because he wanted to monitor Henry's recovery himself. No one really listened to that. Sometimes a Lodger (or a whole group) would sneak in just to have a look at him, or give him some treats or some kind of toy. Henry often found himself too exhausted and too wounded to try to chase them away, instead panting on the floor of his cage for most of the time while his visitors observed him with pure sorrow.

Ito, Maijabi, Jasper, and Rachel were the ones that visited Henry the most. Ito and Maijabi would often just sit a bit away from the cage and observe him for a bit, maybe try to talk to him, occasionally they would help steal food from the kitchen to give to Henry. Rachel and Jasper were put in charge of feeding him most of the time, and it was only when Rachel and Jasper threw in chicken in his cage that he let himself be distracted from them and stop snarling just so he could eat. All of them left with tears in their eyes most of the time.

All the Lodgers would be worried, all Lodgers would try to visit Henry, but out of them Ito and Maijabi had it worst. Maijabi felt like he was losing his son, Ito-- so often cold and honest-- had never cried so much in her life when seeing her mentor in such a state. They often comfort each other, and do their best to always be available to help Robert with whatever he needs.

Emma route: I imagine that Henry and Emma are already married at that point. She has been worried sick for Henry the entire time, the police stop by her and Henry's house immediately after dropping Henry off at the Society. She rushes to the Society and the Lodgers all seem so... Sad, horrified, she gets more and more scared and suddenly she sees Robert and Rachel and Jasper, all three looking pale and ill. She begs them to tell her where Henry is... Robert can't even get any words out of him. He simply shows her to the room where they are going to keep Henry and shows her Henry's cage. Poor man is still laying bloody on the floor, still in a muzzle, but he barely has any visible sclera from his dilated irises and his hair is wild. He lays like a beaten dog, he doesn't even react as Emma kneels on the floor outside his cage. Emma turns around and demands and explanation from Robert, Robert sits down on the floor next to her and quietly explains everything the police told him, what Moreau did to Henry. Robert hugs Emma as she just starts crying, but both leave quickly to not... Well, bother Henry, who grows impatient and starts rattling against the cage. Not only has she been incredibly scared and worried for her husband the entire month he was gone, now Henry seems so close and yet so far away and he doesn't even recognize her, he is beaten like a dog and thinks he is some sort of animal and it just... It all becomes so much for her. She leaves the Society and the Lodgers don't see her much after that, although she does come and visit almost every day (and whether or not people know that she does it, is an entirely different question) just to see her husband. Sometimes she will bring food (Henry always loved her cooking) or a toy for him, and she ends up being the first person that he actually allows to touch him voluntarily, despite Robert forcing himself on him so he can patch him up.

Jacob route: Jacob would find out because Abberline and or Brokenshire would tell him about the state they found Henry in. Jacob would probably hear the news that Moreau’s lab got busted and immediately make his way to the Scotland Yard and demand that the police tell him where Henry is. They would tell him as much as they are allowed to about the case, then tell him to go and talk to Robert Lanyon in the Society. Of course Jacob doesn’t do that, he just immediately breaks in and searches everywhere for Henry. Eventually Robert spots him parkouring over the rafters and chases him down until Jacob manages to find the room where they keep Henry. Jacob opens the door and immediately finds Henry tearing through an entire turkey leg, although he immediately abandons the food snarl and bark (or, well, the aggressive equivalent of a bark) at him and Robert, reaching his hand out of the cage in an attempt of tearing them to shreds. No recognition at all in his eyes, Jacob can only stare for a while. Henry looks the same yet so inhumane. Robert does his best to explain everything, Jacob can only watch in pure horror as he hears what became of his lover, seeing it right in front of him. He doesn’t even let Robert finish his sentence before he has already stormed out. He does not care what the police planned to do with Moreau, he goes straight to whatever cell they keep him in and murders him in cold blood. He doesn’t go back to the Society afterwards, no, he goes to the train hideout and hastily tells Evie and Green what happened to Henry, he spends the rest of the night drinking. Unlike the Lodgers and Emma, he stays away for quite a bit. He doesn’t return until a few days later when he has managed to pick himself up. He makes sure that the news and/or rumors of what happened to Henry dies down quicker than they can rise, sometimes he actually has the courage to visit him but only every few days. He gets to see first hand how Henry recovers-- physically, at least, and slowly and surely he starts warming up to having people near him. After only a few weeks, Henry allows Jacob to touch him. Something about him (and Emma in her route, of course) feels familiar, calm and protective. Henry puts his head in Jacob’s hand and Jacob quietly swears that he will always protect him, no matter how long this goes on for.

The public (even including the Lanyons and the Carews, and most parts of the Scotland yard) never get to know what actually happened to Henry, as the rescuers made a good job at making sure no news or rumors spread or that anyone saw Henry in the state he was in. As far as they are aware, Henry is currently in a coma, and slowly Robert feeds into the news, updating people around them about Henry’s condition. “He is stable”, he will say, “but I’m afraid it’s hard to know when he will wake up... If he ever will”. It’s safer to make it seem like he is unconscious rather than conscious because Robert knows that people (journalists, Lanyon Sr, Sir. Carew, etc) will demand to visit him. Once Henry is unferal, they let him decide when he wants the news of his “awakening” to be spread.

The worst Henry has hurt someone was either fighting back to Moreau (which didn’t happen often, as he was too scared of him), but I’d also like to imagine that besides scratching the officers, he bit and hurt Robert quite badly, either Robert or one of the Lodgers, because he got overwhelmed and stressed. Robert really does not blame him no matter how badly it hurt or how serious the wound got, he shouldn’t have overwhelmed him but in his defense, cat body language is hard to read on a human. A positive from that was that Henry clearly felt guilty afterwards when he calmed down, which might have been the first ever sign that Henry was “savable”, as he clearly felt bad over what he did rather than trying to finish the job. It was the first time he actually walked up to Robert and touched him-- headbutted him, even, because he felt so bad for what he did because Robert has only been nice to him. Robert was wrapping a bandage around his arm when Henry came up to him, gently chirping and headbutting him, and Robert straight up bawled his eyes out.

Zosi was literally the only living being that Henry allowed close to him for many, many days. Zosi was both undead and also an animal, which was the two things that Henry associated with safety after having found comfort with Moreau’s monstrosities. Zosi was quickly in charge of being the one to give Henry food and medicine since Henry would allow no one else to get close to his cage, and Zosi was in sole charge of keeping Henry entertained and happy and calm while Robert tried to figure out how to proceed with the treatment. Zosi was just happy to have Henry back, and Henry was happy to have a friend.

When Henry got tortured and lost his sense of awareness, Hyde faded away, but only temporarily. He is, as said, trapped in the mindscape for the time being and until Henry gets his awareness back. It’s quite a nightmare for Hyde because he is watching in real time, while also processing the trauma from Moreau, as Henry’s mind crumbles. Gone are the mind people, instead they are replaced by vague primal instincts and animal behaviors. It’s definitely not as serious as Hyde feels it is, as it’s a slow but sure recovery from a steady dip to awareness as soon as Henry is removed from the lab, but it’s still incredibly scary for him. Henry can’t see or hear him anymore, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to react or process him.

It takes almost about 1-3 months before Henry has warmed up to everyone, physically healed, and was able to get the therapy he needed to even become aware, yet he never got rid of the feralness in him. Whenever he is stressed, scared, or overwhelmed, he might jump back into pure feralness or get a few of the key characteristics; subtle physical and behavioral appearance, etc. Sometimes it’s hard for him to get out of it, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes all he has to do is calm down and relax, sometimes he has to sleep it off. Regardless, the Lodgers and his friends/love interests all do their best to keep Henry calmed and relaxed, and make sure he never has to endure as much stress as he did before and after what happened with Moreau. 

(Basically, he goes from full feral to what the Feral Au is rn)

The public never really gets to know about Henry’s... Ahem, condition, however, most seem to accept the excuse that Henry has terrible anxiety after his torture, ergo making it easy for his friends or lover/s to help Henry out of a room or a situation when he starts feeling overwhelmed and like he is about to turn feral. They are all calm and patient and loving and protective with him, every single one, and Henry is forever grateful for the patient they bring him.

Some random rambles btw:

Out of everyone that isn’t his lover for the branch, Henry’s favorite persons are Maijabi and Ito. Maijabi because he feels like his dad, Ito because the feral state in Henry sees her as his cub or pup, in some weird way. When Henry is docile, both Maijabi and Ito quickly learn that Henry very much loves attention and grooming his favorite persons.

I got the idea while writing the Emma route that maybe she was already pregnant by the time that Henry got kidnapped and turned feral, although it was early on in the pregnancy. I just love the angst of Emma wondering if she will lose her husband and if Henry will ever get to meet their child, and the thought of feral Henry freely being allowed to get close to Emma (they were all very worried about that) and immediately sniffing and headbutting her belly is just <3 (Also the thought of Henry almost immediately panicking when the kid is born and Emma wants him to hold him, suddenly his eyes dilate and his hair puffs up but it’s like a cat staring at something absolutely wonderful)

Surprisingly, Frankenstein was one of those who often would sneak into Henry’s room just to see him. In this crossover au, I’d imagine she’d be much more sympathetic for him. Maybe she would talk to him and apologize for bringing him into this at all, maybe she would even apologize for what she said and did to him personally.

I refuse to acknowledge a bad au branch for this one where Henry turns permanently feral and they either have to kill him or let him loose in the wild <3

#heheheheehoooo #ask #thejeksburyguy #moreau's revenge au #banshees au #feral au

[my-writings-and-musings]

hello! if you are taking requests, can you please do the oxygen loss prompt with megatron and whirl?

I did Whirl in part two, so I have Megatron here with a ridiculously long one and I hope that's okay! I added Thunderclash as well so I can keep my pattern of two because... I like patterns. I might be getting super into this prompt...

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Megatron

·You're in the ship's recently finished classroom organizing lesson plans on your own, having been working with Megatron to try and set up more structured class schedules on the growing list of topics he's begun to cover. You're thrilled he's found a kind of calling on the ship, especially one that seems to be allowing bots to see the side of him you know best. He's made it quite clear in his own way that your assistance in this endeavor means the world to him.

·He's on the bridge, scouting out potential locations for refueling on the next leg of the journey with the rest of the commanding officers. For once there's mostly cohesion in their efforts, and his insistence on choosing planets hospitable to humans is met with agreement, if not surprise. They're on schedule to finish early for a quiet afternoon off when everything turns to a level of chaos even the experienced crewmembers have to call extreme. The rumble that shakes the entire ship is one Megatron and experienced space travelers know well; they've been ambushed.

·You're nearly knocked off the desk you're standing on by the unexpected tremors. While you're trying to figure out what could possibly have caused the disturbance, a message is appearing up on the bridge, where alerts of failing systems and corrupted codes almost make it impossible to hear an alien captain decree an intent to storm the ship. Megatron attempts diplomacy before lives are lost, but the enemy makes it clear; this ship and its contents are more valuable than anything they could offer. While the captain notes their species has heard of the famed Lost Light and its crew, their hack of the security systems proved embarrassingly simple, and they look forward to the easy payoff from selling the scraps of the Cybertronians onboard!

·With communications down and systems struggling through an ongoing sabotage, Megatron still prepares to coordinate a defense, but is stopped before he can begin by a final taunt from their enemy. Their hack of the security cameras showed his fondness for his new pet, a homo sapien of all things, and thus his current concern should be for the atmospheric regulation instead of battle plans. But considering how many dead organics he's left in his wake, surely one more shouldn't perturb him too deeply, yes?

·The line goes dead just as the ship's alarm attempts to sound, signaling an impending attack before it too crashes with everything else. His fellow officers are moving to get defenses up however they can, preparing to get the resident tech experts on the job of restoring key systems while trying to plan a counterattack with no way to reach anyone. He's near to frozen as he tries to message you to no avail, the cruel mockery of the enemy cutting deep in ways words rarely do for him, if only because the implication terrifies him like nothing ever has; he's all but helpless to save you.

·Only experience and an undying determination allow him to break through the fog. Without asking for guidance or permission, he states his one intent; to rescue you however he can. If there are any objections, he does not hear them, and soon his pedes are tearing down the hallway to where he last saw you and prays he'll find you; the classroom. Oblivious to his rush, the only thing you're aware of is the fact that something is amiss, but you don't have a clue as to what. Between the tremor, the brief blare of the alarm and your inability to get your communicator running, you only know there's danger inbound.

·Not having much information to work with, you surmise that the classroom is probably not the safest place to hunker down, and recall that the medical and scientific wings aren't far. As the doctors on the ship have added human medicine to their repertoire, and are hardly defenseless, trying to get to them seems your greatest hope for securing yourself. Not wanting to panic, you push your supplies into a somewhat neat pile and climb down the small ladder that's been added to the desk for your sake. Somehow you don't find yourself at the top of your worries at all. Your thoughts center almost entirely on Megatron, who will undoubtedly be forced into whatever conflict might erupt, and even an unexpected staleness in the air around you hardly registers amidst your anxiety.

·Megatron is still too logical of a bot not to stop every crewmember he sees to give them a brief list of orders. He knows that, without a united defense and victory, there won't be any way you can be saved at all. So he takes the hindrance, though bots hardly take long to move when he issues a command. But his growing fear gnaws at him with a simple truth; without communication, he can't even be sure of your location, let alone your condition. Perhaps he's going the wrong way. Perhaps you're already beyond help. Perhaps you've already been discovered by the enemy. All he can do in the face of blinding terror is keep moving, keep coordinating, and keep hoping beyond reason that he'll be fortunate for once.

·You can't remember the classroom ever taking so long to cross, but that's hardly important, especially with your communicator still failing to function. Reaching Megatron would give you incredible comfort right now, if only to hear he's alright, yet that's obviously not going to happen. Honestly, it sounds silly to really think about it, the human worrying for the Cybertronian... But your anxiety isn't comforted merely to remember he's a gigantic combat veteran, not knowing anything about his current status is all it needs to wander to scary places...

·Closing in on your position, the mech in question echoes your worry, but his knowledge of the current danger puts his feelings closer to panic. All he knows is that he's coordinated a not insignificant number of bots for a better defense on his way through the ship. With better resistance on their side, he knows they can win, because they must. The alternative won't come to pass while his spark still flickers within him. That promise comes to an early test when he overhears enemies moving on the path ahead, and he takes the charge without hesitation, his terror converting quite easily to rage for extra assistance.

·By the time you're at the door you know something is wrong with you. Each step comes with a wobble you can't explain, and soon the dizziness you thought was worry has grown to almost debilitating levels. Why is the room spinning? Why does your body feel so heavy? It doesn't worry you as much as it probably should, but you know it needs to be fixed, especially with the ship potentially in jeopardy. Faint activity from the hallway outside spurs you to finally trigger the door to open, which thankfully appears to be one of the few systems still working. Heavy footsteps not too far away register in your ears just as you're forced to lean against a wall for support.

·The aliens that come into view before you quite unexpectedly are large, tough, and well armed. Most races would have found them an insurmountable challenge, and even an experienced Cybertronian combatant couldn't expect an easy victory against a single fighter, leaving you quite hopeless as you stare upwards in confusion. Megatron is not the norm, and his drive to win is fuelled by far more than just survival, so he feels little more than irritation when he finally arrives to the hallway you're pinned within. More than a dozen mark his path to you, their forms clustered around the helpless human in sick curiosity, and as a result they're heedless to his appearance.

·Hulking forms most definitely not of Cybertronian make tower over your body as it struggles to keep upright, the ceiling spinning overhead as you try to connect thoughts and move your legs to flee. A language you don't understand precedes a slow swipe in your direction, one that you stumble away from more than dodge, resulting in you roughly collapsing to the floor. Something like cruel laughter greets your painful tumble. You should be angry, being mocked like a bug skittering from its inevitable squishing, but God you're so exhausted. It's not even in you to be afraid when the barrel of an alien gun is pointed at your head and the scent of ozone fills your nose while the barrel fills with light.

·A second tremor shakes the ship, but this one proves to be far more deadly than the last. Your would be killers are obliterated by a blur of gunmetal gray that pummels them into the floor, and before you can blink the carnage begins and seems to escalate to unimaginable levels of ferocity. Only your familiarity with Megatron allows you to discern him amidst the flurry of quickly diminishing combatants, but he's nothing like the mech you know in this instant, going for sheer brute force over strategy as he tears aliens apart with his bare servos. In the bloody chaos you can't tell if he's taking damage or not despite the sheer numbers he was initially facing.

·The end of it all is somehow more startling than the beggining. In one final attack he ends the last soldier, quieting the cacophony of battle to leave only the steady drip of alien blood down the wall and his own haggard ventilations. There's a dash of bright energon amongst the mess, glowing in rivulets down his side, and somehow that's what gets your cloudy brain moving again. Pushing exhausted legs against the floor, you try to rise as you cry out in concern, reaching for him before you collapse right back against the solid ground.

·Heedless to his own injuries, Megatron is over you in a single instant, no longer blinded by the fury he'd experienced at the sight of you in peril. All he'd known was that your attackers had needed to die, no hesitation, and tearing them apart had come easily from there. Now things are once again far from simple. The blood on his hands doesn't stop him from picking you up as gingerly as he can, though your impossibly tiny body appears more delicate than ever in his massive palms. Though it makes him sick to realize, he does indeed know a struggling organic when he sees one, making the captain's words burn in his audials once more.

·Guilt is forced down to a minimum so he can focus on what matters; you. He needs to get you somewhere safe but with access to oxygen, and the only place that can happen is the medical bay or the laboratory, and he knows both are quite close. He couldn't care less about his own gashed side, so even if the medics and scientists are elsewhere he should likely be able to rig something up before energon loss impacts him. Holding you close, in a way that will permit him to shield you with his body, he starts moving while he speaks to you. It's obvious even to him his words aren't motivating, but at least they seem to get your attention.

·Looking up at him, feeling like you're tiny beyond belief thanks to his incredible size, you wonder how much of this could be real. Megatron had just hurled himself into battle for you, enduring agonizing wounds in the process, and beaten back what should have been impossible odds... If he wasn't so close you could touch him, you'd certainly think he was just a figment of your imagination emerging from the spinning hallways around you. His deep baritone rumbles reassurances to you as your eyes slowly drift shut, your perception fading around the edges until he's all you can see, and you can feel sleep beckoning like never before.

·He truly has seen enough organics dying to recognize that you're fading in his arms, and seeing the connection between such atrocities and you is slowly starting to tear into him with guilt that refuses to be ignored. How many lives just like yours has he snuffed out? How recently was it that he could have ended your life amongst the billions of others, unaware of what a gift you are to the universe? More specifically, because of this, what right does he have to so much as look at you? The thoughts are a dark and unmanageable tangle by the time he arrives at his destination, where an already overwhelmed medical crew is tending to the injured from an apparently victorious battle. He's near to shock when he hands you over to a frantically rushing Ratchet and simply explains you need oxygen, his hand gingerly cupping his injury before he firmly insists on being the last to be repaired. If he's spoken to afterwards, he doesn't remember any of what is said.

·The medical bay is dim when you awaken, and you see that you've been placed in your own private room when you look about, oxygen mask holding secure to your face as you do so. A massive shape against the wall would have startled you if you didn't immediately recognize Megatron. He smiles almost sadly when you awaken, and while you initially attribute his uncharacteristic weariness to the welded injury on his side, he quickly makes it clear that isn't the case. Whispering a simple wish for your recovery, he excuses himself and makes to leave, and you know that something is amiss m

·When you merely call for him to stop, he breaks, confessing that his relief to see you alive is equal only to his certainty that he's not worthy of you and can no longer pretend otherwise. It takes all of your strength to sit up and demand he stay; you refuse to let the bot who just saved you walk out, especially when you've made it abundantly clear his past is something you've accepted, and your firm reminder is cut short only by dizziness forcing you to lay back. The sight stirs him to return to your side, concern in his optics, and you lay a hand on the tip of his digit in a breathless and wordless reminder; he's more than his past to you, and you made that decision knowing the struggles ahead. He smiles as his digit gently strokes your forehead, recalling that he too had made a decision that day; to trust you meant yours.

Thunderclash

·The two of you are in the hangar practicing sparring, which for your benefit mostly consists of him holding up a training dummy against his palm while you whack at it, and as is often the case you've become sidetracked by conversation over actual work. He's laying on his front to keep the two of you closer to eye level, leaning his chin against his spare hand for comfort, talking about all the little things that come to mind as opposed to the grand topics he's used to being asked about. Frankly, this freedom a big part of what he likes about these moments with you. He gets to just be a bot with interests like any other.

·Your casual chat is interrupted by a communication from the command team on the bridge, who summon him for assistance tracing where a series of small anomalies across the ship might be coming from. Systems are glitching in ways that can't be explained, the defensive radar can't seem to decide if there's something in the apparently empty space around them, and in an ironic twist the message goes dead just as communication problems are mentioned. It's quickly apparent something needs to be done.

·Apologizing for having to cut things short, the massive bot offers to give you a ride to the heart of the ship, which he'll have to pass on his way to the bridge. Always eager to spend more time together, you happily oblige, taking the place of the training dummy in his palm as he lifts you to rest beside his spark. While his shoulder is arguably a more dignified location, you take more than a little comfort feeling the hum of his energy at your back, and thus have chosen this as your travel spot. Between his wound and the many setbacks it's taken to get him back in shape, it's just nice to feel his spark going strong.

·Not long after setting off, he gets the sense there's more to these troubles than technical error, and that something less than desirable may be the culprit. It's not something he can explain, but being more attuned to the subtler things in his environment just gives him a feeling. When he voices this to you, along with the thought you should probably be left somewhere safe, you ask what he believes might be coming. Not because you don't believe him, but you know he only drops his smile when he is preparing for something bad, and you haven't seen proof of any concrete threat.

·With almost comedic timing, the ship lurches at that very moment, nearly knocking the big bot off balance. Only his firm but careful hold saves you from a twenty foot fall. The rumble fades off with something like a great dragging sensation through the ship, which you'd compare to a Manhattan sized car grinding to a halt. Now cupping you in both hands, Thunderclash asks earnestly if you're alright, to which you reassuringly reply that a little turbulence isn't enough to do any damage.

·Smiling at the fortitude of your tiny body, he begins walking straight away, shifting to strategy as his red optics narrow in contemplation. He explains that the particular nature of that shake confirmed his suspicions something is planning an attack. Rather, they're initiating an attack. The sensation of a ship being locked to another and anchored is a particular one, and combined with their systems crashing it's obvious an enemy has come prepared to strike for a well planned ambush.

·You see that he's worrying, but you say nothing of it, taking hold of his thumb to communicate support. Being with him in private has made it clear his existence as a perpetual source of strength for others exhausts him, so you've since committed to acting as his well of certainty in difficult times. Not letting your fear bleed in to your words, you instead ask what the two of you should do, confirming your own communicator is uselessly jammed as you do so.

·Moving through the ship at considerable speed with his long legs, he decides that you'll still need to be secured rather quickly, as enemy combatants are probably already storming the ship or preparing to do so. You'd debate him if you weren't well aware of the logic in his plan. No matter what the enemy is, you won't stand much of a chance in a full on brawl, as anything confident enough to attack a Cybertronian starship is likely to have the firepower to back itself up. Still, it's impossible not to be dissapointed by your inability to offer aid, though it's probably for the best as you're rather exhausted from sparring anyway.

·It happens in a blur, but that's partly because of the shocking reaction time of the bot carrying you, something few would expect due to his size. Thunderclash registers the threat as soon as he turns the corner, a feat aided by the very much not Cybertronian appearance of the figures he sees, and then made far easier by the multiple clicks of weapons preparing to fire. Your presence in his hands became his central point of focus in that instant. Turning on the spot, he allowed the first hail of bullets to strike his armored back, keeping you well out of the line of fire before ducking behind an opposite corner for cover. The sting of the gunfire matters little when he sees you safe in his hands, and less when he instructs you to stay low after setting you down and charging in to fight.

·In the heat of it all, you're embarrassed to be caught so frazzled, as this is hardly your first exposure to alien combat. But there's little time to admonish yourself when chaos unfolds just around the corner, and your tiny size permits a small peek... Thunderclash is the gentlest giant in the world to you, but in just a few blinks the hulking aliens are on the losing front, and while his fighting style is far from gratuitous it is effective. You're still trembling from the rush of the initial shock when the last enemy of the group is on the floor, but even with your shaky vision you can see your bot is unharmed. For a moment that little burst of relief supersedes everything else.

·In usual fashion though, he expresses worry for you when he returns to pick you up from where he left you, drawing an affectionate chuckle from you at how impossibly selfless this mech can be. But he doesn't back down from the question like he usually does. His expression of concern intensifies as he starts moving again, and his sharp optics find ample to worry about on your seemingly unharmed body, with particular attention being paid to your face. Those brilliant eyes of yours are well known to him, and so he can tell something is... off in their beautiful depths. Even if his medical studies focus very little on organics, he's able to recognize the signs of a body struggling, and your paleness combined with the way you labor for each breath tells him something is very wrong.

·Now in a race against time, he has no choice but to move, gunning it towards the ship's tech wing where the laboratories and medical bay are located. He doesn't yet know what's wrong with you for certain, but aid will be there if it's anywhere to be found. There's no time to be wasted in securing you somewhere either, he's going to have to face any threats as they come in the moment whilst ensuring your protection in the process. It's a set of circumstances he's encountered before in his long and eventful time as a soldier, but there's an entirely new variable this time around; you. He adores you, like no one he's ever met before, and perhaps it's selfish but the very thought of losing you... he's not sure his spark could take it.

·The soothing tone of his voice and the rhythmic thumping of his footsteps make it surprisingly difficult for you to heed his requests to stay as awake as possible. Even though your breaths are coming in with difficulty, it seems like sleep would be a fantastic idea at the moment, even if only to rest your eyes. His cupped hands just support your body so nicely, and are so warm, and his voice is so delightfully melodic. Why does he seem so intent on keeping you conscious? Why does he look so incredibly upset to see you struggling to keep your eyes open?

·The pathway he chooses is mercifully free of conflict at first, but that matters little due to your rate of deterioration, as you may not make it even at his full speed. Driving isn't an option due to his need to be combat ready, and the lack of options and hope is absolutely tearing him apart. He hasn't had someone like you in his life before, and the desperation in his voice begins to show that, cracking as he loses his steadfast control of his usually impervious wall of confidence. The selfishness of his desire kills him; how dare he put his own feelings on you due to his weakness? Begging you to survive for his sake?

·No amount of haze can prevent you from startling at his pain. There are tears in his optics, though he doesn't even seem to notice them, letting them fall down his face as he pleads. In the warm fog clouding your brain, you feel a surge of worry, and your hand instinctively grabs at his nearest digit to give it a squeeze. Before you can even offer a breathless reasurance, he ceases running and dives from gunfire that seems to erupt from nowhere, laying you in a tiny maintenance crevice before hurling himself at the second delay he knows you don't have time for. The last thing you see before drifting off is the grief in his optics that you wish you'd been able to comfort...

·While his combat skills always make things quick, in this blur of pain and rage he's downright brutal, ending each foe swiftly but with absolute contempt for their existence clear in every torn limb. Hits to his own frame don't register at all. Bullets and blades mean nothing in the face of what he's about to lose, and the vengeance fueling his strength turns foes into scattered body parts more effectively than any grenade ever could. By the end of it all he's likely set a record for the swiftness of his takedown, but it matters as little as his multitude of bleeding wounds. All he can see is your now limp body as he pulls it from the hiding spot, and his vision narrows to only your faintly moving chest and his pedes moving one past the other through the carnage.

·There's a mass of activity in the technology wing, likely due to injuries as well as the many bots ordered to stand guard in the event of battle, but he doesn't hear the reaction his arrival triggers in the slightest. His sharp processor is reduced to one goal, and anything unrelated doesn't exist. At the sight of the crowded medical bay he starts to strategize. Ratchet appears in his vision, first focusing only on his obvious injuries and the alien blood he didn't know was spattered across his frame, before well trained optics catch sight of the tiny human limp in his hands.

·There's a rush of an explanation; they think one of the systems downed was the atmospheric generators, resulting in a loss of the oxygen the ship maintains for your needs. It's all the information Thunderclash needs to act. Brushing off any help for himself and encouraging the more egregiously wounded to be tended first, he requests only to be provided what you need. Busy tending the injured, medics still assist him getting a supply of oxygen going where they can, with Ratchet using his particular knowledge of human anatomy to ensure the ratio is correct for your biology while Thunderclash prepares it all. Dexterous hands set you on a medical slab where an oxygen mask and scanner are used to return your blood oxygen to normal, and just like that, he knows you'll eventually be okay...

·By the time you wake up your tiny frame has been moved to a private room, both to keep you from the chaos of crammed in bots and to give the two of you privacy from adoring admirers. He's beside you, his wounds patched but his frame still dirtied with blood, a sight that shocks you enough to force a gasp into your mask. Perking up the instant he hears you, the hulking mech is as close as the berth allows in a flash. A stream of questions about your wellbeing passes his lips before you can get a word in. Between the dried blood, the patched wounds, and the faint discoloration of his optics that suggests recent weeping... It's hard to know what to ask him, so you vaguely request a rundown of what happened.

·His face falls, and in between recounts of alien attacks and near death experiences there's overwhelming self depreciation. To hear him tell it the entire affair might as well be his fault. You've always known him to be humble, even critical of his actions, but this borders on self destructive. Worse, the crux of his crisis seems to be that he was motivated to save you not just by duty, but by his selfish desire to protect the one he loved so dearly and can't bare to lose. His own desires are inexcusable in these things, as he puts it, and could have hindered him at your expense. Shaky arms rise so that you can grab the nearest part of him, a digit once again, as you encourage him to stop tormenting himself. You owed him your life, several times over just for today alone, and there wasn't a bot in existence less selfish than he. The kindness of his spark was what you'd fallen in love with, and what you still loved now, because he was more than a legend to you. You loved Thunderclash the bot, not the expectation everyone else had built around him, and thus he'd always be enough just by being himself. Finally relaxing after everything, and his spark singing at your ability to become his rock when he needs one, he allows himself to just rest and exist as he is. Laying his helm on the berth beside you, he nuzzles close, allowing himself to feel simple gratitude to have and love you as you do him.

#transformers #maccadam #more than meets the eye #mtmte #lost light #idw #tf #my writing #requests #anon #megatron x reader #megatron #thunderclash x reader #thunderclash #human reader #self insert

[swimfuel]

okay humanstuck thoughts under the cut

i owe a lot of this to @/rhythmic-idealist's kankri/vantasposting bc holy shit theyve got such a big brain (ill link to their individual posts when im on desktop since im using this to keep all my thoughts straight and i agree with most of what they say wholeheartedly)

general status quo stuff:

signless works in an extremely demanding career involving helping others (i'm leaning towards an attorney who works with organizations and does pro bono work), and is also extensively involved in social justice work outside of his job... he is very rarely home

he loves and cares for his children deeply and tries to express it whenever they're face to face, but the couch in his cramped and messy office has seen far too much use over the years for him to have been able to say it enough

his habits of working himself to the point of exhaustion are handily passed down to his kids btw

the kids had to grow up quickly because signless was out of the house so often and so consistently—kankri, who was already pretty high-strung, has to learn to take care of himself and karkat

they grow up near ms firuzeh maryam, who's their pseudoaunt/grandma (she took in a nine year old kavana vantas when she was about twenty), but they just call her ms rosa

they spent a lot of time in the maryam house growing up, with miss rosa's two nieces. porrim is a year older than kankri, while kanaya and karkat are the same age

kankri grows kinda sensitive to people trying to mother him since it rubs against the notion that he's the "adult of the house" and that he can take care of himself and karkat just fine

(and it also kinda underlines the fact that kankri has no idea what he's doing at the best of times)

and ironically enough, kankri becomes overbearing and naggy towards karkat in his own right, which forestalls them becoming close in any brotherly sort of way

they grow up really just... unable to communicate with one another clearly

karkat develops his ornery exterior in response to kankri's constant stream of opinions and frantic attempts at making up for the presence of a guardian in the house

i think there would actually be some really interesting parallels with rose in this au.. maybe i'm drawing from my own experiences as well but i think he'd begin to assume that every time his brother opens his mouth, he's going to criticize karkat

but instead of reacting like rose with the "making yourself more of a puzzle"/passive aggressive stuff, he gets a more defensive/hackles raised/"argue with you before you can argue with me" approach

and the thing is that they do love each other and would take a bullet for the other etc etc etc.. but they don't know how to express it because they've fallen into these shitty patterns

and it really doesn't help that kankri has grown somewhat resentful of signless over the years... that mix of resentment and fear and love gets more extreme and more polar every time signless gets injured during a political demonstration

i think kankri and signless would also be slightly closer than karkat and signless, as signless' job really only started to ramp up when karkat was less than years old and kankri was in his early double digits

kankri autistic btw its word of god (i am god)

karkat has a pet crab. its name is also karkat. he vents his frustrations to it.

i feel like the vantases exemplify both the best and worst parts of their aspects with one another as well... the strength of their bonds keeps them together and grounded, but TOO grounded. [insert Blood rant here]

the Blood rant:

i define Blood as bonds, responsibility, and the "core". if Life is the fertile soil and everything living on a planet's surface, then Blood is the gravitational core of the planet keeping everything together

i also think Blood, Heart, & Mind work in tandem to define a person just as blood serves to connect the pieces of the human body... Heart is the soul and the self, Mind is the application of one's self through active choices (agency), while Blood defines both the self and the choices one makes in greater detail [and, as an aside, Life provides the physical spark of life needed to keep the heart pumping blood]

OKAY wow that got tangential anyways

SO BASICALLY! too much Blood makes you stagnate, so for example:

kankri is split between staying home with karkat or going to college across the country and being truly unbound for the first time in years

another crisis of Blood: signless is caught between his empathy and responsibility to the whole world and his responsibility to his own children

okay so here's more status quo stuff:

the maryam and vantas kids grow up together and its hilarious because you'll see them all together and its just like (girlboss) (girlboss) (physical manlet) (emotional manlet)

the maryam girls are actually miss rosa's nieces but she took them in when they were both pretty young

the pyropes know the vantases well enough considering pyrope senior and sign have known one another from their respective legal practices for years, but they live on the other side of town

the leijons lived in town when kankri and meulin were very young, but they moved and travelled for a long time before coming back and reestablishing their roots

the captors (psii being one of sign's oldest and closest friends) move into town with the peixes family pretty early on though

the condesce is.. a horrible spouse and guardian, to put it plainly. she's very emotionally manipulative and isn't averse to smacking people around, including her own family. she moves herself and her perfect little family into town so she can properly oversee a new business venture close by

feferi is one of the best young swimmers in the country and has a pretty good shot of getting onto the olympic team.. a lot of this drive to be perfect and to be better results from the condesce's unrelenting pressure and thinly veiled resentment throughout her whole life

so yeah psii, )(ic, feferi, and sollux all live together and it's really not great for anyone involved. (meenah ran away years ago, and crashed on aranea's couch for a pretty long while—mituna moved out with latula for college before psii and the condesce got married)

it gets bad to the point of sollux staying with the maryams for two months while the adults try to sort out that absolute clusterfuck and get the divorce proceedings going (meenah finally convinces feferi to get out and come stay with her and aranea for the duration as well)

in terms of relationships i think latula and porrim were really really close in high school, and probably had some kind of unacknowledged thing going on for a while that never actually turned into anything because latula and mituna were going steady

kankri has had a crush on latula for years but never acted on it for similar reasons

meenah still carries a lot of that give no fucks attitude (it's developed moreso as a defense mechanism here) and can't understand why feferi refuses to leave the condesce with her

okay back to VANTAS MANPAIN i also think that karkat feels the weight of a lot of expectations on his shoulders as well

he feels responsible to live up to the example his dad and his brother set, even if it's to his own detriment—and kankri's oblivious rambling about his grades and his teachers and all his clubs certainly aren't helping the matter

kankri is one of those overinvolved kids taking a million AP's while simultaneously shitting on the collegeboard at every single step

hes this super overachiever anal retentive perfectionist type dude and (just as karkat preemptively criticizes others to forestall their criticisms of him only to harshly criticize himself) kankri subconsciously holds the people around him to the same expectations he holds for himself

so karkat also develops this sense of lacking which, in combination with everything else, culminates in self loathing and thinking he has to solve everyone else's problems and getting horribly mad at himself for every little mistake

GOD i have a lot more but lemme post this before i accidentally close out of the app and lose it all

more little details:

vriska's mom and terezi's mom HATE each other like HATE HATE HATE one another it's so bad

karkat wrote a ten page review of my immortal in middle school

jade is one of nepeta's best online friends

sollux can't raise one eyebrow at a time.. karkat gives him so much grief about it

the vantases eat a lot of shitty renditions of persian dishes until karkat learns to cook because literally the only person in the world with a CHANCE of getting KANKRI VANTAS to make an EDIBLE DISH is miss rosa

kanaya is really good at persian dance too but is VERY VERY embarassed to perform in front of people.. however porrim definitely is not

karkat has insomnia while kankri just stays up stupidly late for assignments that really shouldnt be taken that seriously.. but they both have the same rumination/sleep anxiety thing where your brain goes insane with horrible and depressing scenarios as you try to sleep

and more ideas that i thought were interesting but idk how to fit in the context of this au:

signless and disciple getting married pretty late in life after having been in love for years, the vantases move in with the leijons and karkat suddenly has two sisters

nepeta and karkat are both juniors at this point, meulin is probably in her third year at a local college nearby while kankri is about to start his second year at a university pretty far away

the kids in general honestly but ill figure it out

more random hcs this time with kids:

kanaya and rose get into a flame war online that gradually settles into elaborate courtship rituals

also nepeta + jade online besties

also bec can inexplicably still teleport

the first sbahj movie comes out and the next six months of dave strider junior's high school career are absolute hell

actually hc that dave senior goes by d strider professionally. the d stands for a lot of things

aradia and dave frequent a lot of the same forums but never end up really interacting

meanwhile karkat and john frequent a lot of the same forums and DEFINITELY end up interacting. this turns into grudging (at least on karkat's part) friendship after they find themselves fighting for their lives defending an objectively shitty movie together on the same thread

#humanstuck #vantas family #.

[bentforkent]

earth-shattering, red roses

penelope garcia x gender neutral!reader

a/n: here is my very hesitant, very obscure, and very late submission for @veraiconcos​ fic challenge. is there a market for penelope x reader fics? dunno, but there should be. penelope rights. 

tagging sweet @gaystevie​ 

content warnings: none - this is half fluff, half angst :) 

word count: 1842

in which you’re penelope’s online friend and she develops a crush on you. 

“and then i just,” penelope pauses to hold up a pair of campy earrings to the camera, “pick out some earrings, and i’m good to go!” after putting the jewelry on, she turns her face to model. her hair is pulled back into a bun, adorned with some fluffy hot pink hair accessory. 

“looks cute, pen,” you muse, watching her pose on your tiny phone screen. penelope looks at you with a wide smile. there’s a piece of your hair sticking up and out of place, and she desperately wants to reach out and smooth it out. her thumb twitches.

 “alright my sweet soulmate,” she starts with a smile. you know what’s coming.  “it’s time for me to head to work.” 

you pout at her pixelated face. “already?”

“unfortunately, dear,” she says, but despite feeling reluctant to hang up, her words come out as cheery as ever. 

“alright, penny. have fun at work,” you say, and as soon as she acknowledges your farewell and offers her own, the screen goes black with nothing but a tri-tone to signal the end of the call. 

 you and penelope met seven months ago on some new, groundbreaking virtual world game. penelope’s character was a fairy, with wings that glowed so much she had to have paid extra to have them. (she hadn’t. she just hacked into the fairly new and easy-to-bypass code and given her character the virtual wardrobe of her dreams.) she made a point to keep true to herself, even through her tiny computer alter-ego.

 the two of you often floated in the same circles as you played the game. you were funny, always typing something witty into the chat, and she quickly found herself very fond of you. she let her fingers hover over her keyboard before typing out her first message to you. after the whole “fisher king” fiasco, she respectfully refrained from contacting people on the internet, resigning herself to admiring from afar. but you were different. you had interacted with penelope already, exchanging compliments and working together to solve quests in the game. you knew her, and she knew you, but direct message felt like a new realm. it felt...intimate. 

when you replied to her first message, a simple “hi penelope!” with a butterfly emoji attached for good measure, penelope nearly flew out of her desk chair; she was so excited.  she quickly typed back to you, punctuating with approximately two million exclamation points and a link to her own personal social media. you smiled widely to yourself watching penelope’s chat appear on your computer screen. 

over the next months, you and penelope had become practically inseparable. well...virtually, at least. you lived much too far from penelope, and penelope much too far from you.  your distance spanned one timezone and a handful of states, but with how often you two talked, you always felt close. you learned her favorite color, her favorite movie, her favorite tv shows. she learned your guilty pleasure snack, your nighttime routine, and your favorite song to drive to. after 12am, you’d whisper into the phone receiver about your day, telling her about everything that bothered you or brought you joy. penelope revelled in these chats. listening to you was the best part of her day. this was your friendship, and it was good. 

 but recently things had been ever-so-slightly different. penelope lingers on a phone call even though she is exhausted, just to hear your voice. she proof-reads her text messages multiple times before sending them out--who does that? the red heart emoji is fast becoming her most used, taking the place of the pink one. the pink one is platonic, it’s always been platonic, and the red one is romantic. how is this happening? often, penelope lies in bed, imagining you’re laying against each other with your hands entangled. she reaches and rests her hand on the other side of the bed, where you would lie if you were there. sometimes, when she’s really tired, she believes she can feel you.

when thinking about this, penelope’s chest feels tight in the most exhilarating way. she’s confused, naturally. the last time she felt this way was when she thought she had real feelings for derek. (she’d buried whatever feeling that was way deep down in the depths of her brain.)

 could it be love if you had never touched? no. no, penelope is a romantic, but she’s also a realist. this can’t be love, not yet. but...a crush. the realization of the word seeps into her bloodstream, setting each cell in her body on fire. it’s a nice fire, a warm fire, a fire that flickers in pink flames. penelope spins around a few times in her work desk chair. 

gee, how lucky is she that she’s got her own little cave here? no one to interrupt her private moment of reckoning...although, now that she thinks of it, it’s not much of a “moment” from the outside. it’s not like her cheeks are stained red and there’s a sign on her forehead that reads “i have a crush!” any one of her coworkers could walk in right now and have no clue anything is any different. (penelope forgets that she’s terrible at hiding things and that she works with trained behavioral profilers.) she pauses a minute, staring at the door, half-expecting hotch to walk in and chew her out for not looking up white males in nebraska, or something. 

 penelope smoothly rolls her chair over to where her cell phone rests. she really shouldn’t be making a personal call at work, she thinks, but she also really shouldn’t have hacked into reid’s work computer and changed everything in english into tagalog last week. penelope can’t remember the last time she genuinely cared about the FBI’s rules. (in her defense, it took spencer like--half of a second to figure out what the unfamiliar language was, and a whole work day to understand it. she was teaching him!) 

 she picks up the phone, grinning as she swipes through recent text notifications of you updating penelope on your day. she finds the “call” button quickly, and waits as it begins to ring.

“penelope?” you question upon answering. “i’m at work, i can’t really talk right now.” you sound happy, despite the intrusion penelope knows she’s providing.

 “no, i know,” penelope replies, twirling a pen in her free hand. she taps her foot quickly. “which is why i’ll make this super quick.” she drags out the word ‘super’ like it tastes like candy.  “i have a crush on you. an earth-shattering, red roses, big crush on you.”

“oh,” you gasp, surprised. “oh! yeah!” you shake your head quickly, as if trying to wake yourself from a dream. all penelope can hear on the other line is the swooshing of air. “yeah, penny, me too. definitely me too. by that i mean, i have a crush on you too.” you’re stumbling, tripping over the words in your haste to get them out, but neither one of you seem to notice. all you can tell is the grin on your face is starting to hurt your cheeks, and all penelope can tell is that if she pulls her knees any closer to her chest she might squish herself. 

 “okay, cool,” penelope says through a smile. 

 you give a breathy laugh. “i really do have to go, though. i’ll definitely talk to you later, though. bye, penny,” you say, and hang up before giving penelope the chance to quip a witty goodbye. 

 you like her back, penelope thinks, the harps playing in her head making her feel like a juvenile pining after someone on the playground. her stomach flutters. the angelic voices in her head are singing, something that sounds like a warbled, choral version of “i wanna dance with somebody” by whitney houston. she closes her eyes, and relishes in it. 

after a second, the stark silence in penelope’s office startles her into reality. 

what is this?

what is she doing?

 oh, fuck, she thinks. tears well in her eyes. what is she doing? this is so unrealistic, penelope thinks, berating herself. you’re far away, only connected to her through a phone screen. it’s a great sentiment to have this sweet crush, yeah, but it’s not practical. not real. it’s not like penelope would ever be in a position to pack up and fly to you, and after hearing you gush about your job just the night prior, she knows you certainly feel the same.

 and then she feels like shit for even calling, for even telling you that she felt this way. it would cause nothing but problems. penelope pauses, in her brain. no, it wouldn’t even cause problems! being with you is so incredibly far-fetched that there isn’t even a “will they, won’t they” debate. any problem is solved with a simple “won’t they.” no, this wouldn’t cause problems, but it would cause heartache, and she should’ve known better. penelope thinks she’s feeling a bit of that heartache now. she sniffles, toying with a tiny plush pig she keeps perched on her desk. sometimes penelope just gets blinded by the butterflies. it’s her best trait and most fatal flaw.

 there’s a knock at her door. derek. 

 “hey babygirl,” he says, pushing open the door and leaning into the doorframe. “what are you doing for lunch?” 

 with her back turned to him, she rubs at her eyes delicately, trying very hard not to mess up her makeup. “uh, i brought my thermos. soup,” she says, clawing desperately at the bubbly personality she can feel slipping away from her for today. she’s just down in the dumps. 

 “hey, what’s wrong?” derek asks, instantly picking up on her sour mood. he steps into her office and closes the door behind him. 

 penelope turns to him, eyes rimmed in red, and gives him a half smile. derek, sweet derek, always so in tune with penelope, is looking at her intently, worry written in every crease of his face. penelope always feels lucky to have him, but especially in this moment. in a rush of emotion, she stands, flings her arms around his neck and pulls him in to a tight hug. 

 derek chuckles. “i love you too.” 

 penelope pulls away with a half-hearted chuckle, swatting the air as if to get rid of the negative emotions plaguing her office. “you come in here with your big muscles and your pretty face and somehow you’ve got me crying in your arms.” she laughs again, slightly more enthusiastic this time. 

 derek pulls her to his chest again, holding her there without words. penelope lets out a deep sigh, releasing every single emotion she just ran through. 

she could deal with those later. she could deal with her royal mess with you later. right now, it didn’t matter. what mattered now was her office, her lunch, and derek morgan.

“derek?” she asks, voice small. he turns to her, prompting her to speak again. “if i asked you to stay, would you?”

#vicficwriterchallenge #penelope garcia x reader #penelope garcia #penelope garcia fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #my writing

[anime-and-manga-rants]

Why I Believe Deku Fails as a Character (Part 2 of 3)

SPOILERS FOR THE MHA MANGA (OFA reveal, last completed arc, Chapter 307) 

...

Not only were we robbed of a compelling character with a mental illness — which we so desperately need in the media — but we were also robbed of anything about Deku that could make him an interesting character in other ways. 

Now, a compelling character should have a quirk (not a Quirk) that separates them from the rest of the characters (because who likes when all the characters all act the same?) and makes them more relatable. Everybody’s got something about themselves that sets them apart from their friends and families. It could be a dialogue quirk — common examples would be someone who references movies constantly or never uses contractions — or just a habit they have that nobody else has. In Deku’s case, it’s his muttering and his hero analysis notebooks.

However, one of the first rules of good writing that a writer will be taught is the phrase “show don’t tell.” And it’s good advice, for the most part. (Some things are better left told, but that rant isn’t relevant to this one, so I’ll hold back on that.) 

For Deku, his mumbling is never really shown to us. Yes, it’s shown through the word “mutter” that appears on screen whenever he’s muttering, but that’s actually telling. We don’t ever get to decide for ourselves that Deku mutters a lot. No, the show decides for us, telling us to believe he mutters often and talks too much by the way it always accompanies his muttering with the word “mutter” surrounding him on screen or in the manga panel. He certainly does talk a lot, but it’s ruined by the fact that the anime/manga constantly needs to tell us that he talks a lot. 

The reason why showing rather than telling is so important is because the audience needs to be able to figure out aspects of the plot or characters on their own. If they’re simply told everything, they aren’t going to believe it. If the author tells you that Person A hates Person B, but A never shows any animosity towards B through their dialogue or actions, the audience won’t believe it.  (Think of the tip from Billy Wilder, which tells screenwriters to make the audience add up two plus two— don’t give them four. Give them two plus two, let them do the math themselves, and they’ll love you forever.) 

This is mostly a nitpick, yes. Still, it’s a blatant example of when showing (and not telling) is necessary. In this case, the telling ruins it, and by telling, it negates the unique aspect of Deku’s characterization that would’ve helped make him a more realistic — and therefore more relatable — character.  

Which brings me to another point: what about his hero analysis notebooks? 

I mean, hell, he’s got thirteen of those things. By now, he should be able to look at a villain’s Quirk and, in the matter of a minute or two, come up with a plan to take that villain down.  

Those notebooks could’ve made Deku such a unique character— with thirteen notebooks worth of analyzing already in his repertoire, he should be able to analyze Quirks like there’s no tomorrow. And people, too. Wouldn’t it have been so interesting to see Deku be able to just look at someone and know what they’re planning, thinking, or feeling? 

(As a questionably relevant side note, there are accounts of people who have experienced traumatic things such as abusive households who have told stories of how they can look at people and instantly know what they’re thinking. It’s a defense mechanism to prevent themselves from provoking someone, because they knew if they accidentally provoked their past abuser, they would face the consequences. See? It could all tie together.)   

And if that seems like it could make Deku overpowered, it really doesn’t have to. There isn’t a single overpowered power you can give to a character that will, without fail, make them overpowered. At least, not at first. We just need a character to earn their overpowered-ness, because we love a character who earns their strength over time. You just have to give the power drawbacks in whichever way makes sense and actually impacts the character. 

Deku with All For One’s Quirk, one of the most overpowered Quirks in the anime/manga to date? Using multiple Quirks at the same time makes him pass out from exhaustion. Using too many at once could give him permanent brain damage like what you see with the Nomu. Having a villainous Quirk like AFO makes his bullying even worse as a child, leading to permanent self-esteem issues that keep him from ever wanting to use his Quirk to begin with. (Last one courtesy of Shinsou’s backstory!) 

Deku with seven Quirks courtesy of One For All, the other most overpowered Quirk in the anime/manga? Same thing as the first two examples in the paragraph above. Or the burden of having to carry out the wills of the eight users that preceded him, all of whom have differing opinions on Deku’s best course of action for any given battle. The previous users never had to so readily accept him as their successor. Why not have them reject Deku for deeming him too soft to do what’s best, or any other reason? 

Deku with Overhaul’s Quirk? Uh-oh, looks like he accidentally killed a classmate the first time he used it, and now he’s forever afraid of it. But, uh-oh, if he wants to be a hero, he has to use it. Or what if the Quirk only works on organic matter, meaning it’ll only work on people or plants? That would kinda suck. 

See? No power is automatically overpowered unless you make it that way. 

Maybe Deku can analyze anything if given enough time, but he can’t exactly sneak off in the middle of a fight to come up with the best strategy. This could be quite reasonable, considering Deku would have been able to think long and hard before writing anything down in his hero notebooks. And all his training could culminate in the main climax of the series, where Deku creates and executes the perfect plan in a matter of seconds thanks to his analyzing skills. 

Or what about All For One, the big bad of the series? (You can argue it’s Shigaraki too, but in the recent chapters, it’s made obvious that AFO is actually controlling him. Therefore, AFO’s the guy Deku should ultimately be putting a stop to. He is essentially Deku’s fated enemy in terms of Quirk backstory, after all.) 

What if AFO turned out to be the one person Deku couldn’t analyze, couldn’t read at all, because his face is so disfigured that it’s impossible to tell what emotions he’s experiencing through facial expressions? What if AFO was such a masterful manipulator that Deku couldn’t read the tone of his voice because AFO purposefully kept it unchanging? 

The extreme fear that Deku could experience just by being unable to tell what AFO was thinking could make AFO into such an intimidating villain. He’d be the one villain that Deku just might not be able to best, and the audience would fear for him, like they’re supposed to do. 

And, at least for me, I haven’t been fearing much for Deku. As of Chapter 307, it looks like he’ll be fighting Muscular again. But where exactly are the stakes of this fight? Sure, it’s a good way of showing how far Deku has leveled up after the time skip, but we already know he’s going to win. I mean, he beat the guy in season 3. He better win, or what the hell, right? It would’ve been much more impactful to have him lose against Muscular the first time and come back again in Chapter 307 to kick his ass. 

It’s just... Deku always seems to win. His first major loss that comes to mind is his fight with Todoroki, but the loss only proved how good of a person Deku was. His second fight against Bakugou couldn’t even be considered training— Deku had nothing to lose. And what about Deku’s arms? Again, as of Chapter 307, it looks like he can still use them perfectly fine despite absolutely destroying them in his fight against Shiggy. What was it that doctor said? If he keeps abusing them the way he has, he’ll paralyze himself? Sure, he said two or three more times, but Deku was abusing the hell out of them again and again just to make Shiggy take any damage with his regeneration Quirk. Doesn’t seem like his arms are even slightly stiff at the moment. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so.

I don’t know. It just seems like nothing goes wrong for Deku unless it doesn’t have any truly negative effect on him. His fight against Shigaraki is an exception, I suppose, but it was also the fault of every other hero who failed to stop Shigaraki from freeing AFO and the villains from all of those prisons. Whenever it’s just Deku, it seems like he never really loses when it would actually mean something if he did. 

This is another flaw of Deku’s characterization, but it ties into my second point about Deku’s analyzing skills, too. 

Creating a foil for Deku in AFO by making AFO unreadable would help give the conflict some oomph, if you know what I mean. Because, currently, AFO is really only Deku’s foil because of his Quirk and because he wants to take OFA. If Deku was portrayed as a master analyzer... 

Think about it— All For One, the master manipulator with AFO, up against Izuku Midoriya, the master analyzer with OFA.

This is the fancy-schmancy dichotomy that we could’ve gotten. The heightened tension that would’ve made Deku’s story so much more interesting to read/watch, that would’ve made me wait for each new chapter on the edge of my seat. 

But, once again, Deku’s potential to be an interesting character is wasted. 

Horikoshi could have made him interesting with his muttering if he hadn’t shoved it down the audience’s throat. 

And while he had set up for Deku to be a master strategist, he didn’t follow through, making Deku seem pretty stupid for having so much experience in analyzing and yet having so little to show for it. Because Horikoshi does try to show it, but only when it doesn’t matter, like when Deku analyzes the fights for the sports festival up in the stands. Why not have him do it when it matters, like when he fights against villains at the USJ or when he fights Shigaraki in the more recent chapters? 

Not to mention the fact that he missed a fantastic opportunity to make All For One more of a villain. (Because All For One is kind of a sucky villain at the moment, considering it just seems like he’s a villain because he wants to be. Sure, there’s a little snippet of why AFO does what he does, but it’s subpar at best.) 

Honestly, I just wish Horikoshi had done a better job with Deku like he did with Bakugou. But he didn’t, unfortunately, and that’s what makes Deku fall so flat. 

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #mha analysis #bnha analysis #deku #mha deku #bakugou katsuki #bnha shinsou #shinso #my hero manga

[emixion]

this dream isn’t feeling sweet

oh boy even more jackven. i swear i’ll convert you all someday.  ao3 link Nights like this aren’t unusual. Unconventional, yes, but common for the pair. Ever since Raven had been moved from the Monster High dorms to stay with the Jekylls, the two had formed a habit of finding each other in the middle of the night.

See, neither of them are very good at sleep. Raven wakes up with shallow breaths and nightmarish images still flashing in her mind and Jackson’s anxious brain doesn’t let him settle.

So, it’s not even remotely surprising when she slips into his room at 3 am, eyes heavy with an exhaustion on more levels than the average person could spot, or when he peeks into her doorway later than either should be awake with shaky fingers.

Jackson is not in fact the average person, and Raven’s never been bothered by his trembles. The two are close, have been since Raven arrived at Monster High. And they understood each other on a level that others didn’t. Who better to soothe one of them than the other?

Tonight, it’s Raven who has stumbled into the other’s room during the early hours of the morning, arms crossed over her chest in a sort of defensive gesture. She doesn’t like to let on how much the nightmares fuck her over, just frowns and makes some sarcastic comment about it, but Jackson can see the pain in her violet eyes, the way they well up ever so slightly.

The sorceress wordlessly climbs into bed next to her best friend, pulling the blankets back over her. Jackson’s asleep on his side, facing away from her, but he still stirs as she settles in despite her light footsteps. He’s always had a sort of sixth sense for her distress.

He rolls over to face her and wraps an arm around her waist, shushing her as her breathing comes out shallow. He’s done this enough times to know what this is, and to not ask questions, just let her settle.

“You’re okay, Princess.” He murmurs, pulling her to his chest. She grips at his shirt, head tucking against his shoulder. She’s embarrassed. She often is when this happens and it makes his heart ache because none of anything that’s happened to her is her fault and he needs her to know that she has nothing to be embarrassed about.

But she’s stubborn, always has been. And she’ll bite her lip to keep it from wobbling and turn her face away so he doesn’t see the tears, her gravely voice a stream of counter attacks to his argument. So the most effective approach is to guide her through it. Be her escape from the rest of the world as she comes back down to earth.

“I’ve got you, Raves. It’s okay. Let it out, Birdy.” He whispers soothingly into her hair, the hand not around her moving to brush through the black locks that he’s come to adore.

Raven’s white knuckled grip on his shirt loosens before her arms wrap around his neck, bringing them closer.

That’s rare, Raven wrapping herself around him at times like this. She has a hard time being fully vulnerable, even teary eyed in the dark of night in her best friend’s protective arms. Jackson’s never taken offensive. His princess has survived more bullshit than he can even fathom, it’s understandable.

“It was the same dream.” She says quietly, still tucked against his shoulder. Jackson frowns, pushing a few loose strands away from her face. Raven’s told him about the recurring nightmare that she’s been having for the past few weeks. While she usually has dreams with a similar theme, this is a whole new level.

She hasn’t given him all the details, but he knows it has something to do with her mother.

“Do you think talking about it would help? Make it go away?” He suggests, but Raven just shakes her head, letting out another shuddering breath.

“Are you sure?” He asks gently. He doesn’t usually push her when she doesn’t wanna talk but it’s been weeks of this. The little nagging voice in his head knows there’s something up.

The head shaking just gets more frantic.

“Can’t.” She croaks, and the way she tugs on the back of his collar makes him kinda wanna cry.

“Raves,” he soothes, hugging her tighter. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

Raven hesitates, but after a moment reluctantly pulls back from his arms, far enough to look him right in the eyes.

“My mother murders you right in front of me.” She says blankly.

Jackson freezes, gaping back at her.

Of all the nights he’s spent soothing her back to sleep, all the bad dreams she’s suffered from, she’s never spoken of any that involve him.

Wordlessly, he places a hand on the back of her head and guides her back against him, letting her curl up against the crook of his neck. She goes willingly, a light sniffle escaping as she presses herself close. “I’m here.” He reassures her. “I’m right here and I’m fine.” His voice is soft as silk as he rubs soothing circles into her back. He feels a wetness on his neck where she’s nestled herself. “Shhh..It’s okay, Birdy.” He croons, the familiar nickname rolling off his tongue like it has so many times before. “I’m okay. She didn’t get me.” “I can’t lose you.” She murmurs quietly, her voice weighed down by tears. Jackson feels his heart ache painfully. He presses his lips to her head, holding them there for a moment. “You’re not gonna.” He whispers against her head. “You really think you’re gonna get rid of me that easily?”

He hears a tiny laugh through the sniffles and he cracks a smile. “There she is.” Raven shifts against him, her body relaxing a bit. “You’re a dork.” Is her muffled reply. Jackson just laughs. “Very true.” He agrees. “But, I made you laugh. So that’s a win.” His smile widens when she pulls away to look at him. “Thank you.” She says quietly. “I know that probably wasn’t easy to hear and-” “Shhh, Raves.” He pulls her back to him. “You know the drill. You’re always welcome in here.” Raven slowly hugs back, and he can tell she’s smiling by the tone in her voice. “Same with me.” His fingers find her hair again. “You wanna try to sleep?” He asks gently. There’s a long pause of silence before he’s met with a quiet “okay” from Raven. “Okay.” He says back, pulling the blankets a little higher over her. She looks hesitant. “...keep holding me?” She asks almost inaudibly. Jackson wouldn’t even be sure he heard it if it weren’t for the look she was giving him. “Of course.” He answers, hugging her a little tighter. Raven sighs in his arms, tucking against his shoulder once again. Her body relaxes further. “G’night.” She mumbles, voice light. It sends a tiny flutter through Jackson that he can’t quite explain. “Goodnight, Princess.” He says back, resting his head against hers. He waits a few minutes until her breathing evens out, assuring him that she’s fallen asleep, before he lets his eyes shut and drifts off with his birdy in his arms.

#monster high #ever after high #raven queen #jackson jekyll #jackven #crackship #my writing #raven x jackson

[hervoidfury]

" I love you, silly fool! " — Trent Beretta.

this is a special one shot dedicated to one of my closest friends @worldxwonders — she is the brains behind the idea of pairing good ole Trent with her created character Carla Jones and well I love it so this one goes to my sis. :D

— summary; Greg has been debating on how he will confess his feelings for Carla, and he finds help within one of his closest friends Vanessa. ( created by yours truly )

— genre; a ball of fluff.

Everything was set for a new taping of Dynamite; the ring was getting set as were the wrestlers getting prepared for tonight's show, Greg felt extremely nervous; however it wasn't because of the show, he knew what he was set to do and whilst he wasn't okay with the current storyline. Anything within the current situation the world was living in,

His nervousness stemmed from his desire to finally come clean about his feelings which he had developed towards Carla Jones who was the manager and good friend of his best friend's girlfriend Jordan Taylor, he couldn't deny how intriguing she was to him and it wasn't long before he found himself falling for her.

Vanessa is the only person that can help me, thought Greg as he made his way past a few crew members in a hasty attempt to find the Texan. " Hey man, have you seen Vanessa? " Greg asked Austin, normally if Vanessa wasn't around Jordan she would be hanging out with Austin.

The younger Gunn club member nodded, " I think I saw her in the make up area, everything okay? "

" Yeah I just need her help with something! " muttered Greg, thanking Austin before he made his way to the hair and makeup area.

And indeed Vanessa was there, seated right next to where Stella was working on Britt's look; she was doing her own makeup. " Hey Vanessa, can we talk? "

Vanessa frowned in confusion at his tone, he seemed on edge; " Sure hang on! " she placed her highlighter brush back to where it was situated then followed Greg to a corner a bit far from where she was before. " What's up? You seem on edge "

" I'm not! " said Greg defensively before sighing, " Well I am, kinda "

Vanessa was silent for a moment before she giggled, " I know what it is, this has something to do with Carla doesn't it? "

Greg should've known, Vanessa always had a knack at reading between the lines; " I keep forgetting how good you are sometimes "

" Benefits of having a psychology degree " said Vanessa smiling, " You're in love Greg, it's not that hard to tell with all the gestures and small actions you've been doing. It's cute, really cute "

" You think I have a chance? " said Greg.

Vanessa giggled, " You've had a chance since the day you two glanced at each other. And don't ask me how I know she feels the same way because I know she does "

" Well then, would you help me put together something? " said Greg, " You did so well helping Dustin out when he and Jordan fought! "

" Of course I would help you, I know just the plan " Vanessa began as she talked about one of her favorite spots she would walk her dogs in which happened to be a common place to have romantic picnics.

" You think she'll believe that the whole gang is going out together " said Greg, " Dustin might spill something if he knew "

" He won't if Jordan kicks his ass, don't worry. I'll text Jordan who will tell Carla and in turn make it seem believable " said Vanessa.

Greg sighed before finally smiling, " You are a life saver Vanessa, I am so grateful for you "

" You know I always got your back Greggie, now go on and get ready and tomorrow night it will go very smoothly " said Vanessa smiling.

Greg left Vanessa feeling more relieved, Vanessa would know how to twist things in order to help him out; he can only hope Carla buys into it and comes.

__

— The following evening,

" Where are we meeting again? " said Carla as everyone was set to leave.

" I'll text you the details and we'll all meet there " said Vanessa.

Carla nodded, " Okay I am gonna go ahead cause I don't wanna take too long to get ready I'll see you girls there "

Once Carla left, Vanessa turned to Jordan. " Okay once Carla gets ready and swings by your room; you and Dustin make it seem like you guys are feeling so exhausted from your matches, I'll work out the rest "

" Oh this is gonna be a fun night for Blondie and Gregory " said Jordan grinning.

" I hope so, Greg deserves to be happy " said Vanessa excitedly.

— A little while later,

Carla arrived to the exact location which Vanessa had texted her, but instead of finding everyone; she found Greg standing near a picnic table with a few lights hanging from the trees, " Greg what is all this? " asked Carla.

" Well you've been very nice to me all this time and you helped cheer me up so I thought why not return the favor, frankly Vanessa helped me set this all up except the food, this was actually cooked by mother " said Greg shyly.

Carla couldn't stop smiling, it wasn't a secret to both Jordan and Vanessa that Carla found herself gravitating towards Greg, his personality, goofy nature and kind hearted soul are what drew the blonde haired female towards him. " That's so sweet of you, you didn't have to do all this. I was and still am more happy to be there when you need me to "

" That's why I wanted to do all this, you put so much effort into organising everything that you deserve to see why you are such a beautiful intelligent woman " said Greg.

Carla's cheeks reddened and she hoped Greg didn't notice albeit judging by the grin he sported, he definitely did; extending his hand, he helped her take a seat then he took a seat across from her. " I like you Carla, you're kind, thoughtful, lively, intelligent and very beautiful "

" I like you too Greg, I mean I am sure it was obvious " said Carla blushing.

" Not really " muttered Greg, " People tend to say I'm oblivious at times and I was oblivious that my chance at finally getting happiness was right there. Mom always told me that I needed to find that special someone, the one I'll settle down with and frankly " he paused taking a deep breath, " I did find her "

" Oh! " said Carla softly.

" I don't just like you Carla, I'm in love with you, so in love with you that I am more driven in my work, I'm more energetic because you are around. You always get me going and bring out the best in me. I just, it makes sense that I am madly, completely in love with you Carla Jones " said Greg.

Carla was stunned to say the least, the atmosphere had shifted between them and Carla refused to acknowledge any possibility as she felt that she wasn't cut out for relationships. Greg however, had completely turned her world around for the better.

Leaning up slightly to press her lips against his in a soft kiss, " I love you, silly fool! " she muttered causing both of them to laugh. They were definitely thankful for this moment,

#trent? #trent beretta #trent beretta x reader #trent baretta #trent baretta x reader #trent beretta imagines #all elite wrestling #aew #best friends #chuck taylor #this #is #for #my #bestie #tish

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 8

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

The Language of the Arts

This is awkward. 

“So,” you spoke up, eyes strictly focused on the painting in front of you, hating the silence standing in between. “Nice weather we’re having." 

"Yeah,” Steve said, his voice was stiff with a hint of nervousness. “Really cold." 

"You like winter?" 

"No, not really.”

“I do,” you said, folding your hands behind your back and tiptoeing up and down. “It’s a great time to do cozy things, y'know? Like watching movies and drinking hot cocoa." 

"I guess it’s nice if you think of it that way,” he shrugged with a small smile. “I usually just think of how cold and dark it is." 

"I like that too, to be honest,” you replied. “I don’t know why, but I just do." 

"All the more reason to do cozy things I suppose?” he chuckled in your direction. 

You turn to him and smile. “Yeah, I guess so." 

His gaze lingers for a while before he snaps his head back towards the painting like he forgot he wasn’t supposed to be staring. Your smile falters a bit and it’s kind of annoying how different he’s acting. You liked the obnoxious version of him more.  

"So, uh,” he clears his throat, “how ya been?" 

"Good,” you nodded. “You?" 

He shrugged. Miserable "I’m fine,” he replied. “How’s your boyfriend?” He asked, straining to sound nice. 

“Oh, he’s fine,” you said. 

It’s awkward again and neither of you knows what to do. He just had to be there when you had to be there. In a city of over two million, the odds of meeting the same stranger more than once were less than likely and yet you’ve met this oaf far more times than you needed to. The universe was scheming something.

“Another art project?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “I wouldn’t be here if  it wasn’t." 

"Your hatred for art is something I’ll never understand,” he shook his head. 

“People like different things. I don’t like art, deal with it,” you jabbed. 

Steve puts his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. It’s just, I don’t know – when I see something like this there’s this bubbly feeling I get on the inside. And it just doesn’t make sense to me that someone can’t see it the way I do." 

"I know how you feel,” you said. “But with science." 

Steve’s shoulders drop. "But science is boring." 

"It is not!” You retorted then sighed. “I guess someone as simple-minded as you wouldn’t get it,” you shake your head. 

“Or maybe someone as close-minded as you wouldn’t understand where I’m coming from,” he snapped back playfully. 

“I am not close-minded!" 

"Yes, you are,” Steve said. “You don’t actually try to connect with the art. You’re just trying to get an A. Maybe if you open your mind a bit and really let the art speak to you, you’ll appreciate it more and even get a better grade." 

"Are you trying to tell me I’m stupid?" 

"Not in the least,” he said with a chuckle coloring his words. “You’re probably really smart, smarter than me. All I’m trying to say is that maybe you should try stepping out of your comfort zone? Try something you don’t like or want to do. You never know you might actually like it." 

He gives you a charmingly crooked smile as he urges you to try it. You pry away from his gaze with a huff. He hit the mark when he said you needed to get out of your comfort zone, but he didn’t need to call you out on it. 

"Fine,” you replied with a groan, returning to the painting. He smiled gently before speaking.  

“Pygmalion and Galatea by Jean Leon Gerome,” he said. “I personally find this painting filled with passion for obvious reasons. The way he kisses her as she transforms into a human. His dreams come true at that moment. He’s never felt more alive in his life." 

"Personally, I think he’s a jerk. I know the story of Pygmalion and Galatea. I used to be really into mythology a while back,” you told him. “Pygmalion was a self-imposed lonely sculptor. He didn’t like mortal women because he thought they were flawed so he made a statue of what a perfect woman should be like. Aphrodite noticed how much he loved the statue so she brought her to life." 

Steve chuckled. "Then what do you think the painting’s about?" 

"Male superiority.” You stated, looking into the picture. “Look at how pure and delicate Galatea looks, isn’t that every man’s dream girl?" 

"I see where you’re coming from,” Steve chimed in. “Notice the sculptures in the back. One is of a woman with her child which could represent the role of a mother that’s pressed upon them. The other is of a woman looking into a mirror and I think that symbolizes vanity. How women only really need to worry about their appearance and how it should please men. It’s how society wants us to be or at least in a man’s eye.”

“Then there’s Pygmalion, muscular and thriving in his own creativity and imagination. The ideal for any man at the time,” you put your hands on your hips. You know the more we keep talking about this, the more I’m starting to hate it.“ 

"Nothing wrong with that,” Steve shrugged. “I thought that was rather impressive - coming from you that is." 

You growl under your breath and push him off balance. He chuckles, only making you cross your arms annoyed. 

"I actually see it differently,” Steve said. 

You raise a brow and turn to him. “How so?" 

"It’s like the roles have been switched. Pygmalion’s reaching up to Galatea since she’s up on a pedestal. While she has to crouch down for his affection. Although we can’t ignore the fact that she is his creation, we know she possesses all of his love because he’s invested every part of him into her. His heart, soul, and mind, it all belongs to her. She possesses his idolization and can make him do whatever she wants,” he said. 

You bring a hand to your cheek. “That makes sense. I like that interpretation more." 

"It makes you feel pity for Pygmalion almost. He’s blind and naive in his devotion to her. If that was the painter’s intent, I think he did a good job by adding the theatrical masks in the corner.” You pointed. “Cause it isn’t reality. The emotions when you’re on stage are only skin deep.  Even if Galatea may show love and affection towards Pygmalion, it’s not real and it never will be. Whatever emotions she holds will always be artificial. But the way he kisses and holds her shows that he believes Galatea’s love is sincere, and it makes you pity the guy. Everyone has a weakness and his is the desire to love." 

"I feel exposed,” Steve mumbled. 

“What?" 

"Nothing,” he said. “I’m honestly amazed by your analysis." 

You snorted. "I’m smarter than you, remember?” You teased and he rolled his eyes. “And thanks to you I don’t have to bang my head against the wall for the next three hours. Thanks, I guess you were right. I ended up liking it,” you said with a sheepish smile. 

“I’m glad I could help." 

Your eyes lock with his and you really look at them. Like it’s the first time you’ve seen him. You noticed the way his eyebrows raised a centimeter or two, lined between confusion and wonderment, his eyes twinkled in amusement as if he knew something you didn’t. They were like the ocean, so full of life yet so uncertain. The blue-green hue residing within pulling you deeper into the currents. 

Staring isn’t exactly the word Steve would use. Your eyes rest, not unblinking but slowed; the effect is soft and inviting instead of harsh. Perhaps it’s your lips that give away the intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they do. 

As if you’re telling him to stay a little longer. It’s unspoken, but sometimes words aren’t needed. And he’d stay if you wanted him to, let you pull him deeper into the vast expanse of your eyes, glazed like honey and warmer than a summer breeze. 

He snapped out of his thoughts. There he goes again. Your lips part to say something, but Steve says something first. 

"I should go,” he said. 

“Oh,” you said in disappointment. “Thanks for helping,” you give him a smile. “See ya around then?" 

"Yeah, just be careful next time?" 

"I’ll make sure to,” you chuckled. “Have a nice day.”

He turned on his heel and waved goodbye. You smiled at him and waved back. The minute he turns away from you completely, the smiles on both of your faces fall instantly and it’s like you’ve lost something you never had.  

“Sweetheart, I ain’t a bad guy. I’ll be nothing but good to you." 

His smooth voice whistled in your ears. Another groan escaped your lips and you slammed your head against the cool metal surface of the kitchen table. 

Usually, the kitchen at Urban Remedy was a chaotic mess. Complete with shouting chefs and frolicking waitresses, sizzling pans and the clatter of dishes. But as the day began to wind down, so did business allowing its workers to catch a break. 

"I know this isn’t the best place to work, but-” your head shot up at the sound of your boss’ sassy voice. 

“Oh no,” you replied sheepishly. “I was just-" 

"I’m just joking,” May chuckled. She leaned over the table. “What’s wrong sister? Someone didn’t tip you well enough?" 

"No, it’s not that,” you chuckled while sitting straight up. “Just life I guess." 

"Lemme guess it’s a guy,” she laid it on the table. Your cheeks heated. 

“Dost mine ears deceive me?” Wanda popped her head in through the door. “Our residential man-hater has a guy problem?" 

"Where did you come from?" 

"I have super hearing,” the girl said, taking a seat next to you. She shakes your arm in excitement. “Now spill." 

"First off, it’s not a guy,” you lied. “I’m just in a bind is all." 

"Sweetheart,” May said, “you’re not fooling anyone." 

"It’s not!” You insisted. 

They replied with doubtful looks and a roll of the eyes. 

“It’s that cute guy that comes to visit sometimes, right?” Wanda asked. “The one with the old man name?" 

You snorted. "No, Quentin is Quentin. He’s not a guy." 

"So there is a guy, but he’s not your friend,” May conjectured. 

You exhaled deeply, feeling annoyed by them and yourself. 

“Okay, there’s a guy,” you grumbled. 

Wanda bounced in her chair while clapping her hands. “I knew it! Is he cute?" 

"I don’t know!” you retorted. Your eyes flit towards May and she’s smiling, pulling all the juicy details out of you. “Okay, maybe a little,” you mumbled and they giggled like children “But I don’t like him or anything!" 

"He wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t,” May smirked, resting her chin in her hand. 

“It’s not like that,” you look away with a sigh. “You ever just want to stay away from something but end up getting closer? Like you want nothing to do with them but they pull you in regardless?" 

"Me with cats,” Wanda said. You turn to her puzzled. “What? I’m allergic to cats, but they’re so cute." 

"Seems like you’re in quite the predicament,” May chuckled. 

“You know a way out?" 

"Nope,” she deadpanned, “but you better get yourself out there cause I just heard the door open.” She pointed behind her with a chuckle. 

You stand with a groan and make your way to the front. 

“Hey,” Wanda called you back, “I think you should just follow your heart.” You rolled your eyes. If that isn’t the stupidest thing -“I know what you’re thinking but try it out? I mean it might be uncomfy at first but it could be worth it?" 

You shoot her a smile and a nod. "I’ll try,” you said pushing past the door and into the hall, to find a boy standing by the counter with his back to you. 

“Welcome in, how can I help you?” you asked as you approached him. 

The boy turned and you could’ve sworn you’ve seen him before. And by the way he looks at you, mouth agape and eyes wide, you probably did. 

It’s like Peter’s memory has been swiped clean and he doesn’t even know what language is anymore as he stands in front of you.

“Uhm?” You asked, totally not judging him.  

“Oh Peter,” May said from behind you. “You’re here!" 

TAG LIST: @ashwarren32​ @rootcrop​ @siriusement​ @savedbystark​ @great-goddess-of-sin​ @boxofteenageideas​ @little-dark-empress​ @imsonick​ @scuzmunkie​ @achishisha​ @chuckennuggets1213​ @captainchrisstan​

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mobster!steve rogers #mob!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x reader #mafia au #mafia steve rogers x reader

[accioharry]

 find my way back to you | brightwell {post 1x19}

i call this "12am running with a theory to soothe my pain from last week's episode". please ignore any mistakes, i'm exhausted and not happy with the writing tense issues, but here we are. regardless, i hope you enjoy. the title and inspiration for this fic come from the song "find my way back" by eric arjes.

read here on ao3 | word count: 2k

He didn’t want to see her. He wanted to see anybody but her. 

Trust was never in her vocabulary, and especially not in his, but Malcolm found himself on a mission to get Dani Powell to trust him from almost the day they met in the elevator with Gil. She was a case he wanted to solve, a mystery he wanted to know every single detail about. Something about her intrigued him and every day he felt as though he needed to know more. She was annoyed with him at first, and probably always is, but slowly, he caught her starting to open up, bit by bit. Once he saw that, he caught on to it and never wanted to let go. 

Which is why as he sits handcuffed in the interrogation room, the same handcuffs she put on him an hour ago, he prays to whoever will listen that Gil or JT walk in the door because he physically can’t look at her right now. Not when he ruined everything he had worked so hard for. The silence in the room feels as though it is crushing him alive, and he doesn’t have the strength to fight back. His survival instincts aren’t kicking in anymore, and he realizes he’s not even a little upset about it. 

He winces when the door opens because of course the universe is never done with him, and Dani walks in with a file in her arms. Her leather jacket is missing, presumably at her desk, and her long-sleeve gray shirt covers her fingers like mittens. She doesn’t even bother to look at him.

A defense mechanism, Malcolm notices. He feels his heart start to break even more. He had always considered Dani a friend, nothing more than that because he never let himself go to that point. He didn’t want to push her too far away by encouraging the idea of them ever being anything more in the distant future, but it looks like he did it anyway. How did he screw up without even trying?

She sits across from him, still avoiding his gaze, and Malcolm gives up to stare at the metal table he is handcuffed to. Dani had not said a single word to him since she muttered, “I’m sorry,” as she handcuffed him in his apartment. What on earth could she be sorry for? She’s not the one who ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him simply by existing. 

The two of them sit in silence for a moment before Dani softly slides the file across towards him. He’s seen enough interrogations to know how it works, knows he should get a lawyer, and stay quiet. He couldn’t convince her, let alone the team that he was being framed, and it seemed like everything he did would incriminate him more. His eyes widen to see Dani open the file, and it’s completely empty. He whips his head up to look at her. For the first time in his life, he has no idea what is going on. She stares back at him.

Her voice is soft, as though she is afraid to speak out loud. “We had to get you out of your apartment.”

He wants to joke with her to make her feel better, but he decides not to. “By arresting me?”

She nods. He notices the dark circles under her eyes, circles he hadn’t seen since the time she came to visit him in the hospital after Watkins. When was the last time she had slept, and how did he not notice? He answers his own question, the gut-wrenching memory of Eve’s body flooding his memories. He was so preoccupied with her murder, he didn’t pay attention to what was going on in his surroundings. It wasn’t like him to do that.

“Dani,” he starts, not missing how she doesn’t look him in the eye. “Please, you know I didn’t do this.”

She doesn’t answer him. If he thought losing Eve was painful, why does this hurt so much more? Why does Dani avoiding his gaze make him feel as though Watkins stabbed him all over again?

“Dani,” he pleads, “come on, you know I didn’t kill him!” It takes everything in him to not get mad at her. Dani is a detective and a damn good one at that. She looks at the evidence and makes her conclusions, just as he does. Her mind is already made up. For someone who spent his entire life avoiding emotional confrontations, he just wants to see her feel something. “Dani!”

“Stop,” she mutters, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he does. His posture changes, he goes into red alert because just as he did when they first met, he latched onto whatever she gave him, regardless of how small it was. “Not now.”

The way she says it implies there’s something more going on, but Malcolm can’t figure it out. Dani had always been good at putting up walls, but this was an entirely new side of her Malcolm had never seen before. A side he wanted to hold and keep safe from whatever demons hurt her in the past, but now? He was one of those demons, and he hated himself for it. 

“You’re not telling me something,” he says after a moment of silence. He feels himself getting agitated.

“What, you’re going to profile me?” She scoffs. Her eyes narrow directly at him and she puts her elbows on the table. “This is already decided, Bright. We know what you did, I know what you did.” 

“No you don’t!” He knows better than to argue with her, let alone the NYPD, but he was frustrated. For a profiler, for someone who knew every interrogation tactic back to front, he thought he was going to lose his own mind. 

“Really?” Her demeanor changes suddenly, and Malcolm finds himself leaning back in his chair when she stands suddenly, kicking the chair back behind her as she leans towards him. “You didn’t kill him? Just like you didn’t shove Watkins in a box? Just like your Father didn’t kill those 23 young girls? You didn’t end up just like him?” 

He wants to stand up and fight her, and he almost does. If it was anyone else, he would have. He feels the rage in his blood, for Dani to turn around and to use this against him, knowing how he spent his entire life fighting everyone’s opinions of him before they even met him. How he let himself believe Dani was the one thing in his life he hadn’t screwed up.

Wait a minute. 

He holds her gaze for a moment as his brain does the rapid calculations. He remembers her demeanor when she came into the room, the sudden rage she had when she looked at him. He remembers sitting in the car with her, talking about the terrible movie that played in his head. He remembers the wedding, of working together nearly perfectly. He remembers her opening up about her undercover years, about her past. He remembers her soft smile when he admitted that she was the one he liked talking to. He remembers Dani, the woman who never judged him for his family, and the woman in front of him is not her. 

He glances up at the camera in the corner of the room, at the window behind her where he knows Gil and JT are watching and listening to his every move. He glances down at Dani’s hands, one still covered by her sleeve. He looks at her face, noticing how her eyes keep blinking back what look very closely to be tears, tears she refuses to let fall. 

“Okay,” he speaks slowly, cautiously. His brain remembers how Eve died, how she got too close to Endicott. How Endicott easily wove his way into the lives of his mother and his sister. “I didn’t do this.”

The door opens, JT and Gil enter the room swiftly. JT reaches to the camera on the wall before unplugging the power. Gil starts to undo Malcolm’s handcuffs. 

“We’re good,” he says, and Dani collapses into the chair she stood from. She buries her head in her arms. 

“Thank God,” she shivers, and Malcolm stands when his hands are free, shaking his wrists out. 

“What the hell is going on?” He looks between the three of them. 

“Your apartment was bugged, Endicott set you up for murder to get you off of his case. Your mom and Ainsley are on their way here,” JT speaks fast. “We didn’t know if the precinct was bugged, and we didn’t want to hold off on the interrogation while we checked because that could take a long time—”

“and Endicott would catch on if there were delays,” Malcolm nodded, his eyes never leaving Dani. “So you had to make it believable.” 

Dani looks up at him then, and Malcolm realizes how drained she is from the past ten minutes. “You know I…we know you didn’t kill anyone.” 

“Dani,” he wants to pull her into his arms to reassure her that he knows her, and knows she didn’t mean the words that came out of her mouth. 

She shakes her head. “I need some air,” she leaves the interrogation room suddenly, and Malcolm immediately follows her into Gil’s office. She’s shaking, and her hand is running over her face repeatedly. She’s anxious, borderline terrified, and Malcolm recognizes it instantly. 

“Can we talk here?” He looks around the room. 

“The entire precinct is on lockdown, this place has been swept from top to bottom, we’re fine. I’m fine,” she goes to brush him off, but he’s faster and catches her wrist. 

“Hey,” he tilts his head to the side, studying her with the amused look on his face that always earned an eye roll from her. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she pulls her hand away from him. “Even if it wasn’t real, I should never have used your father against you—” 

“Endicott would expect you too,” he cuts her off. 

“Well, Endicott isn’t here—”

“You didn’t know that,” he cuts her off again. “Dani, I’m not hurt or mad at you. Please don’t think I am.”

When she meets his gaze, he visibly relaxes because he recognizes the eyes staring at him. Dani is back, his Dani, and for a moment he feels okay again. 

“I just don’t want anything to happen,” she admits. Malcolm knows her walls are still up, but these are walls he’s worked through many times, and he’d do it a million more if it kept her in his life. 

“You know we can’t promise that,” Malcolm says, and part of him still wonders if he’s technically under arrest, because if he’s been framed, what exactly does that mean for him? He shakes it off. “We’ll get through this Dani, just as we got through everything else thrown at us.” 

“I’m not worried about that,” she chuckles softly, and Malcolm forces himself to not think about how much he loves her laugh. Now is not the time to reconsider the idea of being something more with her, someday. Not when he’s been arrested for murder. 

“I just don’t like change,” she admits. “If we can’t prove you were set up…and Endicott somehow wins and you go to prison…” she trails off, which Malcolm had previously noticed she did when she did not want to finish a sentence that seemed personal. 

“That’s fair, prison isn’t as glamourous as my father makes it look,” he shrugs, and Dani laughs for real at that. “I wouldn’t have my partner to keep me from being reckless either,” he laughs when Dani glares at him. 

“I take it back, maybe prison would be good for you. It’d give me time to get my sanity back.” 

“Haha,” he counters. “You’d miss me, you just won’t admit it.” 

She walks past him to the door. “While you keep telling yourself that, I’m going to save your ass, again.” He laughs and watches her walk out the door before his face falls. “Wait, what do you mean again?!”

#my fics #prodigal son #brightwell #malcolm x dani #malcolm bright #dani powell #otp: the one i like talking to #brightwell fic #prodigal son fic #one shot #malcolm bright fic #prodigal son fox

[urwelcomeforthis]

out of the ash, i rise

also posted on AO3

Alex doesn’t notice it, at least not at first.

In her defense, she – everyone, really – was exhausted.

It had taken a lot of time and effort and energy to figure out what Lex Luthor was up to in this new world, and then they had to stop him and it was a whole ass group effort, and it was one of the most draining things she had ever done.

But in the end, they had done it, and a lot of things were explained along the way.

Brainy’s sudden break up with Nia in order to protect her, so he could pretend to be a double agent while actually being a triple agent.

If she tries to think about that one too hard, her brain starts to hurt a little, but in the end, he was on their side, was obviously and desperately in love with Nia, and they were working it out, so whatever, that’s a nice ending.

Andrea Rojas being a weird shadow thing and enforcing arm for Leviathan? Wholly unexpected but apparently being shady as shit came with being a CEO in National City.

Although if Alex cares to admit it to herself the other female CEO of National City had been the one who really won it for them all.

She was glad, that in the end, Lena Luthor had been a force for good.

The surprise on Lex’s face when Lena had shown her hand was maybe one of the best things Alex had ever seen.

The look on Kara’s face when Lena, brain hooked up to the same machine as Lex, had fallen to her knees, lasting only moments longer than Lex himself, was decidedly one of the worst.

The newspapers had all heralded Lena as a hero, and they were right, she was.

Her sacrifice wouldn’t be forgotten, not by anyone.

Particularly not by Supergirl, who had shown more raw emotion in that moment, projected on screens around the world, than anyone had ever seen displayed by her or her cousin.

The picture of Kara on her knees reaching for Lena as a blood curdling scream of agony fell from her lips accompanied every single article.

It had been weeks now, and Kara was still sullen and desolate at the loss of her best friend, but she still showed up to work, still performed her duties.

Alex was just too tired to realize that it was more than just the loss of a friend, and that something in Kara’s behavior was…... off.

So, when Kelly, one night at dinner carefully asks Alex where it is that Kara has been disappearing to every night, she could honestly kick herself.

She sat, fork loaded with food frozen halfway to her open mouth, as her brain ran over every time she had seen Kara in the past few weeks.

Kelly, to her credit, sat and patiently let Alex work her way to the dawning realization that she hadn’t seen Kara once at night since the Lex ordeal, receiving mumbled excuses about articles when sister nights or game nights were cancelled on.

She lowered her fork down to her plate.

Kelly just reached over and grabbed her hand, giving it a solid squeeze.

For the next three nights she does everything she can think of to try and get Kara to come over to watch a movie, or have dinner, but all she receives are halfhearted excuses and quick “I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?’ replies, but she never presses her sister.

Something about the look in Kara’s eyes stops her from asking.

Instead, she does something far dumber, ducking her eyes from her girlfriend’s when she reveals her plan, not wanting to see the way they roll.

It’s how she finds herself in a lead lined van at 8 p.m. every night, following the dot on the screen that is Kara, the tracker in her glasses lit up in green.

Kara always goes to the DEO’s desert facility. Alex isn’t entirely sure what happens there, to make the green dot disappear every single night, but she has an idea.

It takes her a week to work up the courage to follow her sister to the facility, waiting until the tracker goes dormant to walk down into the most secure reaches of the building.

Placing her palm on the coded security panel, she walks into the room that houses one of the two portals to Argo.

It isn’t shimmering with energy when she enters, but she can feel the warmth that radiates off of the coils and she finally knows where it is her sister disappears to every single night.

She tries to fight the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that for the first time she’s not enough for Kara, that this life and their family isn’t where she’s been going to seek comfort, but still.

It would be a lie to say it doesn’t twinge, a little.

She turns on her heel and heads home, chews the inside of her cheek raw trying to formulate the next part of her plan.

Like all Danvers Sister plans however, it falls apart the moment she sees Kara and decides to just wing it.

“I know you’ve been going to Argo.” She blurts the moment the two are alone together in a room in J’onn’s Tower.

Kara just blinks slowly at her, not denying it, not confirming it, not saying a damn thing.

The silence is thick, and Alex fidgets, chastising herself for her impulsiveness.

“Do you know why?” Kara asks, voice low when she finally breaks the silence and Alex lifts both shoulders in a desolate shrug.

“I – is it because you need your mom? I know I haven’t been the best sister lately, or maybe ever, but-” she shuts up the moment Kara holds a single hand in the air to stop her, eyes blazing.

“You have always been the best sister so please never say that again. And I did need my mom, but not for what you think.”

Alex tries to not ask more, tries to ignore the relief flooding through her that it’s not because Kara has finally done the one thing Alex has always feared most, that she hasn’t decided to leave Earth behind to go back to her first home.

Kara studies Alex for a long moment before nodding once, obviously having decided something.

“Meet me tonight at the portal at 8.”

Alex nods, her eyes staying on Kara’s retreating form before she’s out of sight.

She doesn’t tell anyone where she and Kara are going. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t but something in Kara’s reticence to even tell her makes her stop short, telling Kelly instead they’re finally having a long-needed sister’s night.

Kelly, always intuitive beyond what anyone else realizes, hugs Alex hard before she goes, requests that she be careful.

It doesn’t escape either of them that she’s not wearing the weapon J’onn gave her when she promises she will be and walks out the door.

She and Kara don’t speak as they wait for the portal to hum to life, but Alex casts small sideways glances at her sister as they stand there, shoulder to shoulder.

Her sister’s jaw is set, shoulders thrown back, entire body tense.

Alex can’t help but be nervous at whatever is awaiting them on the other side but still she remains silent.

The pink waves of the portal flicker into being and they step through together, the heat and light from the red sun invading every bit of Alex’s senses.

“Follow me.” Kara directs as they step down onto the gravel path in front of them.

She trudges behind Kara, dully noting that this side of the portal had been moved from its previous location.

Instead of opening on the out skirts of Argo City it’s now placed in what seems to be a back yard. The house in front of them is a few stories high, the stone fencing around it is at least 10 feet tall and a few feet thick.

It reminds Alex of a castle or a barricade, meant to keep invaders out. Or more likely, prying eyes.

Kara reaches a set of steps on the outside of the house that lead down into a basement and Alex continues to follow behind silently, taking in the colors and the strange plants surrounding them that were once a part of Kara’s past life on Krypton.

When they reach a metal door Kara stops and turns towards her.

“You can’t tell anyone. Not even Kelly. Not yet.” There’s a glaze over Kara’s blue eyes and Alex can’t help herself when she reaches out and places a hand on her sister’s arm.

“Kara what is it? What has got you this upset?” Her eyes are moving so fast across the planes of Kara’s face as she tries to communicate that whatever it is, Alex is on her side, always, always, always.

“It’s – you’ll see. It’s better if you see.” Kara swallows thickly before she pushes the door open and steps inside.

Alex follows, her eyes working to adjust to the manufactured lighting in the space.

The door swings shut sealing them in, and Alex looks around the room.

It looks almost like an Earth laboratory, benches and worktables pushed around to line the walls, alien equipment humming and littering every crevice.

In the middle of the room there sits what looks like an enclosed, glass coffin filled with a blue, glowing liquid.

It vaguely reminds Alex of Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

Kara, seemingly haven forgotten that Alex is with her, makes her way towards the Snow-White coffin, and Alex watches from her spot in the shadows as she places a careful, reverent hand on top.

She can hear Kara murmuring words to whatever is in the box, and she’s thankful that on Krypton there is no super hearing that can detect the way her heart has begun to pound in her chest.

She doesn’t have to move any closer to know who is in the coffin.

In her entire life there is only one person Kara has ever looked at in that way.

“Kara.” She croaks from her spot.

It feels like she’s stuck in a pit of thick molasses.

When Kara looks up her hand doesn’t move from its place on the glass, her tear stained cheeks and wide eyes silently begging Alex to understand.

“Kara what have you done?” She finally forces out, lifting her foot like it’s a dead weight to make her way across the room.

She comes to stand across from Kara on the other side of the glass. She doesn’t look down.

She can’t.

“I brought her to the one place I could save her.” Kara is no longer looking at Alex and is instead locked onto the woman laying locked in glass below.

Alex is dumbstruck, a thousand thoughts fighting in her mind to be vocalized as she watches her sister, a modern-day Frankenstein, fight to bring the dead back to life.

She must take too long to say anything because Kara speaks up again, her voice cracking as she talks.

“It’s working. I – it’s illegal. Even here. But my Dad, he knew how. It was in his books. My mom knows, she’s been helping me.”

Alex fights against her roaring in her ears and works to stamp down the panic building in her chest.

“Kara, will she even be…. Will it be her? When she wakes up?” She’s whispering, she can hear the fear in her own voice, but god, what the actual fuck was Kara thinking.

“Yeah, yeah it will be her.” Kara sounds sure but not sure enough, and rage licks its way up Alex’s spine.

“What if it isn’t, Kar? And even if it is, how are you going to explain this?” She’s gone from whispering to shouting in five seconds flat, but it’s justified, she’s justified in this, in her anger.

She can’t fathom it, what Kara’s done.

Robbed a grave, stolen a body, taken it off world and worked to fucking reanimate it, ripping a soul from whatever place it ended landing to rest for eternity.

Kara looks up at her now, eyes hardened but tears still flowing freely.

“I don’t know Alex, ok? I don’t know! All I know is I can’t be in a world where she doesn’t exist. I can’t. I can be in a world where Krypton exploded, and I lost everyone – twice. I can be in a world where Jeremiah is dead, where Kenny is dead, fuck, where even I’ve died! But I cannot be in a world where she isn’t alive.”

Alex is dumbstruck again, watching as Kara’s chest heaves after her outburst, after she admitted that a single soul is worth more to her than an entire planet of her own people, more to her than maybe anyone.

She feels the tug of an invisible string under her chin urging her to look down, but still she doesn’t, can’t. The moment she does this is real, and she can’t let it be real.

She watches Kara turn around and fiddle with the machines hooked up to the glass device, her shoulders shuddering as she sobs silently.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself.

When it doesn’t work, she takes another one.

She swallows heavily, ignoring the way every sense of self-preservation in her body is screaming at her to turn and run back into that portal and never come back.

She looks down.

The body is suspended in the liquid, floating a good five inches from the bottom. Bare feet are spread apart, toenails painted what looks like a dark red. Her eyes trace up pale, bare legs until she’s mid-thigh, a cream-colored gown covering the skin. Hands rest folded together on a stomach, a white petaled flower held between them. The crest of El sits on the shoulder of the gown.

Alex swallows thickly, realizes Kara changed her. Kara placed the flower there.

She shakes herself and forces herself to continue.

Her eyes trace up the pale neck, the familiar freckle taunting her from its spot there. Dark hair floats in the liquid, wavy and undone in death. She sees lips painted devastating red and finally allows herself to look at the closed eyelids, the sharp eyebrows above for once looking peaceful and relaxed.

She can hear Kara say something in Kryptonian, but she ignores it, still trying to process what her sister has done.

She’s not sure how long she stands there staring at the body of her former friend when the blue liquid flashes a bright purple color and begins to lower.

She watches it for only a moment before her gaze flits back towards the woman’s face.

When she meets the green and white of open and panicked eyes, her knees give out.

She stumbles back, falling hard on her ass as she watches the coffin click open, the liquid fully drained.

When a fully alive and reanimated Lena Luthor slowly sits up, hair heavy and dripping wet, Alex reaches for her wrist, forgetting she left her weapon back on Earth.

She doesn’t move as Lena turns her head slowly to face where Kara is standing, still as a statue, not even daring to breathe.

Lena’s voice is cracked and scratchy from disuse in death. She only says one word, her fingers clutched tightly around the flower in her hands.

“Kara.”

Kara falls to her knees, hands reaching out towards Lena, landing on either side of her face.

“i n̩.ʒa͡ʊ, i kɹuvuʒ.”

(My love, my miracle.)

When Lena’s forehead comes forward to rest against Kara’s, Alex lets go of the air she had been holding in her lungs.

Quietly she stands on shaking legs and walks back towards the edge of the room, uninterested in being a voyeur of the reunion happening between the two women.

With a last look over her shoulder at Kara and Lena who remain huddled together, gripping each other tightly, she opens the steel door and steps back out under the red sun.

#supercorp #kara danvers x lena luthor #supergirl #alex danvers #kelly olsen #alex danvers x kelly olsen #kara danvers #lena luthor

[soldierfirstclasszeldafair]

Title: Unexpecting

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Characters: Dante Sparda, Ripley Rowe (OC)

Chapters: 2/?

Dante runs his fingers through his overgrown gray stands for what feels like the hundredth time since he’s been woken up. He hasn’t been sleeping well. Dante may be a light sleeper, but the creaks and odd noises from the Devil May Cry settling would never wake him before. Now the smallest sound has him on alert. 

His world was flipped upside down nearly a month ago since Vergil declared Ripley was pregnant and indeed not sick with the flu. He’s been so stressed thinking about the baby. His thoughts and questions plague his mind and sometimes has him scared for the future. 

Thoughts like: I can barely manage keeping the power on for the shop, how could I possibly provide for this baby? What if something goes wrong? It’s not like we could take our demon baby to a hospital. What if something happens to Ripley? or the baby!? 

A hand gently finds his under the covers and absentmindedly gives it a gentle squeeze and wraps its own digits around his ring finger pulling his hand to her chest. A simple gesture Ripley has always done from the beginning of their relationship. 

At first, it made Dante feel uneasy when she would hold his ring finger, like it was to intimate. He's since learned it’s just a thing she's done since she was a small child that brought her comfort. It’s now become something that brings him immense comfort, especially as of late. 

He strokes his thumb over her hand and earns a ghost of a smile from her as she nuzzles into his arm.

The early morning has Dante wondering in thought. He’s never really been around pregnant women. He’s seen them in quick passings at a diner and held the door open, or in movies, or even the occasional pregnant model that comes up in one of his magazines. But they were obviously pregnant, they all had big swollen bellies, and talked about feeling the baby kick and move, and what weird food their craving.

Then again, they’re all human. So there’s bound to be differences in the pregnancies. Ripley’s hormonal changes being a major one. At first, it drove Dante’s senses wild not knowing what any of these changes meant. It’s made him panic, defensive, frustrated and extremely horny. Ripley being unaware of all these signals coming from her, was wondering what the hell has Dante acting so strange.

After a week of having Dante at his throat for merrily venturing into his small library or simply passing Ripley in the office, Vergil decided they needed to understand what triggers the changes so they could both better understand, otherwise Ripley would end up a single mother.

The two discovered when Vergil is in close proximity to Ripley, it seems to make her horemons flare, like a signal of some kind warning Vergil to keep his distance, while telling Dante there’s a threat nearby. 

They also discovered when Ripley starts to feel weak from exhaustion and is about to faint, her hormones slowly decreases in presence. Vergil believes it’s a last chance effort to hide Ripley from danger.

Glancing over at her sleeping form next to him, her cheeks seem to carry a permanent flushed hue. The baby hairs that frame her face are curled from sweat. Her hormones have calmed down with having dante .But there is still no obvious sign that she's pregnant. Turning over onto his side to get comfortable, he places his free hand onto her stomach and waits.

Nothing kicks or moves, of course.

Maybe she’s just got some weird ass demonic flu. 

That makes him exceedingly protective of her when another demon is around. Wanting to rip them apart. Limb from Limb. 

Especially Vergil. It most likely has something to do with the strength and power his brother possesses. Dante’s decided to keep Vergil busy by tasking him with on longer hunts. 

“Can’t sleep babe?” a sweet, yet groggy voice whispers.

Dante’s piercing blue eyes meet Ripley’s heterochromia blues that are barely peeking over the covers. He can make out the faint scar under her left eye that rests at the top of her cheek bone and stops just as it meets her nose. He met Ripley just after she got the injury, saving Morrison from an unruly death by a Hell Caina. He shakes his head to her question and rolls over on top of her careful to not squish her with his weight, and rests his head on her chest.  

Raking her fingers through his unkempt hair, he closes his eyes and listens to her rhythmic heartbeat. Giving her a quick, cheeky kiss to the top of her clothed breast, which in turn makes her giggle at his antics. 

Playing with the ends of his hair with one hand and lightly scratches the the top of his back with the other, Dante lets out a sound that can only be described as a purr. He proceeds to nestle his face into her chest, like a cat asking to be scratched some more, so she does despite the scratching from his facial hair.

Ripley is aware that Dante has been worrying a lot lately, though she tries her best to lessen that, she can’t help but worry a little herself too. It’s scary to be unexpecting parents. They’re not even sure how far along into the pregnancy she is. 

 “Stop worrying so much.”  She caresses his cheek, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “Hey, we’re going to be just fine Dante. We always find a-”

“Hush!”

The sudden raise in his voice makes Ripley jump and nearly kicks Dante in the family jewels. She's about to give him a smack for scaring her until he jolts up from laying of her, freezing and staring at her stomach as he crouches . He places his hand over her stomach while he’s trying to process what just happened. His face is scarily unreadable and sends Ripley into a panic.

“Dante” the terror clear in her voice, “What's wrong?” Quickly a paralyzing fear takes over Ripley, tears already forming in her eyes, praying that nothing is seriously wrong with their baby as Dante continues to stare, with his hand moving around her stomach. 

Not hearing her calling his name because he’s so focused. He gets up and quickly rips away the bedding, discarding it onto the floor. He’s back to his earlier position in lightning speed, laying his head onto Ripley’s stomach, listening for some sort of sign. 

Not satisfied with with his response, he pulls up her shirt and places his ear to her stomach again and waits. He can hear Ripley’s heartbeat becoming faster, but that’s not what he’s frantically searching for.

.

.

.

.

The bedroom is deafening as they both wait. Every fiber of their beings are tense. Doing everything in her power to keep still as she fights away the loose tears that fall down her face. Dante frowns, moving himself lower and tries pressing his head into her stomach to see if that would help.

Thump thump, thump thump.

There it is! He laughs, catching Ripley off guard as another tear falls. “Dante” she cries reaching for his hand.

The cry of his name rips his attention from his new discovery. His smile quickly drops as he sees the tears rolling down her face as she tries to wipe them away, but more flow over. A sob breaks through and Dante’s heart temporarily shatters. His brain finally catching up to what it must seem like for her, realizing how frightened she is.

“No, no, no,” he moves quickly to gather her in his arms, tucking her under his chin. He tries to comfort her by rubbing her back but she sobs and tears fall onto his chest like a river overflowing. “Everything is fine, the baby is perfect.” He rocks her and wipes her face of tears. 

“I can hear the heartbeat” he blurts causing her to go still in his arms. Ripley manages to calm down enough to ask Dante to repeat himself. 

“I can hear our baby” he smiles, continuing to rub her back. “I can hear our baby’s- OW!” 

“Don’t ever fucking scare me like that!” she smacks his arm again. “I thought something was wrong Dante! You can’t just do that.” She wipes away more tears and pushed away her hair then hides behind her hands. Dante kisses her forehead and moves behind her, pulling her to lean against him. “I’m sorry sweetheart” he strokes his hand over her stomach, “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. It caught me by surprise. I wasn’t sure if I really heard it or not.”

Dante caresses her wet face and leans down kissing her nose. Something he does when asking for forgiveness. Closing her eyes and leaning her head against him, she grabs his left hand and wraps her digits around his ring finger pulling it to her chest again. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.” 

The two stay wrapped up in each others embrace, taking deep breaths to calm down. Dante whispers kind words into her ears, leaving feather light kisses to whatever skin he can reach. After some time passes, the two agree to head downstairs to start their day.

Kissing her head one last time, he untangles his hand from her grasp and picks her up, standing on the bed. He takes a big step off the bed, and drops onto the floor causing Ripley to squeal and cling onto him tightly. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop my babies” he smirks, his hair falling into his face hiding his eyes from her. Brushing it out of his face and behind his ears so he can see, Ripley rolls her eyes very dramatically “Just be carefull daddy” and bites her lip. Dante comes to an abrupt stop and looks at her with a stupid grin. 

“You know, that’s probably how we ended up in this predicament, you calling me daddy and all” he teases wiggling his eyebrows.

Ripley laughs loudly, and rubs his chest. “Yeah you’re probably right Mr. Casanova.”

Dipping his head down, the two meet in a quick kiss. A kiss that turns heated. Dante nips and pulls on her bottom lip, grinning like a mad man. Ripley slips in a bit of tongue, while wrapping her arms around his neck, getting lost in him like so times in the past. The two only pulling apart for air, breathing heavy. Rubbing her hands over his exposed chest.

The two haven’t really been intimate beyond a few touches here and there since finding out about the pregnancy. Mostly because Dante doesn’t want to cause any harm to the baby. He’s managed to ignore his wants for the time being, but it’s getting harder everyday.

The two get dressed for the day and Dante picks her back up as they descend down the stairs, to the front of the shop where Dante sits Ripley on his desk. A true, quick peck on the lips and he leaves to the kitchen to make his coffee and her tea, leaving Ripley to retrieve and go through the mail.

Flicking through the stack, she finds a couple bills, a new magazine that Dante promised he canceled the subscription on, and a letter. Tossing the magazine onto the couch by the wall, She sits back on her spot on top of his desk.

She opens the middle desk drawer, digging around the inside of the cluttered desk for the letter opener, she hisses, cutting her finger on the sharp edge.

Muttering a quiet “damit” as a bit of blood manages to run down her finger. before she could find a band-aid. Digging through the drawer again for the small box she keeps, careful of the sharp edge. Dante calls from the kitchen.

“Babe? Everything alright?”

Curse his heightened senses. “I’m fine, just pricked my finger.” Finding an alcohol wipe and the box of band-aids, she cleans off her finger, and applies the band-aid. Cleaning the edge of the letter opener with another wipe, tossing everything into the trash.

Going back to the stack of envelopes, the letter sticks out the most, What could it be? Payment? another invite from Patty? Who ever it’s from didn’t bother to write a return address, though the shops address is written in great penmanship. Mysterious much? Slicing open the top of the letter and not her finger this time, opens up the letter and immediately disappointed.

It contains only one sentence, written in the same handwriting as what's on the front in blue ink.

“Finished the job, I’ll arrive soon.”

He couldn’t even bother signing his name. Rolling her eyes at Vergil’s way of communication, or rather his lack of, tosses the now crumbled balled up letter into the trash. Proceeding to the less fun envelopes as Dante arrives with their fuel for the start of the day.

“Anything interesting?” He places the mugs down on top of his papers instead of using the coasters. Looking over Ripley for some sort of bandage, he spots the band-aid on her index finger. He grabs her hand, careful to not disturb the small wound, places a kiss over the band-aid. Sitting in his chair, he proceeds to kick his feet up on his desk, jolting the beverages around, somehow managing to not spill them.

“Vergil said, he’d finished up the job and would be back soon.” Shuffling through the bills “and got some utility bills.”

Dante nods his head. Stretching out his arm, opens a drawer and hands over the brightly colored bill organizer you insisted on getting. Taking a sip of the hot tea, she starts filling in the different amounts for each utility, followed by when it’s due using a different colored pen for each.

The front door to the Devil May Cry can be heard opening. Ripley cuts her eyes while sipping her tea at Dante, for forgetting to lock the doors yet again. He just scratches his scruff, smiles, and pretends he can’t see her.

Whistling can be heard coming from the lobby. The door to the offices squeaks on its hinges as it swings open revealing Morrison. His whistling brings a sultry tune inside the otherwise quiet shop. Smiling, Ripley offers a wave while Dante watches.

“Hey sweetheart, you feeling any better?” Morison calls out as he hangs up his suit jacket.

Before she can reply Dante speaks up. “Never better.” He leans as far back as his chair allows without tipping over and crosses his arms behind his head. Morrison ignores Dante and glances at Ripley as he walks over to the couch, who still has a red hue to her face. “I’m great, Morrison.”

“Glad to hear it” he picks up the magazine looking at the cover that contains a scantily clad women. Sitting down on the couch, he flips through a couple pages.

“What brought you here, Morrison? I doubt it’s to look through my magazines.” 

“Well I figured I’d stop by and see how Ripleys doing.”

Dante snorts. He knows he wouldn’t come all this way just for that when he could call. Morrison stands up, tosses the magazine back on the couch, and walks over to the pair.

“Maybe now that you’re feeling on the mend, Dante can get his ass in gear and work on paying me back.” 

Sitting up, Dante stretches out his legs, bumping Ripley's. “Well, what do you got for me Morrison?.”

Morrison pulls out a file from his coat and hands it over to Ripley. She angles it so both her and Dante can see. Inside it contains snippets of local newspapers, pictures of a girl and what seems to be some sort of demonic horse.

“A girl from a small town went missing. Locals been looking everywhere and stumbled upon that thing.” 

Handing over the picture of the horse thing, Ripley starts reading the articles.

An Elder Geryon, Dante thinks to himself. Where there’s one of those, there’s usually a black knight close by. The poor girl is probably being used as a vessel.

“A couple of dumbasses thought they could catch the thing and were nearly trampled to death. One of the guys managed to take that picture just before it attacked. Said they also saw something in the distance that looked like it had wings too.”

“It sounds like that Cavaliere Angelo thing you were telling me about.” Handing over the file to Dante, Ripley stands taking her now empty mug to the kitchen.

“The city is willing to pay a decent amount to take care of the horse.”

“How far away is this place?” 

Morrison shakes his head at Dante already knowing why. “Not that far. It’s a four day drive but I’m sure I can cut it down to three. You can play nurse again in no time.” 

Even if he could cut it down by a day, it’ll be a week away from Ripley and the baby. If something were to go wrong he wouldn’t be able to get to home in time.

“Take the job D” says Ripley, walking back over. He looks over at her, eyes glancing down to her stomach for a quick second. She smiles reassuringly at him “We’ll be fine.” Her hands resting on his shoulders.

“We’ll?” Morrison looks over at the two questionly.

Oops. The two are wanting to keep the pregnancy a secret for now. Mainly for privacy reasons, but also for safety. If demons were to find out that one of the sons of Sparda has mated, it could put the growing family in serious danger. That goes for people too...

“Me and Vergil. We kind of had a dispute of sorts” Ripley responds, hoping it sounds believable enough to drop the subject.

“About what?”

“It’s kinda embarrassing” she scratches her head in thought.

“You embarrassed? That’s a new one” Morrison laughs.

“If you must know, Vergil walked in on us fucking, alright” Dante spills.

“Dante!” Ripley covers her face from Morrison’s view. Over time Morrison has become somewhat of a father figure for her, always offering advice and sometimes spoils her with gifts.

Morrison clearly caught off guard by Dante’s response. Dante enjoying making his friend uncomfortable a little to much, decides to keep going. “He caught quite the show, at this very desk” smiling like the complete dumbass he is, Dante taps the top of his desk just to emphasize even more. “Right here.”

“Alright, Alright. I’m sorry I asked.” He backs away from the desk, not able to look them in the eye anymore. For whatever reason, his brain decided he needed a mental image. “So, are you taking me up on my offer?”

Looking over at Ripley, who shakes her head yes. He sighs, “yeah I’ll grab my things. Meet’ cha by the car.”

Morrison wasting no time to get some fresh air, leaves closing the door loudly.

Dante stands, putting on his signature red coat. “You sure you’re gonna be okay” he asks.

Standing on her tiptoes, Ripley locks her arms around Dante’s neck. “We’ll mange” she whispers giving his lips a quick peck. "Vergil will be here with me. He won’t let anything happen.” 

Dante huffs and brings her into a tight embrace resting his chin on her head. A mumbled “I Know”

Ripley kisses his exposed chest from the opened buttons on his shirt. “Be safe please.” Straightening out his jacket just for an excuse to run her hands over his chest. Leaning down he captures her lips in a sweet goodbye kiss. 

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