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wh6res · 4 years

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three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

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tu-sugar-mami · 3 years

Text

You're a tired traveler. Someone who just quit an awful job and got a ticket to travel different countries in search of happiness. Somehow you got lost in a snowy mountain (you're not really a clever person) and are in desperate need of sleep and warmth.

On the distance you spot a building, kinda victorian style which honestly you love. Your last functioning braincell tells you its a good place to look for help and so you comply.

The building is old, you notice, but you can see light coming from the inside and you knock. Nobody answers but the door opens by itself. 'Nice' you think.

When you enter you call for the owner but no one comes. You look around and find the dining room, where a table is ready with served plates of many different dishes. You hesitate. You're hungry, but your mom taught you that it's rude to grab food from another if it's not offered, and to do so in their own roof, well... You decide not to grab anything.

Trying to be respectful you stop on the living room and refrain from snooping around, waiting instead patiently for the owner to arrive, hoping that you weren't intruding too much.

It's then when you notice something odd. There are parts of dolls hanging from the ceiling here and there. Even some other complete dolls are scattered around the room. You think it's weird, but shrug it off in the end. You had an obsession with round rocks when you were a kid, to the point of filling the shelves on your room with a variety of pretty rocks, so you wouldn't judge the owner for having dolls all over their house.

You wait and wait, until hours pass by and still no one shows up. You're starting to get sleepy, and so you curl on the couch, your body begging you to get some shut eye.

You can feel your consciousness slipping away and even though you fight it soon you fall into a deep slumber.

***

Cold...

It's cold when you wake up. It's dark.

Only the moonlight coming from the outside provides a bit of visibility. The place looks different without the warm light of the candles and the shadows decieve you.

You're still groggy with sleep and don't really think too much about it, but when you look down you see an old, slender doll, ratty but with a beautiful, if a little dirty, white dress. You think it's a pretty doll, despite having a face that would creep many people out. But not you. No, you actually like her. You don't hesitate in picking her up and holding it close to your chest, snuggling her while drifting back to sleep.

The doll feels warm in your arms and you sigh in content before everything goes black again.

You definitely don't notice the illusion breaking, revealing a very flustered Donna Beneviento laying beside you. She tries to wiggle her way out but your hold on her is strong and in your dreaming state you squeeze her softly, closer to you. Donna's heart is racing and her mind is reeling.

What in the world were you doing? How was it that you weren't afraid of Angie when most people screamed in terror at the sight of her? Why were you holding her? And why in hell did she feel so comfortable and safe in your arms?

It wasn't right.

She had tried to play cat and mouse with you, just like with every other unfortunate person that happened to pass by her lair, awful people who always tried to take something of value from her home, people who looked at her dolls with a grossed out expression on their faces, or people who simply wouldn't respect anything. But you... surely there must be something wrong with you.

There must something wrong with her.

Donna is enjoying herself too much in your arms, and she knows she shouldn't. She takes a deep breath but soon realize it's a mistake when she inhales your scent. To her you smell sweet, just like the fruits she likes, though with a tint of something spicy that she cannot place.

It frightens her, that she feels like this with you. She doesn't even know your name, for goodness sake! But... there's something.

It's been around two hours now and Donna doesn't think she'll be able to go through the whole night. She wants you to wake up. She wants to talk to you, get to know you. But at the same time she's pretty comfortable where she is. It's been ages since she was last held like this, with care, because even in your slumber you are so tender, gentle. Your touch on her is caring and you don't notice but unconsciously your thumb is rubbing circles on her back.

Your phone rings and you stir, starting to wake up. Donna is debating if she should conjure another illusion or if she should let you see her, but it's too late and you're face to face.

You're reaction is immediate. You jump away from her with a scream, dropping the phone on the floor.

The candles lit again, seemingly out of nowhere.

Donna won't admit it, but she's hurt by your reaction. She knows she shouldn't. You're nothing to her, she doesn't even know you. You're just another useless bag of flesh and bones and–

"... mean to, I'm sorry..."

Wait, what?

"...and i fell asleep and- and... Oh god, im really sorry i didn't know i was holding you. You must think I'm so rude. I'm sorry for intruding too. I waited for somebody to come but i was tired and i fell asleep, im sorry." You apologize to the woman. She is wearing a veil and you can't see her face, but the way she breaths makes you think she's mad, or at least offended by you. "I could have swore i was holding i doll. Haven't you seen a doll this size? It was a cute doll, but maybe i was dreaming."

Donna doesn't know what to do. Her heart is hammering in her chest and her breathing is ragged. You are so much more cute than she thought...

She let out a relieved sigh, for a moment she thought you were frightened by her, just like the others before you, but you were only startled and surprised to see her laying in your arms. And when you called Angie cute her heart skipped a beat, no one besides her had ever said Angie was cute and she was surprised you thought so. Donna wanted to laugh when you apologized for holding her when it was her who caused all the mess. She found your rambling cute but she wouldn't tell you. She wanted to ask so many questions, but she couldn't. She was so used to speak through Angie that the thought of speaking by herself made her nervous.

Angie is on another room and while Donna could call her she decides she would like to use her own voice this time. There's something about you that screams to her, that pulls her in.

And so she does...

To you her voice is gorgeous, a little raspy, but soft nonetheless.

"Would you like some tea?"

-----

If you love my work, buy me a coffee?

#donna beneviento #donna x reader #donna beneviento x reader #re8 #my fic

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one-real-imonkey · 3 years

Note

Wild anon with far too many ideas is back! Have you seen @thatfunkyopossum's headcanons for the Guard being dumpster divers (post/621942185340846080/coruscant-guard-culture-hcs)? It's so interesting! Does anything similar happen in the Corrie Guard AU? Now I'm just imagining clones organizing furniture / clothing drives for the refugees in the lower levels. Or having a huge system of trade and bartering for supplies / bacta / etc. There's a lot of potential!

Hi anon with so many ideas, I love them all and I'm adding to my answers for all of them, some of which will be fics some will just be notes like this one. Anyway, thank you so much for asking, and here we go...

———

Yeah, my Corrie Guard AU has some very similar things.

Overall, they're opportunistic, and they don't waste things or look down on what they're offered. They get very good at repurposing and fixing things. They don't actually have a lot of oversight, the Senators and nat-born Senate Guard don't care about the Guard barracks or what they do in their free time, so their base and their free time is theirs.

A lot of what they get is donated though. Some of its from the lower levels, started up by people who realised what the Corries were going through and decided to act, and it's often not much, but a pad and some colouring pencils or a homemade meal can go a long way emotionally to show you someone cares. Thanks to Palpy and the Senate, just giving them money isn't easy, not to mention many of the people in the lower levels don't have the money to spare. However, even if they can't be given credits, they can be given other things.

One of the most amazing things the Corries managed to get is access to food from the upper levels. Hound managed to wrangle a deal in which all the day old food that none of the rich snobs would buy because it was 'no longer fresh' from some of the high end patisseries near the base would go to the Guard instead of being thrown away. The Guard noticed all that perfectly good food going to waste and decided it was stupid that the food would be wasted when they didn't have enough. They managed to sort out a few deals like that, and while some of it is a little stale or has a little mould, most of the food is perfectly fine and the Corries are more than happy to have it.

A lot of the items that are donated from people rather than businesses are also things they can use to create things to sell, including toys for kids and pieces of art (and a few tattoo designs or just tattoos (Inky goes down to the lower levels twice a week to do tattoos and their costs are reasonable and fair)). A haberdashery sells their hand made dolls and soft toys in exchange for a small cut and a discount on the cost of the materials. That same haberdashery also gives them all the left over offcuts of materials for them to do with as they wish. They get sewn together or hung off of things and just generally used to spruce up the base.

They Corries do a lot of charity work and give a lot away to help others, if there's been a large accident like a fire or public transport crash or an outbreak of some sort of illness, supplies from the Guard may go 'missing'. They often spend their free time creating things they can donate or sell, especially to people who need them.

They also ended up in weird situations where they do favours for people in exchange for small but weird things. It started with Pup breaking off of a patrol to help a little old lady called Mirka carry some bags she was struggling with, and then she made an off hand comment about how very strong he was and how useless she was at doing things nowadays in her old age and he volunteers to help out. (He doesn't quite believe she's as weak as she claims, but he's not rude enough to doubt her aloud).

Pup was happy to help move some furniture for her, especially when she gave him a whole huge box full of home baked cookies ('Because you young boys deserve it') and then he offered to help again if she needed, and she told her friends about it...

Within a month a great deal of the Corries were going down to do all sorts of things these elderly citizens couldn't manage, and being rewarded with all sorts of things. Sometimes it was credits, sometimes it was food, sometimes it was books or fabrics or hand made clothes (theres a knitting group dedicated to making a jumper for every single Corrie) and sometimes it was even more random things, included but not limited to a day at a spa for 20, 4 gallons of homemade jam, a karaoke machine and a slightly broken but still working hydroponics device for growing plants.

And of course the plotting of conspiratorial little old ladies is never containable, so quickly all sorts of other opportunities are set up for the Corries to earn money without stress or danger, including youth clubs, charity drives and anything else they can 'disguise as work'. It's not like the people on 998 can't use the help but similarly they want to help people. Especially other people the Senate treat like dirt.

Mirka, the little old lady who Pup had first helped, gave him her extensive amount of sewing and knitting equipment, claiming her hands just shook too much nowadays and oh, her eyesight, surely some of your lovely siblings will be able to use them better than little old I. She also gave him her old curtains, which she claimed she no longer needed, along with several blankets and old pieces of clothing and any fabric she could find.

Weave and Loom just about cried when Pup handed them over.

A few weeks later all of those pieces of fabric returned to level 998, either in the form of clothes worn by the Corries so they didn't have to be in their blacks or armour, or as soft toys to sell (or donate) for the little kids.

Weave and Loom finally made their way down to level 998 with several head-scarfs for Mirka as a thank you, which she wears frequently. Her children moved away long ago, her siblings and other family members are gone, she saw her grandchildren maybe twice a year before the wars started, but they live on a Separatist planet, and travel is limited. Its why she started looking out for the Corries and why she roped in a tribe of other grandparents to join her.

Oh no, I'm going to have to do something about level 998 aren't I?

As for trading things to like bacta and supplies, they're selfless. If they get ahold of them, they'll make sure those things go to people who need it. They'd never take the food for themselves when there are children without, they'd never take medical supplies for themselves when there were people who needed it more. They had the Guard's limited amount, they had their own medics, they could make do, but not everyone on the lower levels had the same access, and with the war and Senate forcing things like the Jedi-operated Clinics closed in favour of those supplies and staff going 'where they're needed' every little helps.

Anyway, yeah, the Corries do a lot of scavenging, a lot of repurposing old items, fixing broken things to make them work. Curtains don't always get cut up and made into clothes or toys or other fabric items, sometimes they're put in the med bay to work as dividers, or in the bunk rooms to add privacy for the bunks themselves.

Any item they can give a new lease on life, repurpose, or fix and sell, they do. They fix up the hydroponics device so they can grow some herbs and spices for their food, they create clothes for themselves so they don't just have to live in their armour or blacks, and they spend a lot of time helping people who need it.

———

Thanks for the ask, this was a little longer than I meant it to be, and I kinda went off on a tangent, whoops, but the 998 are becoming a thing, haha. But yeah, long story short, they're incredibly pragmatic about things, will not waste a thing and are utterly selfless.

Inbox is always open. (-:

#i think thats everything #star wars #my corrie guard au #coruscant guard #the corries don't need a dad they need a tribe of babushkas #level 998 #thanks for the ask #all the asks #ill get to them all i swear lmao #my corries build up good relations with people because theyre lovely people #oc clone Inky #oc clone pup #oc clones weave and loom #star wars oc Mirka #anti republic senate #protect the coruscant guard #anon response #anon ask #thanks anon

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concubuck · 3 years

Text

((Alastor’s summary is... not wrong? But leaves some things out. Mainly: communication styles, and Alastor’s motivation.

Oh and also the fact that he was DEFINITELY being a massive tool. Like. He said that himself, but he really undersold it.

Communication styles

In Alastor’s mind, the main conflict between him & Neri is, at its root, a struggle with communicating.

This is in contrast to how Neri perceives it—she thought (might still think) that Alastor’s main gripe is that she’s trying to dig into his emotions—and like yeah he thinks that’s rude but that’s genuinely, sincerely, not his main complaint, and not the thing he’s trying to stop. His complaint is with the fact that she doesn’t listen to what he’s saying.

And it is true that Neri has some flawed communication skills; primarily in that she reads most conversations on a framework of emotions and morality, and will reinterpret her partner’s statements to fit that framework. Such as (and I know I keep bringing up this one incident but it’s because it’s the clearest example of it I’ve seen so far) when Ozzie (living embodiment of the sin of lust) said that humans are “boring,” and she interpreted this as a statement that humans are too violent and immoral. She got that from the word “boring,” from a character whose duty it is to encourage immorality. Because her interpretation fits how she sees humanity, whereas “humans are dull because they don’t fuck often & weird enough” doesn’t fit how she sees humanity.

But like, on the other hand, Alastor knows this about her. He could meet her in the middle by expressing things to her in her own language; couch situations in terms of feelings and her framework of morals, rather than terms of pragmatism and unsentimental Facts About Reality. It wouldn’t fix all misunderstandings but it’d sure cut down on them.

But to do that, he’d have to present himself as a being composed of feelings rather than a being composed of facts and actions, and that’s antithetical to how he perceives the world, how he perceives himself and how he wants to be perceived. Not even in an “ooh i’m scared to share my emotions” way; more like, “identifying Alastor as a being that’s made of emotions is like identifying carrot cake as a food that’s made of raisins. It’s an important ingredient, but it’s not the defining characteristic of the dish.” He can communicate the other way; but he sees that as lying, something he does for targets to manipulate and use.

So he just... refuses to communicate with Neri her way, instead insisting that she come meet him on his level and chiding her whenever she doesn’t. He keeps on engaging with her through his communication style instead of the style that he knows would work better with her. Which just further solidifies her perception that he’s deliberately “protecting” his emotions, because that’s what makes more sense to her.

And it’s not like he’s told her otherwise. Instead of telling her stuff—about how he communicates, about how he perceives himself, etc etc—what he does instead is model how he wants to be interacted with. By his behavior he constantly demonstrates how he’d like to be treated. This works on toddlers who try to mimic adult behavior to learn how to relate to the world. This also works on random callers and anons who can be easily cajoled into giving Alastor the responses he’s looking for.

It doesn’t work very well on someone who makes a habit of interpreting other people’s behavior to fit into her preconceived notions about how people work, when the way Alastor wants to be perceived doesn’t exist within the bounds of her notions.

Alastor’s motivation

It’s true that regularly misunderstanding other people’s statements/thoughts/intentions is a flaw that someone should probably work on, particularly when the misunderstandings aren’t due to finicky subtext but rather due to skipping straight past the surface-level meaning of someone’s words. And it’s also true that Alastor sees all this as kinda fun. (It’s honestly half the reason he likes talking to Neri—he genuinely and sincerely sees communicating with her as a challenging puzzle.) However, there’s a reason why, when Neri turned this tendency toward him rather than toward other people, it suddenly became a character flaw that he felt it his duty to point out and fix:

Alastor is the only one who gets to control how people see Alastor.

SO much of what he does and says is a project of image control. Nearly everything he puts on air is carefully chosen and calculated to try to get people to perceive him the way he WANTS to be perceived—and if you ever look at what he says and think that’s not the case, you probably just haven’t figured out how he’s trying to make himself look. Sure, he knows that he can’t 100% control how people see him, there’s ALWAYS going to be a wide variation, people are always going to bring experiences/beliefs he can’t control to the table when they interpret him, plus some people will always see through his tricks and manipulation—but he does the best he can.

And it just. It frigging. Misses Neri completely. It’s not even like “oh she looks past the surface of his words to see what he’s really feeling—” because she DOESN’T, she’s usually wrong!! But nevertheless she’s still blithely ignoring the painstaking public persona he puts on! It’s like she goes “you’re wearing a mask” but instead of trying to remove his mask she pulls out a set of markers and draws a new face on top of the mask.

AND IT MAKES HIM SO MAD. He’s SO mad. He works SO HARD to control how people see him. What do you do then?? Either you take off your mask and go “NO, you idiot, THIS is the real me!!!!” or you painstakingly wipe off the marker, say, “darling, you realize you draw on people’s faces everywhere you go, don’t you?” and try to persuade her to stop doing that.

He’s right, she probably shouldn’t draw on people’s faces if she wants to see who they really are, but that’s not the reason he wants her to stop. It’s about control. See him the way he chose for you to see him, dammit.))

#ooc

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dameronology · 4 years

Text

the one with the intergalactic babysitter (mando x reader)

summary: you’re a little lost in life - you moved to coruscant to become a writer, but working two jobs to make ends meet has made you dismayed. one babysitting gig with a mandalorian and his weird green kid might change everything.

this is my first mando piece!! it might be the first part of a series or it might be a stand alone - if you want to see more, i’m definitely down to see what else my brain spews up

enjoy,

- val xx

Coruscant was a very fucking expensive place to live.

It was understandable, seeing as it was the political and cultural hub of the galaxy - the kind of place that Frank Sinatra might write songs about titled Coruscant, Coruscant - but maker, it felt like they were charging you simply to exist in the city. Perhaps if you’d had a career, or a solid job that didn’t require chasing around after rude patrons and yelling at middle-aged women for severely under tipping. Being a waitress simply wasn’t enough to make ends meet. You’d originally moved to the capital to make it as a writer - a statement you would come to learn would age like milk on a hot July day.

So, you turned to babysitting too; you already spent your day dealing with sticky-handed children and tuning out their incessant screaming. The extra credits wouldn’t hurt and it was something to do that didn’t involve sitting within the four walls of your tiny, concrete apartment.

The first few weeks were a bit sow, usually tending to the spoilt of children of rich, inner city politicians. They were easy jobs; the kids were easily entertained by a holomovie and their parents usually left enough money to order take away food for them. You simply had to sit and watch them; making sure they didn’t choke and that they were in bed on time. Simple.

One slow Monday - the kind were the hours dragged and there was a sort of grey cloud of gloom hanging over the skyscrapers - you got a call. Initially, it was supposed to be your night off to work on your debut novel. The first thing on your to-do list was to come up with an idea for said novel but as it usually went with writers, you found it easier to find excuses than to get on with the thing you claimed was your livelihood.

‘Hello?’ You were halfway through the door of your apartment, your commslink in one hand as you tossed your apron onto the kitchen counter.

‘Is this...Y/N?’

‘Maybe.’ You thinned your eyes. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘A potential client.’ It sounded as though the caller was covering their mouth. ‘Are your services exclusive to human children?’

‘Not at all. I had a Twi’lek kid last week.’ You replied. ‘What kinda kid are we talking?’

‘I’m not entirely sure.’

‘You don’t know what species your own kid is?’

‘He’s adopted?’ The voice came back, a little unsure. ‘Look, it’s a long story but I’ve had an emergency at work and I need someone to keep an eye on him for a few hours. I’ll pay double.’

That was how you ended up rushing out again, plans for the night completely disregarded in lieu of money . Admittedly, you were a little unsure because a) the address he had given you was in an air hangar and b) you were half-expecting to turn up and find that the child was a demon. But the guy was paying double and you needed to make rent - and you were like eighty percent sure he probably wasn’t going to kill you.

When you got to Air Hangar 64 - a jet parking spot right in the middle of downtown Coruscant - you almost turned around, thinking you’d got the wrong address. A man in Mandalorian armour (one hell of a man, it should be added) was standing outside of a jet, a bundle of robes in his arms. He was tapping his foot on the ground, the bright lights of the city around you illuminating against the beskar of his suit.

‘Y/N?’ You hadn’t even noticed that he’d spotted you, given the whole face apparatus situation. The voice, however, matched the one from the phone.

‘Right. Hi.’ You cautiously approached him. ‘I didn’t catch your name on the phone.’

‘Mando.’ He replied.

‘Mando the Mandalorian?’ You quirked a brow at him. ‘Or is it short for Mandalorian?’

‘Up to you.’ His words were blunt.

It was then that you noticed the bundle in his arms was actually moving, a tiny and clawed green hand reaching up. It wriggled slightly and you tried - you really tried - to hide the look of horror on your face.

‘That's the thing I’m babysitting?’

‘He’s the thing you're babysitting.’ Mando replied. ‘His face is much better than his hands.’

He handed you the bundle - and you noted that the shiny guy had been right. The little face staring back at you, with its wide eyes, brown eyes and hilariously oversized ears, was certainly much cuter than a human baby. He wrapped his tiny hand around your finger, letting out a tiny giggle.

‘Is that why you wear the helmet?’ You asked. ‘Cos you’re green and wrinkly too?’

You couldn’t see the Mandalorian’s face, but you could tell from the way that he tilted his head to the side that he wasn’t amused by your statement. Tough crowd.

‘I’ll only be gone a few hours.’ He said. ‘I appreciate you doing this.’

‘And I appreciate you paying double.’ You shot back.

‘There’s food for him on the ship - some freeze dried frogs and some bantha milk.’

‘I’m sorry, did you just say freeze dried frogs and-’

‘- I’d appreciate it if you stayed out the hull of the ship.’ Mando continued, ignoring your question. ‘Just stick to the cockpit.’

‘Right.’ You forced a smile, inwardly reminding yourself of the double payment. ‘And do you have a rough ETA?’

‘Sometime between now and tomorrow morning.’

‘No need to be precise, I suppose.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘Well, have fun doing whatever is that you do...Mando.’

He didn’t mean to come across as icy and rude. It was just that he rarely ever interacted with anybody else - the Child was hardly chatty and he usually knocked his cargo out before they could get a word in. Still, the Mandalorian smiled slightly to himself at the use of his name. He wouldn’t usually trust a single soul in the galaxy to be alone with his kid on his ship, but he didn’t have much choice. You didn’t seem like the sort of person who would steal it - in fact, he got the impression you probably couldn’t fly it at all.

Just like that, you were alone with the weird, Kermit-looking child. The first hour was slow; painfully so, in fact. All you could do was sit in the pilot’s chair, spinning around aimlessly in circles as the kid napped. The pile of dead, freeze-dried frogs stacked atop the dashboard was a little unnerving, but not any less unnerving than the six-foot-tall, armour-clad man to whom they belonged.

By the third hour, you were beginning to wish the kid was still asleep. You quickly learnt that he enjoyed waddling about and pressing random buttons; he was particularly drawn to the bright red one next to your seat. You were no expert, but you’d seen enough holocartoons growing up to know what an ejector seat was.

‘Oh no, let’s leave the blaster alone.’ You jumped out your chair, quickly picking up the Child. You held him up in the air, eyes meeting for a moment - then he burst into tears. ‘Hey, it’s okay! It’s better to play with safe things, like this mildly disturbing freeze dried-’

- The kid ripped his food from your hand before you could finish the sentence, shoving the creature into his slobbery mouth with an ostentatiousness that was impressive and disturbing in equal measures.

Watching him guzzle down the bantha milk was a similar experience; half of it ended up down his robes, the other half splattering to the floor. It could have been worse. He could have spilled it all over the controls or down the seat. Heck, he could have poured it over your head.

By the time the Mandalorian came back, both you and the Child were passed out. So much so, in fact, that you didn’t hear him enter the ship. You were snoring quietly in the pilot’s seat, leg stretched out to the other chair. The little green rat was snoozing on your chest, one of your hands resting over his back. There was blue milk all down your shirt and a frog’s leg stuck to the windscreen.

He gently leant forward to pick his kid up, placing him back in his floating crib. You began to stir when you felt the warmth move from your chest, your brain mentally registering the sudden absence of the creature.

‘Hey, Mando the Mandalorian.’ You sat up, rubbing your eyes. As you did, the frog that had been plastered to the windscreen fell, bouncing off of his helmet. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh that was about to come out. ‘I am so sorry about the mess-’

‘- don’t be.’ He cut you off, sticking out his gloved hand to help you up. ‘He’s a messy kid.’

You weren’t sure how you could tell, but something about him seemed much more docile than your previous, brief encounter. His tone was a little warmer - or was it more tired? It was hard to tell with the helmet.

Your best guess was that whatever work-related task he’d run out to had really taken it out of him. His shoulders were a little slumped, words tinged with exasperation. Coming home to find his ship covered in frogs and blue milk was probably only salt in the wound.

‘I’ll clean it up.’ You offered.

‘No, it’s fine.’ Mando shook his head, releasing his grip on your hand.

‘You’re tired.’ You said. ‘I mean...I think you’re tired. It’s hard to tell with that metal thing covering your face but I’m getting some exhausted dad vibes from you and I did make the mess after all.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Certain.’ You rubbed your eyes. ‘We spent most of the time you were out napping so I’m well-rested anyways.’

After pointing you in the direction of a tiny closet towards the back of the cock-pit, you gathered what appeared to be an ages-old mop and a bottle of unidentified cleaning liquid. Cleaning up spilled and splattered food was simply part of your day job and it didn’t take you long to reassemble the place. You mopped the floor, prying the occasional frog leg or arm from the ship’s windscreen and controls.

Mando watched as you did, eyes following you as you darted around. You couldn’t see him staring at you but you could certainly feel it. Glancing up from the floor, you paused your cleaning to hold his gaze, letting the mop fall against the wall.

‘So, what do you do?’ You asked.

Helmet tilt.

‘I mean, for like a job.’ You continued. ‘You live on a ship and you have a weird kid - he’s lovely, don’t get me wrong - but he’s fucking weird. Doesn’t he have a mum or something? Or another dad?’

‘I’m a bounty hunter.’ Mando replied. ‘And no.’

Did you always talk this much? Or was it just his wordless responses that made it feel like you were having a conversation with yourself? You could have sworn that most conversations didn’t take this much effort.

‘Bounty hunter, huh?’ You raised your eyebrow. ‘I don’t suppose that finding an individual in these Coruscanti crowds is very easy - sorry. I also don’t suppose that you want my running commentary-’

‘- no, I like it.’ His words took you by surprise. ‘I don’t come across many chatty people.’

There was something about you that he liked - you were bright, sparky. The complete opposite of every antisocial criminal and cantina-dweller that he’d ever come across. He was tired beyond words but your voice was soothing.

‘Yeah, the kid isn’t much of a conversationalist.’ You replied. ‘Where did you find him?’

‘He had a bounty on his head.’ Mando replied. ‘The people that wanted him were bad.’

‘So you ran away with him?’ You dropped the mop, taking a seat in the chair beside him. ‘And just called him your own?’

‘Not at first, but there are a lot of people after him.’

‘Oh yeah. I’m sure that tiny green thing is the galaxy’s most wanted criminal.’ You scoffed.

‘What do you do?’ His helmet tilted again, this time out of curiosity. He got the vibe that you probably weren’t a full-time babysitter. You’d looked after his kid well enough but you didn’t seem like the sort of person who would voluntarily spend all their time with children. You swore too much for that.

‘I’m trying to be a writer.’ You explained.

That made sense, Mando thought, you certainly had plenty to say.

‘Trying?’

‘Let’s just say that there isn’t a whole lot of writing happening.’ You replied. ‘You know, life gets in the way. I babysit and waitress to make ends meet but that leaves little time for getting shit done. I’m hopeful, though.’

Mando was almost bewildered by you at that point: you were the opposite of him in every way. You spoke about anything & everything, you’d anchored yourself to this city and you were trying to achieve a dream - an uncertain dream. He was the one that travelled the galaxy but somehow, you seemed to be more free. You had the sort of energy and optimism that felt like a stranger to him. Your presence alone against the cold, metal walls of his ship felt like a warm hug.

‘Is it lack of inspiration?’ He asked.

‘Maybe.’ You replied. ‘I thought Coruscant would help with that but it’s actually pretty fucking sad here. I can’t travel though, not when I’m working two jobs just so I can afford to live, let alone go on kriffing vacation.’

‘Right.’ He nodded. ‘I’m heading out tomorrow morning.’

You furrowed your brow. ‘Yeah. Where to?’

‘I have no idea.’ He replied. ‘But I need someone to watch the kid and you need to travel.’

‘Sure.’ You snorted. ‘I’ll just...I’ll just up and leave my whole life here behind to drop everything and travel the galaxy with a random man and his weird frog baby whilst I search for inspiration and - oh.’

‘What?’

‘That sounds like one hell of a story.’

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagines #mando x reader #mando imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars fanfic

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cloveroctobers · 4 years

Text

SEBASTIAN “SEB” KATSAROS —

IG bio/info: @/s3bgl00m | 17.4k followers | i hate it here. i hate my username name too. Listen to my podcast wth my mate here...open.Spotify.com/podcast/?!.doomngloom

28 years of age

Born & raised in Liverpool, England...don’t ask if he’s met the Beatles he will completely ignore you if you do

Music shop owner in the heart of town

It’s called, “Kicking Kettles”

loves collecting vinyls, cassette tapes, & cds sorry, what did you expect?

His mother is a children’s illustrator

She’s Ashkenazi Jewish

His father is a graphic designer

And is from Nafplio, Greece

They’ve been separated for about a year now, with seb’s father living in France

His mother was skeptical on dating around while she was in a place of uncertainty in her marriage but with a deep discussion with her husband, then her children, she slowly went forward just to see what was out there & found that she wasn’t sure if she’d be open permanently with other beings

Seb was similar to his mother in many ways...

Has a older sister by 2 years named, Xenia...she’s very bossy, a busy-body, & is very vocal. The opposite of seb

she used to beat up guys just for them to turn around and ask her out on dates, a few of them tried to bully seb but Xenia was not having that ofc

very close to his family, even if things are a little off between mum & dad

I feel like he went through a buzzed hair phase & when he finally made the choice to start growing out his hair, going on 4-5 years now, everyone seemed to approve

Even if they didn’t? It be no matter, sure he’d feel a little awkward if someone he cared about didn’t like it but he was sure they would get over it OR get used to it

The hair only comes out when he’s showering or going to bed

His best friend who’s a barber (and a bit of a douche) tells him he’s got to let his hair breathe more often or he’ll have breakage, seb doesn’t think it’s that serious? He’s not sure how much longer he’ll keep the bun now anyways...

This same friend encouraged him to get a “Pompadour” haircut & seb’s never been so offended before in his life, “I wouldn’t want to look like the rest of you knob-heads.”

Anyways, he takes care of his hair the best way he knows how and it seems to work for him...some slightly expensive haircare products here and there & a trimmer & he’s good to go

When he first started growing his hair out, he felt like he needed to go to the salon to know how to manage it. After awhile he learned how to do it on his own + you save $ that way

uses his hands to talk or holds one hand in the other when having a conversation since he doesn’t know what to do with his hands exactly

He’s a chapstick kinda guy who always loses his before he can finish it (been there)

Absolutely loves Japanese food and eats it almost everyday

Japanese Mayo is the superior condiment, bill can stfu!!

probably watches anime

owns a bunch of vans, beanies, and hoodies

smokes hookah every now & then but isn’t too crazy about it

canon: catlover! I feel like he would have a Sphynx, Abyssinian, Ocicat, or oriental shorthair + was over the moon when his baby had babies !!!

He wanted to keep all 5 of the kittens but knew he probably couldn’t, at least not forever but he was going to wait until they were all at least a few months before he decided to put them up for adoption...which sucks but would ultimately be the best choice, maybe???

tried eyeliner again outside of the villa & finds pencil or pomade is better than the standard liquid liner

likes black nail polish but is slightly embarrassed to be seen out with it, it’s the same thing with the eyeliner...he’s not that confident

the guy is a huge blusher & he despises the fact that his face betrays him 80% of the time

often gets nosebleeds

loves red wine especially if it’s on a rainy day and he’s home to fully enjoy it, he feels like he’s on his grown man shit when he does so

I feel like he’d be a fan of the umbrella academy & thinks it’s way better than stranger things...him & nick have argued over this on doom n gloom!

Five is his favorite

Everything he owns is in either black, red, gray/grey, or green

His main phobia is emetophobia (fear of v*mit) & he won’t share why, that’s just what it is

Introvert!

Canon: he’s not a Aquarius

So wtf r ya? Nick & I would like to know plz

Virgo sun? + Taurus moon? + Pisces rising?

I feel like he’s one of those people that feels the need to bring a backpack with him everywhere and you can imagine it to be black ofc

“Who tf are you Linus? But with a backpack?” His sister often jokes (I do this with my sibs, both of them love carrying backpacks. Me on the other hand? I don’t have time for the shit)

He drives a shitty car from the 90s that’s Engine sounds as if it’s about to blow

but 100% perfers to drive his moped, Atticus around

played football (soccer) growing up to help get rid of his asthma

Cannot sleep with the tv on or any form of light around him, it has to be completely dark & quiet!

He’ll only do so if it’s with Genevieve since you know they’re trying this whole long distance thing out

Are one of those couples that will fall asleep on the phone/cpu together

Genevieve might be the, “no you hang up first” & seb will actually hang up the phone and get into bed lmao

Just for vieve to call back like?!! “I can’t believe you’ve done this!

“Well you said—

“Never mind what I said, sebz!!! It’s extremely rude...”

his last relationship before Genevieve lasted 6-8 months (there was a time when he felt like he was unsure if he was still in a couple with that person, isn’t that a shame?)

his love language is acts of service, he’ll do things for you to ease your worries out of love and not obligation so that you feel valued as his partner & I believe he wants this in return as well

I think he’s a bit of a worry wart too when it comes to certain things even if his exterior might show him trying to hide it

He was super nervous to get his first tattoo on his chest, “if words fail, music speaks” but he found that the slight pain was worth it? And quite nice! then he kept going back monthly and soon enough his arms were completely covered

mum hated it, her baby boy was becoming a man! (It’s not like he’s almost 30 but you know how moms are)

Deff has a collection of silver rings, he’s tried out necklaces but he thinks he looks better with his rings

The slit in his brow came from trying to squeeze thru the broken patio glass door with his sis as if it were some booby trap (not exactly, but a safety hazard forsure!) & a piece of glass fell from above slicing his brow and left him with 4 stitches

Secretly into watching those dating shows before and after experiencing it himself

people he enjoyed seeing on the Telly from previous seasons: jen, jake, talia, erikah, lottie, Noah, Carl, Kassam, Priya, & Hannah

AJ is his best girl friend (besides vieve) they FaceTime quite a bit & chat shit to each other on the daily

Feels like she fits in well with his friend group, which just contains his barber friend — they put up with his banter & give it right back to him but he can also be vulnerable & comfortable with those around him so that’s always a plus

It’s the same with nick, except they share a hobby together, their podcast & that’s what seb wants to keep it as, a hobby, for fun & giggles yet nick is thinking about getting paid for what they do. He thinks it’s a great idea whereas seb doesn’t want this to turn into a career/chore

He’s perfectly happy at kicking kettles

He feels strongly about his stance while nick is on both sides

They’ll figure it out, soon.

How are things outside of the villa & since the boat party? They all have a group chat that they randomly speak up in, in the beginning they would do morning and goodnight texts but that became tedious so they settled for either or. Or simply just checking in to see how each other’s days went with seb secretly being the most curious to everyone’s days

Things are awkward between him and Yasmin, he kinda avoids talking to her tbh & not because he doesn’t want to...its just yeah it’s not the same with him and aj where they can easily move forward, it feels like pulling teeth with Yasmin since they’re some what similar & it seems like she’s waiting on him to take the lead on fixing some imagined issue they have with each other? It’s weird idk

Lives in a cramped studio apartment, it works for him so he doesn’t need any inputs thank you

celeb crushes? Demi lovato, Hwasa, Amanda Seyfried, & Birgundi Angel Baker

as for music? Sleeping with sirens, pierce the veil, teagan & Sara, the pierces, panic!at the disco, all time low, twenty one pilots, x-ambassadors, awolnation, jon bellion— listen when atl dropped? Seb felt like he was reborn okay?! , Japanese breakfast, & great grandpa

Anthem = The Postal Service, “Such great heights”

#litg #litg s3 #litg3 #litg seb #litg genevieve #litg yasmin #litg bill #litg aj #litg nicky #litg moodboard #litg headcanons #litg headcanon #why can’t I keep things brief? but it’s understandable when this season gave us the bare minimum #idk how i feel about this one but I tried!

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heyyouwiththeassbutt · 5 years

Text

The Christmas Gift (Part 1)

Summary - Christmas with your super-soldier friends had become a tradition. Until one of them can't make it and everything changes, thanks to an early Christmas present. Part 1 of 2.

Pairing - Steve Roger x Reader

Warning - Major smut in future chapter and just a little bit in this chapter. Dubious consent (kinda sorta sex pollen??). Cursing. If I’ve missed anything, please let me know!

Word Count - 3,536

A/N - Part one of my two-part Christmas fic challenge. All mistakes are my own. Feedback is greatly needed and appreciated.

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December 24th, 2019

10:21

"This had better be important." You huffed out, the grave tone of your voice more than a hint that you had been deep in sleep before your phone had begun to ring. The laugh on the other end of the phone had been far too bright and airy for this early in the morning. "Just calling to let you know I've landed, Doll. Grabbing a cab and should be there within half an hour." Steve's words bounced around your head for a few seconds before you sighed and pushed yourself into an upright position on your far too comfortable bed. For the last four years, you had welcomed the famous Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes into your home for Christmas. It had been an offhanded comment about how you spent Christmas by yourself since you couldn't get the time off work to travel home to your folks, but you were more than happy when you opened your front door that first Christmas Eve to see your two closest friends, arms filled with bags of Christmas food and gifts. You were a lowly techie within the Stark tower, but after crossing paths with the boys only a few times, they'd taken you under their wings and your friendship with them became one of the most important things in your life. Throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of comfy shorts, you listened as Steve told you about their most recent mission, how he had worried it was going to last over the Christmas period, and how Sam had threatened to murder Bucky twice, just for being Bucky. "I'll talk to him when you get here, he needs to learn how to talk to Sam like a regular human." You laughed softly as you left your room and headed for the kitchen to throw on a pot of coffee. Silence greeted you at the end of the line. "Stevie? Have I lost you?" "No... I'm still here. Did Buck not tell you?" "Tell me what?" "He's, ah, he's not coming this year."

10:59 Steve was leaning against your kitchen counter, sipping on a cup of coffee as you angrily paced back and forth. It wasn't even that he wasn't coming that had bothered you, it was that he hadn't even told you. "It's just downright rude. I bought a turkey! And that bread sauce he likes!" You groaned out, sitting at the kitchen island, a pout on your lips. Steve nodded, a small smile on his face as he looked up from his coffee cup, "If it makes you feel better, I like bread sauce too." You rolled your eyes, but a smile settled on your face. At least Steve was still there. You'd make sure to text Bucky your annoyance later, but for now, you focused on the fact your friend was here for the first time in months. Things had been crazy for a long time, between Steve and Buckys missions and the new project Tony had you working on, you'd missed far too many of your usual catch-up coffees and late-night movie marathons with your friends. It was almost a sense of relief that flooded you at having your friend back. You hopped down from the chair and walked over to him, a grin on your face, "What ya get me for Christmas?" Steves smile faded and he shook his head, pointing a finger at you accusingly, "No. You do this every year, I'm keeping it a secret until tomorrow." Your pout returned as you wrapped your arms around his waist, his large hand resting on your hip and your chin resting on his chest, looking up at him through your lashes, "Please Stevie? You know I hate waiting..." There was a long pause where neither of you spoke, just looking at each other. Steve stood still, one hand clutching the coffee cup, the other frozen on your hip. You peered up at him questioningly before he seemed to pull himself out of whatever he had been thinking of and cleared his throat, removing his hand from you and setting down the coffee cup. He moved out of your reach as he muttered that he needed the bathroom, vanishing down the hallway. You stared after him. That was new.

14:33 Elf was playing on the TV as you and Steve relaxed on the couch, him laying halfway across it as you lay with your legs across his. This morning's weirdness had faded, but it still stuck in your mind. You had always been affectionate with the boys, and them you. It wouldn't have been unusual to find the three of you cuddling in your bed after they failed to get you out of bed on one of their visits, you pulling them down onto the comfy mattress until you all found yourselves drifting back to sleep. It had become normal for you to hug each other for extended periods after a long, stressful day when you just needed the touch of another person. Steves odd behavior this morning had confused you. It probably didn't seem that strange to anyone else, but you couldn't get past the knowledge that if you'd done the same thing when Bucky was there, Steve would have probably grabbed you into a hug, trapping your arms as Bucky snuck up behind you, tickling you until you were squealing and relenting that your gift could stay a surprise. You had missed most of the movie as your brain worked a mile a minute. Maybe Bucky was the reason it had been weird. Steve was a gentleman. It was possible he didn't think it right to be showing you that effection when the two of you were alone. Come to think of it, you couldn't really remember a time when you and Steve had spent much time together alone. A small squeeze on your ankle brought you back to the present, your gaze shot to Steve as you blinked slowly. He was watching you with a smile on his face, "I asked if you wanted lunch, Doll." You hadn't realized how hungry you were until he said it, having only had a slice of buttered toast this morning. "Food sounds good, I have lasagne in the fridge, made it special." You grinned as you swung your legs off the couch and made your way to the kitchen. Steve paused the movie and followed you, him lifting plates out of the cupboard as you switched on the oven to reheat the food. You fell into your familiar pattern, talking about nothing in particular as you grated extra cheese for the top of the lasagna and Steve started on the salad. By the time the oven had pre-heated and the dish was in, you were in the middle of a light-hearted debate about why Bucky had canceled on your Christmas tradition. It reminded you that you still hadn't texted him and you grabbed your phone from where you had abandoned it on the kitchen counter earlier. You lent over the counter, your elbows braced on it as you began to type a seething text message. You were vaguely aware that Steve stood behind you, reading over your shoulder as you crafted your message. Hello Bucky, if that even is your real name. I don't feel that I even know you anymore. Not only did you not let me know you wouldn't be coming this year, but you also didn't tell Stevie that you hadn't told me. I'm not mad, Bucky. I'm just disappointed. P.S. Steve is utterly devastated to be without you, and has a notion that you have in fact canceled as you are so in love with him that you cannot stand to be with him another holiday without letting your true feelings be known, but it is fine, as we all know you wanna fuc- Steve grabbed the phone from your hands as you dissolved into giggles. He held you tight by the waist as he began to delete the message, you struggling in his arms as you attempt to reach for the phone. "Don't delete it, please, it's my masterpiece! He needs to know, Stevie!" You were still laughing as you struggled against him, your back pressed tightly to his body as he held the phone out of your reach, a grin on his face. He deleted the message and looked down at you, redness on your cheeks from your fit of laughter and the strain of attempting to free yourself from his grip. He froze again. You almost tumbled to the ground as he released you, turning to check on the lasagna and leaving you unsteady on your feet as you stared at his back.

19:12 Your phone buzzed as you received a text. As per your tradition, you were mid-way through putting the last of the decorations on the tree. Your tree had been up from the 15th, but you had only put the lights on, leaving the decorations until you were all together. "Could you see who that is?" You called over to Steve, who stood by the fireplace, fastening the golden tinsel to the mantel. He lifted your phone from the table in front of him and laughed softly before he read it aloud, "Sorry to miss Christmas, babe, duty calls. Steve has a present from me in his bag, you can open it whenever you want. Love, Buck." You rolled your eyes, then jumped up and rushed over to Steve, your eyes bright, "So I do get to find out what my present is?" Steve shrugged as he headed towards the hallway where he'd left his things, "I didn't know he'd put anything in my bag." "Some super-soldier you are." You joked as you followed after him. After a few minutes of Steve looking through his bags, he pulls out a small, box. He hands it over to you and you smile smugly before the smile fades and you bite your lip. "What if its a trick and he's going to shout at me for opening it before Christmas?" "I won't tell if you won't." Steve laughed, his eyes on the present, as curious as you are. You shrug and pull open the lid, pausing as you look at the sachet inside, labeled in Buckys' handwriting, 'Super special hot chocolate for my super special best friends'. You laughed softly and showed Steve what was inside the box. He lifts it out, an eyebrow raised as he reads it. He lifts out a second sachet that you hadn't seen, this one filled with mini marshmallows. The three of you always had hot chocolate on Christmas Eve, but you did find it slightly odd that this was what he'd given you. Shaking off the strange feeling, you put the sachets in the kitchen, sending off a quick thank you message along with a few confused emojis to Bucky before you went back to decorating the tree.

22:35 Throwing the empty Chinese takeaway containers into the trash, you stretched your hands above your head, your back making a satisfying cracking noise after several hours of laying awkwardly on the couch watching movies with Steve. Your gaze fell on the sachets on the kitchen counter and you smiled softly. "Wanna see if this hot chocolate is poisoned?" You called to Steve as you pulled the milk and whipped cream from the fridge. He answered in an affirmative grunt which made you laugh. You were pretty sure your laziness was rubbing off on him. Three minutes later, you handed him his mug, adorned with whipped cream, marshmallows and a drizzle of chocolate sauce you'd remembered at the last second. He smiled up at you as he took it, settling his free hand on your lower leg as you once again stretched your legs across his. Falling into a comfortable silence, you took a drink of the hot chocolate and went back to watching whatever movie Steve had put on.

23:07 You felt weird. It wasn't a bad feeling, just... strange. Peering down at your empty mug, you couldn't stop a hint of worry from creeping into your mind. The thought wouldn't leave you as you tried your hardest to focus on the movie. It only lasted a few minutes, before you couldn't stand it and leaned over to the coffee table and lifting your phone. Quickly tapping to call Bucky, you became aware of Steve's hand running gently up and down your bare leg. "Opened your present yet?" Bucky's voice in your ear pulled you back from a sudden, wandering thought that had thrown your mind into overdrive. Clearing your throat, you tried to keep your tone even, "Yeah, we just drank it... Thank you. So, um, what made it so 'Super Special'?" Steve made eye contact with you as Bucky laughed. You knew from how close he was, Steve would have been able to hear him even without his super hearing. "Just a little something I picked up on a mission. Did you like it?" "It was nice. What kind of something?" The hand Steve was running up and down your leg was extremely distracting, so much so that you had to ask Bucky to repeat what he'd said. He laughed again and you could hear the smirk in his voice, "You'll find out soon enough, Babe. Happy Christmas." Just like that, the line went dead and you found yourself staring at the darkened screen. You looked at Steve and shrugged, setting your phone back on the coffee table as you tried to put your attention back to the television. His hand was warm on your lower thigh as Steve turned his gaze back to the movie. You felt him shift slightly, straightening a little bit as his other hand came to one of your socked feet, gently massaging the sole of your foot. Steve had given you a foot rub before. It had been nice, relaxing. This time felt less relaxing and you felt your cheeks heat up as his thumb dragged gently across the skin of your thigh. You stayed that way for a few minutes, almost stuck still as your eyes wandered to his hand. Trying to keep your breath even, you made eye contact with him. His gaze was searing, the blue of his eyes almost hidden by the deep black of his pupils. Within seconds, he had pulled you onto him, straddling his thick thighs as your breath caught in your throat. You wondered as he looked up at you if your pupils were as blown as his. You didn't have much time to think about it as his hand went to the back of your neck, pulling you down into a searing kiss. Body pressed tightly against his, your hands landed on his shoulders, pulling him somehow even closer. His hand on your neck gripped tighter as his other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place. The kiss deepened, your body alight as his tongue brushed across your lips, seeking permission. You weren't ashamed to say you moaned as you allowed him access, your tounges battling for dominance and if it didn't feel so good, you might have relented to him. You ground yourself down on him, your body working of its own accord as he let out a hiss, breaking the kiss and dropping his head to pant across your throat, dropping kisses and sucking on the skin there as he did. Small gasps left your lips as you continued to grind against him. He was hard and ready pressed against your core through his jeans and your shorts. You whimpered as he pulled away from your neck, annoyance on your face as his hand on your waist gripped you harder, stilling your movements. Guilt washed across his face as his forehead lent against yours, his eyes still blown black and his lips swollen from your kiss. Leaning in to catch those full lips again, he made a noise deep in his throat as he kissed you back, softer than the first time. It was over too quickly as he pulled away, "Stevie, please." You could hear the whine in your voice as you begged. You peppered kisses across his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, all while he stayed silent, his eyes closed tightly as he seemed to be having an internal battle with himself. His hand came up to your cheek, pushing you just far enough away that he could look into your eyes. "You don't want this, Doll. Bucky put something in the hot chocolate. You aren't... We aren't ourselves right now." The words wouldn't register in your brain. You didn't understand. Your gaze dropped to his chest as you bit your lip. "Do you not want me, Steve?" He growled again, low and frustrated, "You know I do. I want you so badly. But you aren't thinking straight." "I am thinking straight, I want you," you argued, tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks as you were met with a furious wave of rejection, "I'll be so good for you, Steve, I promise." Steve's hand on your waist tightened as he threw his head back, looking to the ceiling and blowing out a long breath. You could tell he was fighting his want, and you used it to your advantage and you rolled your hips on him again. All at once, you were lifted off of him and set on the sofa as Steve stood. Steve was pacing across the room, his hands running through his blonde hair as his t-shirt lifted just enough to catch a glimpse of the deep V of his stomach. Your mouth watered, even more so when you saw the pronounced bulge in his jeans. Staying silent, you sat there, watching him, waiting for him to make up your mind, but there was a voice in your head telling you how much you needed him that was quickly taking over all other thought. Stilling, Steve looked at you as he pulled his mobile from the back pocket of his jeans. You didn't need to see the screen to know who he was dialing as he lifted the phone to his ear.

23:49 Steve had been out of the room for at least 10 minutes, and you were fighting the overwhelming desire to seek him out.

You sat on the couch, your kneeling with your feet under you as you had been when he left, you hadn't moved an inch.

The ache between your legs was more than uncomfortable and you knew if he didn't come back soon there was a very real possibility that he'd come back to you with your fingers rubbing at your swollen clit.

As your will power was starting to fade even more so, he marched into the room, his face unreadable as he stopped not even a foot in front of you.

You longed to reach out and touch him but he held a hand out to stop you as if he could read your thoughts.

"I spoke to Bucky." You nod in understanding, focused on the curve of his plush lips.

"He said that it's temporary, it'll be gone by morning." He continued. "What does it do?" Your voice shook slightly as Steve stood above you. So close, but you knew if you reached out he wouldn't let you touch him. An exasperated sigh left him as he ran his hand through his hair, "It doesn't matter. He's not even 100% certain."

Tilting your head, you read the lie on his face. You'd gotten good at telling when Steve was lying, having learned his tell after many evenings of Poker with your boys. He looked down at you and knew he was caught, your eyebrow raised as you said nothing, but continued to stare him down. "He said... It was a desire thing. Unlocks... something or allows something. It was hard to focus on what he was saying." Looking at the bulge still prominent in his jeans in front of you, you fought the urge to smirk. Yeah, you were sure it was hard. "Is that enough proof?" You said slowly, now pulling yourself up to stand in the small space in front of him. He made no attempt to move back and for the first time, you thought about how he must be feeling the same way that you did. But he had stopped it. What a gentleman. "Proof?" He swallowed. "If it... unlocks or allows... something... It has to be something you feel already, right? Is that not enough proof I desire you, Stevie?" The resolve on his face was slowly dissolving as he looked down at you. "I want you, Stevie. Please." Just like that, his hands were on your ass as he lifted you into his arms, your arms and legs wrapping around him as you crashed your lips to each others. You were vaguely aware Steve was walking, the two of you somewhere, but you honestly didn't care where so long as his lips stayed on yours.

#Steve rogers/ reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america/reader #captain america x reader #smut #steve rogers fic #steve rogers reader insert #Steve rogers reader #marvel #steve rogers/you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers smut #steve rogers reader smut

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impala-dreamer · 5 years

Text

King Midas

SPN FanFic

~Dean gets hit with a curse and Y/N makes an unloseable bet.~

Dean x Reader, Sam

1,815 Words

Warnings: CRACK! It's just Crack, little smut chatter. Nothing too bad.

A/N: Sometimes you just need something ridiculous... Do hope you enjoy... ;)

Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

Bright light settled into a golden glow that pulsed around the room. Glass peppered the Oriental rug like shards of deadly confetti and a cold breeze blew through the now open windows; all shattered by the witch’s blast.

“Ya know!” Y/N’s voice rang through the room, annoyance clear in her yell.

A big hand reached for her and she took it, allowing Sam to help her to her feet. “You OK?” he asked gently, hazel eyes brown in the gilded light that set around the edges of the disheveled room.

Y/N looked up and sighed, squinting up at him, aggravated. “Do you have any idea how many curses were flung at me before I met you two dumbasses?”

Dean laughed from the floor across from them and popped up on one elbow. “A few, I’m guessing.”

“None!” she yelled back, pulling a long piece of glass from her hair. “None.”

Sam held in a laugh, knowing she would calm down soon. She often called them dumbasses when she was annoyed and tired. It was like a pet name. A really rude, insulting pet name.

“Sorry, Y/N/N.” Sam swiped his hand across her shoulder and shooed away some dust and glass. “You cut anywhere?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nah, I’m fine. Just tired of getting knocked out by random colorful blasts. How come every witch we meet has the super rainbow explosion power?”

He shrugged and laughed under his breath. “I wish I knew.”

From the floor, Dean cleared his throat. “At least you didn’t take the rainbow bomb in the chest.”

“Oh shit, Dean,” Y/N cringed. “Are you alright?”

He waved a dismissive hand and then flipped over onto his stomach, pushing up on his hands and knees. “I’m fine. Can’t keep me down.” As he spoke, his lower back twitched painfully and he bowed, belly headed back towards the floor. “Gah!”

“Yeah, you’re fine,” Sam sniggered.

Dean grit his teeth and pushed hard on his hands, splaying his palms out flat on the rug. “Shut up, Sam!” A hot tingle spread down Dean’s right arm, starting at the shoulder and pushing down like warm syrup into his fingers and out the tips. “Oh…” Dean looked down and watched as the warmth left his hand and pulsed against the floor, fibers of the carpet heating up beneath his touch. “What the-”

“Dean?”

He turned to see Y/N’s annoyance gone, replaced with concern. Her eyes were big, her brow creased with worry. He shot up quickly, immediately forgetting the weird tingle.

“I’m good,” he said, shooting her a smile. “You guys hungry? I’m hungry.” He adjusted his collar and pushed passed them both, nearly knocking Y/N over as he headed for the door. “Saw a diner down the block. Daddy needs bacon.”

He may have needed bacon, but actually eating it didn’t seem like it was going to happen.

As soon as they left the witch’s house it started to happen; her curse taking on its form, showing off for the trio.

It started with the door knob but it was harder to notice since it was already metal. He lingered there, turning the knob in his hands as he waited for Sam and Y/N, and the tingle returned to his body.

Next was the iron railing coming down the front steps. They stood on the porch for a moment recounting some random information about the case, Dean leaning on his hand against the cold black metal. Again, the tingle flowed from his shoulder straight down until it left his hand.

If Dean had bothered to say something or hang out for a few more seconds, he would have seen what the warmth was doing. But as it was, he was hungry and failed to see that the things he touched turn to gold in his wake.

When shining gold began to overtake the weathered leather of the steering wheel, the Impala swerved dangerously on the country road and Dean screamed, driving off into the shoulder to park and panic.

“What the fuck!” Dean’s hands flew up and away from the wheel, his precious car becoming a victim of some quick working alchemy as he watched on in horror. He braced himself against the back of the seat, tingling beginning again as he clutched the upholstery.

“Well, that’s new…” Sam said curiously, leaning over the bench seat to look at the wheel.

The backseat squeaked as Y/N moved forward, looking over Dean’s heaving chest to see the gilded circle. It looked as if he had gold-leafed a perfect handprint on the leather.

“Whelp, guess we know what the curse was,” she said with a small laugh, sitting back and crossing her arms.

Still struggling to catch his breath, Dean’s head spun to look at her over his shoulder, brows creased, lips in a pout. “What!”

“You got the Midas Touch, my friend,” she said, nodding to the hand still clutching the back of his seat.

Sure enough, below his hand was a hard patch of pure gold.

Dean made a dying bleat noise and pulled his palm away from the seat. “Son of a bitch! My car!” Instinctively, he rubbed at his cheek, forgetting or perhaps not realizing what the strange tingling in his forearm foretold.

“Dean!” Sam barked, slapping Dean’s hand away from his face.

“What?” Dean looked from Sam to his own palm and then to the newly golden interior and his gears turned. “Oh, fuck me…”

“Not until this curse is over, Big Guy,” Y/N laughed, clicking her tongue.

Dean cast an annoyed glance in her direction. “This isn’t funny, Y/N!”

“Kinda is…”

“Is not!”

“OK, both of you shut up!” Sam commanded and the Impala fell silent. “Let’s just deal with this logically.”

Dean looked back at Sam like a boy who just found out there’s no Santa Clause. “How, Sam? How? How am I gonna eat? I need to eat.”

Y/N bit her tongue to stifle a laugh but couldn’t help making a comment. “He’s worried about food,” she said under her breath. “Wait till he has to take a piss…”

Dean found a bit of comfort in the old diner, hiding away in a booth in the back, old red vinyl seat molding to his tired ass as he sat there, forlorn and helpless. Every so often, Y/N would take pity on him and lift his burger to his lips, doing her best to feed the poor soul and not laugh in his face.

“So, it looks like the curse will wear off in twenty-four hours…” Sam swiped through the lore book on his laptop and shrugged. “Not too bad.”

Absentmindedly, Dean picked at a piece of bacon on his plate, jaw dropping as Sam seemed to brush off his predicament. “No big deal? Sam...I’m dying here. I’m gonna have to wear mittens to bed.”

Y/N shook her head. “Wouldn’t the mittens just turn to gold?”

Dean rolled his eyes at her. “Why are you so nasty this week?”

She sneered. “I don’t know. Just tired of witches and their bullshit.”

“Same,” Dean agreed with a sigh and lifted the bacon to his lips. He took a bite and immediately spit it back out. “Oh, come on! Not the bacon!”

“Everything you touch, Dean. Bacon, the car, your shirt, you! Everything.” Sam over enunciated the last word just to drive the point into his brother’s head, but Dean just slumped in his seat and pouted some more.

“This blows.”

Y/N grinned and looked at Sam. “Twenty bucks says he’s got golden junk by morning.”

Dean sat straight up and gasped. “Excuse me! I can control myself for twenty-four hours!”

“No, Dean,” she laughed. “You can’t.”

Dean lounged on the bed, fully clothed atop the comforter, propped up by pillows. He sat with his palms up, hands resting on his thighs. He was exhausted.

“Pssst!”

Sam looked up from his laptop slowly, distracted by Dean’s less than quiet call. “What?”

“What if…” He paused, looking towards the bathroom door behind which, Y/N was changing for bed. “What if I accidentally like grab her boobs while I’m sleeping?”

Sam laughed, head shaking as he wondered why Dean was such an idiot sometimes. “Just don’t touch her.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean whispered loudly, “what if I do?”

“Then that would suck,” Sam said simply. “So don’t.”

Another look at the bathroom door and Dean groaned pathetically. “Can I sleep with you?”

Sam scoffed. “What? No!”

Dean growled and pouted. “You suck.”

“Ready for bed?” Y/N appeared in the doorway, night shirt loose around her thighs but tight across her chest.

Dean drooled. “Uh, yeah.”

She hopped into the bed beside him and pecked his cheek sweetly. “No touchy.”

Her smile was both enticing and mocking, but Dean couldn’t decide which was more appealing. The idea of not being able to touch her all night was driving him mad.

“No touchy,” he echoed, silently praying that his hands would just fall off.

“Night, Sam!” Y/N called over Dean’s chest.

“Night,” Sam murmured back.

“Great,” Dean sighed as Y/N lay down and snuggled up against his side, her plump ass warm against his leg. “Just...great.”

“Oh, fuck…”

A moan tickled Y/N’s ear and she stirred.

“Goddamn, baby...mhm… just like that.”

Sam’s dream began to fade.

“Oh, shit. Shit. Shit!”

A scream woke them both and Sam jumped from his bed to bang on the bathroom door, Dean’s frantic yell making his heart race. Y/N bolted up out of bed too, right behind Sam, her breath short with worry.

“Dean!” Sam banged again, giant fist rattling the entire door. “What’s going on?”

The noise died down and the door opened up, bright white light spilling into the dark room.

Dean stood in the bathroom, his face twisted with guilt and pain, his shorts tented boldly. Y/N looked down to the fabric pop-up and saw a hint of gold glinting from the flap.

Sam saw it too and shook his head. “Dean… no.”

Y/N rubbed her tired eyes and turned away, headed back to bed. “I called it!” She shook her head and plopped back down into bed, gathering up her pillow and closing her eyes. “I fucking called it.”

Sam looked down at Dean and sighed. “One night, man. One.”

Dean shrugged innocently and laughed at himself. “I… I couldn’t help it. I’m a man. I have urges, Sam.”

“Yeah, well now you got a golden dick!” Y/N called from the bed.

“This sucks.” Dean’s shoulders fell and he looked down at his 24 carat cock.

“Hey,” Sam said, trying to make him feel a little better, “at least you didn’t grab her boobs…”

Dean grunted and pushed passed his brother to go lay down. “Yeah… shut up, Sammy.”

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @deanmonandnegansbitch @dolphincliffs @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysticmaxie @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnficgirl @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride

#spn fanfic #dean x reader #crack #one shot

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gezelligheiid2 · 4 years

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okay so. those of you who talk to me about elder scrolls know I don’t entirely like the portrayal of the Clockwork City as seen in ESO. this is kinda a big post of headcanons and other things to give you guys, my buddies, a better idea of how I view the Clockwork City when I write about Sotha Sil or Sulkan.

What is the Clockwork City: So, basic concept is a city that’s some combination of “magic, metal, and natural” elements, but why. What is the goal of the Clockwork City? In some respects, I agree that the Clockwork City is meant to be some sort of “higher plane of existence” that is more perfect than Nirn. Truly, it is a place of learning. The City is meant to be inhabited by the people Seht believes have the capacity to learn something from their time there: it’s not a place for random people, nor is it a place that you can enter because you know someone that might live there. The City is a huge work in progress, even when Seht dies, and is never fully complete.

Does it still have those robots tho?: Kinda. I’ll be totally honest with you, my main beef with the Clockwork City in ESO is the whole SIRI thing it’s got goin on. I hate it. Apparently, it’s Sotha Nall’s voice that you hear? Cool. I still hate it. There’s no voice that reads off readings to you or welcomes you to places, and that goes for the factotums as well. So, the semi-human robots are still around, but they don’t talk. Factotums are mainly just used for basic jobs, it allows Apostles to do more important work while still sustaining the City as a whole. So watering or picking crops? Factotums. Cleaning? Factotums. Easy repairs? Factotums. However, there are still plenty of basic jobs that need to be done, who does those?

Yeah Marcus who does those other basic jobs?: A p o s t l e s. Alright, lemme get fuckin zesty with you: knowledge doesn’t only mean “making robots”. The part earlier where I said this was a city for people who would learn from being there? I mean it. You aspire to learn banking? Well shit, the city needs one of those, so Seht might pick you up and give you a place there. You wanna make food with all kinda of wacky ingredients? Well the Apostles gotta eat, so you might get picked too. Want to run your own store? Fuck man, the city needs that: you’ve been chosen. Now, most Apostles end up as the Robot people since that’s what this place is known for. Maybe, you already know where I’m going with this.

Where?: Fuckin class system. Get hyped, the Clockwork City has an upper and lower class, and I think you already know what I mean. It’s like the real world where people see 4 year college as being super cool and awesome and 2 year college is not as good or cool and fuck them for thinking that but I digress. So get this: the Clockwork Apostles that are considered “Seht’s faithful” think that they’re more important and all around better. It didn’t start like that, but when you bring beings from Nirn to a “new, better Nirn” they’re going to bring their own fucked up brains with them. If you ask Seht, he would say that every person in the city is his apostle. If is ask the Clockwork Apostles: they’re the only apostles. For that reason, most of the non-robot people don’t call themselves apostles because then it just starts an argument. Clockwork Apostles gated off their ranks only for people of “reAl inTElleCtUAl PerSuITs”. However, there isn’t really a monetary class system? There isn’t a district that lives in poverty while the others don’t coughslagtowncough. This is a place of learning, not of wealth. Seht wants you there, he’s not going to just let you starve and die. The people Seht selects to live here have homes that they don’t need to pay for and are given a sum of money to take care of food and other things. However, jobs are still a thing and its a good way to get money since what you’re given for being there isn’t enough to furnish your house of buy something nice for yourself. I went on a tangent whoops. Anyways, these apostles that have other pursuits are called “Cogs” by the Clockwork Apostles: referring the whole idea of cogs in a machine, but enforcing that they’re not cool or special. Which is rude.

Wait why does Seht let them be like that?: Honestly, because he’s soft. They’re his kids, that’s how he treats them. But that doesn’t mean that discipline is something he does well. He doesn’t. That’s the problem.

Also you mentioned free houses: Hell yeah I did. When Seht kidnaps you into the ether, he makes sure you have somewhere to go. Sure, they’re little starter places meant for just one person, but that’s the beauty of it. There are plenty of other places to live, Seht even gets excited when someone wants to put their skills to work and build something themselves, but that’s all extra. If you want to just do research and live in your little place? Cool, thats kinda what the spirit of the city is all about. You found someone you want to marry, maybe have some kids? Neato, there are bigger houses you can invest in by working.

Wait but isn’t this place religious?: That is a good question: it is. But it wasn’t meant to be. Seht isn’t like the other Tribunes, he’s not preachy or anything and really isn’t all that temple aligned when you think about it. However, a God doesn’t have to say scripture for people to start making it. The Truth in Sequence isn’t a document written by Seht, it’s written by his “Fourth Tourbillon”. You know what that means? No. It doesn’t mean anything. Aside from that fact that a Tourbillon is a watch-piece, we have no idea what the job he’s bragging about it. What we do know, is that Seht has said some things about how he sees the Clockwork City as being a perfect world, but he really hasn’t talked much about the beliefs the Clockwork Apostles seem to think he has... Shedding your weak mortal skin for metal? He’s never said anything about it. The union of flesh and machine? I mean, he makes those things but that’s not really his end goal. The Dwemer are bad? Where do you think his designs came from: the Dwemer. Seht lets these beliefs fester since, well, he’s never said what he believes in public. He’s like a real god: vibing while his followers all freak out and make assumptions about what he does or does not like based on second-hand accounts.

Are you done: No. I gotta talk. About the fuckin water. You know what Seht likes? Water. He grew up seaside, his House was known for magic and fishing. So, I don’t like that ESO shows all the water being polluted. And no one cares. The water is clean, the only oil you might see would be from machines that might have broken and fallen in or broken pipes. The water is normal. Also while I’m on this, weather is weird. Seht has engineered the systems that involve the weather and its pretty cool. You can see sunrise, sunset, moon phases, and even stars. What won’t you see? Rain. Why are there trees and grass? Magic. The Clockwork City exists outside of time and space, so I don’t find it hard to believe that the ground is weird and can sustain these weird forms of plants: the city is also watched by a Magnus so there’s a lot of magic involved. Does it make sense? Not really. But you know what makes less sense: letting it rain in your clock city.

Oh shit don’t they eat paste: It’s around, but there are more kinds of food available. Honestly the paste happened when Seht tried to make cooking robots and maybe someone was into it.

Is that fake Heart still a thing?: Yeah, Seht made a replica of Lorcan’s Heart to power the city once he’s gone. Here’s the kicker: what the hell powers the Heart? So I offer you this: the Heart doesn’t last. Once Seht is dead, there’s a time-limit to how long the city will be on. It’s really more so people have time to get ready and leave once he dies. And that’s what happens. He dies and the city empties out. The gears rust with time and things don’t operate anymore. The plants die and water dries up, the Fabricants just. kinda die. No one is there to fix them or make more of them. Bigger things, more powerful things, still linger in the city: their soul gems still bursting with energy, but they can’t escape when the portals don’t even work without power. It’s a husk of what it was, now roamed by creatures that had been kept under lock and key back when the power was on...

Wait you mentioned kidnapping earlier: That’s how you get here. Seht sees you and then just. Takes you. Welcome to the City.

#uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh there's... probably more I need to talk about but #take this for now?#my rambling about how eso is dumb...#uhhhhhh #;; important.#『 ⚙ ᴹʸ ᶠʳᶦᵉⁿᵈ; ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᴴᵃᵛᵉ ᴵ ᴮᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉˀ 』;; seht headcanon.#『 🛠 ᴬ ᴸᵒʸᵃˡ ˢᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᴿᵉᵈᵒʳᵃⁿ 』;; sulkan headcanon.#tw: long post #tw: abduction #also sorry but im hella bitter about the whole my college is better than urs thing #I will die on that hill ok

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toho-literature · 4 years

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Curiosities of Lotus Asia - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Higan Flowers of Muenzuka

It was the week of the autumn equinox. Kourindou’s owner, Rinnosuke Morichika, went to the Nameless Mound, Muenzuka, where the Higan flowers were in full bloom. Though he referred to it as visiting graves, his objective was to look for “treasures” that had crossed through the border. Amongst those rare items is a strange bone, and Rinnosuke obviously can’t hide his bewilderment… The-long awaited return of an original story based on the widely popular “Touhou” doujin game series!

Higan Flowers of Muenzuka

The deep red poison of the Higan flowers blocked the way. These grounds were protected by these strange-looking Higan flowers, beautiful and fleeting, as if they were not of this world. I thought that certainly in this place the inside and outside of the border, and even yet another world are mingled like “an impossible intersection of borders”. Items that I’ve never seen might fall in a mysterious place like this.

“This is certainly a mountain of treasure.”

When the autumn equinox comes, I always go out for grave visiting. But even so, the place I go to is not a normal cemetery. It is a place where the humans with no relatives in Gensokyo, the nameless dead, go to rest. Yes, I go to the Mound of the Nameless, Muenzuka.

And as for why is there such a place as Muenzuka in Gensokyo, where the number of humans is small; it is an effect of the present balance between youkai and humans. There are no more humans that exterminate youkai completely, and there are hardly any more youkai that attack humans. It would be a problem if the number of either youkai or humans were to increase, and it would be a problem as well if it decreases.

If a corpse is neglected, it will usually end up being eaten by some youkai. And having corpse-eating youkai going around is not sanitary. Disease would spread, which is not good for humans. Plus, humans could become youkai after death. If the number of humans decrease, and the number of youkai increase, the current state of equilibrium will be ruined.

Because of that, as of late not even the remains of the nameless go neglected in Gensokyo. The remains of those are cremated and put to rest here. Thanks to that, you can say that the dead humans of Gensokyo really leave their bodies behind to become ghosts.

Even those dead without relatives are cremated, and their ashes buried here. As for why I am in this place, obviously, it’s for mourning those nameless dead. I most certainly am not here to pick up the “unworldly rare” outside items that came in with the nameless dead.

Yes, most of the nameless dead without relatives in Gensokyo are people from the outside. This wall between this place and the Netherworld is thin, and as a consequence of that, this place is also close to the outside world. People, ghosts and even mysterious items fall in here.

“Thanks to the red poison of the Higan flowers, this place is unharmed. It is just like a treasure mountain.”

Right from the start I find nothing but interesting items, such as a bottomless ladle and a soul lantern that glows with the light of ghosts. Are those outside world goods, or maybe they are from the Netherworld? I’ll say it as much as necessary, I didn’t come here to pick up rare items, I came to pray for the nameless deceased. The outside items I am frantically picking up are just a reward for praying for those nameless dead, that’s the only reason that I’m collecting them without hesitation.

However, this merry feeling was crushed by an incomprehensible incident.

When counting the number of bones after cremation, somehow the number of bones and the number of bodies before cremation didn’t match. And it wasn’t like there was one corpse too many. For some reason, only part of a body was in excess. Well, since there weren’t any family members to retrieve the bones in the first place, the fact that there were too many wasn’t exactly a problem, but still…

“Were there that many nameless dead, Mr. Rinnosuke?”

Without solving this inexplicable puzzle, I went back to my own store, “Kourindou”. However, while its owner, myself, was away, the always selfish shrine maiden and the usually selfish magician had selfishly made themselves at home in my shop. That almost always happens.

“Ahh, the nameless deceased were mostly all humans from outside. As you know, Reimu, there are very few unrelated people in Gensokyo. But as there are some people from outside that escape from being youkai food, yet lose their way here, there are always some dead in Muenzuka.”

“And what’s that junk you’re carryin’? Y’always got a lot of weird stuff.”

Marisa said that. If anything, she seemed interested in what I had collected.

“These? These are what had fallen in Muenzuka, Marisa.”

“Grave robbin’, huh?”

“Grave robbing indeed. How awful.”

“Grave robbing? These were not offerings. Who in Gensokyo would leave offerings at Muenzuka anyway? Those items were most likely thrown away by some rude folk, and ended up drifting there.”

“So what, it’s just trash? Nobody’d buy that.”

“I’m not selling it. Not right away anyway.”

It’s just a matter of time for trash to become tools. It’s the same as the cycle of death and rebirth.

To end any further discussion, I changed the subject, trying to relate it to that mysterious extra bone from before I was now carrying.

“By the way, Reimu... Has there been any major incident in Gensokyo lately?”

“Well, yes. There was this big incident, but it wasn’t anything important.”

“As always, you can’t seem to know if it was big or not... Well, whatever, it’s just that something strange happened…”

I tried explaining to the two of them about that bone that was bothering me.

“Huh… what? You wanna eat sushi or somethin’?”

Marisa was saying nonsensical things, so I just let her be.

“Is that true? One bone too many…”

“Mm-hmm. Look, here it is.”

“Ack, how come you brought back something like that!?”

“It’s a right arm bone..., isn’t it? At the spring equinox, there was an extra right leg bone…”

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to assemble the right half of a body piece by piece?”

So said Reimu.

“Not at all. And if that was the case, shouldn’t I go for an entire body? Why would I have to stop at half of one?”

“In any case, I don’t have the least idea. Aren’t those dead people mostly from the outside? If something weird is happening, wouldn’t it be happening in the outside world?”

“Funny to hear a shrine maiden callin’ corpses ‘those dead people’.”

Marisa was making fun of her.

“That may be, but to think of a corpse entering Gensokyo piece by piece... I’d hope that no one in the outside world is up to no good.”

“But this bone... I’m pretty sure it’s not human.”

Reimu started saying mysterious things again.

“No matter how you look at it, isn’t this a human bone? What kind of bone do you think it is?”

“It’s just that... there isn’t any sign of its soul when it was alive.”

“Huh? I never knew ya could see those kinda things, Reimu.”

Said Marisa, appearing surprised.

“Why, I am a shrine maiden, am I not?”

The next day, I went to Muenzuka once again. For more prayer, of course.

In the end, I couldn’t solve the mystery of the extra bone yesterday. Conversely, the mystery only got deeper by the end of the conversation. I don’t bother myself with things I don’t understand, I forget them – a special ability that makes life easier… or so I wanted to do…

“Humm... Just as expected, but also surprising.”

Whoops. Seems that Reimu’s way of talking is starting to rub off on me.

And what was just as expected is that today there’s an extra bone here again. And what is surprising is that it’s a right arm bone, identical to yesterday’s. I looked around to see if there was yet another right arm bone.

“Today is the right arm equinox, I guess.”

Weird. If this bone is from a human from outside, then there must be a lot of people in the outside world losing only their right arms. But no, there’s no way humans could do that. Even if one were to lose an arm in an accident, the connection between the body and the arm wouldn’t be severed. Even when separated, the arm would call for the former body, and the body would be under the impression it has an arm. The human soul is lodged in the whole body, regardless of its physical condition.

At this point, I started thinking about how the barrier that surrounded Gensokyo affected things. About how the barrier affected people’s “thoughts”. If a material wall would be a “wall that keeps the body from passing through”, then the barrier would be a “wall that keeps people’s thoughts from passing through”. Going trough the barrier – in other words, to be spirited away – is something that happens when one is in a particular state of mind, where consciousness is hazy, and then your whole self would jump through. For only an arm to jump through the barrier, it would mean the arm and the body have different thoughts. A human whose arm and body move with different wills? I don’t think there is such a human, much less a lot of those. So maybe what Reimu said was right, and this is not a human arm.

...But anyway, it’s a beautiful bone. You can’t see any signs of the daily hardships in it. As big as an adult’s, but looks as if it’s a baby’s. Could a human have grown up so perfectly? Would one raised in a family apart from any discomfort become like this?

While I was thinking of this, I stared at the Higan flower blooming by my feet. Its stem didn’t have any leaves. This strange flower doesn’t have any leaves on its stem; it grew straight from the ground as a big red flower. Without any leaves, and carrying a lot of poison, this was an appropriate flower for the grounds where the nameless dead rested. The impression I had was that its beauty was one unrelated to anything else. …and then there was the body that severed its relation with this clean arm. I imagined a scenery of right arms growing in a row like the Higan flowers and got an unsettling feeling from it.

“So, what’s going on with the production-model right arms?”

When I returned to my shop, the selfish as always Reimu and the selfish as always Marisa were waiting for me.

“Ahh, here’s one.”

“Just because there’s extra doesn’t mean you have to bring them here…”

Reimu said, while holding her tea in one hand and biting into a rice cracker.

“Hmmm... There was something worrying me…”

I went deeper inside the store and compared the bone I had found yesterday with the one I just picked up.

That's not what I was worried about. The rice cracker I left on the shelf close to Reimu weren’t the expensive ones. Reimu had the habit of not choosing and going straight for the best stuff I had in the store. So, the rice cracker Reimu was eating…

“...no, wait. That’s not what I’m worried about! It’s about the bones.”

When I said that, Marisa put her book aside, looking a little upset.

“Alright, enough of that. If ya wanna eat it that bad, I’ll cook today.”

Marisa surprisingly declared, and went into the kitchen.

Well, I don’t know what she’s so unhappy about, but knowing Marisa, it must be something simple. She did say she was going to prepare the food, so she shouldn’t be that upset… Anyway, we were talking about the bones.

“So? What’s worrying you about the bones, Mr. Rinnosuke?”

“Ah, it’s just that the right arm that I picked up yesterday and the one I picked up today, if you look closely... they are the same in every detail. Even bones from twins wouldn’t be like this. It looks like they just were duplicated.”

“And so, what’s bothering you?”

“Don’t you get it? Simply put, this right arm and that right arm are from the same individual... I think.”

“Really? How mysterious. But it might be normal.”

“How’s that senseless answer going to help?”

Reimu looked like she was giving up as she put her tea down.

“Didn’t you say these were from the outside world? Whatever happens in the outside world is out of my control. Besides, I have no idea of what happens outside. These arms might as well come from a human with six arms.”

“Even if it was from a human with six arms, it’s unnatural for only the arm to cross the border. The border is your area of expertise, isn’t it? I thought you would understand that for only part of a body to cross over the border, it’s a sign of a youkai. The border is not just a wall, you know.”

“Really? That’s very interesting.”

“Yes, really… wait. Are you sure you are a shrine maiden?”

“Someone I know said that there are those who can go through the border with just part of their bodies with no problems... but, of course, she wasn’t human herself.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. This human arm couldn’t possibly do that. What did they call this again? An OOPArts?”

That’s wrong!, was the rebuttal I heard from Marisa. No, she was in the kitchen, preparing the meal, so maybe it was just my impression.

“This arm even looks artificial. And it doesn’t show any sign of a soul living in it... I don’t think this arm has experienced a normal life.”

Reimu put down her rice cracker, and took the bone for the first time. She was again with the tea in one hand, so she just exchanged the cracker for the bone. She looked so absent-minded that it seemed like she could bite the bone by mistake.

“So this arm doesn’t have any human feeling to it? So, if it came through the border, I could treat it the same as the other items that occasionally drift into here. But even so, it is clearly from a living thing. Even if it is from a human with only right arms. And by looking at it with my ‘eye’, this certainly seems like it's from a human. If I were to take a guess…”

I was going to say that you could imagine some place like a factory or a laboratory, where arms equal to human ones were produced like they were tools, but I stopped myself. These accursed creations would be such an insult to life that I reconsidered it. I’d rather not think that humans would do something so foolish.

“I just hope that the humans in the outside world are not doing foolish things...”

Was what I said.

“But, don’t you make a living out of tools that come drifting in here once in a while? And aren’t you always mumbling about the progress of the outside world?”

“The body of a living thing... it’s not a tool. This store doesn’t deal in that.”

For a while, nobody spoke a word, so it was pretty quiet. Reimu was making munching sounds like she was biting into something. I was pretty sure she still had the bone in hand, so I looked at her with a shock, but it was the rice cracker. Well, that was obvious. Speaking of which, it’s almost dinner time already, so is it alright for her to be eating?

“It’s done. Today’s Chirashizushi, just as you wanted.”

Marisa cheerfully came back from the kitchen.

“Chirashi sushi? Awfully extravagant, isn’t it? So that was why it took so much time… what? ‘Just as I wanted’?”

Marisa had a look on her face like she was making fun of someone.

“What, haven’t ya been babblin' 'bout it since yesterday? ‘Bout how much ya wanted to eat sushi?”

So she said.

“You really did say that...”

Reimu said while biting her cracker.

“Even you, Reimu... Did I say that?”

“It took s’ long’cuz I couldn’t find a fan to cool down the shari [sushi rice]. I had to fan it with this hat till I ’bout dropped dead because it made almost no wind.”

Ahh, I see. So that’s why Marisa was saying “Sushi! Sushi!” a while ago... That’s just like her.

“What is it? If ya don’t eat it soon, my chirashi sushi’ll go cold.”

“And weren’t you working hard to cool it down?”

Reimu quietly put the half-eaten cracker back on its shelf while she spoke.

“Sushi, huh? That joke was in bad taste, Marisa.”

“Hmph. I don’t wanna be told that by some guy that shows up in front of us with someone’s shari [bone relics] in his hands. Got it? After people die, they become ghosts. Bones are just empty shells. If ya got a problem, go ask the ghosts about it and that’ll be that. If ya want shari, the sushi rice is enough.”

“I see. But, because I brought these bones, I got an unexpected banquet today. I wonder if this is for my good deed of going to mourn at Muenzuka, as well.”

“Pretty bold for a grave-robber, ain’t ya?”

“My, this is delicious. But you should go wash your hands before you eat, Mr. Rinnosuke. You might have some Higan flower poison on them.”

“You’re right. But, you touched the bone too, didn’t you, Reimu? Did you wash your hands?”

“Of course I did.”

“But weren’t you here the whole time?”

“Marisa, could you get me some more tea?”

“What, again? Didn’t you drink it?”

Thanks to the sushi Marisa made, the shop regained its usual lively atmosphere. Well, more like a noisy one. And just as always, I could use my special skill to “completely” stop thinking about that bone. Maybe from tomorrow on, the Higan flower wouldn’t look like a strange flower, but a beautiful one. That was what I was thinking as I washed the poison off my hands in the kitchen.

#touhou cola #curiosities of lotus asia #touhou #touhou project #project shrine maiden

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lovelylogans · 5 years

Text

double chocolate fudge

part of the wyliwf verse, though it isn’t necessary to read that first—a lot of the premise is spelled out in this fic, actually, so it’s a decent prologue

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, crying

pairings: gen

words: 9,258

notes: i actually originally was gonna stick this, as a flashback, in the middle of chapter nine, and then maybe in chapter eleven, but i ended up (grudgingly) cutting it because i couldn’t figure out a way to get it to flow, so, here it is!

there’s a flu that scours throughout he town at a rate of absurd proportions that week, knocking out the vast majority of virgil’s part-timers, so he’s had to pull his third fourteen-hour shift in four days, waiting and busing tables and cooking, so at last when the diner’s closed, virgil’s making himself his first meal of the day. he’s taking a second to just breathe, because it turns out when people get sick, they really don’t want to cook, so he’d had to deal with dinner rush and take-out and call-in orders, the kind of days that would have been hectic even with a full staff, but with one that’s been absolutely decimated, virgil hasn’t had a moment of peace. and now he has it.

so when the bell dings, cheerfully disrupting it, he’s less than pleased.

“we’re closed,” virgil barks out in the meanest tone he could manage, which is pretty damn mean. he’s expecting someone to get huffy, or pleading, or mad, and he’s gearing up to turn and kick whoever it is out of the diner without prejudice.

he is not expecting to hear that someone burst into hysterical sobs.

he spins, then, to lay eyes on a stranger (a rarity in sideshire) someone wearing the baggiest black sweatshirt he’s ever seen, a stained pair of jeans with genuine rips, not the kind that are designed to be fashionable, and a taped-up pair of converse. the stranger’s bent over a little indigo bundle, shoulders shaking.

“i’m sorry,” the stranger sobs, “i just—i just,” and breaks down again.

“oh, shit,” virgil says frantically, because that is a kid. “i—shit, i’m terrible, i’m the worst person, i’m so sorry, i can—i can stay open a little longer, please just stop crying?”

but then the bundle starts squalling, and oh, fuck, that is a baby, virgil just yelled at some kid with a baby who was clearly on the verge of a breakdown, he is the worst person on this planet?

“jesus,” virgil says over all the crying, and sets aside the lasagna he’s been assembling and crosses over to the two crying occupants of the diner. “i—“

the kid snuffles, and bounces the bundle—the baby—trying to shush it, but he can’t get out the comforting noises he’s trying to make over his own crying. so virgil is stuck trying to apologize as the kid manages to bounce the baby into calming down, a little, so that there is less screaming but still crying, and the kid stares at him with miserable, red-rimmed eyes.

“i’m really sorry, i can—i can go, i—”

“no, it’s—you’re okay, jesus, i was the jerk, i’m the one who’s really sorry,” virgil says. “here, the baby’ll calm down more while you calm down, if you want to just—sit down? maybe?”

the kid does, settling in the nearest booth and hunching protectively over the bundle of baby, who is somehow still crying, shouldn’t something that small be worn out by now? where is it getting that energy? virgil edges gradually closer and closer, moving slow as to not startle the kid or the baby, feeling like The Worst.

“um,” virgil says, when the baby calms down, eventually, “i can get, like, a spare carseat weird carriage thing if you want to put the baby down? i’m—i’m really sorry.”

the kid sniffs, smearing his sweatshirt paw under his eye. “but you’re closed.”

“i can stay open a bit longer,” virgil says. “i was—i was just in a mood, i’m sorry, i’m not gonna be closed-closed for a while.”

“you really don’t have to—“

“no, i want to,” virgil says.

“you don’t have to be nice to me,” the kid says after a moment of hesitation, like the phrase nice to me is some kind of olympic-level weight that he doesn’t want to set on virgil instead of it just being the decent thing to do, “i could go.”

“you don’t have to,” virgil says, a little frustrated. “stay. please.”

“well—“

“i feel like making both a kid and a baby cry kind of necessitates an apology,” virgil says. “seriously. i might get struck down by some karmic lightning if i don’t feed you or something.”

the kid makes a snuffling kind of a laugh, hesitates, and admits quietly, “that’d be, um. that’d be nice. thank you.”

“okay,” virgil says, seizing on it. great! he’s accepted an apology! that probably means he’ll stay! “awesome. i’ll, um. i’ll get you a menu.”

“oh, please don’t go to any trouble,” the kid starts. “you’re already doing a lot, i shouldn’t—”

“it’s fine, i was just making myself dinner,” virgil says.

“then i’ll have whatever you’re having,” the kid says, clinging to the baby. “really, you’re already being so nice to me—”

“you were literally sobbing five minutes ago, but okay,” virgil says. “you like lasagna?”

the kid smiles, sniffles. “i love lasagna.”

“cool,” he says. “um, does the baby, like. should i get something for the baby?”

“the baby drinks milk and i fed him just a little ago,” the kid says. “but thanks.”

“cool,” virgil says, because thank fucking god, he knows nothing about how to take care of a baby. “you want water, hot cocoa/coffee—?”

“hot cocoa/coffee?”

“virgil’s diner original,” virgil says. “hot cocoa and coffee. before you ask, no, not like a mocha. wait. should i be giving you caffeine?”

“i have a newborn,” the kid says. “it is a great time for caffeine. it is the perfect time for caffeine.”

“okay,” virgil says. “water and a hot cocoa/coffee, coming right up. plus the weird carseat thing.”

he chucks the lasagna in the oven and gets those out really fast, because he isn’t super sure that the kid isn’t gonna bolt as soon as virgil disappears, but when he comes back out the kid is staring down at the baby, cooing, and the baby is making little babbling noises back, like they’re talking in their own secret language. they both look so young. the baby is definitely too young for the kid to be a babysitter, so the baby is probably his, right? virgil feels even worse.

“okay,” virgil says, sitting back down in the opposite booth bench. “two waters, two hot cocoa/coffees, one weird thing that parents usually put their babies into while they eat.”

he sets the thing on the table. the kid surveys it, for a second, looks down at the baby, and then back at the thing, like he’s really warring with the decision to let go of the baby or not. it makes sense—it’s a pretty tiny baby, and virgil is some random stranger who just yelled at him, so.

at last, the kid sighs, and shifts his grip. he carefully lays down the little indigo bundle in the thing, making soft noises at him all the while, like he’s making sure the baby won’t fuss as soon as he’s out of his arms. when the baby’s settled—he fusses a little, but he settles with some help of the kid murmuring comforting nonsense at it—virgil takes a look at the baby.

well. it’s a baby. he’s got those bright blue eyes that most newborns have, and a head full of downy dark hair, and a face that is getting less red and more curious about his surroundings all the while. the kid adjusts the bundle so the baby’s arms are free, which the baby immediately takes advantage of, waving them around as if to alternatively say this is an outrage! or point out new things in his surroundings.

"cute baby,” virgil says, because yes, that is a cute baby. like, a picturesque little gerber baby levels of cute. also that seems like the thing to say about a baby. virgil’s never really had extended contact with babies beyond parents bringing their kids into the diner.

“he is, isn’t he?” the kid says fondly, wraps his hands around the mug and takes a sip, and his eyebrows lift. “oh, this is really good.”

“yeah, i try,” virgil says.

“like. really, really good.”

“sure.”

“like, i think this is my new favorite drink,” the kid says. “of all time. ever.”

he takes a really long, deep gulp, and sighs in satisfaction.

“well,” virgil says. “good, then.”

“oh god,” the kid says, lowering the mug from his lips. “i’m so sorry, i’ve been so rude—”

“i literally made you cry?”

“—i’m patton,” he says, with a polite smile, stumbling a little over the name, like he was about to say something else instead. “and this is logan.”

“patton and logan,” virgil says. “nice to meet you. i’m virgil.”

he carefully reaches across the table and offers his hand to shake. the kid, hesitates before he takes it, and virgil tries not to sigh in relief. his hands are kinda cold—like he’d hesitated outside before going in, like he’d been psyching himself up asking what’s the worst that could happen? and then virgil happened, and wow, virgil somehow managed to make the kid’s hand temperature be a way to feel even worse about this situation, that was a personal record.

to distract himself from that, and to make the kid laugh, maybe, he turns to the baby, and offers his hand for the baby to shake, fully expecting the baby to maybe blink at him and the kid to maybe crack a pity smile, instead of the smile on his face that looks strangely fixed into place.

what he gets is the baby wrapping his tiny hand around virgil’s pointer finger, and gripping onto it with a surprising amount of strength for such a tiny hand, and virgil goes a little slack-jawed.

(years and years later, this will be the moment virgil pinpoints as when he became an absolute sucker for logan sanders, and the moment that virgil’s mind starts its slow pivot from “twenty-two year old trying desperately to run the family business whose general idea of babies is ‘that’s cute i guess’” to “twenty-two year old trying desperately to run the family business and becoming a little baby-crazy in his quest to protect the sanders boys.”)

“oh,” virgil says.

“he’s got a hold on you, huh?” the kid—patton—asks, amused, and takes another long drink of hot cocoa/coffee.

“yeah,” virgil says, a little stunned, because—because his hand’s so tiny, and yet he’s holding onto virgil, and blinking up at him with those pretty little baby blue eyes of his, like he trusts him or something, which is a stupid thing to think, he’s a baby, but it’s just—

“he’s really tiny.”

“yeah,” patton says softly.

“is he supposed to be this tiny?” virgil asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the baby, who is altering his grip on virgil’s finger slightly with some kind of fascinated look on his face. he has eyelashes. they’re so long, and yet, so tiny.

“he’s a little small, but not, like, worryingly small,” patton says, propping his chin on his hand and smiling down at him—a real, actual smile, not the polite one. “he was born a bit early, so that’s expected, but he’s six point three pounds, or at least he was the last time we weighed him. he’s due for a growth spurt here, apparently.”

“six point three pounds,” virgil says, hushed. the baby weighs a little more than a bag of sugar, for fuck’s sake, how is his grip on virgil’s finger so strong? not strong enough that virgil can’t break it, but. but stronger than the grip of something that’s six point three pounds. “wow.”

“yeah,” the kid agrees, voice soft.

“i mean—wow,” virgil repeats, staring at the baby—who is a baby, sure, but he’s gonna be, like, a person. a person who walks and talks and thinks for himself, and right now, that person is six point three pounds. “how old is he?”

“he just hit three weeks, two days ago,” patton says.

this baby is not even a month old and yet he’s aware enough to recognize fingers and hold onto them and test his grip and look around at things, and.

“sorry, this is just—i’ve never really been around babies?” virgil says, managing to tear his gaze away from the baby—logan, right. “so this is kind of blowing my mind, right now.”

“yeah, me either,” patton says. “well, before him, anyway.”

“it’s just—he’s gonna be a person,” virgil says.

“i know,” patton agrees, soft. “i know. like, he’s gonna go to school and make friends and have opinions and walk and read and write and talk and all that, someday, but right now, he’s—”

“a baby.”

“yeah,” patton agrees, and leans so that he can smile at the baby—a real smile, a soft, private-looking, proud kind of smile. “yeah. right now, he’s my baby.”

he’s my baby. so the kid is definitely the baby’s dad.

"can i ask you how old you are?” virgil says tentatively, and patton stiffens, just a little, but a smile’s back on his face in a second. not the soft one, a polite one, a pleasant-looking one. a practiced one.

“seventeen in january.”

so, he’s sixteen. jesus christ, this kid is sixteen. virgil yelled at this poor sixteen-year-old dad with a baby.

“okay,” virgil says, keeping his voice carefully blank, even though the confirmation that this kid is, you know, a kid, has sprung fifteen million questions in his head, namely where are your parents? and what are you doing here? and something is definitely going on here, are you okay, is everything okay? then, because it seems like a fair trade, he says, “i turn twenty-three next month.”

"cool,” patton says awkwardly. he takes a sip of hot cocoa/coffee.

virgil does too, because honestly the baby’s gonna be the one who chooses to let go, not virgil, and having a baby hang onto his finger seems like the least he can do to keep the baby entertained. he takes a much slower, longer sip than usual to buy time for him to scramble for something else to say, and he ends up going with the relatively neutral, “so, uh, where are you from?”

“the city,” patton says, and amends, “well, one of the suburbs north of the city.”

virgil’s not about to ask him specifically which one, but, well. there’s a certain connotation with a lot of the suburbs north of the city. and that connotation is rich. which virgil was not expecting when he saw this kid in some of the rattiest clothes he’s seen in a minute that aren’t his, and yeah, there is definitely something going on with patton, is this kid, like, okay?

“it’s about an hour away from here,” patton says, and hesitates, before he says, “where—um, where is here, actually?”

“oh,” virgil says. “you’re in sideshire.”

“sideshire,” he repeats, like he’s testing how it sounds, then he shakes his head. “i’ve never heard of it.”

“it’s a pretty small town, so,” virgil says. “not surprising. we’re really mostly known for pride stuff, so—”

“pride stuff?” patton says, sounding intrigued. the baby makes a noise, too, and brings virgil’s hand closer to his face, examining it.

“right, yeah, you’re new here,” virgil says. “it’s not a super-huge deal, but we were, like, one of the first small towns to start having consistent, yearly pride parades that were, like, approved by the whole town, that kind of thing, so it’s always been pretty lgbtq friendly, but a lot of people move here in search of—well, i guess to live in a small town that doesn’t live up to the stereotype of homophobic small towns, you know?”

“oh,” he says, and his smile widens. “that’s—that’s really cool, actually. really?”

“my family’s been living here forever,” virgil says. “my great-aunts started it, really, they moved here because of that and then my grandpa came here too and founded this place, so.”

“that’s really cool,” patton repeats, sincere, and then he blurts out, “i’m trans.”

“oh, nice,” virgil says. “just wanna double check, he/him pronouns, right?”

patton’s grin widens—like he’s happy that virgil is asking, like it’s some huge thing, when again, it is the decent thing to do. “yeah!”

virgil weakly jabs a thumb back toward the little pride flag display he’s got behind the counter, and says, “i’m gay.”

“really?” patton says, eager, and virgil can’t help but laugh a little, because he’s so excited, it’s like seeing a puppy who thinks that the random dog in the mirror is a friend.

“yeah, really,” he says.

“i’ve never met anyone else who’s gay before,” patton says, still eager, still excited.

“what, seriously?” virgil says, thrown off.

“yeah,” patton says. “i mean, i—well, where i’m from, it’s kind of, you know, not really talked about, people like me, and at school, it’s not really—i kinda stick out like a sore thumb at chilton, for a lot of reasons—”

“chilton?” virgil repeats, eyebrows raised, and patton almost looks abashed, and virgil wishes he could take it back.

“i—yeah,” patton says. he takes a long drink of hot cocoa/coffee.

“wow,” virgil says. “that’s—that’s a really good school.”

a really rich school, too. the kind of school that requires kids to be on waiting lists, and that has uniforms and secret societies and debutante balls, with direct lines to ivy league schools.

“yeah,” patton says, looking away from logan, from virgil, and down at the ground, like he’s ashamed. “yeah, it is.”

virgil hesitates, and checks the time on the lasagna—not done, not close to done—and then the baby sleepily lets go of virgil’s finger, apparently deciding that the pair of them are too boring to stay awake for.

“can i ask you something?”

patton shrugs. this isn’t exactly an enthusiastic yes.

“you can—i mean, you don’t have to answer if you want, or it can just be a yes or no thing,” virgil says.

he nods at that. virgil leans forward.

“patton,” he says, quiet, “what are you doing here?”

patton breathes in sharply, but doesn’t answer.

“i mean—” virgil hesitates, leans forward more. “you didn’t know about sideshire, you didn’t know where you were, you’re pretty young and you have a baby and you started crying as soon as i snapped at you, which again, i am so so sorry about that, but i’m just—is everything okay?”

as virgil’s been speaking, patton’s face has been screwing up, slowly—his brow furrowing, and his lips pressing together, and his shoulders hunching up, and oh no oh no oh no he’s going to cry again—and he swallows, hard, when virgil’s done.

“i,” he begins, and they both wince when patton’s voice breaks on the syllable. patton swallows, and tries again.

“i think i might have just made the worst mistake of my life,” he chokes out, and sniffs, smearing his hand under his eyes, before he buries his face into his hands.

“oh, i mean, that’s—oh, god, okay, um, is it okay if i put a hand on your shoulder or something?”

he nods without lifting his head from his hands. virgil hesitates, before he puts a hand on patton’s shoulder.

“this is such a dumb question, but, um, are you okay?” virgil says tentatively.

patton lets out a muffled snort into his hands.

“i’m a trans teen dad who ran away with his three-week-old in the dead of the night,” he says. “so now i’m technically a homeless trans teen dad with my three-week old baby, with most of my belongings jammed into my car, and i’ve been planning for this a little, sure, but also not planned long enough at all, so no. not really.”

“oh,” virgil says, and then, “well. shit.”

“yeah,” patton says, and peeks out from his hands. “yeah, that sums it up.”

“i,” virgil begins, and hesitates. “i mean, i—do you have someplace to stay, or to go, or—?”

he’s already shaking his head, and virgil lets out a slow breath, because he’s starting to get stressed out and anxious for this kid, because, like. that’s a lot.

“my plan was mostly,” patton says, and begins ticking it off on his fingers. “discreetly pack as much as i could in the couple weeks since i’d made the decision and drain as much cash from my bank account as i could, without people noticing, keep track of my parents’ social calendar for an opportunity for the house to be empty long enough for me to get a head start, make sure i packed up all of logan’s baby things—did you know how much stuff a baby requires, it’s a lot—and then when i got out of there, just.” he gestures vaguely toward the horizon, slumping back in the booth. “find somewhere, find a job, figure stuff out.”

virgil says, “you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?”

“yeah, i actually—“ patton begins, before he shakes himself. “it’s a long story.”

“we have a while to wait for the lasagna, if you want to tell it,” virgil says gently.

“you don’t have to—”

“i offered,” virgil says stubbornly.

the kid considers this, and then drains his hot cocoa/coffee. “can i get a refill first?”

“you know too much caffeine is bad for you,” virgil says.

“newborn,” patton repeats.

virgil winces, because, well, he might be asleep now, but those screams earlier had been pretty earsplitting for someone so tiny. “be right back.”

he picks up the mugs, goes back into the kitchen, and ends up just bringing out the coffee pot of hot cocoa/coffee—he doesn’t want to interrupt the kid anymore than he has to—and slides back into the booth, filling patton’s up generously and topping off his own drink.

“okay,” virgil says. “so. long story.”

“you really don’t have to, you know,” patton says.

"i asked,” virgil says patiently. “you don’t have to tell me anything you’d be uncomfortable telling me, a stranger who yelled at you, and again, i am so sorry—”

patton waves him off, and pauses, deliberating, before he huffs out a breath.

“so, my parents are emily and richard sanders.”

patton then gives him a look, like this should be Significant, but virgil can only shrug and say, “sure, if you say so.”

patton, strangely enough, brightens. “you don’t know who they are?”

“nope,” he says. “i mean—you didn’t know sideshire was a thing, i have no idea who your parents are. are they a big deal, or something?”

“oh, they’re a big deal,” patton says. “or at least, they are in the city. my dad’s the executive vice president of—well, the exact company doesn’t matter, but he’s in insurance and he oversees the international division, and my mom is—“ patton wrinkles his nose. “well, she’s really involved in charity, and daughters of the american revolution, and a hundred other social things that i can’t remember off the top of my head.”

“okay,” virgil says slowly.

“sorry, it’s just,” patton says, and shakes his head. “basically everyone knows who my parents are. it’s just—i dunno, most of my life has been spent with most adults going ah, you must be emily’s—” he cuts himself off with a wave of the hand, “and all the, you know, i heard from someone who saw you cutting school today, when i didn’t even see someone i knew, so it was just—”

“your parents are big brother?”

“not really,” patton says, and tilts his head. “well, that’s what it felt like, sometimes. i dunno.”

he shakes himself, takes a fortifying sip of hot cocoa/coffee, and says, “anyway. so, my parents are, um. let’s go with old-fashioned?”

oh god, please don’t be a you got disowned and ran away because you’re trans story, please don’t be a you got disowned and ran away because you’re trans story—

“so i had a lot of expectations, you know, do really well in school, go to an ivy league, marry someone of the proper social standing, and then have a kid,” patton says. “i didn’t really mind the whole house spouse thing my mom kept hinting at as a kid, because i always told people what i wanted to do when i grow up, whenever someone would ask, i’d always say i wanted to be a parent, but—i dunno. my whole life’s been planned for me, and no one really cared if i said no to it, you know?”

“oh,” virgil says, and then, because he can’t really think of what else to say, “ugh.”

“right,” patton says, and grimaces. “i dunno. a lot of my life feels like i’m just walking on eggshells and i’m just waiting for the day where i fuck up again and i’m back to being the family disappointment.”

virgil winces, and the kid looks down into his mug. virgil isn’t sure what to say, so it’s almost good when patton clears his throat and continues.

“anyway, um, so—i just—i kind of... lashed out, i guess, a lot? like, even if i’m trying and trying to be perfect, i’m still a fuck-up, but if i’m deliberately a fuck-up, well—”

“you’re not a fuck-up,” virgil mumbles, and patton smiles humorlessly.

“no offense or anything, but we’ve known each other for less than thirty minutes,” patton says.

“i—”

“anyway,” patton says. “um, nowhere in this plan did it decree that i could be, you know, a rebellious teenager, or trans, or gay, or trans and gay, which—”

please don’t be a you got disowned because you’re trans story, please don’t be a you got disowned because you’re trans story—

“i mean, they were... it wasn’t the best response they could have had, after me telling them i was trans, but it wasn’t the worst one, either?” patton equivocates.

“like,” virgil prompts gently.

“well, i mean, it took some... persuasion,” patton says, “but they’ve been pretty good about my name and my pronouns and stuff.”

oh thank god not a disowned story—

“it’s just,” patton says, and sighs. “i dunno. they’re not, like, super transphobic, but i just—”

he pulls a face, takes a sip, and says, “i mean, i just—i was never gonna stack up, i knew that, i was pretty mixed up about the whole, you know, gender situation, partially because i didn’t know about this kind of thing for a long time and partially because, well, like i said, my parents are pretty old fashioned, so i was worried about how they might react when i, like, realized, and accepted it, and—so i did some stupid things.”

virgil thinks about protesting that, the stupid part, at least, but he has a feeling that patton would double-down on talking down about himself, which made virgil feel kind of upset, really, because this sixteen-year-old kid with a baby is clearly dealing with more than enough stuff right now in addition to dealing with any self-hate talk, so he stays quiet. he takes a sip of hot cocoa/coffee. he listens.

he listens as patton talks the snooty people that’ve been surrounding his whole life. he listens as patton talks about the expectations, the way people would look down their noses if he strayed from those expectations, the murmurs of disapproval that would follow. he listens as patton talks about the bullies at school who tried being his friend at first because he was a sanders and who turned on him the instant he decided to live his life as himself. he listens as patton talks about the drinking, and the boyfriends, and the stunts he’d pull, and the lectures that would escalate to screaming after each time. he listens as patton goes almost hoarse as he’s talking, like he hasn’t been able to talk to people for as long as he’s been talking to virgil, like he’s been locked up in some kind of tower or something. he listens as patton talks about going through it alone, like he’s got no one in his corner, no one who’s got his best interests as he sees them at heart, no one who wants to listen and be there and be a shoulder to cry on, and no wonder he ran away.

he listens as patton holds his breath after each infraction he’d detail that seemed like a big deal to him, and the whooshing breath of relief that he’d let out when virgil would just nod to signal he was still listening, and that he could keep going.

his heart hurts for this poor kid. this poor lonely kid.

“so, that brings us to about nine months, give or take, before now, which—”

the baby starts crying.

“—that’s about it, yeah,” patton says, and leans to pick him up, pitching his voice so it’s soft and comforting. “hey there, baby, you don’t gotta cry, i’ve gotcha, i’ve gotcha—”

he stands up, baby cradled in his arms, and asks, “where’s your restroom?”

“back in that corner, just down the hall,” virgil says. “i’m gonna check on the lasagna.”

he nods, and heads back into the bathroom, and virgil departs for the kitchen. he carefully puts on his oven mitts, takes it out, sets it down, and—

and the bell jingles.

no, no, no, no—

he rushes out of the kitchen, and sees patton blinking at him, cradling the baby to his chest with one hand, carrying a tote bag with the other.

“hey,” virgil says, feeling abruptly stupid. “um. sorry. i thought—”

“i left the diaper bag in the car,” patton says. “so. i’ll be right back, again.”

“right,” virgil says. “um, good. i’ll just—dish up the lasagna.”

“right,” patton repeats. “um,” and then ducks back into the hall, heading for he bathroom.

virgil, slowly, lets out a breath and resists the urge to slam his head against the cash register. what the fuck was that, he scolds himself even as he goes back into the kitchen. what the fuck was that, the kid would totally be allowed to leave if he wanted to, that isn’t your call to make, oh my god, can you possibly look worse, you already fuckin’ yelled at him, jesus—

“—all right, lo, is that all you needed? you feeling okay? no more crying, for now?”

no response, but he hears patton giggle.

“aw, well, you’re welcome, sweetheart! i love you!”

the smacking noise of a kiss, a babyish noise that’s probably some kind of response, in baby-speak, and patton giggling again.

“yeah, who do i love most ever of all time? it’s you! it’s you!”

more baby noises. virgil smiles, unable to help himself, as he dishes up generous portions of lasagna.

“you’re the bestest little baby in the whole wide world, aren’t you?”

virgil hesitates, before he gathers up the plates and two glasses of water on a tray before hoisting it and emerging carefully from the kitchen. he sees patton, smiling down at the baby, walking around the diner and bouncing logan carefully. he’s looking down at his son with such a fond, gentle look on his face, not paying attention to the world around him, like logan’s the only thing that matters.

virgil doesn’t wanna break the spell, but when patton turns a little to start walking again, he sees virgil and starts. “oh!”

“dinner’s ready,” virgil says lamely, and walks back to their booth, setting down the dishes and the water before dropping the tray back behind the counter.

he settles back behind the booth, and passes patton a fork.

“so,” he prompts gently. “this year?”

“right,” patton says, and digs in, talking in between bites of lasagna.. “um, so—so i’ve got this friend, christopher?”

oh, thank god, this kid has a friend.

“that’s good,” virgil says encouragingly. “how long have you two known each other?”

“since i was born, basically,” patton says with a grin. “apparently, he threw up on me the first time we met.”

“ew, gross,” virgil says.

“i know, right?” patton says. “but whenever i get sick, he always just says it’s okay, you owed me one. he’s—he’s my best friend.”

“good,” virgil says. a best friend, that’s even better than a friend.

“uh, about that,” patton says, and virgil frowns.

“not good?”

“um,” patton says, takes a bite of lasagna, eats it, swallows, and then clears his throat. “so you know how it takes two to tango?”

he tilts his head at patton, confused.

“i don’t...?

patton very pointedly nods toward logan.

“oh,” virgil says. “i—oh. okay. got it. right.”

“yeah,” patton says. “so, um. to make a super long story short—and i’m so sorry for taking up so much of your time—“

“you don’t have to apologize,” virgil says.

“well, i’m apologizing,” patton says, and takes another bite. “anyway, i just—i, you know, chris and i did... that, and then he happened, and i love him, of course i do, more than anything in the world, but hoo boy, if a trans teen was a topic of gossip, a pregnant trans teen was—”

“yeah,” virgil says, and winces.

“right,” patton says miserably. “so it just—i dunno, so much of the time it felt like logan and me against the world, and pre-pregnancy, chris was telling me all about how we’d skip a year, go to europe, backpack it, train it, sleep on benches, see the world, and—and we’d be out of here the second the diploma was in our hands.”

“that sounds nice,” virgil offers softly.

patton smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. “yeah,” he says. “yeah, it does—did, i guess. he said i should leave a note on the dining room table that says dear emily and richard, i don’t belong here, i’m going somewhere else, i’ll call you when i get there, love, patton, and we’d just... jet. so. the idea started then, i guess, right before my birthday, and then in feburary or march, i, well.”

he places a hand on the carrier. “realized this guy was comin’ along.”

“right,” virgil says.

“so our parents were—you know, trying to plan our lives,” patton says, and looks—strangely—almost ill for a moment, before he brushes it off. “and chris and i were sitting on the stairs, eavesdropping, and just—no one asking us what we thought, what they were trying to decide what to do with our lives, and chris kept saying that they’re trying to figure out what to do with our lives, and that we’d need their help, and i just kept saying no, no, we can take care of ourselves, and he went how and i said we’ll figure it out, and he said it’s okay, it sounds okay, giving up europe and getting a job with your dad and living here, it sounds okay, and he couldn’t just—he can’t just give up everything for me, i could never, ever expect him to do that, if my parents suck his are the worst and he’s been wanting to get as far away from them as possible for as long as i can remember, so—”

“so you started planning on running away.”

“so i started planning on running away,” patton agrees quietly, and takes another bite. “and not just—i mean, not just because of christopher, but i just—i couldn’t stay there anymore, you know? even pre-pregnancy, i knew i couldn’t stack up, and, well, during pregnancy—”

he makes a face, and says, “i mean, i—i love logan, i love him, i never imagined i could love anyone so much, but just—well, being a boy and being pregnant, it—”

he breaks off.

“you don’t have to finish that,” virgil says quietly.

patton nods, just a little dip of his head, and eats a couple more bites, before he says, “so i was pregnant, and i gave birth, which really, really sucked, by the way, i was in labor for fourteen hours—”

virgil flinches.

“—i’m so holding that over logan’s head for the rest of his life, but i just—post-birth, i realized that if i stayed there, my parents would try to parent logan the way they parented me, and i couldn’t—i mean, i couldn’t let that happen. i couldn’t let that happen, right?” he asks desperately.

“course not,” virgil says.

“and i mean, i know they love me,” patton says, just enough uncertainty lingering in his voice that it breaks virgil’s heart all over again, “i know they do, but i can’t—logan can’t be raised the way i was, you know? he could be anything he wants, anything in the world, and i’d be behind him, i’d be rooting for him, but with my parents, they’re so rigid, if he wanted to be a, oh, i don’t know—”

“a diner owner,” virgil offers.

“right, a diner owner, they’d think he was on the same level of a carjacker, or something—um, no offense,” patton says quickly.

“none taken.”

“i mean, as long as—as long as he’s happy, that’s my whole mindset, you know? as long as he’s going to be happy, i’m going to be happy, but with my parents, it’s more—they have a very specific way i should be happy.”

“for what it’s worth, i think you’re right,” virgil says. patton smiles thinly.

“thanks, i guess.”

a pause. they both eat. patton’s practically done—it’s like he hasn’t eaten all day, and then rolled up to a diner that he’d had to psych himself up about going into, and god, virgil yelled at this poor kid, who’s practically inhaling his food.

“i mean, i had my life planned. like, my life plans came over on the mayflower, they’re so old. i was supposed to graduate from high school, go to yale or something, marry some blueblood, and instead, i—i got pregnant, and i’m not finishing high school, and i’m not marrying christopher, and i—”

the kid is choking up. before virgil can say anything along the lines of please don’t cry, it’s okay, it’ll be okay, the kid’s continuing.

“i humiliated them, the two proudest people in the world and i’m humiliating them, i’m spoiling their plans, i—i’m taking their world of opportunity and privilege and comfort and i’m throwing it in their faces, i’m taking all of that away from logan, i’m breaking their hearts and they’re never, ever going to forgive me—”

the kid breaks down again, a hand coming up to cover his eyes, and virgil’s up before he can even think, sliding out of the booth and kneeling in front of patton’s.

“oh, hey, it’s—can i come up there, can i hug you?”

“you don’t have to,” he sobs.

“i’m asking, can i come up there and hug you?” virgil says, and the kid nods, still not removing his hand, so virgil can’t see his face.

virgil cautiously rises up onto the booth, and, slowly, wraps an arm around his shoulder, and drops his hand so he can rub up and down patton’s arm, the way his mom used to do for him.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” patton says, voice trembling dangerously. “i just—i thought i could get it under control, but i can’t, i can’t, and my life is falling apart, i’ve been thinking about this for months and months and months and it’s here and i’m failing, i can’t handle it, i just—i can’t even walk into a diner without having a breakdown—”

“that’s not your fault—”

“—and i thought i would have help, but i’m so stupid, running away means running away, which means my parents don’t know where we are, and christopher doesn’t know where we are, and we’re alone and i love being a dad, i do, but i don’t think i can be a dad all on my own, and i don’t know if i’ll be able to figure out having a job and taking care of my kid, but i need to have one in order to do the other, and it’s going to be so much, and i’m such an idiot for not thinking about that, i don’t have a plan, i don’t know where i’m going, and god, my mom was right, just because i couldn’t handle sitting in their house listening to her call me an idiot and i can’t even argue with them, because i am, and i’m gonna run out of money and i’m gonna be homeless and i’m gonna have to give up logan or go crawling back to my parents and who knows if they’re ever gonna forgive me, i don’t know if they’re never gonna talk to me again or if they’re gonna send the police after me to drag us both back and to have me locked up in my room for as long as they can manage, and even if they don’t i’m still stuck unemployed and homeless and with a baby that i barely know how to handle and i don’t even know which option is worse and i’m going to fail, i’m going to fail—”

he buries his face into virgil’s chest, and virgil freezes, just for a moment, before he hesitantly puts a hand on patton’s head, and tries to stroke his hair.

“you aren’t going to fail,” virgil says firmly, and strokes a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what to do,” he sobs out, heartbroken and scared, and virgil tightens his hold on him, runs his hand through his hair again, and patton hiccups.

“i don’t know what to do,” he chokes, and virgil runs his hand up and down his arm, cradles his head, tries to just hug him.

“i don’t know what to do—” he says in the smallest voice, voice barely above a whisper.

“it’s okay,” virgil says, voice gruff. “it’s gonna be okay, okay? you and logan are both gonna be just fine.”

he keeps going—saying that kind of thing, you two will be okay, or it’s okay to be sad, or i’m sorry this is happening—and awkwardly cupping patton’s head, running his fingers through his hair.

his shoulders shake, and virgil stays where he is, setting his chin on patton’s head. logan, mercifully, doesn’t pitch a fit because his dad is upset, the way virgil’s seen some babies do—he’s staring, but that’s about it.

sorry your grandparents suck, he mouths at the baby. thanks for being chill.

logan, predictably, just blinks at him.

eventually, patton stills. virgil pulls back, bit by bit, and patton’s turned very red, staring down at the table.

“can i have the bright side?” falls out of his mouth before he can help it, and he cringes even as patton goes redder without removing his eyes from the table.

“what?”

“i—forget it, you don’t—”

“no, i mean, what’s that—what’s that mean?”

virgil rubs the back of his neck, and mumbles, “it’s just—i have anxiety.”

“oh,” patton says. “um, sorry.”

“it’s not—that wasn’t—i wasn’t trying to get you to feel sorry for me or any—um, anyway, so, i’d, you know. catastrophize a lot, or i’d rant about my day, or say everything that could go wrong, and after i’d get really upset or something my mom would just say can show me the bright side here, stormy steve? or something like that and i’d have to think about something good that could come of it. even if i was upset, well. i’d think of one good thing and that—that helped. so.”

virgil clears his throat, and now they’re both staring at the table. “stupid, i know,” he mumbles. “forget it. um, do you like chocolate?”

“yeah,” patton says.

“cool,” virgil says, and then he lies. just a little. “if you don’t mind, i’m, um, we’re trying out this new cake? double chocolate fudge. i could use a taste tester before i decide to start serving it regularly.”

okay, fine, he’d tried out the new cake five months ago, when he took over the diner, but it’s still new enough that it’s not on the menu yet, so there.

“oh,” patton says.

“you cry in my diner, you get food,” virgil says. “if you’ll have it, that is.”

“i—sure. i’ll split some cake with you. thank you.”

“cool,” virgil says, and nudges the glass of water closer to patton. “crying dehydrates you, so, um. drink up.”

patton, who still hasn’t looked up from the table, wraps up the cup in both his hands.

virgil goes to the back, and preps the biggest slice of cake he can pass off as a typical serving, and grabs two more forks before heading back out to the table, where patton’s gently squishing his son’s squishy baby cheeks and booping his tiny, tiny nose.

“he’s really cute,” virgil says, setting down the cake. “is it as satisfying to squish him as it looks?”

“it is,” patton says, and, smiling, looks up, even as his eyes are red-rimmed and he hasn’t quite managed to smear off all the tear tracks on his cheeks. “do you wanna hold him?”

“i—oh,” virgil says. “oh, are you—are you sure?”

“yeah, i mean—” patton says. “if you wanna?”

“i mean, i just—i’ve just never held a baby before?” virgil says. “so you’ll have to coach me through it.”

“oh! sure thing,” patton says, and demonstrates the arm hold. “like this?”

virgil copies him exactly, freezing in place, as patton coos gently to his son, leaning over him and gathering him in his arms.

“okay,” patton says, turning. “oh—great, yeah, just like that! just be sure to support his head, okay?”

“right,” virgil says. “weak neck.”

“yeah, that’s it,” patton says, smiling, and carefully, slowly, transfers logan into virgil’s arms.

virgil immediately cups his head with his hand—god, what if he didn’t and something happened to logan’s tiny baby brain?—and patton settles all six point three pounds of him into virgil’s arms, stepping back, which virgil barely notes out of the corner of his eyes, because—

because he’s holding a baby.

(even if logan grabbing his finger wasn’t The Moment, this certainly would be.)

he’s so tiny, and somehow, so warm, so utterly, completely captivating—six point three pounds did not equate small in terms of attention, in terms of focus that virgil was giving him. he blinks up at virgil with clear blue eyes, and virgil can’t help but let his lip twitch up into half a smile.

“hey there,” virgil says to him, his voice taking on a distinctly cooing tone that would probably alarm him when he wasn’t holding a baby anymore. “hi there, kid, i’m virgil.”

the baby says nothing, unsurprisingly. virgil kind of wants to press his nose into the baby’s cheek, or something, and then is slightly alarmed by that impulse. what is it with the immediate urge to just... cuddle and poke at and murmur at it fondly? some kind of evolutionary instinct, probably.

virgil had never considered himself a baby person before. wow. is he a baby person? is that what this is? or is he just very particularly a logan-baby kind of person? virgil doesn’t know any other babies, so he’s just gonna have to assume baby person. which is—new.

so virgil’s just—probably looking like an absolute freak, beaming down at this random baby he has no attachment to, and he feels like it, a little, because it’s just—well, logan’s so little and virgil just wants to be sure that he keeps that curious look on his face, that he’ll grow up and smile and be happy, and wow, yeah, this baby has got him wrapped around his little finger.

“cute,” patton murmurs, and virgil just about startles.

“oh! um,” virgil says, and nods his chin toward logan. “should i...?”

“it kind of seems like you want to keep holding him,” patton says, amused.

“i kinda do, a bit,” virgil admits. "is this, like. am i a baby person?”

“you don’t know?” patton asks.

“well, like i said, i’ve never really been around babies, you know?” virgil says, as logan’s eyes shut lazily, and oh, wow, is he seriously comfortable enough where he is that he’s falling asleep on virgil?

“what, ever?” patton says.

“i’m the youngest of five, plus i’m the youngest of all my cousins,” virgil says. “youngest child of youngest children, you know. most babies i’ve seen are customer’s kids, so this is, like. my first extended contact with one.”

“only child,” patton says. “but, well. i always liked kids, even when i was a kid.”

you’re still a kid, virgil thinks but doesn’t say.

“i used to babysit a lot, and i volunteered for daycare, and stuff, so,” patton says. “kinda always knew i was a baby person.”

“good,” virgil says, looking back at logan. “that’s good.”

“do you wanna know the bright side?”

virgil looks up from logan, distracted, not getting it, until he very suddenly remembers.

“oh!” virgil says, and shifts his stance while making super sure he doesn’t shift his grip on the baby. “yeah, of course, tell me. what’s your bright side?”

patton grins at him, weary. “at least i never have to do today again.”

virgil laughs, and concedes the point with a nod. “that’s pretty smart, you know?”

“eh—” patton begins, clearly about to wave it off.

“no, seriously,” virgil says, and smiles at him. “you never have to do today ever, ever again. congratulations.”

patton laughs—it doesn’t sound particularly happy, it sounds kinda snotty, actually—but it’s genuine, and so virgil smiles a little wider when he hears that, and looks down again at the baby in his arms.

“he’s really cute,” virgil says. “congrats on the good genes.”

patton laughs again. “well, thank you.”

he steps closer, and peeks at logan. “he must be really tired,” he murmurs.

“yeah?” virgil says.

“well, it’s just—logan’s usually crying, this time of night, but i threw his schedule all kinds of out of whack,” patton says, and bites his lip.

“hey, that happens,” virgil says. “should i lay him down, though?”

“yeah, probably,” patton says, and carefully worms his hands under logan so that he can take him back. virgil steps close, as to ease his way, and patton lifts him, lies him down in the carrier.

virgil tries not to feel disappointed, and instead takes his seat in the booth again, handing across the fork for patton.

“try the cake,” he says.

patton digs in, and lifts the fork to his mouth, and then his eyes close and his hand comes up to his mouth.

“oh,” he says dreamily. “oh. that’s really good.”

“well, good,” virgil says, digging in himself. it really is, if virgil says so himself—fudgy and rich and moist, chocolatey and decadent and just good. perfect thing to eat when you needed some kind of sweet comfort food.

they eat the whole cake in fairly companionable silence, and virgil pushes patton to take the last bite, and he does, before leaning back against the booth with a satisfied sigh.

“that was some really good cake,” he says. “definitely put it on the menu.”

virgil grins. “glad to hear it goes over well.”

“did you come up with the recipe yourself?” patton asks.

“yeah,” virgil says. “well—most of the diner ones are either family recipes handed down or mine, yeah.”

“wow,” patton says. “i mean—i burn toast.”

“it gets better with practice,” virgil says reassuringly.

patton grimaces, just a little. “one more thing to worry about.”

“it doesn’t have to be,” virgil blurts out.

“what?” patton says.

“you could—“ virgil hesitates, gestures with his fork. “i mean, you said that you didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, right?”

“right,” patton says cautiously.

“you could stay here,” virgil says. “i mean—not here-here, necessarily, i don’t think i have room for two people plus a baby upstairs, but—sideshire. you could stay here, in sideshire.”

“i—huh,” patton says thoughtfully.

“i mean,” virgil says. “i know maria—she’s a family friend, she knew my aunts—i know for a fact she’s always hiring, and that doesn’t require much in terms of work experience. there’s pretty good childcare in sideshire, not that i know as much about it as you’d probably want to.”

patton doesn’t say anything.

“you could just—sleep on it?” virgil says. “maria—she runs the inn, you’d probably be doing housekeeping or waiting tables or working in the kitchen, i know that if you went in there and told her virgil sent you that she’d have a place for you—pretty cheap, if not free.”

“i couldn’t—”

“one night,” virgil says. “one night, you sleep on it, and you can decide in the morning. stay or go.”

patton pauses, licks his lips, and nods. “sleep on it,” he repeats slowly.

“yeah,” virgil says. “i mean—you’ve had a big night, patton, to say the least, and you’re gonna have a big day tomorrow, too. you have a lot ahead of you. i’d probably be insisting to anyone else that they stop and take a break, too.”

patton concedes the point, and nods.

“it’s just—” virgil hesitates, before he shrugs. “it just seems like—you need a person, right now. a friend. or at least a familiar face that isn’t your infant son.”

patton tries for a smile, and it wobbles. it’s almost better than the fake, practiced one.

“yeah,” he says, quiet.

“okay,” virgil says. “then if you need it, i can be your person.”

patton stares at him, before he nods. “okay.”

“yeah?” virgil says.

“yeah,” patton says. “okay. i’ll listen to you, as you are now my person. i’ll sleep on it.”

“okay!” virgil says. “good.”

so virgil sketches out direction to the inn on a napkin, and gives patton a half-caf hot cocoa/coffee for the less-than-five-minute drive, and holds logan as patton packs away the coffee and the diaper bag in his car stuffed full of all his and logan’s belongings, and patton takes logan to start fastening him into the car seat.

“get some rest,” virgil says. “you and logan both.”

“it’s funny that you think i can get logan to rest when i want him to rest,” patton says wryly, double-checking that logan’s all fastened in.

virgil leans in to see logan’s face, and tells him directly, “get some rest.”

logan makes a sleepy noise.

“that was a yes,” virgil tells patton, and patton snorts, before he reaches over and takes out his wallet.

virgil’s already shaking his head, and puts his hand down on patton’s hand.

“no,” he says.

“i can pay for what i ate,” patton says.

“i was closed,” virgil says. “this was just dinner between two friends. okay?”

patton hesitates, before he lowers the wallet.

“okay,” patton says.

“okay,” virgil says.

“i... no matter what i decide, virgil,” patton says. “thank you.”

virgil ducks his head. “i just—”

“you were really nice to me when you didn’t need to be,” patton says. “thank you.”

virgil hesitates, before he opens his arms. “see you maybe?”

patton leans in, and wraps his arms around virgil’s waist. he’s short—it probably shouldn’t surprise virgil, he’s sixteen, he’s probably due for a growth spurt—but virgil wraps his arms tight around patton’s shoulders, trying to transmit some kind of be okay be okay be okay energy that’ll carry him through, no matter if he decides to leave sideshire or not, and just make sure that their lives turn out better.

“thanks,” patton repeats as a whisper into virgil’s shoulder, and virgil squeezes him a little tighter. they separate.

“not a problem,” virgil says roughly, and steps back as patton hops into the driver’s seat and starts the car but doesn’t yet close the door against the wintry chill.

“drive safe, yeah?”

“yeah,” patton confirms. “i just—virgil?”

“yeah?” he asks, sticking his hands into his hoodie pockets.

patton smiles at him, and says, “i’m not sure how much thinking i’ll do.”

virgil smiles back at him, and patton lets out a sigh—he almost sounds happy.

“i actually have a pretty good feeling about this place.”

with a smile that’s bright and beaming and real, he shuts the car door with a noisy thud.

#my post #text #the sideshire files #my fic #my fanfic #moxiety #sanders sides

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neaura-nightsong · 5 years

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Crazy Dream

So I had this CRAZY Dream last night, and I'm going to attempt to recap it.. So buckle in. So there was this weird party going on in this skyscraper downtown. I heard about it, and supposedly it was indoor camping in the building's basement levels. You put up a tent, hang out, there's food, live music, movies on projectors, etc. It sounded weird and fun, so I figured why not, and invited a guy I was seeing to come with me for the night. I got there first, with the tent and sleeping bags, and I figured I'd go in and set up and get oriented. The building was *really* high end and fancy, but I didn't get to see much of it except the lobby and basement levels. I had arrived pretty early, so there wasn't a ton of people around yet, so I scouted out a good spot, and went about setting up the tent and contents. Once finished, I decided to head out to get a bite to eat, then I'd come back and meet up with my guy friend closer to when things are winding up. I returned to the apartment building a couple hours later.. My friend still was running late and had not shown up. So I went back in without him. IT WAS PACKED NOW. Like, concert level packed. I was struggling to find where I had put my tent, everything was so disorienting and different looking now with so many people and other tents, many of them similar looking. Eventually I saw what looked to be my tent, shoved against a wall and squished, to make room for other people who had taken the space for themselves. Particularly, three guys in their early 20's who had set up right where my tent had been. I approached them, and said something like "Hey what the hell! That's my tent back there, why did you move it, that's really rude!". They said that nobody was there so they just did it, and so what. So I go over to my tent to pack it up and find somewhere else, when one of the guys grabs me. I struggled with him but he was way too strong. He then started to grab me in inappropriate places, and I screamed "HELP! HELP!" nobody heard or nobody cared. I continued to struggle, as his touching became increasingly sexual and inappropriate. Now I screamed "HELP!! RAPE! RAPE! HELP!" Still, nobody came to my aid. Now he covered my mouth with a hand. I realised that if this continued, they would never let me leave.. I had seen their faces, bodies, heard their names, etc.. So I decided to pretend that I consented at this point.. that his advances had turned me on or something, and that I was now into it. So I stopped resisting, and changed my body language, and when he uncovered my mouth I said something like "Actually yeah, let's do this". After it was over, they were all still hesitant about letting me leave. I told them I did not remember their names, that I had really bad memory.. and besides, why would there be anything to worry about if I ended up consenting, we were all just having fun right. They let me leave. I grabbed my tent and walked away casually. As soon as I was out of eyesight, I dropped the tent and started running... I was in panic from what had just happened. I found a quiet spot, and called my friend to tell of what had happened, and vent. That's when I saw something strange.. Some guys were holding pistols, and talking aggressively, talking about doing something, and how they should do it. I didn't have the mental focus to worry about this right now, so I went to the elevator and went up to the Lobby. The Lobby.. There was a security booth at the front of the lobby, with a security officer on duty. I went up and knocked on the bullet proof glass, and asked her if I could come inside the booth, and that I needed to talk about something that happened in the basement. She could see I was crying and in distress, so she let me in. That is the moment when the elevator doors opened, and two people, one male one female, wearing all black, came out, one carrying a revolver, and one carrying a semi-automatic pistol. The first thing they did was come up to the security booth, and started shooting at the door, trying to get it open. But as I mentioned, it was made from bulletproof glass, and took minimal damage, though they were slowly wearing it down. That is when the security guard took out her revolver, and got ready for them to break in.. which they did. and shots flew in both directions.. I was standing beside the door that had been broken open, trying to push it back closed, against the force of one of the people in black. The security guard took the man out. But now the woman was enraged, the pushed the door open wide, despite my efforts, and shot the security officer right in the gut. She was out of bullets now, but the officer was not. She takes aim at the woman, but the woman grabs onto the gun and tries to push it into a different trajectory.. So I grab onto it too and push it back into its intended trajectory.. into the woman's head. The security officer collapses from her wounds, but I continue to struggle, and pull the trigger. The woman dies. I just killed someone. What the hell is going on. I exit the building, and that's when I overhear I couple people in a very expensive car nearby. I learn via their conversation that this whole camping party thing was organised as a birthday celebration for the daughter of a mob leader.. and that the leader, had a sister, and this brother and sister were warring over who whould be in charge of the mob, after their father had recently passed away. The building was owned by the brother, but the sister was here to take control and subvert her brother. Holy shit. I was in the middle of a frigging mafia war. But later I would learn it wasn't that simple.. There was a dark reason that the sister had not taken action until now. I just didn't know it yet. At this point I decide it is best for me to act like one of the regular party-goers, and like I hadnt seen or done anything unusual. I go out to the car where the daughter (the one the party is for) was, and she looked visibly upset. I ask her what is wrong, and say "this party is all for you, isnt it? How come you're not getting to enjoy it!" She tells me they wont let her in because of something happening with the building, and that she doesn't think she'll get to go. "Aww, that's too bad.." I say. "Well I really hope that changes, and you can go have some fun!". "Thanks" she says. Great, now the daughter of a mob leader has had a positive friendly association with me. This could help me later on. I continue this strategy, innocently chatting and being friendly with people who appeared to be closely tied to what was going on.. all the while pretending I was clueless to the fact that there was anything more going on here than a fun harmless party. It was working. Now most of the daughter's body-guards, and staff knew who I was, and had had friendly interactions with me. Not likely that their first instinct will be to shoot me when they see me, now. Eventually, they deem the situation stable enough that the daughter and her staff are moved into the upscale lobby of the apartment. They hang out, watch tv, talk, etc, and I am there with them, buddying it up. A few times, the elevator doors would open, and members of the Brother's (the guy who's apartment it is) security forces would burst out, and I would have to act like I was defending the daughter and her staff, and take defensive actions. This helped to prove my loyalty, and show them I was cool with what was going down. ~~~~Some of the dream is lost~~~~~ Eventually, the Sister (The rival) comes in to the building, concerned that the takeover is going more slowly and messily than she wanted.. I am in so deep now, and she is told of everything I've done to help them.. She wants to recruit me to go up into the levels of the building, and clear it out of anyone who is loyal to her brother and not her, and log/document my actions as I clear each floor. Let's be honest, my choices here are agree, or be deemed disloyal and probably be executed. So I agree. I am given guns and ammo, and a stack of paperwork, and keys to an apartment on the 80th floor. I am told that the floors closer to the top are safer, and the lower floors are still in heavy conflict, or secured by her opposition. The first thing I do is go to the 80th floor and go into "my apartment". It's nice. But, what the hell have I gotten myself into?! WTF! I decide what I will do is kinda roam the floors, scouting things out and getting a feel for what's going on, and then I will later on go and fill out the paper work, and falsify it with fake kills and etc so it looks like I had been busy working for her. I start with the high floors, since those are supposedly safer. That's when I start to see something I can hardly believe. There was more going on here than I suspected. The people loyal to the Sister, they werent human.. At least.. not entirely.. The only way I can describe it is that they looked like genetic mutants, each having different and random variations that made them more powerful, dangerous, or scary. Meanwhile, the people on the lower floors, they are just regular people, mostly civilians. This isn't a mob takeover, this is some kind of genetic freakshow genocide, or aliens, or what?! I don't even know anymore! After a long time, I return to my "apartment". I receive a call from the Sister. She wants me to come down to the lobby and rpesent my paperwork and progress reports, and celebrate with them, have a drink, etc, because aparently the whole thing is going very well, and they've cleared every floor above floor 17. Okay, I am just finishing up some work, but I will be down there shortly, I say. Time to quickly finish falsifying those logs and paperwork so it looks like I've been reasonably productive, but not so much as to draw suspicion. I describe what I had seen on each floor, and make up kill logs for enemies I had "taken out". When I finished, I headed down to the lobby. Everyone there was in good spirits, and I received lots of congratulations on my small part in the work. They poured me a drink, and I joined them in the festivities. The Sister said she had to go, and that she'd be going to the top floor to set up her new command post, now that this building was being captured in her name. That seemed fine, since there was like 70+ floors secured between her and her enemies, and the win was ever closer in sight. (I almost didn't want to mention it, but she did some weird alien psycho-kinetic stuff to me when she congratulated me, and made me feel all turned on and good, but like cranked up to 1,000. Was this some way to control me?) "But, I'd feel better if she had at least some backup, out in the hallway, I should go with her." I said. The remainder of the group commended me for my diligence, and off I went. I wasn't going there to protect her, though. I was going there to kill her. It was easy. I came to the top floor, and she had her back turned to me.. I shot her 8 times in the head and chest. Then I lit the room on fire, and left. On the elevator ride back down, a little boy got on, from floor 12, and said he was going up to floor 67 to find his friend.. I had to talk him out of it.. if he tried he would surely be killed.. "We have to get out of here, now! People have to find out about what's going on here!" The boy was sad... he was even wearing his monster halloween costume to try to blend in witth the freaky mutant-aliens he would have to get past. But he didn't fight it.. I think he knew it was a suicide mission. But at least this way, if we get out, and find help, we might be able to save some people. So we left. Not through the lobby, but through a back fire exit. We went to the nearest place that had a phone and made just about the strangest 911 call ever to have taken place... The End

#dream #nightmare

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lord-explosion-baku · 6 years

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Immortal Servant pt. 2

Demon!Aizawa x witch!reader, demon!Dabi x reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, kinda non consensual touching, suggestive themes, occult shit,

A/N: I said I’d return to this and I thought this request was kinda a good way to get into it??? It was kinda rushed but nobody’s perfect! Here are some boys.

Part 1

You flipped through the pages of your late aunt Wanda’s old grimoire in hopes of finding something, anything, that would help you get rid of the demon who was taking a siesta on your bed. It had been only two months since your immortal servant, Aizawa, has come into your life and you weren’t any closer to getting rid of him than the day you tried to beat him up with an umbrella.

It wasn’t all bad, having him around. He taught you a lot of about your magicks and how to harness the power that was laying in your belly or core or whatever. You asked him not to refer to it as your ‘core’ because that flustered you a bit. Aizawa said a lot of things that flustered you. It was annoying. But he helped you learn how to conjure and find lost items. “Baby steps,” is what he called them. You would complain because the first magical thing you’ve ever done, to your knowledge, was summoning Aizawa in the first place. Sure, it was by accident but you thought after doing that, the whole ‘baby steps’ thing seemed like bullshit Aizawa fed you so he could stay on this plane of existence for longer.

You had actually let your pursuit to get rid of him escape you for a hot minute. You let your guard down and started enjoying your time with him. You would make food, even though he could conjure up a meal with a snap of his fingers, and you would share it with him, noting what his favorite cuisine was. You would take him to coffee shops and when someone was especially rude to the barista, he would teach you how to enchant them and the two of you would cackle together when you made men in suits and grouchy old ladies cluck and bob their heads like chickens. You had too much fun with him!

The night before you decided to finally buckle down and teach yourself how to get rid of Aizawa was the night the two of you shared a bowl of popcorn while playing cards on your sofa. You shoved popcorn in his mouth when you got the upper hand and he accused you of cheating. You couldn’t ever beat him without cheating. He shoved his food right back into your mouth and while the two of you were laughing he scooted closer to you. He put his arm around you shoulder and opened his mouth so you could place one puff into his mouth and you mimicked his action. But your mouth wasn’t greeted again with popcorn. You were met with a kiss.

He didn’t taste like fire and brimstone like you imagined he would. He tasted sweet like grapes while his lips were salty from the popcorn and you… you liked it. So you kissed him back. Again and again until your legs were over his lap, your hips were rolling against him, and you were running your fingers through his soft black hair. It wasn’t until he ran his hands down to your sides that you pulled away and looked into his then red glowing eyes.

“Oh fuck no,” you whispered, getting off of him and the couch. “No,” you said again, louder, gathering the cards and shoving them messily back into the box. You grabbed the glass popcorn bowl and ran into the kitchen only to find Aizawa already standing by the sink. You jumped in surprise and dropped the bowl, the contents of it shattering across the kitchen floor. “God damn it!”

You grabbed a broom from out of the cabinet but the bowl was already back in tact in Aizawa’s hands. You groaned. “Stop that!”

Aizawa sighed and placed the bowl on you counter. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“I was going to sweep that up. I could’ve fixed it! I didn’t need you to do that!”

“Y/N…” he put his hands over yours before pulling the broom away. He was probably afraid you were going to beat him with it. “What’s really wrong?”

You breathed out. “You’re here too much!” You went to the sink and started washing dishes that were already clean. “You stare at me all the time. You’re… You do things that I don’t ask you to do!”

“It’s my job…”

“Well! You’re fired!” He scoffed at that. You turned around and glared at him. “I didn’t want you to kiss me!”

“No?” He made his way towards you and placed his hands on the counter, blocking you in. “Because you kissed me back.”

“Go away, Aizawa,” you growled.

“You don’t want me to go away.”

“You stupid fucking demon, you don’t know what I want!” You grabbed a glass and threw it on the floor and started using the broom to sweep it up. You knew it was ridiculous but you had to make a point.

“You’re right,” he said, stepping around the glass. “Yeah, you’re incredibly hard to read and it’s frustrating. The moment I think I understand you or think we’re getting on, you blow me away by doing something impulsive and rash that I often times do have to clean up for you and I don��t complain. I’m here to help you, to guide you into becoming a better witch. I want to help you. I like making things a little easier for you but if you want to act like a petulant child in return, then be my guest. Who am I to stop you? I’m just a stupid fucking demon.” Your heart sank. You didn’t mean to call him that. “If you need nothing else for tonight, I’ll be going to bed.” With that, he was gone.

You ended up spending the entire night trying to translate the grimoire. You thought you might’ve found something a few pages after the one you found the summoning spell for Aizawa. You weren’t great at translating Latin yet but it was for something along the lines of needing help for some unsolvable problem. The spell looked simple enough. It was a simple chant that you did and a pin prick of your finger.

As soon as the blood started to ooze from your the tip, Aizawa grabbed your wrist. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re always telling me to study and that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.” You yanked your hand back. “I’m finally getting shit done.”

“Blood is for summoning, Y/N! What did you read?”

“Something that’s gonna help me with my unsolvable problem!” You slammed your hand to the book. “You!”

“Stop-!” But it was too late. The book flew back and splayed open. Pages started to turn on their own and wide blue blast erupted from it. Turquoise flames swirled around your bedroom, your body warming up as the flames grew closer. Aizawa kept his arm in front of you like a mother protecting a child at an abrupt stop in a car.

The lights in the room flickered as a gleaming skeleton climbed out of the book, clawing at your carpet. The skeleton stood upright and you heard chuckling as the flames enveloped its form. Your mouth fell open when a man stepped out of the chaotic mess and the flames disappeared.

The demon wore a burnt jacket with a white low cut t-shirt revealing weird burnt looking skin that covered his muscular chest and his chin. It seemed to be stapled on to regular human looking flesh. Short black horns, not unlike the ones Aizawa had when he first appeared to you, protruded underneath black spiky hair. A dark grin crept across his face while his bright blue eyes looked you up and down. You shuddered and Aizawa stepped in between the two of you.

“This was a mistake,” Aizawa said. “We don’t need you here.”

The demon tilted his head at him. “Is that you Aizawa? My my, you don’t look a day over six thousand and three.” He took a step closer and his grin widened when you peaked over Aizawa’s shoulder. “Who’s the cutie you’ve got there?”

“Back off,” Aizawa said, pushing you away. “You can’t have her.” You realized then that you hadn’t seen Aizawa interact with anybody other than you and there he was, having a chat with another demon that he could have known since the beginning of time.

“Oh? You have domain over her soul? I can tell just by looking at her that she’s clean as a whistle. You slippin’, old friend?”

“Aizawa,” you whispered. “Who is that?” Aizawa frowned at you.

“Name’s Dabi. But you can call me,” he snickered, “anything you want.”

You figured right then and there that all demons were perverted and immoral bastards. “Get rid of him, Aizawa.” Your eyes flashed to the amused looking Dabi. “Please.”

Dabi clicked his tongue. “Ohhhhhh, you’re in the service business now, I see. How very unlike you. Well,” he clapped his hands together and the air around you seemed to get heavier, “I have a job to do here so why don’t you run off, Aizawa? Go clean the chimney or garden something.”

“Dabi is a lust demon, Y/N,” he sighed. “That unsolvable problem you read about in the book has nothing to do with me but everything to do with… your core.”

Your eyes widened. “Lust demon?? I didn’t want that! I-!”

“You dug your grave,” he cut you off and moved away from you. “Now, lay in it.”

Aizawa vanished, leaving you alone in a room with a thing that was looking at you like you were a piece of meat. How could he just leave you there like that? He was supposed to be your servant! He was supposed to be your friend!

“Aizawa!” You called for him. No answer. You ran for the door but the handle wouldn’t budge. “Aizawa, you asshole!!”

Stapled hands were over yours and you felt your tension ease up a bit. “Aren’t you just a doll,” the demon purred from behind you. You turned to the voice and you couldn’t help but be entranced by the shining turquoise eyes before you. “Y/N, was it?”

“Um, yeah. Listen, this is a misunderstanding. I was just trying to send Aizawa back to,” you gestured at the book on the floor, “where you both came from I guess?”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Is that so? So you don’t like being served? You don’t like having you every whim catered to?” With every word, his face moved closer to yours.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, no- I just don’t know if I want to have him constantly, uhh…”

“You don’t have to explain to me, little witch. Aizawa might be a little too submissive for your liking.”

“Wha-? No! It’s not like that at all!” If anything it was the opposite. Aizawa never listened to you. You attempted to move away from him but he grabbed your wrist and you were shoved back against the door. “Hey!”

“You know, I think I might be able to help you- banish him that is. I’d just need something in return…” he took your arm and kissed the back of your wrist. A fervorous wave was sent through you from the contact. It took everything you had not to let out a sigh. What the hell?

“...what? You want my soul?”

You couldn’t get your body to move as Dabi’s hot lips trailed kisses from your shoulder to your neck. “Hardly,” he whispered, beginning to nibble on the shell of your ear. “You don’t need Aizawa to take care of you, do you?”

He placed a hand on the curve of your side and started to move it up. His touch was… so warm… enticing. “N-no,” you managed to stutter out.

“No,” he agreed, raking his fingers across your back. “No, when I’m through with you, you’ll know that you just need me, yeah?” His eyes met yours and he made a move for your lips but you turned your head. “Kiss me.”

“I meant no, don’t touch me!” you pushed him off of you and ran for your side table. You had jars full of herbs you bought from the market before you started growing them in your yard. You knew you had sage somewhere and that always seemed to keep Aizawa at a distance but you were only finding lavender and dillweed.

Long fingers knitted through your hair and you were pulled back into Dabi’s arms. He ran his fingers up your stomach and snickered, “you know, the longer you resist this, the harder it’s gonna be for me to control myself.”

That was controlling himself? You took back everything you ever said to Aizawa. He was a damn saint compared to Dabi. “Expollo,” you cried, trying to wriggle away from the demon. “Expello!” You didn’t know enough Latin...

Dabi tossed you onto your bed and the sheets began wrapping around your wrists. Dabi pulled at your shirt while his tongue ran over your breasts.

Your breathing was labored as you felt heat flood into your nether regions. Dabi was petting you through your sweats. He chuckled when your brows knitted together. “Say yes,” he commanded. “You want to,” he crawled on top of you and leveled his head with yours. “You want to so bad, it hurts.”

“Expello uhhh Dabi!”

“Say my name again. I like- ah!” Something hit Dabi’s back and he winced. Did you do that?

“Ab deme Touya huic domui,” Aizawa’s love voice echoed through the room. “Expelle decretum tenebris.”

There was another crash onto his back and Dabi seethed in response. He turned around and hissed something that sounded like Latin but backwards at Aizawa before the skin around his face started to flake away. He took one last look at you before evaporating into the air.

You unwound your arms from the sheets and sat up looking at Aizawa who was holding a glass full of herbs from your yard. “Where the hell did you run off to? You just left me with him!”

He held up the jar. “Gardening. Juniper and fern extract are great for on the go banishment spells.” Juniper and fern. “You’ve lost your grimoire privileges for like a week, by the way. He’s always been bad news and now you’ve got him running free.”

“He… Dabi where is he?”

“He’s around still,” Aizawa shrugged. “Not here but I’m positive he’ll be back. I’m gonna have to teach you how to wean off other pesky demons, aren't I?”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out, still trying to analyze what had just went down. “You’re not stupid. I was just frustrated.”

“Frustrated, huh. That might be an understatement.” He grinned, “I’ve told you before that I know ways of getting your frustrations out. You’d never have to summon demon of lust again.”

You shook your head at his suggestion. “I wasn’t trying to do that. I was trying to-,”

“Get rid of me, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. He picked the grimoire up off the floor and brushed some residual ash away from it. “Now you won’t be able to do that. The moment he senses that I’m gone, he’ll be back and I doubt he’ll be as… kind to you while I’m away.”

How eerie. You kinda wished that your aunt warned you about the perverted demons you’d encounter in her will.

“You could always, I don’t know, show me how to send him back?”

Aizawa hummed and wrapped his hands around you. He kissed the top of your head. “Baby steps, Y/N.” It was supposed to be reassuring but your body was flushed and even though Dabi was gone for the time being, residual sensual energy was still pumping through your veins and you found yourself getting a little too excited by Aizawa’s embrace.

You cleared your throat and stepped away from him. “Um,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “I think I’m gonna order some pizza. Are you- uh… in the mood for pizza.”

Aizawa smirked as if he could see right through you. “Yeah,” he said. “Pizza sounds great.”

Ab deme Touya huic domui - Expel Touya from this house.

Expelle decretum tenebris - Banish this darkness.

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#demon!aizawa x reader #demon!aizawa #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #dabi x reader #demon!dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha reader insert #reader insert #mha x reader

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