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hazbinextgeneration · 2 years ago

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Hazbin Worlds Collide Ch23

(Aldo, Velvet, Nidra, Hornet, Tristan, and Francis belongs to Palettepainter)

The moment Tristan seemed to notice the smaller moth demon, Queeny's smile stretched farther and she snapped behind her. Making Francis flinch at how bendy her neck was.

"Hannibal, sweetheart.~" Tristan rose a brow at the sudden change in her voice. It still sounded (excuse the term) unstable but with a much gentler undertone. "This is Vaggie's son. Doesn't he look oh so nice and friendly?" He peeked a bit from behind her.

"Why don't you come out and talk to him?" She suddenly did a full flip in mid air and grabbed Hannibal's shoulders from behind, pushing him forward a bit. "I think you'll agree that you'll have a lot in common."

Oh! So that was why she wanted them to talk so badly. Their similarities. Though he didn't see any other than their mother and the fact that they were both very moth. Hannibal gave an uncertain look at him before looking back at Queeny.

"I don't want to. H-He'll hate me. They always end up hating me. I'm a freak-"

"Well, he's not normal himself. Smell him. He's only half demon."

Tristan scowled slightly that she oh so freely told him that but let it slide. For Francis's sake if not his own. Said deer was still hunkered down behind his spread wing, very obviously scared of the deranged floating pyscho. The very last thing he needed was Francis having another panic attack. So he cleared his throat, getting their attention, and gave a slightly strained smile towards the odd siblings. "It's...nice to meet you, Hannibal." He politely smiled towards the younger moth demon. "Queeny's told us a lot about you...Would you like some supper? It's late and you must be hungry." Hannibal smiled slightly. "Well, I-"

"He's already ate. Thank you very much," Queeny interrupted and pushed him forward more, "But Hanny loves books just like you, don't you, Sweetie?~ Of course you do! Why don't you tell them about that book you're reading?"

He felt Francis flinch against him more when they scooted closer to them. He had to get them outta there if there was any hope of Francis keeping his sanity-

"I would LOVE to hear all about it." He had to resist the urge to look behind him when Francis gripped him tighter. Queeny seemed visibly pleased though. "As soon as your sister keeps her promise to us-" "Ah, ah, ah! Silly boy,~" She scolded him like a child. "No one is going home unless I say otherwise or if those boys somehow get that machine going before I get my hands on it." "Oh, I don't doubt that. Maizy told us how precise you are about your deals." He smiled. "But I can't keep my end if you don't keep yours."

Silence. Hannibal blinked and slowly looked up at Queeny. His sister stared unblinking at Tristan but the moth only continued to smile and wait patiently for her to respond. He flinched when Queeny's grip on his shoulders loosened and she leaned over to stare down Tristan.

"If I remember clearly," her voice purred with a strange undertone, "Our deal was I would return all you home AFTER a few days.....It takes me a while to aline dimensional pathways." "You did say that, but I also remember you specifically saying that you'd stay away from Francis." His smile got wider if possible as Queeny's smile faded slightly. "I'm sure you understand."

She continued to stare at him for what seemed like forever before her usual insane grin returned and she backed away to give him space. "....Of course. How silly of me. I must've forgotten when I left hours ago." Her constant spiraling eyes looked to the boy hidden behind his wing for a split second. "Hmm. Shame. You would've made an excellent playmate for Hanny….But I do have business elsewhere." She patted Hannibal on his head before looking Tristan in the eye. "I'll leave you in good hands that I'm SURE are capable." Her form slowly sank down until she began fazing through the floor but not before looking at Hannibal. "Do get some sleep tonight. We'll have an eventful next few days."

Almost instantly after she disappeared, Tristan sighed and relaxed from his tense mini stand off, happy to be out of that situation. His wing drooped down, exposing the snall deer boy to the other small moth demon. The two stared at each other for a moment before Francis smiled and waved.

"Um....Hi."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"That brother of yours needs to find somewhere else to sleep."

The blue eyed angel yawned and trudged next to the red headed deer girl who gave a 'sorry' look. She was fine with little Francis borrowing her bed for the night after the full situation was explained and Angel-Cake trusted them. If her sister was ok with them, then they were ok with her. But she wasn't about to go share a bed with any of the alternate girls just yet.....But the couch wasn't exactly comfy.

"I'm sure we'll find something. Dexter said something about having a bunk bed." "Oh, yeah. Where'd they go anyways?" Izzy gave her a look. She must've meant both Dexter and Aldo. "I think they're in the lab." She stared. "....Really? You'd think they'd take a break by now." "Yeah." The two and Mr. Baxter had been working themselves to death trying to fix things before it went ka-put. How they could put themselves through that she didn't understand- "Did ya tell him yet?" "Hmm? What?" She stopped her internal rambling to look at the rebel angel next to her. Izzy smiled. "Uncle Al? He's probably not gonna know about YOUR Al and Francis." She clicked her tongue. "If he was scared of Maze and freaked out at seeing Chesh….Then I would hate to see how he'd react to him." "Chesire told me he'd talk to Da-....I mean Mr. Alastor." It was a weird feeling to call your own father Mister even if it was in a different dimension. "It's not him I'm worried about." "Yeah....I wouldn't worry about her too much though. I don't think she'd hurt him either way...Not after what happened with Chesh." Though she mumbled the last part, it didn't escape Velvet's ears that twitched at it. Making the doe stop and stare at her. "....What's that supposed to mean?" Izzy stared back, but shrugged and started walking again. "Ask Chesire if you really wanna know, just don't ask to see his scars."

Velvet followed, though reluctantly after hearing that, her down to the kitchen area where, to her surprise, both Dexter and Aldo were eating Breakfast with most of the other children.....And by breakfast, the piles of cakes Beauty had baked out of stress two days ago.

"Well...I wasn't expecting to see you two here." Aldo glanced up at Velvet then back to him plate. "We were kicked out of the lab by that menace." "Queeny," Dexter piped up from across the table, "She won't let anyone in. 'Go get some rest' she said. How can I rest knowing she's around my equipment?!" "Oh, it'll do you some good." The cyclops jumped and turned his eye up at the blonde deer who smiled at him. "You two made a giant mess with that tantrum, not to mention you both look like Zombies from the grave."

A sudden yelp and hissing noise caught everyone's attention as the cat prince had jumped onto the chair and a very familiar green menace hissed at him from the floor.

"And speaking of zombies...This has gotten quite tiresome." She had no problem walking over to the small rabbit and quickly grabbing him by the scruff...Or what was left of it. The thing wriggled and made more weird noises while glaring at her. Maybe taking a swipe or two. And the smell was horrible. Good thing she was used to the things her father and Chesire dragged home. "Honestly. The horse has better manners-" "Put him down!" The collectively calm snake was glaring the older demon down while eyeing Hornet's struggling form. "We already went through this ounce." Upon being challenged, Maizy's eyes narrowed. "I agree. Which is why this little....bunny needs to be taught some manners. I don't appreciate my cat being attacked." "He just wanted his carrot cake," she hissed eye twitching, "Put. Him. Down." "Not until you 'keep him on a tight leash' so to speak."

The tention in the room got slowly higher as the two magical beings stared each other down. Both girls friends' stared uncomfortably between the two. Nidra stared at the all too familiar smile and smug aura...Which ticked her off just a bit more. She mumbled something under her breath and shifted her arm which caught Maizy's attention.

"I'm sorry. What was that, Sweetie? I don't speak mumble-" "Iza kree tanor"

It seemed like time slowed down just for a few seconds as Nidra quickly raised her arm and threw something. The green blur flew through the air and collided with a splat with Maizy's mouth. Startling her enough to drop both Hornet and her staff as the rubber like goo proceeded to cover both her mouths and half her cheeks before stopping. Immediately Hornet hopped over to his owner and happily gurgled at her touch. Nidra happily smirked to herself before raising a hand down for him to nuzzle. "I don't mumble. I curse."

She expected another snide remark but what she got in response was a beeping noise. She looked up and over towards the noise and rose a brow at the microwave that seemed to be running by itself- Did the room suddenly get darker? The lights over head flickered slightly darkening the room.

"Oh, no....Maizy.."

She looked over at the deer who's name had been called and stared. Maizy was, for lack of a better word, frozen with a blank look in her eyes. Her chest was quite noticeably rising a little faster with presumeably breathing through her nose. Her hands slowly reached up to lightly tug on the stuck on green goop-

And she shrieked.

#Hazbin

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the1northlanderprincess · 2 years ago

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Paradise Lost

Well, I kind of missed the mark with this episode, but, whatever. Not a ton of armony content in this episode since arman wasn’t in half of the episode (grrr), but some good stuff to chew on nonetheless. I’ll talk about that, but I’ll also discuss the Nadia and Arman bits, as they were very relevant.

Before I get into the meat of it all, I just wanted to say I liked how Thony told Fiona the truth right away. It was a struggle for her, but she did it. Fiona is disappointed at first, but then Thony tells her Arman was in trouble. I think she understood, and knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere if she argued with her about that. I also love how later Fiona is just fully accepting Thony and calm in getting her ready to be a high end drug dealer. I would have liked her to say something about Arman being with her, in addition to acting like she’s going into surgery, like a besides.

Meeting with Garrett: Thony and Arman meet with Garrett at an undisclosed location. They already are there before he is. Garrett arrives. He is very forceful with them, telling them in no uncertain terms that he’ll send them both to jail if they don’t have a plan for him. Arman's like, uh uh, not gonna happen, dude. Then he explains it. Garrett prematurely believes they will take down Cortes and Kamdar at the same, but Arman says Kamdar is too smart to put himself at risk like that. Thony discusses more about the plan, and Garrett puts the rest of it together. Thony and Arman believe it will work. Garrett hopes it does, because if not, Arman and Thony will “go down”.

Not a lot to analyze here. Like I said at the beginning, Thony and Arman arrive before Garrett. This would have been a nice time to see them talk, have a moment to themselves. Once they get talking, Arman makes sure Thony is protected. after Garrett leaves with his threatening words, Thony and Arman share concerned looks; they’re not just worried about themselves, but one another. They know this could go south easily, so the threat of prison is very real. Now what I found interesting is how happy Garrett seemed to be by the idea of having both Arman and Thony in jail. Garrett is fond of Thony, so it surprises me why he’d be pleased about such a thing. Maybe he’s ticked by the fact she’s sticking by Arman, or he’s figured out Arman has a soft spot for her, and by hurting her, he’s hurting him.

The storage facility

Thony and Arman are at her storage facility to unload the drugs from the truck. Thony gets the last box. Arman tells her he can get it, and offers his hand to help her down. When she’s on the ground, he holds onto her. He keeps her gaze for a moment until she breaks it, and she brings up having seen some of his belongings. She tells him there's a bed behind the clinic, but he politely declines. At that moment Kamdar's entourage shows up, and Arman tells her to go inside. Kamdar confronts them, and begins to dig through the inventory, thoroughly impressed. Arman says it's only a side venture meant to pay back his debt. Kamdar scolds him for not including him, saying it wasn't polite (oh my gosh, he is SUCH an Umbridge). He wants in, and Thony shuts him down right away, then Arman chimes in that even if they did, they have no distributor. Kamdar says he does, someone who’s indebted to him, and Arman says he doesn’t want to just sell to anyone. Kamdar reveals it’s Julian Cortes’. He says he wants 30%, but Arman says 20 and negotiates for Nadia’s freedom as well. Kamdar allows it, and he will arrange for the meeting. Then he and everyone else leaves. Thony comments on how Arman didn’t tell Nadia. He explains that by not doing so made their plan work. Thony says she’ll call Garrett. Arman tells her that now that they have an in, he’ll meet with Cortes’ alone. Thony disagrees, and Arman explains that Cortes’ is a dangerous man. Thony says she’ll be talk about the drugs if need be. Then she realizes that the Feds won’t know how much money there’ll be. Arman begins to smile, thinking they’ll be able take some for themselves. She adds she’ll take some for the clinic, wanting something good to come out of it. He flashes a grin at that. Then she calls Garrett.

Lots to unpack in this section. First, the handhold. Oh my goodness. So small, but so potent. The fact that he held on longer than necessary, and swiped his thumb over her knuckles...and those bedroom eyes to go with it? It’s been SO long since we’ve had a charged moment like this. Things have been so tense lately, and now that they’ve made this plan to work with Garrett, it’s like they have a chance to breathe. He’s going to take this opportunity for all it’s worth. also, with what has transpired between him and Nadia, it’s like he now has permission to feel something more, at least for this moment. However, at the same time, he’s being respectful. While he smiles at Thony’s offering the bed, he doesn’t want to burden her, and probably trying to stay away from temptation, too. He goes into protective mode once Kamdar arrives, and later as he warns Thony about Cortes’. Finally, he’s proud of her for displaying a take charge, criminalist attitude.

Thony and Arman go to meet Cortes’

Thony and Arman, dressed to impress, head up to Cortes’ compound. They arrive, and go through security. Then Cortes’ shows up and introduces himself. Everyone exchanges pleasantries, then Cortes’ takes them out to his patio, all the while explaining why he wants to meet them like this. Next he asks why he should consider doing business with them, as well as what they sell. Thony explains how the drugs are cheaply made in Mexico but sell for higher in America. Cortes’ asks if there is a secure lane, and Arman says he has one. Cortes’ likes what he hears and says it’s what he’s looking for. This pleases Thony and Arman and they stand up to leave. But Cortes’ stops them, telling Arman he can go get the drugs, but to leave Thony.

More good stuff in this scene. Thony and Arman look like a kick-butt power couple. It’s one of the things I wished for when the season started. When they arrive, he holds a hand out to escort her out of the car. Her expression is serious, but his is soft and warm. It’s like a groom meeting his bride at the altar. He can’t believe she’s here with him, and he’s letting her know he’s ready if she is, and this is right. Throughout the whole ordeal, he kept glancing at her, and she at him. They were looking to one another for support; he was making sure she was okay because of how dangerous it was. It was happening so often, Cortes’ thought Arman and Thony were a couple, which says a lot. I have to wonder if the smile Arman shot Thony when Cortes’ was relaying the metaphor of jumping into bed perhaps made him question their relationship. By the way, I thought that was an interesting choice. Perhaps it was subconscious on Arman's part, that he thinks of such things with Thony. Later, when Thony is forced to stay, Arman is stony-faced at first, but it subtly changes into worry. He looks at her, sees her sly, “I can handle this” smile, and knows she can. It’s very telling of how much he values her strength. One more thing of note, I like the song selection in this scene. It’s about pretending to be something you’re not, and knowing it. But the lyrics at the beginning “Eye to eye/heart to heart”...they tell a story of two people so close, they are on the same page with this decision.

Arman and Nadia

I honestly loved both scenes with these two. I was expecting the “thrown out” scene to be at the end, but it was a pretty funny way to open his scenes. Before I get too far, I wish they included the Spanish translation in the captions like they did in the premiere. I want to know what they were saying. Back to the discussion. Even if he tells her that he and Thony aren’t hooking up, Nadia’s had enough; she can read between the lines. No amount of groveling can make up for the fact that he is, in fact, being secretive and choosing to do things with Thony over his wife, which leads me to...

Several posters here on tumble have said that Arman needs to get his crap together before he can be worthy of Thony. I haven’t really addressed it, but after watching this episode, I have to agree. He can’t seem to make up his mind. One minute he’s trying to talk Nadia down, the next he’s touching Thony and looking at her like she’s a 3-course meal. Later, in the same scene, he has an apologetical and pleading expression for Nadia. It isn’t until in the office where he begins to realise she might be right when he doesn’t really say anything to counter what she says that his drug thing is for him and Thony. It’s a sarcastic reaction from him, but there is some truth to his little nod.

What really frustrates me to no end is the constant not-talking about Thony and Arman's connection. I get that it’s a slowburn, but in a show where the couple is introduced in a way where you know they’ll eventually get together, things have to done differently. You can have that conversation where they express that they’re attracted to one another, but decide not to pursue it because now is not the right time. That’s okay. The UST can keep on building. I just feel like they already had that conversation but the writers chose not to show it. Oh, Arman also needs a male confidante or something so he can freely express his troubles or anything he’s holding in.

I’m not exactly counting this as my “ride at dawn”, as the episodic situation didn’t allow for it (of course there would be a cliffhanger). But if 2x07 is disappointing, LOOK OUT.

#armony #the cleaning lady #it wasn't supposed to be this long

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iceeckos12 · 3 years ago

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A time travel au. angst and h/c. inspired by this post

Warnings: jon’s very low self-esteem

“What do you think of him?” Jon suddenly asks, staring blankly at the wall of the breakroom.

Tim pauses in the middle of chewing his sandwich to give him a long, considering look.

He’s mostly decided to suspend his disbelief until further notice, simply to keep from losing his mind. What else is one supposed to do when future versions of Jon and Martin, who are also apparently dating, tell you that your workplace is currently involved in a plot to end the world? Ideally he would’ve processed one big revelation at a time, but apparently they don’t have time for that, so goodbye grip on reality, it was nice knowing you. I’ll hit the restart button as soon as things start making sense again.

Tim wipes his hand across his mouth, swallows, and asks, “You mean Jon II?”

Jon rolls his eyes, like Tim’s being obtuse on purpose just to annoy him. “Yes, I mean...him. Me. Jon II.” Then his nose wrinkles amusingly, the same way it always does whenever he says the moniker. He’s hated it since the beginning, but it was a battle he quickly lost, what with all three of his assistants opposing him.

Normally, Tim wouldn’t have thought twice about shrugging and answering, but...Jon’s been uncharacteristically quiet lately. Oh sure, he’d blushed up a storm upon learning that his future self and Martin were dating, and he’d expressed his own misgivings at the beginning, but...since then he’s been eerily, silently watchful. In Tim’s experience, when presented with this sort of puzzle Jon generally buries himself in research, and doesn’t emerge until he’s good and ready to do so.

There’s something else on his mind.

So Tim puts down his sandwich and gives himself a moment to think carefully through his response. “I mean...he’s a lot like you, obviously. But he seems…” What’s a polite way to say, the trauma and the boyfriend seems to have made him a little more easygoing? He certainly smiles more freely than he ever has, which...honestly, makes Tim want to cry sometimes. How horrible, that so much abject cruelty had just made him more kind. “...tired. A little less high-strung?”

“I see,” Jon says, turning his mulish gaze to his curry, dragging his spoon through the thick sauce.

Tim waits a beat longer, but when nothing else seems forthcoming he prompts, “Why do you ask?”

Jon’s reaction is only to press his lips into a thin, tight line. Tim knows this mood; he’s weighing how insecure he’ll look if he says whatever’s actually bothering him out loud, versus how much he wants someone else to hear it. Pushing him now will only make him clam up, so Tim just waits.

Tim’s patience is rewarded when Jon blurts, “But you like him. You...you all do.”

“Yes,” Tim says slowly, because it’s true. Martin’s so enamoured with a Jon that actually likes him that he keeps bringing him tea just to get another glimpse of that gentle, thankful smile, just to strike up another conversation about nothing. Sasha has decided that he’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to her, and insists on consulting him whenever she reads a new true statement.

Tim’s personally a little unnerved by the awful, sad way future Jon looks at him sometimes, or the way he flinches back whenever someone tries to touch him without warning. But he’d taken Tim aside and quietly explained everything he knew about what happened to Danny, so.

Oh, Tim thinks, feeling like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Jon may be an old hand at fooling others with his grumpy persona, but Tim knows that he’s just using it to hide his massive inferiority complex. “Wait, are you jealous?”

Jon ducks his head, and his ears darken. Gotcha, Tim thinks.

“Jon, you know that that’s still you, right?” he explains gently, quietly relieved that it’s not something more complicated. “We like him just as much as we like you, because you’re the same person.”

“But he’s not the same, is he?” Jon protests. “Look at the scars on his neck, on his hand. And he has panic attacks, and he flinches at loud noises, and, and—”

He breaks off, biting down hard on his lip, threading a hand through his hair.

Tim stares at him, feeling off-kilter, like he missed a step coming down the stairs. That doesn’t sound like jealousy. “...Jon?”

Jon shakes his head, his breath escaping him in thready, devastated gasps.

He can’t tell what’s going on in Jon’s head, and it’s starting to scare him. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Jon just sits there for a moment long, tugging at his hair, staring sightlessly at the middle distance. Tim gently untangles his fingers, giving him something a little more solid to hold onto.

“You all like him,” he says at last. “You all...he’s so kind, and he’s funny, and you like him, because someone hurt him first. He’s different—we’re different—because someone cut our throat and burned our hand, and you like him better.”

Tim’s horrified. “Jon—”

“Should I accept that?” he continues, the words flooding from him like a dam finally exploding in a shower of groaning wood and weathered stone. “Do I—how do I carry on knowing that I could be the person I want to become, if only I give myself to monstrosity, if only I let myself be hurt like that?”

“Of course we’re not going to let that happen to you!” Tim interrupts, voice higher and more frightened than he meant it to be. He’s applying duct tape to a raging river. He has no fucking idea how to fix this. “You don’t deserve—”

“Don’t I?” Jon demands, whirling on him, eyes flashing. “Don’t I deserve to be happy? Or am I unworthy of even this kind of improvement? Am I doomed to be like this forever?” Tears well in his eyes, spill over. “Don’t I deserve it?”

And then he slowly, inevitably, dissolves into tears, his slim shoulders shaking as he curls over and buries his face in his elbow. Tim drapes an arm across his back, angling his body so he can gently tuck Jon’s head against his shoulder. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. Even if Jon were in any shape to hear it, he has no idea how to fix this.

Tim could tell him that he and Martin and Sasha all think that he’s fine the way he is, and it’s the stress of an apparently eldritch job that’s causing him to push people away, but he doubts Jon would believe it. Words mean nothing when actions have been screaming something entirely different all this time, and Jon’s always been more observant than they give him credit for.

“Oh, Jon,” he whispers when the tears finally start to slow, dropping a kiss onto silver and black hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you felt that way.”

Jon pulls away and shrugs, averting his reddened eyes. Tim squeezes his elbow to prevent him from retreating entirely. They sit like that for a moment, Jon going very still and very tense under Tim’s hand, settling into the vulnerability like an open wound.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says finally, sniffing heavily. He’s aiming for his usual brusque, dry tone, but his voice is shaking, and he’s not fooling anyone. “That was unprofessional of me.”

Before Tim can stop himself, an incredulous laugh rips out of him. “Jon,” he says quickly, “We’re well beyond professional. You know that, right? You don’t have to hide from me.”

Jon flushes. “Yes, well—it was unfair for me to put this on you, as your fr—as…” His expression goes all fragile and uncertain, and Tim’s heart aches.

“It’s not unfair,” Tim corrects gently. “As your friend,” and here he pauses for emphasis, “I want to know when you’re feeling like this.”

“Oh,” Jon murmurs, then straightens and scrubs the teartracks from his cheeks. “Oh.”

Tim nods reassuringly, takes a deep breath, and makes an educated guess. “I know you’re scared, Jon. We all are. This place is...horrible, and seeing what you went through is...terrifying. I can’t imagine how that must be for you.” He lets his eyes flicker up. Jon’s still watching him, rapt, and good, good. I haven’t lost him. “I won’t deny that he’s getting along with Sasha and Martin quite well, but...but that’s not because of what he—you—went through. It’s because….right now, you’re pushing people away because you’re scared, but he’s already done that. He knows that pushing people away just means you end up alone. It doesn’t mean he’s a better person, just that he’s a little wiser.”

“But how can you be sure?” Jon asks, leaning forward, eyes big and desperate.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have become your friend if I didn’t like you,” Tim admits unashamedly.

His bold honesty is rewarded by Jon flushing and ducking his head.

“But even so,” he continues, sobering, “Even if you were the worst person on the planet—and you’re not—you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt like that, no matter what the outcome. Does that make sense?”

Jon looks thoughtful as he says, “I—yes. Yes, that makes sense.”

He can tell though, that Jon doesn’t quite believe him. That’s okay—honestly, it’s what he was expecting. Tim’s been running headfirst into the wall that is Jon’s terrible self-esteem for as long as they’ve been friends. This problem is going to take more than one half-assed pep talk.

That’s okay, though. Jon’s worth the effort.

#tma #my writing #iceeckos12 writes

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ilikekidsshows · 4 years ago

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how much do you think Adrien and Marinette's relationship developed from season 1 to 3 ?

Very well, as a self-professed connoisseur of all things slowburn, let me go over the Adrinette development that has happened in the show up until the season three finale and educate this fandom on the subtle beauty that is the Adrinette arc. This is gonna be long, because, apparently, there's a lot of material to cover, because this relationship can fit so much development into it.

Let's go in chronological order (as far as I can tell). In 'Origins', Marinette first started becoming a stuttering mess around Adrien when he opened up to her about how he wanted to make friends, becoming infatuated with the sensitive side he showed. Meanwhile, Adrien is excited over the prospect of having made a friend.

In 'The Bubbler', Marinette only manages to get out an awkward "hey," at Adrien and Adrien mimics her, in lack of a better response. He barely seems to know her at this point.

Marinette begins her infatuation with Adrien by simply thinking about him and fantasizing about him. In 'Stormy Weather' we hear Marinette's daydream, fully fleshed out on the details of what their children should be named, but not sure what their pet should be. Adrien seems pleased to see Marinette, but doesn't seek her out, also maintaining some distance.

Then comes 'Mr. Pigeon'. Adrien finds out Marinette is into designing and is taken aback by her verbal floundering. He also didn't know Marinette's last name. When he introduces Marinette to his father, there's an awkward silence after, like he'd finished the sentence too early, because he did, he never said her last name. Adrien knew Marinette existed, and was interested to know more about her, but that's it. Meanwhile Marinette speaks complete nonsense to Adrien, unable to remember what words even are.

In 'Evillustrator' Adrien seeks Marinette out of his own volition, having the perfect conversation starter in her encounter with Cat Noir. He wants to know what she thinks of him. Meanwhile, Marinette manages to get full, coherent sentences out, but keeps saying contradicting things. Adrien responds to Marinette with a drawn out "okay," starting to learn to just go with it and, at the end of the interaction, pats Marinette's shoulder companionably as he leaves. He thinks they're familiar enough for him to touch her casually, he was just waiting for the chance because he’s so touch-starved.

'Horrificator' doesn't actually show Adrien and Marinette interacting directly outside the acting scenes, where Adrien is very receptive to having Marinette as his co-star, but Adrien gets to see Marinette at her best, helping people out and solving problems. This episode is where Adrien starts to form his opinion of Marinette as someone dependable.

In 'Animan', Adrien knows Nino likes Marinette and is fully supportive. He's convinced Marinette would be receptive to Nino just acting natural and not doing anything special, so he thinks Marinette is a kind and warm person. He has no reason to think Marinette is into him instead. Marinette fumbles around Adrien again, and this time Adrien doesn't react at all: he's used to it.

In 'Kung Food', Adrien rushed to help Marinette the instant he heard from Alya that Marinette needed help. Marinette manages to get her meaning across even as she fumbles. When they have a discussion about Marinette's uncle, Marinette doesn't stutter once, and Adrien holds Marinette's shoulders when he comforts her. They managed to keep to casual interactions during the episode because they have other things to focus on.

In 'Gamer', Adrien is very casual around Marinette, inviting himself over to practise the game and being pretty frank about his insecurity as Marinette's gaming partner. Marinette responds first in a way that devalues Adrien's feelings ("No, you're amazing, I'm bad"), but eventually gives Adrien the lucky charm as a gesture of accepting him as her partner, a gesture Adrien will treasure for several episodes to come. Also, this episode has more casual shoulder-touching from Adrien to Marinette. (Aside note: Cat Noir later mimics Tom's body language in the episode, so Marinette's parents really made a first impression that stuck.)

In 'Volpina', Marinette shields Adrien from Fu's suspicions, but does briefly entertain the thought that Adrien might be Hawk Moth. This could be part of her catastrophizing or realizing she doesn't know him well enough to know for sure. Marinette also saves Adrien from his father, for Adrien's sake, not even revealing her own involvement in the matter to get closer to him. Marinette just wanted to help him out.

'Despair Bear' has Adrien protect Marinette from making a scene and making herself look bad, something he'll do again later in 'Chameleon'. Adrien sees it as his place to interfere for Marinette's benefit in this way and he thinks about the possible repercussions Marinette might have gotten from accusing Chloé publically without evidence. Adrien also instantly gets the idea to ask Marinette to dance when she bumps into him and decides to just roll with him when Alya arranges them into the typical "slow dance" position. At the end of the episode we see the first instance of Adrien invading Marinette's personal space by leaning in to talk to her. All in all, Adrien is just very comfortable around Marinette in this episode.

'Gigantitan' is more about Marinette learning not to overthink, something she didn't entirely learn as she prefers to abort the entire mission rather than enter a scenario with Adrien she hadn't considered. But we see Adrien offering Marinette a ride home even when his bodyguard is impatient. He really wants to do a favor for her.

'Riposte' has the second attempt from Marinette to simply spend time with Adrien, after 'Gamer'. She went into a lot of effort to learn fencing on time for the try-outs. She accidentally compliments Adrien to his face, who is very grateful for the nice things Marinette said about him. Caught off guard, Marinette fumbles once more, but manages to recover. Adrien laughs in enjoyment of the occasion and Marinette shares the laugh. Adrien keeps showing how comfortable he is with touching Marinette when he tutors her. Meanwhile, Marinette is very flustered, but manages to focus on what she's doing, doing well enough for Adrien to notice.

Adrien also questions Marinette's call as the referee, not concerned with Marinette's possible negative reaction and Marinette does respond honestly, showing Adrien that he can trust her judgement. Adrien also gushes about Marinette to Kagami, when he insists that Marinette didn't deny her the point to be mean, and the affection in his glowing endorsement has Kagami immediately note that Adrien likes her a lot.

In 'Befana' Adrien admits that he always carries Marinette's lucky charm with him, which inspired him to make one for her as a gift. The episode even ends with him looking at his own charm fondly, as the narration brings up "the person giving (the gift)", signalling that Adrien is specifically thinking about Marinette, who gave him the charm.

When Adrien asks Marinette for a safe place to hide in 'Gorizilla', Marinette gets over her stuttering very quickly when she realizes Adrien is in trouble to help him. Even in the subway Marinette is able to focus on Adrien possibly getting into trouble at home instead of getting flustered again. Adrien sidesteps the concern by playing the situation down, reminding Marinette that he does, indeed, always carry the lucky charm he got from her with him. At the movies he's more upfront to her about the restrictions he's placed under and why the movie is so important to him. Also, at no point does he point out Marinette is in her PJs, even though he definitely noticed. He probably just thinks it's a Marinette Thing.

'Frozer' has Marinette go all out for Adrien's sake, not because she wants to be with him, but because she wants to see him happy. She gives him advice on how to pursue another girl and asks Luka out on a double date to be there for him. On this occasion Marinette also shows how she's not as selfish over Adrien here as she was back in 'Gamer', when she was very willing to rob Max of something he really wanted in order to spend more time with Adrien. Meanwhile, Adrien gets distracted from his actual date when he wants to make sure Marinette is okay. When Plagg accuses him of "going after Marinette", Adrien is surprised by the suggestion, and assured Plagg that Marinette is just a friend.

An interesting thing to note is that Adrien actually sounds uncertain in 'Frozer' when he calls Marinette a friend, the one time he does so (at least in the English dub). This is why, when Marinette asks him to go skating with her sometime, he does entertain the thought of it just being just the two of them (aka, a date). However, when Marinette assures him it would be a friendly outing with other people too, the moment passes, and Adrien forgets his doubts and agrees to a friend outing. Plagg put the idea in his head, and Marinette could have sealed the deal. This is another occasion where Adrien pats Marinette's shoulder.

'Troublemaker' is the episode where Marinette's self-sabotage really gets going, when she "reassures" Adrien that she'd never consider him attractive in a romantic way ever. Meanwhile, Adrien once again invades Marinette's personal space and implies he doesn't mind modeling if it's for Marinette as he invites her to a photoshoot and says he's glad to have her as one of his fans.

In 'Style Queen', Marinette is actually open with Adrien about her insecurities and Adrien reassures her, and he supports her in 'Queen Wasp'. He also says he'd be able to model for her if she made it in the business, repeating his desire to model for her specifically that he first stated in 'Troublemaker'.

In 'Reverser' Marinette panics when suddenly encountered with Adrien and having to explain what she's doing, but Adrien gets the gist of it, having learned to interpret most of the word vomit Marinette produces and astutely claims: "That's typical of you," about Marinette helping someone out and offers his assistance if she needs any.

In 'Maledictator', Adrien is brave enough to let Marinette know he disagreed with the reason she and everybody else was happy. He doesn't pretend to be fine with the "good riddance, Chloé '' party because, just as Adrien knew, Marinette doesn't judge him for being sad to see Chloé leave.

In 'Heroes' Day', Adrien admits he came to the picnic to tell Marinette just how highly he values her. He shows how much attention he pays to all the times Marinette has helped their classmates and gives the iconic line "You're our everyday Ladybug". Marinette manages to gather up her courage to kiss Adrien on the cheek in response. This is also a notable moment when Adrien opts out of the usual shoulder pat, implying the gesture is something Adrien does to cut away the physical distance between himself and Marinette, since such a thing wasn't necessary in 'Heroes' Day'. (This boy is touch-starved, guys!)

In 'Chameleon' Adrien starts trying to play mediator between Lila and Marinette but, when that didn't work out, he once again protects Marinette from making a bad call with an opponent out to wreck her reputation, but he also acknowledges that Marinette had been wronged and decided to personally support her by sitting next to her since she'd been having such a tough time that day. He just wanted to support her like a friend would.

'Backwarder' has Marinette try to take the easy route of confessing through a letter, which predictably ends up not going as planned. But, as Adrien said, he spent all weekend making sure he could help Marinette with something he thought she really needed help with. Adrien just really wants to be able to do things for Marinette.

'Weredad' gives us an interesting glimpse into how Adrien views Marinette in relation to romance, noting that he "didn't think Cat Noir was her type". He's most likely referring to Luka, since he's the only guy Adrien has seen Marinette with, and Luka is quiet, contained and thoughtful, nothing like how Adrien presents himself as Cat Noir. However, since Adrien doesn't consider himself a candidate, he does most likely consider himself more like Cat Noir than Luka, aka, not Marinette's type.

'Desperada' has one of Marinette's worst freakouts in a while. Adrien showed up suddenly, and Kagami challenged her directly by saying: "Are you here to watch your boyfriend practise?" Marinette also tries to shoehorn Adrien into every situation, be it a guitarist or superhero, possibly as a subconscious attempt to gain more control of the situation with Kagami. As Tikki said, Marinette has a troubled heart in this episode.

'Chrismaster' shows off the fact that Marinette has tons of presents prepared for Adrien in advance for different occasions. These were most likely prepared during the early stages of her infatuation, when she was admiring him from afar and fantasizing about him. Making presents "just in case" fits the fantasy model. At this point, she’s embarrassed over having done it.

In 'Startrain', Adrien immediately relaxes into sleep as well when Marinette falls asleep on his shoulder. This boy is touch-starved, guys, and Marinette's touch in particular calms and soothes him. Similarly, when Marinette wakes up in the middle of their nap, she settles right back to continue sleeping, no panic in sight.

'Stormy Weather 2' shows Adrien connecting Marinette's handwriting from the note on his homework with the valentine he got, and all of the misunderstandings together convince him he was mistaken. "She's just a friend who loves fashion," Adrien says with a downtrodden face, disappointed that Marinette couldn't care for him as more than "a friend who's also in fashion". He thinks of Marinette insisting that she'd never be into him, and of Marinette and Luka skating together, with obvious chemistry between them. And, in the end, when he says it's just someone with similar writing, he sounds wistful.

'Party Crasher' has Adrien insist Marinette is one of his guys, clearly missing her when he's hanging out with his school friends. In fact, when she does show up unexpectedly, he looks very pleased.

'Puppeteer 2' is an episode that sets up obstacles for Adrinette in addition to the misunderstandings listed in ‘Stormy Weather 2’. Marinette finds out Adrien is in love with someone else, and Adrien tries to share more parts of himself with Marinette, only for it to end very badly. Adrien has been getting braver about expressing himself to Marinette, but it's mostly been his opinions so far. In 'Puppeteer 2' Adrien tries to joke around with Marinette, only for Marinette to end up mortified and crying. This convinced Adrien that there's a part of him that Marinette won't be able to accept so he'll have to hold back with her.

Meanwhile, Marinette overcorrects because Manon, as kids are wont to do, keeps airing out all of her dirty laundry regarding Adrien, and so she convinces Adrien he's lucky she even kinda likes him. Adrien connects this with the fact that apparently his sense of humor is something that Marinette hates enough to cry over it.

The rest of season 3 stays on the course set by ‘Puppeteer 2’. Adrien still cares about Marinette immensely, even if he's convinced she doesn't like him nearly as much. He puts himself on the line to protect her from Lila in 'Ladybug', and neither he nor Kagami consider Marinette's presence on their outing third-wheeling in 'Heart Hunter'. Meanwhile, Marinette is pulling away, convinced Adrien and Kagami are the perfect match.

There you go, that's the Adrinette development, broken down step by step, during the first three seasons. As you can see, it's actually quite a lot, and some people might even notice more development tidbits.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #lovesquare #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml meta #long post #popular

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marwankenzarisgaylittleearring · 3 years ago

Photo

“I’d like to end up as a tree”

Marwan kenzari (31) won a gold calf last year for his role in the movie Wolf. As of next week he is to be seen in Bloedlink (/reckless), opening’s act of the Dutch film festival. “It’s not my place to say I’m good.”

Bloedlink

“Acting offers the chance to become well acquainted with the complexities of being human. The Moroccan kick-boxer Majid in the movie Wolf had a fascinating interior life. His character was even easier to understand when he said nothing at all - I don’t think I’ve ever had as little lines in a movie. Rico in Bloedlink is completely different. He accidentally finds himself swept up in criminal business, but he’s actually just someone who’s had a whole slew of bad luck. In the movie his character undergoes a few very surprising U-turns. In my portrayal of him, I interpret all those different sides as honest, I find that interesting. In the movie, Rico does some paradoxical things, but he means all of them. Of course that’s simply not possible. That’s what makes him fascinating and tragic.”

Journey

“If I’m a good actor? That’s not my place to say. Sometimes you do the most interesting things you think are worthless in the moment. A movie is a collaborative journey, which, in the case of Wolf, I underwent with director Jim Taihuttu among others. Although I secretly did think during shooting: this will be fun. Wolf is an honest movie. The kick-boxing, the hits to the body, very little of that is pretend. Not that everything should be real in a movie, but this story required that. At a certain point I felt: this could be something really fresh in Dutch cinema. And it was.”

Peanut Butter

“Ever since that role, which I trained for quite extensively, I’ve found it increasingly important to stay in shape. It wasn’t a complete transformation; even beforehand I would exercise six times a week. But now I’m slightly addicted, yeah. It makes you mentally stronger, too. If I’ve been training on a Sunday at 7 am and then at 8 am I’m outside again, showered, refreshed and in shape while the rest of the city’s asleep, I’m 1-0 ahead. Scratch that: 10-0. I pay attention to my nutrition as well. Bread for example gives false energy. But I’m not always so strict. I get plenty of enjoyment from a good, white slice of bread with calvé peanut butter. And then fold it over, don’t cut it! You shouldn’t cut a sandwich, everyone knows that. Then you miss the first bite.”

Toneelgroep Amsterdam

“After the acting academy in Maastricht I was immediately invited to Toneelgroep Amsterdam. I was with them for three years, but found my attentions pulled towards film during that period. When the actors from TGA are - rightfully - expected to be fully available. We “broke up”, though that sounds too serious, with full, mutual agreement. I see the company as family and will be playing in Angels in America at the end of the month, in New York. Director Ivo van Hove has been very important for my development. I admire his knowing exactly what he wants, but also his ability to be unsure and searching, and to be able to be vulnerable about that. But I have to be fair to myself. I’m 31 now, and these are my most important years in film. While I hope to be an even better stage-actor when I’m fifty. I’m slightly further ahead in film than on stage. That development is tougher, needs more time and possibly total dedication. Stage is the motor in the actor’s car; film is a different muscle. But if Ivo calls me in two, or ten or forty years, he’ll be the first stage director I’ll say yes to.”

Pierre Bokma

“As the son of Tunisian parents in the Hague painters-quarter I didn’t come into automatic contact with theatre. As a kid I was mostly interested in football, the emotion you see on a player’s face when he scores - fantastic. At a certain point I realised that movies can affect you the same way, even though you know it’s fake. That’s the magic of acting. Through contacts I ended up with De Nieuwe Amsterdam, an in-between theatre course for teens for whom the leap to theatre school was perhaps a bit too big. I learned everything there: playwrights, Dutch actors, repertoire. You’re also taught which acting schools exist. And I thought: where did Pierre Bokma go to school? And Fedja van Huêt? That was Maastricht. It also appealed to me that they implemented Bijltjesdag: you might still be sent away halfway through the first year. I decided: if I’m going for this uncertain profession, maybe the best trial by fire will be going to a school where you aren’t sure if you’ll be allowed to stay. I was allowed, in the end. At the theatre academy I came into contact with art, philosophy, poetry. All of that was new. But it didn’t feel as if I was behind, I only saw it as a fantastic source of riches; as if I could try on all sorts of new glasses.”

Huntersfamily

“I never thought that this path wasn’t laid out for me, I just always let myself be lead by my passion and my dreams. My parents are happy for me; I have a good connection with both. My father is an amazing person - an accumulation of beautiful ingredients. He’s honest with himself, doesn’t spare himself and laughs a lot, that’s important to me. He might be made out of simple components, he’s from a huntersfamily, but for me these are the components that build a strong character. My dad can tell beautiful stories, about his life in Tunisia, about his old friends who aren’t with us anymore. Every year death takes someone new, and in that way a beautiful group of people slowly disappears, the protagonists of a generation. One lives close to the elements there, I find that fascinating. It’s so different to our life here. I’ll also never interrupt my dad when he starts on a story like that. Even if I’ve heard it before.”

Vampire

“I’ve always said: I want to play a woman, a vampire, a Moroccan kick-boxer. I’ve succeeded in doing the last one. A vampire is a wonderful character. The beauty of their faces, the sensuality, the tragedy of never going outside during the day, and of course their never ageing; never dying, in fact. I’d like to never die. When I was a kid, I suffered a lot of nightmares. About falling and never landing. I had a hard time in the dream world, I wasn’t a big fan of night. It was, I think, a sort of inexplicable fear of dying. At a certain moment I grew familiar with those dreams, figured out how to influence them. I could for all intents and purposes check-out whenever it became scary. I became the director of my own dream world. When I was twelve, I fell in love, and then I was over it. I still have nightmares, like everyone else, but now I find them fascinating instead of threatening. Beautiful how your mind can make a story out of all sorts of ingredients. Sometimes I call my mother to talk about what a dream might mean. For example, I recently dreamt about my grandmother. ‘She thinks about you and loves you,’ my mother says.”

Tree

“I still know fear and uncertainty, but they don’t hinder me anymore. They’re two trusted companions now, who walk with me. They keep me sharp and hungry, and in a good way, they keep me on my toes. As long as they don’t hold me back, they can be here. Fear of dying is now simply fear of no longer living. If a way to live until you’re 377 is discovered tomorrow, I’ll be the first to sign up. I’d like to end up as a tree. Then you only need to have a care for wind, rain and sun.”

#anon come get ur interview !!! translated this first one & i'll get to work on the other ones for u mwah mwah #marwan kenzari #i also will be honest that i do not know if 'moroccan' is supposed to be capitalised i thought it was but if its not thats on me #idk how else to tag this. also i love him. also i love doing translation work bc sometimes it does not work out but usually it just allows #me to flaunt the nuance of language i guess #translation*#starting a collection ladies

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gingersnaaps · 4 years ago

Text

making things right

you and iwaizumi just aren't meant to be, and if he has to fuck some sense into your little brain for you to understand, then so be it.

wc: 2.8k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): noncon, explicit n*fw, blackmail, emotional manipulation, emotional sadism, dumbification, degradation, fem!reader with inner genitals, has something resembling an actual plot

a/n: i couldn't decide which way i wanted to go with the plot, so i just did both. read a darker version of this here

i don't want minors interacting with my content

Oikawa really doesn’t like how much time Iwaizumi has been spending around you lately.

It’s not that he’s jealous, of course - that kind of pettiness is far beneath him - it just doesn’t seem right. It’s not the natural order of things for someone as pretty as you, all soft skin and glowing smiles, to be practically draped around Iwaizumi all the fucking time.

He’s counted, you know, and today was the thirty-eighth time that you’ve visited their lunch table and somehow ended up on Iwaizumi’s lap.

And doesn’t he also have to think of his team? The Spring Interhigh’s coming up, and it wouldn’t do for one of the most important players on the team to be constantly distracted. He’s seen the way Iwaizumi looks at you: it’s adoration encapsulated in a gaze, the kind of tenderness and admiration that he’s only ever seen Iwaizumi direct at himself.

Oikawa’s going to have to fix this, isn’t he? He’s going to have to make everything the way it should be.

He finds that he enjoys the constant planning and brainstorming and especially the fantasizing far more than he’d anticipated.

Oikawa notes down which days you go home immediately after school, which days you stay, and the routes you take home. He writes down all your friends in a little notebook, familiarizes himself with the classes you take, and pays extra attention to your mood swings.

Of course, as he spends more and more time detailing every aspect of your life, it’s only natural for his thoughts to… wander. In class, he catches his own attention drifting away from Japanese literature to thoughts of what you’d look like strung out on his cock, eyes squeezing out tears as he stuffs you full and claims your pussy. He thinks about how slutty your skirt looks when you’re bending over, and about how much he’d like to rip it off of you. He likes to imagine how Iwaizumi would react, too - the way he’d cry and sob and finally understand that you don’t belong with someone like him.

He finds that these thoughts allow him to tolerate Iwaizumi’s presence near you a lot better, even though the two of you have only grown closer as of late. When you start getting particularly obnoxious with your flirting, he just has to picture you screaming in pain as he fucks you dry, or think about the bulge in your throat from his cock shoved deep inside your mouth. And when he sees Iwaizumi finally ask you out on a date to the ramen place nearby, he almost feels sorry for how short-lived, how temporary, your romance is going to be.

As the weeks go by and the Interhigh draws near, Oikawa thinks he’s got a pretty good idea of how to make it happen.

It starts off almost too easy.

Oikawa’s usually the one who stays late after practice, slamming his serves into the opposite end of the court until his vision goes dizzy and his arms turn numb. But Iwaizumi - bless his generosity - had planned on staying after to help a few of the first years out with their serves.

He waits at the school gates, scanning the entrance for any sign of you. You should be finishing up with your little club soon if the notes he’d been keeping were any indication, and sure enough, he spots your bright teal jacket scurrying towards the gates after just a few minutes.

Oikawa plasters on his friendliest smile, waving you towards him. “Hey,” he greets. “Iwa-chan told me to wait for you today. Do you want to come over? He’ll be along in just a minute - he’s just cleaning up the gym a bit.”

“Aren’t you the captain?” you tease. “So much for being responsible.”

He forces out a laugh. Do you realize how insufferable you are? Because you’re really not doing yourself any favors with the way you’re acting. But he pushes down the surge of anger that threatens to spill over, because he knows you’ll change your tune as soon as you arrive at his place.

He can’t wait.

The walk home is filled with empty banter, useless conversation that flits back and forth on the most boring of topics. To be honest, Oikawa appreciates this - it gives him the mental room to think about much more interesting things, like the way your breasts are pushing against the jacket, or the slight sheen of your lip gloss. Or, alternatively, the way your breasts would look spilling out of his hands, and the way your shiny lips would look smeared with spit and cum.

He places a hand on your waist as he guides you inside his house, but you stiffen. “Isn’t Hajime supposed to have caught up to us by now?” you ask.

Hajime.

First name basis, huh?

It’s a small detail, but it’s the kind of change that has him seeing red at the periphery of his vision, the kind that makes him want to ruin your slutty body until it's bruised and leaking cum. He’s been friends with Iwaizumi for twelve years. Twelve years, and all he’s gotten from him is a nickname. You’ve known him for barely a fucking year, and here you are, sauntering away with his first name.

His hand on your waist tightens, gripping and squeezing at your lovely flesh until he can feel you wince in pain. “I’m afraid it might be a while,” he says, voice brittle.

“What do you mean?” you ask, turning around, your eyes widening.

Oikawa shoves you inside and slams the door. “I mean,” he hisses. “That your precious Hajime won’t be coming around anytime soon.”

Panic rises in your throat, but he slaps a hand over your mouth quicker than you can scream. All that escapes is a strangled cry, weak and thin, one that quickly dies out in the entrance hall of his house. It’s much too quiet to reach any neighbors, you realize with a sinking feeling. The last bit of faint hope you harbor in the back of your mind dies when you realize that there’s no concerned housewife coming to check on the commotion, no fumbling child who might stumble in on you and Oikawa. You’re alone. You’re fucked.

He’d made sure of it.

“Bitches like you are so stupid, aren’t you? Making me spell everything out for you.” His voice drips condescension as he yanks you by the hair towards the bedroom. There’s no reason to put up an act anymore, he thinks, so he can be as rough as he wants with his new toy - he just has to make sure he returns you in one piece to Iwaizumi. Oikawa’s sure he won’t mind if you’re a little beat up around the edges, a little used by the end of this.

As he throws you down on the bed, the thought gives him immense satisfaction. You’d been so eager to do things with Iwaizumi - he’d coaxed out embarrassed confessions from his friend over late-night calls - so he’s almost sure that you’re a needy slut during sex.

Of course, you’re not nearly so eager now, not when he’s holding your squirming body down on the bed.

“You do realize that this is what you get, right? It’s your fault for being this fucking easy. Should’ve thought a bit harder about going home with me. Did your mommy and daddy never teach you to not trust men?” he says, face curling into a smile.

You’re unable to get a word out, mouth dry and cottony from the fear that pierces you. He watches your eyes flicker between the bulge in his pants and his face, uncertain and wary, like a deer caught in headlights. Oikawa can’t help the sick pleasure that bubbles up within him at the look on your face.

“Please,” you say hoarsely. “Please.”

“You have to use your words, you know. You could be begging me to stop, but I think you like this. I think you’re begging me to get on with it,” he says.

Maybe he’s taking it a step too far with the dramatics, but he can’t bring himself to tone it down - not when he’s right about to get to the good bit, and certainly not when he sees those pretty tears trickling down your face.

He looks you up and down appraisingly. He’d always thought you were rather pretty, with your soft halo of hair and your glittering smile - but he can’t deny that there’s a special sort of charm in the way you fidget uncomfortably under his gaze.

It makes him hungry.

As he spreads your thighs apart, all he can think about is how much he wants to claim you, to ruin you, because that’s what he imagines fucking you is like: ownership and victory spread on his tongue while your juices drench his cock. All the filthy dreams he’s had, every fantasy he’s gotten off to late at night, and the stifling heat spreading through his core is begging him to fuck you, to ravish your tight hole until the only name you know is his own.

He doesn’t really want to bother with prep. He’s sure that stretching you out on three - no, maybe four fingers until you scream would be fun, but you don’t deserve that kind of special treatment. Aren’t sluts like you supposed to be wet all the time anyway?

You can feel the outline of his dick dragging along your soft thighs, pressing close to your cunt, a breathy moan escaping his lips from the friction of his sweatpants grinding against your body. It’s not long before he pulls his cock out all the way and strokes it a few times. He grabs at your hips, maneuvering you like a rag doll, and fits the tip of his cock at your fluttering entrance. Nudging at your hole, he pushes in just the head of his cock - enough so you can feel the sting of his girth, but not nearly deep enough to offer any real relief.

You whine involuntarily, and a grin lights up his face. “You’re desperate, aren’t you?” he asks, dragging a thumb against your lips. “Is it because Iwa-chan doesn’t fuck you well enough? Is his pathetic dick too small to fill up that hole of yours properly?” he leers. “I’ve seen his cock before… mine’s bigger, you know.”

“Fuck you,” you mumble. You’re dizzy from the fear and panic that clouds your brain, but anger still seeps into your veins at his crude words.

Maybe if your head was a bit clearer, you would’ve realized that only stupid girls talk back.

Oikawa’s hips snap into yours harshly, his cock tearing at your insides, and you let out a strangled gasp. You’re not prepared for how well his cock stretches you out - it’s curved in all the right places, ramming into your cervix, brushing up against your tender g-spot - and as he ruthlessly pounds your frail body into the mattress, your mind blanks, overloaded with sensation. You can’t remember who you are, or why you’re getting fucked. The only thing on your mind is the raw feeling of being cunt split wide open, of having your insides rearranged until you’re a drooling, dumb mess.

“Fuck who?” he asks, shoving two fingers inside your sloppy mouth,

“F- fuck…” you whisper. His fingers are gripping at your hips so tightly you can feel the skin beginning to bruise, and there’s just too much to handle. He’s everywhere; his fingers probe around your mouth, making you gag, and his cock drags along your tender walls until you’re left quivering around his length.

He leans down to kiss at your forehead, his lips brushing tenderly against your hair. “You can do it, baby,” he encourages, cooing at you. “You can say it.”

“Fuck me,” you whimper quietly, cheeks burning with shame.

“Good girl,” he says, voice sickly sweet. “I knew you could do it for me.”

Fucking you feels so much better once you’re compliant, he thinks. He slows down a bit, savoring the sensation of your cunt twitching uselessly while you writhe on the bed in pleasure. He feels a sharp jolt of arousal as he looks at the marks he’s left all over you, admiring how the angry bruises on your hips and waist are beginning to purple.

You tug at his shirt, sniffling and crying. “Please,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re asking for anymore, not even sure whether you want Oikawa to stop or continue, but you can’t handle the way he’s slowly fucking you senseless.

He raises an eyebrow. “You want it faster?” he asks cruelly, bouncing you into his cock. There’s no response on your end, but Oikawa thinks he’ll take that as a yes. And if that’s what you want?

Well, that’s what you get.

The hum of pleasure in your core intensifies as he picks up speed again. This time, he angles his cock until it grinds down harshly on your sensitive spot, leaving your legs limp and body helpless as your cunt tightens like a vice. As you shudder from the orgasm that washes over you, he spills into your pussy until your hole is leaking white down your thighs.

You can feel him laughing softly as he pulls out and climbs to rest beside you, leaving you stuck in a pool of your own sweat and cum and. He wipes the remaining cum off of his cock, smearing it on your face, but you barely react. You feel so dirty, so tainted and violated, but you’re not sure you could move even if you tried - his cock has left you boneless and made sure that every square inch of your body is sore and aching.

“Well,” he says, breathless. “Better run home unless you want Iwa-chan to know you’ve been all used up.”

Hajime? Your eyes widen, welling up with tears.

Oikawa unlocks the phone in his hand and presses play.

The sounds that echo through the empty room make you feel like screaming, because there’s no denying the solid, tangible proof that’s being played back. Your breathy moans are clear as day, and it’s unmistakable when you hear yourself begging Oikawa to fuck you harder, faster, to split you apart on his cock.

With a sinking feeling, you know there’s no explanation that would ever satisfy Hajime if he heard this audio. You can already see the pain in his eyes if he were to find out that his best friend for the past twelve years had ruined you, fucked you so thouroughly that you could barely tell the difference between pain and pleasure.

You don’t want that, you realize miserably. You can’t have that.

“I’m not going to send it,” he says. He sees hope creep into your expression, as if you’re almost daring to believe that you could go back to your normal life after this little session, but he doesn’t feel any pity for you when he speaks again.

“Not if you stay away.”

You and Hajime don’t belong together anyway, so why would he be sorry?

Your eyes drop as you inhale shakily. Oikawa watches you fumble around for your clothing, entertained by the way you trip and stumble as your weak legs attempt to hold you upright. It makes for an awkward, ugly image - but he can’t deny the warm thrill of satisfaction that runs up his spine as you slink out of his bedroom.

He’s finally making things right.

When you go to school the next day, you’re glad that you don’t have any classes with Hajime for the first time ever. It makes it easier to avoid him, and you purposely choose to sit as far away as possible from their table in the lunchroom. You don’t bother responding to his messages either, every single text of his sending a bitter jolt of pain through you, and you eventually block his number.

Weeks later, you’re not sure he’d believe you even if you were to explain everything. What would you even say? That you’d been ignoring him and ghosting him because his best friend of twelve years had raped and blackmailed you? That someone he knows and trusts was capable of devastating violence? Oikawa and him seem closer than ever, and you start to wonder at your own stupidity. To think that you could ever get in between a bond as close as theirs - maybe Oikawa was right all along.

You’re walking home alone one day, the hazy late-day sun bathing the roads in a shimmering heat, when you hear footsteps and a voice behind you. Your heart hammers unsteadily, getting ready to run, when you hear three words that make your stomach drop.

“I’ve missed you.”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa x reader #haikyuu #yandere x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #yandere #hq x reader #hq yandere #iwaizumi x reader #tw.noncon #tw.blackmail #tw.manipulation #lin.n*fw #tw.dc

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superhero--imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here!/ Playlist Here!

* Alright so here are the facts as you know them

* Gojo’s a goddamn player and a homewrecker

* The boy probably has half of Tokyo after him

* Not that you can blame them, that pretty face had you fooled at first too

* The second fact, it that for whatever reason, Gojo Satoru has chosen to play house with a future hopeful sorcerer named Megumi Fushiguro

* Which, through forces outside your control, you have become involved with as well

* And the last fact, was that as soon as this no longer interested him or benefited him in any way, Gojo Satoru would abandon the situation entirely and act like it never happened

* So-

* “(Y/N/N), you look nice today, did you do something new with your hair?” Gojo sings

* - pray tell, why is the school prince is currently sitting on top of your desk, looking at you with those heart eyes

* “Oi what do you think you’re doing?” You ask, a vein threatening to pop on your forehead

* “I’m flirting with you~” he sings, only leaning closer with that all-too-pleased smile

* “I’m pretty sure this is bullying” you reply

* Ever since you’ve started pseudo-parenting Megumi and Tsumiki, Gojo’s been doing crap like this,

* Sometimes he tries to feed you at lunch,

* “Open wide (Y/N/N)~” He’ll sing as he holds out a piece of sushi towards you on some chopsticks

* Only for Megumi to eat it instead

* “Why do you look so sad papa, I thought you said I was your pride and joy”

* other times he’s holding doors open for you

* “Ah here let me-“

* You watch as he walks across from you and opens the door to a random void shrine

* You look at him before sighing and opening your own door to the library

* The other day you mentioned how you didn’t get to try the limited edition Sakura Pepsi and came back to your dorm with a bottle on your desk

* Which would be cute- if the bottle wasn’t half-empty with a note that he’d that said

* “Sorry, I got thirsty on the way back”

* Seriously he’s the worst- and yet,

* You turned away from Megumi and Gojo bickering, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered you were,

* you hid your laugh behind your hand as Gojo jogs to catch up with you, saying he was just trying to predict your needs-

* And you held the half-full bottle of Sakura Pepsi to your chest, keeping it on your window sill

* Because you love him-

* Even though you know he’s just doing all these things to entertain himself instead of out of genuine affection

* Even though these feeling will do nothing but hurt you

* You still love him

* He makes your life feel exciting and fun

* And more than that, underneath that moronic playboy exterior, is a gentle, lonely heart

* A heart that will run away as soon as it knows how you feel about it

* So you mask your budding feelings as best as you can

* Because the only thing you imagine is more painful than knowing your feelings won’t be returned-

* Is not having Gojo Satoru in your life at all

* So you do your best to pretend like nothing has changed

* You act just as indifferent as you always have-

* “Here-“ you push your dessert in Gojo’s direction. “You like sweets right?”

* His smile is so radiant you almost have to shield your eyes

* Well, mostly indifferent anyway

* Not that the self-absorbed moronic prince has seemed to notice anyway

* Too busy focusing on the scrumptious piece of cake in front of him

* Still Gojo isn’t one to be underestimated, he looks to you with a twinkle in his eyes

* “Let’s share it!”

* So far he’s tried twice to have an indirect kiss with you, and he’s missed twice

* He even threw away those chopsticks when Megumi ate that piece of sushi in frustration

* But you know what they say, third times the charm

* You look at Gojo with a raised eyebrow, gaze flicking between the cake and his face

* What, did he imbue some cursed energy so it would explode when you tried to take a bite

* “No thanks”

* Cue Gojo crying as he eats his cake

* He’s really been doing his best lately to earnestly pursue you

* But for some reason, you just don’t get it

* “I like you,” Gojo says as you’re walking side by side on your way back to the dorm after visiting Megumi

* You look back at him, and Gojo feels a blush start to fan across his face

* He finally did it! He finally confessed to you

* And his heart is drumming away in his chest

* You don’t seem to understand the monumental significance of what just occurred because what your mind heard was

* “I {really} like {teasing} you”

* You sigh, your heart skipped a beat, for a second you almost got your hopes up

* There’s no way lady killer Gojo Satoru would ever pick you to be one of his lovers, and if he did it would just be so you could be apart of his personal harem

* “Ok”

* And then you turn around and walk away

* Gojo can’t help but feel like this is retribution for all the times one of his romantic partners has said ‘I love you’

* And he responded with:

* “Why would you do that to yourself?”

* Or

* “Cool”

* At first he thinks it’s a straight-up rejection, but he figures out pretty fast that you just didn’t get it when you keep acting the same as you always have around him

* But don’t get it wrong babe, none of this deters Gojo in the slightest

* “Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask

* You’re both in the library, but only one of you is actually studying

* Gojo’s been staring at you with an oddly fixated gaze

* Honestly it’s got you feeling an uncomfortable heat spreading from your face to your neck

* “I’m not giving up you know”

* Giving up on what?!?

* What’s going on right now!!?

* But Gojo doesn’t offer any more insight choosing instead to finally bother reading the book in his hands

* What a weird guy

* You look down to your own book

* You feel the heat linger on your face and neck

* It’s because he’s always saying crap like that, that you’ve caught feelings for him

* Well whatever, everything fades right? Eventually, Gojo will probably lose interest in you-

* He’s part of a clan do you imagine they’ll find a nice girl from a respectable family for him to marry

* They’ll probably have a few kids who’ll be next in line to succeed him

* And by then he’ll be in such a prominent position that you’ll never see him again

* He’ll just be a memory

* Some boy you had a youthful unrequited love with

* The thought makes your heart clench but-

* “It’s for the best,” you tell yourself

* You’re going in completely opposite directions in life, you couldn’t possibly home for anything more than what you have

* After all your luck probably ran out the second you saw his face

* The most beautiful man you’ll ever see

* “I bet he would be one of those handsome grandpas when he gets older” you snort

* The kind that charms and flirts with young men and women just because he knows the effect he has on them.

* You still can’t believe you fell in love with someone like that

* “What a pain” you mumble to yourself, falling back on your bed

* You feel uncertain, afraid of the future even.

* Maybe a snack will help

* It’s the middle of the night, way past the time you were supposed to go to bed when you see him in the kitchen

* Great the last person you wanted to run into

* He’s just standing there in front of the fridge with the door open

* He hasn’t even turned around to say hi or anything

* “Oi Baka prince if you leave the door open like that every-“

* You stop mid-word, you only need one look at his face to know something is wrong

* It’s not all that uncommon for him to do something like this-

* See the thing is, Gojo knows he’s strong enough that he will get to choose when he dies- he’s not bound by the same pain the other sorcerers are, but-

* Well, he’s still going to die

* No matter how much he thinks he’s like god, no matter how powerful he is,

* He’s still going to die

* And growing up with the power he’s had and the mindset that he’s the strongest

* The realization can be pretty crippling

* He so afraid of the uncertainty that brings that most times he can’t move

* The worst part is it’s never when he’s actively thinking about death, or even when he’s on the job

* It’s always at times like this when he’s just woken up and is oddly hungry and he’ll remember

* “Oh, I’m going to die aren’t I?”

* And then it’s like he’s frozen solid

* What is it he usually tells the victims that enter his domain?

* “Funny how when you can do everything, you find you can’t do anything”

* Usually he manages to unfreeze after some unspecified amount of time, getting through it on his own

* But this time, when he finally escapes from the domain of his inner mind he’s covered in a layer of sweat just like always-

* But he’s not sure why he sprawled across the floor

* Not until his head shifts a little, only to see your face looming over him

* Omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg

* He’s resting his head in your lap!!!

* Honestly this has been a fantasy of his for a while, to have his head in your lap while looking at the cherry blossoms, and you feed him chocolates and a gentle wind caresses your face

* BUT NOT LIKE THIS

* “Feeling better?” You ask

* Gojo thinks he might combust, he moves to sit up but winces

* He’s got the worst headache, these little episodes of his do typically end with a migraine

* Your hand feels nice and cold as it rests against his forehead

* “Rest a little longer, we’re not in any hurry”

* Aaaaand now he’s screaming on the inside again

* “Sorry about this” he mumbles, and you can’t help but smile

* It’s oddly endearing to see a shy Gojo Satoru

* “I bet your lovers would kill me if they saw knew you were showing me such a cute side” you’re half-joking when you say it, but you’re also half-serious

* It gives your Ego a little boost to know you’ve seen a side of him that most of his lovers probably haven’t

* You doubt the mighty Gojo Satoru ever allows himself to be this vulnerable, not even while he’s in the throes of passion

* So that same earnest look on his face startles you

* “I don’t have any other lovers”

* You snort

* “Sure, and I definitely didn’t steal Geto’s pudding that he was saving”

* “I’m being serious”

* Gojo sighs, here he is feeling awfully vulnerable and you still seem denser than a rock

* Do you think he would let anyone other than you see him like this

* “When are you going to realize that if it’s not you then it’s just no good?”

* Your heart is drumming in your ears, and you wonder if he can hear it

* Your mind is telling you to pull back, that this is way too good to be true, that this will only hurt you,

* You should get away while you still have a chance

* But instead something in you persists and you say:

* “Why do you think that is”

* Gojo’s hand reaches up, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, those clear blue eyes looking straight into yours

* Your breath stutters in your chest

* You always have been weak for those eyes

* His pink lips curl up into a smile

* “Because I love you”

* And before you know what you’re doing your bending down, pressing your lips against his

* “I love you too”

Bonus:

* “You can see through it right?” You ask

* Gojo fidgets with the blindfold, honestly he was hoping for a much kinkier reason than replacing his scuffed sunglasses when you gave him the blindfold

* “It’s a little darker, but that’s not a bad thing.”

* His hair is out of his face too which is nice

* But-

* “What’s with the sudden gift?”

* It’s not exactly out of character for you to get the people you care about something, but this seems a little outside of your usual MO

* “I just felt like it” You mumble

* Now that his eyes are covered up you think he might attract a little less attention, and all his former flings probably won’t be able to recognize him

* Your eyes drift to his uniform, even in the gross pantsuit you can still tell he’s got a pretty nice body,

* But you’ll have to adjust

* Gojo sees right through your nonchalant answer, smiling that wolfish grin

* “Aw was my sweetie scared I was going to leave them?” He coos, moving ever so close

* You only turn away your face

* Gojo only grins wider

* “Honey~ you should know by now if it’s not you then I’m not interested” he sings in your ear

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru headcanon #gojo satoru reader insert #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen headcanon #jujutsu kaisen x reader #superhero--imagines

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aenaxes · 3 years ago

Note

omg!! congrats on 200!!!! 🥰🥰 ur my fav crosshair writer so: crosshair + trust, with a gender neutral reader? nsfw or not, it's up to u!! congrats again 🎉🎆🎉

kinesthesia

[crosshair x gn!reader] with precision, there is control, and with control, there is tension, not easily soothed. you take it into your own hands to prove that wrong.

warnings: nsfw, fellatio, (kind of) sub!cross

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: prince my he a r t 🥺💕 ily bb ! this was also a super fun prompt to write hehe, and look i openly accept that i’m a pillow princess bottom, but i think i would enjoy making crosshair squirm. uno reverse card on his oral fixation—mine now.

“I’m still not entirely sold on this,” Crosshair admits as he takes a seat at the edge of your bunk. His toothpick bobs anxiously between his lips, chewed down flat where his lips brush up against the bleached wood. It’s not often that this breed of restlessness finds hold: stiff shoulders and hands folded tight over his lap.

Nerves.

“That’s why we have the safeword,” you quip from across your quarters, voice rising as you struggle to twist out of your heavy uniform jacket.

(Un)surprisingly, Crosshair makes for a quick study. Beneath the stony, oftentimes sullen disposition, he’s a simple man. Of course, that simplicity didn’t necessarily limit himself from branching out into an actual person, but you could boil him down to one thing and one thing alone: control. Whether it was his genetic acuity that shaped him into the sniper persona or vice versa, control centered him, grounded him, tied him so close to his sense of duty and personhood that sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart.

So when you had offered two rotations prior to take the reins—offered both as something new and the hypothetical of release from, well, everything that kept him in a perpetually alert state of coiled tension—you honestly hadn’t expected for Crosshair to pause, rolling his toothpick thoughtfully between his teeth, and accept.

There’s certainly a part of you that hopes the manufactured brevity to your tone is enough to soothe the anxiety radiating from where Crosshair makes himself prim and small on your bed, smaller still without the bulk of his dark armor weighed over his shoulders. But, against your better judgement, a low-lying anticipation simmers at the base of your lungs when you finally shuck the day’s sweat and blaster smoke to the side.

He’s seen you undone under him time and time again, beads of sweat following the smug lines of his expression as he bent you to his—and, to be entirely fair, your own—pleasure. And as satisfying as that arrangement has proven itself to be, curiosity has always been that single, nagging vice at the back of your head.

Who can blame you for wanting a taste?

“You remember it, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you catch the heavy dregs of uncertainty (perhaps even bashfulness, ha) dragging at his voice.

“Then say it,” you prod. You gently nudge the point of your knee up against Crosshair’s calf and offer him a mirthful glance. And when that doesn’t seem to banish his withering hesitance, you drop down onto the bunk beside him, grasping his hand in yours and squeezing snug.

“I—” he clears his throat with a soft wince: embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

“Cross,” you warn. Because if you were going to do this, you were going to do this right.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, scrubbing his palm over the highest points of his cheeks. You wonder if the warmth over his cheeks is the same as your own, desirous and shy as you venture into those dark, uncertain places hand in hand. “Tooka, happy?”

“Very happy,” you grin, and you lean close to press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

Crosshair leans towards you, lips parted to chase your touch, more, more. But he’ll have his fill, and you’re quick to dart away, leaving him even more disoriented than he already is, all wide eyes that seek you like fading light.

You’re tempted to indulge him because it’s not often that he looks like a kicked loth cat (and he does a damn good impression when he does). But you manage to stuff down the creeping sympathy, opting instead to reach into the pocket of your trousers and produce a well-worn headband.

“Please tell me that’s not Hunter’s.” The rosy edge of desire vanishes from Crosshair’s voice as he catches sight of the broad black swatch of fabric in your palm. In its place, the testing edge of judgement so often home in Crosshair’s snide play.

“Ew, no—what? That’d be weird. And gross. Who do you think I am?”

That seems to do what your previous efforts could not, and your heart jumps when Crosshair responds with a soft snort and shrugs. He’s not resentful, not in the slightest. It’s just trepidation, jumping into uncharted waters with nothing but the trust that your hand, snug over his, would hold fast.

But the laughter settles, drawing back to reveal something that hums quiet between the small eternity between you. Even with your thigh pressed close against Crosshair’s own, you feel him drawing away, hesitant and wanting all at once. You gently pull his hand between you, squeezing once.

“Trust me?” you murmur.

Crosshair offers you a tremulous look, more nervous than apprehensive. You suppose it’s only fitting of him that relinquishing his steady grip over control might be more appealing in concept than on the eve of practice. Nonetheless, when you meet his gaze, you find the kind of uncertainty that heralds excitement, careful but enamored all the same. He nods.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Finally, as you raise your hands to his temples, pressing the dark fabric over his eyes, the tension pulls away from his coiled muscles, dropping his shoulders and bowing his head as you reach around him and tie a knot over the back of his silvery hair. He exhales long and slow as the knot settles snug over his scalp, warmed by the creases left behind by your fingertips and the sudden comfort yet complete unpredictability that shrouds his senses.

Testing the waters, you bring one hand to his cheek, just barely ghosting your fingertips over the lean lines of his jaw, and you are rewarded with a full-bodied shudder that shocks through Crosshair’s form as his lips gently part around his toothpick. Without that precious ability to see, he sits in your palm at your every whim.

You lean forward, gently biting your teeth around the tapered free end of his toothpick, and you feel him swallow hard when you free it from his mouth and drop it to the floor.

“Trust me.”

Chest heaving, he nods again.

“Safeword?”

This time, there is no snark to accompany a begrudging response. “Tooka.” Instead, his voice dips breathy and low between the long breadths between his soft exhales, his beating heart.

“Good boy.”

You surprise yourself at how natural the praise feels, rolling from your tongue and rising over the ambient hum of the ship around you. It fills your chest with something like affection, bordered pride that only swells as you watch him shudder, his lips parting just a little wider to pass that barely-there whimper riding on his exhale.

The hard planes of his body, that star map you’ve committed to the deepest parts of your heart, are familiar terrain under your skin as you flatten your palms over the sharp jut of his collar and travel lower. You pause the heels of your palms over the base of his ribs, pressing softly against the quickening rise and fall of his chest. Satisfaction curls sweet and rich over the tip of your tongue as his stuttering inhale shifts the air around you.

With slow, firm force, you push him backwards onto the bunk, Crosshair’s elbows catching his slow descent over the dark grey sheets until finally drops his head back onto the firm mattress. His chest heaves.

Your fingertips pass over the sinew and soft scar of his abdomen, chasing how his breathing expands from his chest and leaches tension over the length of his torso. You’re certain this isn’t new, not when your intimacy has you stealing the other’s breaths between stuttering gasps. But to feel it under your palms, thrumming and deep—it sets your nerves on fire.

Control. It’s wholly and entirely yours.

You still as the pads of your fingers catch the faint ridge of his waistband. And a part of you is smug with the power of reversal, that it wasn’t Crosshair offering you a knowing smirk as he parted your thighs and pressed close, that it was you, privy to only the deepest intimacy Crosshair could offer.

But it’s exactly that which keeps the power from rushing to your head, stymying the teasing mischief for something warm in your stomach when you trail lower and gently cup over the straining bulge in his blacks. And it grows fonder when Crosshair’s legs jerk with a labored puff of breath, the same one he breathes into your ear when he finally pushes up deep inside you and presses his skin close against yours. He whines, a straining, soft noise through his bitten lips, and you’ve teased long enough.

Crosshair makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whining moan, when you finally hook your fingers over the hem of the dark fabric and expose the curved strain of his cock. He’s so open, you think as you reach forwards (though, you suppose being deprived of the one sense that reigned king would do that to you).

You don’t need to be able to see the half of his face rising above the bridge of his nose to envision the soft knit of his dark brows, eyes squeezed shut and lashes fluttering with every soft noise that passes his lips. You don’t need to see the half of his face bound under that broad swath of fabric to envision how his expression breaks from restraint to unbridled euphoria when you trace the edge of your nail down the underside of his cock.

“Please,” you think you hear him whisper past a breathy moan.

Whatever he might have had prepared, the whole gamut of biting, bratty demand to wide-eyed pleas, tumbles back into his throat when you finally climb onto the bunk by his hips, lick the flat of your tongue over your palm, and wrap it snug around the middle of Crosshair’s cock. Instead, you watch with a satisfied awe as he jerks up into your touch, spit-slick lips parted in a silent cry.

“You want my hand or my mouth?” you croon, pumping slowly from the thick base of his erection to the ruddy tip. You want him to feel every quiver of your touch as you run your thumb over the pearly drop of precome beaded at the crown of his cock, reveling in his shudder beneath you. You want to be the only thing he feels.

“Mouth,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“You’re so polite today,” you muse, reaching up with your free hand to rub your thumb over the plush bitten skin of his bottom lip. Emboldened, you slip your finger past his lips, grazing over his teeth as you push the pad of your thumb over his tongue, all the while slowly working your hand over his cock. “The good boy gets what he wants, then. Right?”

For a brief moment, something like disbelief occupies the warm air between you—you, amazed at how easy it is to hold the reins tight; him, stunned that somehow, you in control was as good, if not better, than being the commandeering weight to push your face into the pillows.

Crosshair nods, trembling as you squeeze softly over the base of his cock.

“I need to hear it, mesh’la.”

The last line of his restraint crumbles at the sound: one only ever given from him to you, yet suddenly brought back to him with the full brunt of lust, affection, the secret words you’ve come to call your own. Crosshair bucks up into your hand with a low groan, gasping soft and breathy when you slip your thumb from his mouth and hold him down to the mattress.

“Yes, please.”

You smile and dip low.

Unlike the slow deliberation of your earlier touch, you seal your lips over his ruddy cockhead with one smooth motion, pressing your tongue flat against the underside and hollowing your cheeks. And the heady taste of salt, of trembling anticipation, of him, only sweetens when you flick your eyes up to catch Crosshair tip up his chin, dig his heels into the mattress, and sob.

You sink his cock deeper into your mouth, achingly slow while you continue to work your fist around the base of his cock, and close in a way that coaxes soft, whimpering noises from his lips as he turns his head and clenches his jaw.

Flicking your eyes upwards, a pang of regret shocks through your chest that you aren’t able to see Crosshair come undone from the slightest of touches, tame in comparison to some of your particularly energetic nights. But you do away with the thought as quickly as it comes as his blunt cockhead brushes over the back of your tongue.

His pleasure has always been yours, yours his, you think as you pull back, just until your lips part around the tip of his cock while he shifts and gasps beneath you. You’ll have your turn soon enough.

Before you can sink back down, swallow him as deep as you can, the air by your cheek shifts, and expecting the worst, you lift your chin. But where you expected some stifled yellow light, Crosshair’s fingers feel blindly around you until they find purchase over your cheek. His relief is palpable as his stuttering touch curls over your skin and holds you close.

You smile.

“Trust me?” you ask again, your lips mouthing softly over his cock, catching thick smears of precome over your skin.

“I trust you,” he whispers.

Crosshair cries out, hoarse and as loud as he’s been all night, as you drop your mouth near-midway down the straining length of his cock in one motion, lavishing your tongue under his pulse. His hand tenses over your jaw, blunt nails digging light into your skin as his fingers curl with that bone-deep shock of pleasure. And if the breathy, desperate noises he whimpers into the alcove of the bunk are of any indication, you have a good feeling he’ll want to do this again.

You moan around him in answer. It doesn’t matter to you that his brothers might hear, only a few panels of durasteel away and connected by the reverb of a narrow ship corridor. They probably do hear, but all that matters now is Crosshair, coming impossibly more undone under your tongue as he runs his trembling thumb over the skin of your cheek.

His hips buck up towards you, catching the back of your throat with a soft sting that reaches your nose. If you weren’t so desperate, you might have pinned him down harder or pulled away entirely to let him think about what he had done. But as much as you want to chase this power play, hearing him lose himself to you has you desperate for his touch.

You follow him with every uneven jerk and thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, letting him take his fill. You simply stroke firmer as his skin warms over your tongue. It’s all so hot, the air heady and thick as you breathe in sharp through your nose and lean into his palm, and you wonder what it feels like, anchored to nothing but you, his sole light in a world gone dark.

His motions fall uneven, his hips twisting against your touch, his breaths becoming deeper, louder as they bounce over the steel ceiling overhead. He’s close.

You twist your fist over his cock, redoubling your efforts. You sink down so far over his cock that your eyes water as you crush the head up against the back of your throat. Heavy and thick, it muffles down a soft gag for you—it’s the deepest you’ve ever taken him. Crosshair notices, and he nearly wails.

He’s been good, you decide as you all but choke around him. He can take that coveted control back. You gently rub his hand, unspoken assent, and his hand slides up your jaw to finds purchase at the back of your head to fuck you down onto him in earnest.

And you take it, eyes blurring with tears and shallow inhales through your nose, holding still and letting him fuck over your tongue until he’s taken his fill. It doesn’t take long for him to spill down your throat, a low, hoarse groan passed between his lips as you struggle to breathe between every dutiful swallow of his thick come down your throat.

“Good boy,” you rasp as you pull the blindfold from over his head.

Crosshair meets you with unfocused eyes, full of wonder and a shaky haze that finds focus on you alone in the low light. Over the ache in your knees, you crawl up to meet him, collapsing down beside him with a soft sigh. He meets you with habit, practiced and true as he tips down his chin and presses his lips to yours, tasting himself on your skin when he swipes his tongue over your lip.

“How was that?” you whisper, breathing soft over his lips.

You tilt your head up enough to catch your nose over Crosshair’s. He still meets you with that same stupor, but you see it begin to mellow into something other than the shock of enjoyment in submission in a man who has only ever known control to be his. It’s quiet and raw, splitting open your chest with that rare kind of warmth that the broad expanse of space and war leave little space to grow.

Yours, whispered and cradled close between your beating hearts, yours alone.

“I’ll remember the safeword,” Crosshair says finally, his voice distant and soft as he still rises out of the aftershocks of his orgasm. But in that weary daze, you catch the rosy relaxation, vulnerable and yet increasingly less rare in your palms. Relief, pride, joy, honeyed goodness rises to the apples of your cheeks at the sound.

“I still think I won’t need it, though.” And you both laugh, curling close.

#hm. i want to peg him now #i still dont know how to tag posts but. i do write better when im significantly inebriated #anyways hehe hope u enjoy!!#i'd also like to send a special thanks to those ppl on youtube who make reverb/slowed playlists *chefs kiss* phenomenal #crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #bobathots #yaej.writes

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onecanonlife · 4 years ago

Text

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

---------------------

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—” He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

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astaroth1357 · 4 years ago

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The Obey Me Cast on a Camping Trip (Part One: Brothers)

Hey guys, thank you sooo much for getting me to 2,000 followers!! I honestly don’t know what to say... I never dreamed that this little hobby of mine would reach so many eyes, and I can’t be more grateful. At a time in my life where things feel so chaotic and uncertain, being a part of this community and sharing my weird ideas has been what’s kept me going. It’s been such a rewarding experience all around, so thank you. From the bottom of my heart. 😊

I pulled out all the stops for this post. I even brought out one of my favorite songs of all time: Ao to Natsu by Mrs. GREEN APPLE to get the feel juuust right. I hope you all enjoy it!

This post is split in two due to length (I had too much fun again...) For the Undateables, please click HERE!

Intro:

Another day, another team building activity between the demons and the exchange students. It was Diavolo’s idea to go on a camping trip to the human world (because of course it was), and there were very… mixed responses. That sentiment wasn’t helped when he refused Lucifer’s insistent pleas to just purchase cabins for everyone to stay in. Oh no, the Demon Lord wanted to rough it out in the wilderness, and now everyone else was getting dragged along with him…

Wonder how that turned out?

Lucifer

Really, really, really tried to push Diavolo to just rent out cabins in but noooo, he wasn’t having it... So he ended up driving a van crammed with his brothers, the MC, and a butt-ton of camping equipment into the Alaskan wilderness…

The car ride itself was insufferable… We’re talking, “I SWEAR I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND!!” level of antics every 10 miles or so (mostly from Mammon)…

Setting up camp was even more of a nightmare because about half of his brothers were utterly useless. The other half (save Satan) were completely clueless… Had it not been for Barbatos and Satan he probably would have just resigned himself to the mercy of the river’s currents and let it take him away…

He couldn’t even wear his usual clothes because of the situation… For the first time in who knows how many centuries, he was stuck wearing jeans… Diavolo even bought him several plaid shirts... (which he was not happy with btw because his brother wouldn’t stop making fun of the “new” him)

He had his own tent of decent-size, enough to move around in but nothing to write home about. The very fact he didn’t have to share was a luxury in itself, so he took it for what it was worth...

He spent a good portion of the trip focused on two things: keeping Diavolo happy and everybody else alive. He rarely left camp unless forced to; he just wanted to get it all over with as soon as possible…

If he did leave, it was because Diavolo would drag him along to fish or hike. He was... less than pleased to be called out of his tent at the crack of dawn or well past dusk to sit on a little rented fishing boat with Diavolo… but he didn’t exactly pick his friends so...

He rates the trip Too Much Trouble/10. Let’s never do it again.

Mammon

Wasn’t a massive fan of being stuck out in the wild, but Satan told him some made-up bullshit about buried treasure out in the forest and got him HOOKED. He even borrowed stole a whole bunch of mining/digging equipment just for the occasion!

He spent most of the car ride asking, “Are we there yet??” like a child. The MC had to step in to keep Lucifer from leaving him on the side of the road at multiple points during the journey...

He was one of the utterly useless ones when it came to setting up camp. Someone charged him with putting up the twin’s tent, and he spent thirty minutes reading (then re-reading) the instructions while shouting expletives. Poor Simeon had to shield Luke from the vulgarity…

He has to share a tent with Levi, which neither of them liked. Mammon mainly because of Levi’s “old fish stink” and Levi because he feared catching “Mammon’s stupid.”

He was all jazzed up to go digging from Day One, though. He’d have breakfast, grab his shovel, then wander out into the middle of nowhere to go dig holes in the ground…

He also got completely lost on Day One, and it took the MC summoning him with their pact to return him to the group... By that time, he was filthy and somehow looked like he had been castaway for days (even though he was gone for like, three hours?)

When he stubbornly refused to stop digging, Lucifer resorted to just tying a rope around his ankle and letting him loose. It was up to Mammon to get back to camp before dinner, or else Lucifer would yank him back like he was on a leash.

Satan waited until the last day to finally tell Mammon the treasure was bullshit, and he was PISSED. He even threw Satan into the river, which resulted in the rest of the brothers joining in for a swim while the two tried to “playfully” drown each other.

He’d rate this trip 0/10 because he didn’t get any buried treasure. What a ripoff…

Leviathan

Hated the idea with a burning, seething passion. There’s no internet, cable, electricity, or phone signal out in the middle of nowhere! How the heck is an otaku supposed to survive?!

He clung to his electronics during the car ride until either they ran out of signal or their battery died, then he didn’t know what to do with himself… He resorted to reading several volumes of the manga he stuffed into his bag and clung to the MC for emotional support…

Yet another useless soul trying to put the camp together. He was in charge of his and Mammon’s tent but ended up almost crying in frustration… How the hell do humans do this all on their own?? Wasn’t he supposed to be the third strongest?! Why is he so pathetic?!? 😫

Hates sharing a tent with Mammon because he always wakes up to the second born encroaching on his space somehow… Poor baby is pretty much directly against the tent wall and STILL has to deal with legs and elbows in his side... 😰

Spends the majority of the trip moping in the tent... If he goes out there, he has to deal with the sun, bugs, and people… No thanks. He only leaves for meals and occasionally to go swimming.

When he found out part of the way through that Barbs brought portable solar panels and a battery pack for Diavolo and Lucifer’s phones, he was livid. He demanded access to the power source, which Lucifer refused because “It would defeat the purpose of this trip.”

He’d have summoned Lotan right then and there, deadass in the middle of the forest, if the MC hadn’t intervened. He then went back to moping, but now at the bottom of the lake and it took a lot of coaxing to get him back out…

On the final day, he was packing up the camp before anyone else even woke up. He wanted OUT and back to civilization ASAP. Bedroom here he comes!

Satan

You wouldn’t think of Satan as an outdoorsy guy. Still, he has shades of a survivalist in him (mostly because he’s read a lot of guides and was looking for an excuse to use them for a loooong time).

He read for the majority of the ride. He was squished between Asmo and Levi, which was reasonably peaceful. But he did end up shouting at Mammon quite a bit towards the end because “NO, we’re not there yet, peabrain!!”

He actually wasn’t a waste of space when setting up the camp, and between him, Barbs, and Lucifer, they were able to get a lot of stuff set up before sundown. He did have to bark a few orders to the others here and there, but overall competency won out in the end.

He shared a tent with Asmo, and the two made it work well enough… Except when Asmo did things like spraying his perfumes and dry shampoos, making it practically impossible to breathe in for a few minutes…

Spent a lot of the first few days reinforcing the camp to a ridiculous degree.

Did he have to collect large branches to build an exterior fence around the campsite? No. But he did.

Did he have to set up a water distillation system using some of the materials Barbs had lying around the “kitchen?” No. But he did.

Did he have to weave a series of fishing nets to catch them lunch from the lake and river? I think you get the point by now.

Only once he built pretty much every contraption or improvement he could think of, did he go back to just reading and relaxing by the fire.

By the time the group was ready to leave, Satan had somehow managed to craft them a veritable, self-sustaining fortress in the middle of the Alaskan wilds…

Overall he would rate the trip as… meh. Next time give him a challenge like a deserted island or an actual desert, and then he’ll really see what he can do.

Asmodeus

Was about as unhappy with the idea as Levi was… It wasn’t that he disliked the outdoors per se, it was just that no one, NO ONE, pulls off looking flawless after several days stuck in a tent!

He chatted the entire car ride from start to finish. He never stopped talking. It made for decent background noise at least…

Was one of the more clueless ones when trying to set up camp and pretty just did what he was ordered. The second he was left to try and figure something out on his own, he went to Lucifer or Satan for help because NOPE. Human equipment is needlessly complicated sometimes…

He had to share a tent with Satan, which in theory shouldn’t have been that bad, but Satan was out basically all day in the sun doing who knows what and would always come back sweaty and gross! At some points, he had to chase his brother out of the tent until he dunked himself in the river or something. No way was Asmo sleeping next to that. 😤

Asmo took the second-longest to get up and get ready in the morning. Sometimes he wouldn’t even leave the tent until well past breakfast just in an attempt to salvage his hair and skin… He only got grouchier about it as the trip went on… 😥

A more… earthy looking Asmo is kind of a bizarre sight. He’s still attractive, no doubt, but it’s less like polished glamour and more like Hollywood humble. He spent the majority of the trip looking like a somewhat dirtied movie-star (which he still insisted was the worst he’s ever looked in ages).

Aside from salvaging his looks, he actually enjoyed taking pictures of their surroundings or of the group (but not himself). He sometimes forgot how genuinely breathtaking the human world could be…

….but his patience for the place wore out quickly once he started noticing his hair getting greasy. He was right next to Levi, packing up the site once it was finally time to leave. At least those two finally found something they could agree on, let’s get the fuck out already!

Beelzebub

He was really curious about trying camping food and pretty excited that Barbatos was coming, too (because that meant great food in general).

Unfortunately, Lucifer had to stop the van at basically every gas station they passed for Beel could refill on snacks… Belphie ended up getting buried in wrappers pretty often, but he was asleep, so it didn’t matter much.

Beel did a lot of the heavy lifting when setting the camp up, but the finer details were left up to everybody else. He had his hands full getting stuff off the cars as is…

Of course, he shared a tent with Belphie, and there wasn’t much complaint between them. Honestly, there would have been more drama if they were split, so this was the better option.

After the MC told Beel about fishing and how it could net him more food, if he did it right, he knew exactly what he wanted to do during the trip.

… But no one told him how long and slow the process would be. There were points he’d get so hungry he’d consider eating the bait himself…

That was until about Day Three of the trip when they passed by a river full of grizzly bears… He was about to ask the MC why the bears were all standing in the water, but then he saw a fish practically leap directly into one’s mouth…

Beel had discovered his true calling.

Of course, the grizzlies didn’t take too kindly to a demon suddenly sprinting into the water with them. They tried to fight him off, but Beel just tossed most of them downstream without any issue until they realized who the apex predator really was…

After forming a shaky truce with the bears, Beel would stand in the water for hours then come back with whole baskets full of salmon… There were far more fish than Barbatos knew what to do with, so he’d just confiscate a few then let Beel eat the rest...

The MC shuddered to think about what Beel had done to the local salmon population… But he was full and happy for most of the trip, so he had a great time!

Belphegor

Sleep for him isn’t too contingent on location, so the idea of camping wasn’t terrible. It did sound like a lot of hassle for no good reason, though…

He spent the entire car ride asleep, head and cow pillow pressed up against the window and everything. It wasn’t the most comfortable experience, but he’d dealt with worse.

He was utterly useless when putting up the camp by choice, thank you. He had more than enough sense to get things put together; he just didn’t want to. If he wasn’t asked to do something by Beel or the MC, he’d just lay back in the grass and smugly watch everybody else struggle…

Again, he and Beel are in the same tent, and you wouldn’t hear any complaints out of him. He did start to have some second thoughts when Beel began getting a fishy smell, though, so he tried to bunk with the MC in their tent for a while.

Like Levi, Belphie didn’t leave the tent much during the daylight hours, but that was because he was still asleep… There was no good way to wake him with no alarms available, so he’d sleep in past lunch easily.

When he was awake, he didn’t leave camp very much except to walk with the MC or watch Beel fishing grizzly-style.

Eventually, Asmo and Diavolo got sick of him dodging their photos, so they’d started posing him Weekend at Bernie’s style around the camp (always conveniently propped up by something and with sunglasses on)

Something Belphie did like, however, was the nighttime. Since there were no lights around, he could practically see everything the sky had to offer. He could spend hours laying on his back long after everyone else had gone to bed just admiring the stars.

All in all, not a terrible trip. Anything that could give him that view like that was well worth it. 6/10, would sleep again.

Click HERE for Part Two. Check out my Masterlist for more!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #thank y'all so so much #you're fantastic

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assassins-and-hidden-blades · 4 years ago

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Trust Me -- Part 2

02/06/2021: Wow, uh, wow. This one got me. Almost started crying at the cheesy ending. I will cringe at it in precisely two months from now. Thank you guys SO much for all the positive feedback of PART 1, it really helped me finish this part. Without you guys, this would have been still sitting in my drafts. There's lowkey a bit of pressure in this actually being GOOD, so I'm sitting here with a bit of Imposter SyndromeTM and crossing everything I can cross that you guys like it. I can't tell whether I went overboard or not, though... I guess that's for you guys to tell me lmao.

Also, these commas can be pried from my very cold, extremely dead, fingers.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! For the first time in almost ever, I'm a bit very nervous to post this -- I hope you enjoy it!!

Tagging: @marshmallow--3 // @yourlocalfrenchie // @rahdaleigh // @sofiewithat /// @iceboundstar // @mythandmagik // @itseivwhore // @pink-polarfox // @missbenzayb // @ct-5445 // @timbreavery // @dacian-assassin // @thepalaceofmelanie // @asilverraven // @huntheimpossible // @eclectic--assassin // @thehistorynut19 // @ta-ka-shi-ma // @roki3chocoa // @fandomsfanman // @le-nottibianche // @bandit-brunsmeier // @starmoji1 // @spocktheestallion // @salty-thembo // @missingfrye // @xdeimos // If you want to be tagged, let me know!!

Warnings: Lots of swearing, a bit of graphic violence, implicit mention of sexual assault (I hope it's not a spoiler to say that this does not actually happen, but the idea is used as manipulation. It's not done well, but I'm blaming that on the character being a horrible liar, instead of me sucking at write arseholes), implied character death.

Pairing: Edward Kenway x F!Reader

Assassin's Creed Mobile Masterlist

Red Dead Redemption 2 Mobile Masterlist

The neighbouring ship was chaotic. The opponents were drunk on victory, so slipping through unnoticed was easy. The hard part was going to be staying undercover until you could free Edward and the rest of the crew without anyone falling casualty. “Strip them of their weapons and take them to the brig!” You heard the Quartermaster yell. Thinking quickly, you moved to Edward; if you knew where his weapons were, escaping could be much easier. People were already pulling out his pistols and cutlasses, fortunately dumping them in your arms. Looking around, you pulled away to hide them in an inconspicuous barrel for later.

You weren’t planning on staying long.

Quickly rejoining the group, you took hold of one of your crew members -- you recognised him as one named Jonah -- at the back of the crowd, keeping your face covered lest they accidentally reveal your identity. You kept your eye on Edward’s tense shoulders the entire time, heading below deck and to the rows of cells at the end of the ship.

As you gently pushed Jonah into the cell, someone slammed the door shut, chucking the ring of keys your way. “Lock ‘em up.” Swallowing, you nodded, feeling uncomfortable under their gaze while turning the key in the lock. Taking them out of your hands, a mop and bucket was shoved in its place. “You’re on cleaning duty, starting upstairs; let’s go.” With one last glance, your eyes scoured for Edward before they all disappeared from view.

----------

Edward

There was this crushing anxiety he just couldn’t shake. It rendered him almost motionless, crouched in the corner of the cell, picking at his sleeves. There was a commotion heading towards them; he was in for company he was not in the mood for.

Heavy footsteps gave away the visitor. “We searched your boat.” His crew parted to clear a view as Charles Marlowe relaxed against the cell bars. “We found your woman.”

Edward’s eyes snapped to Marlowe’s as he clenched his jaw, almost daring him to say more.

With a chuckle and a disgusting grin, he brought out a small knife to clean. “Don’t you want to know where she is?”

“I expect you’d would tell me regardless.”

“I would advise against winding me up, Kenway. I could always take my anger out on her instead.”

It took a second for Edward’s arms to fly through the bars, constricting around Marlowe’s throat. “What have you done with her?”

Although cold metal pressed against his jaw, he didn’t ease up.

“She’s waiting for me very nicely... in my cabin.”

Edward didn’t have to think very hard to infer his meaning.

“I’ll kill you if you touch her. I’ll kill you.” Growling, he held impossibly tighter, for if he was here, he wasn’t there.

“With your actions come consequences, Kenway. And you might not be the one paying for them.”

A dilemma came to mind: delay him to keep him away from you, or risk the consequences of his revenge?

Somewhat luckily, he didn’t need to choose.

Before Edward could comprehend that he loosened his grip, Marlowe slipped out of his grasp. The distraught Captain pressed himself against the bars, anger drenching his expression as he heaved out breaths. His captor laughed. “You’re very good at empty threats, Kenway.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” His cold tone streaked through the crew, setting hairs on end. They had never heard their Captain like this before; so angry, so dangerous.

It terrified them.

“That remains to be seen. In the meantime…” With a mocking whistling tune, Marlowe spun on his heels and began to walk away.

“Come back here, bilge rat!” He pulled harshly against the cell door. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

“Then you better stay in line.”

As he disappeared from view, Edward’s emotions overwhelmed him, frustrated tears coming to his eyes. He turned to a solid wall, slamming the side of his fist against it and yelled.

Fear, anger, guilt, and grief echoed around the brig.

Collapsing against the wood, he hid his face in his hands, aiming to either calm himself or hide his inevitable breakdown.

----------

Y/N

“Finish up downstairs.” Nodding affirmatively, you picked up the mop bucket and eagerly headed beneath deck, having to consciously slow down to avoid suspicion. You were glad you were disguised in the uniform of Marlowe’s crew instead of the rags of the common sailors aboard; it would’ve made the job much harder than it had to be.

Keeping a level head, you walked past the cell holding your family and placed the mop bucket against the wall, scanning the deck.

Empty.

Sighing in relief, you realised that you were alone with your crew at last. As you pulled the covering off of your face, you shushed frantically, the cell almost erupting into cheers. You gestured for them to part, eyeing Edward, almost balled up in the corner of the cell. “Hey, Ed,” you whispered, watching as his head snapped up to you, eyes widening.

Scrambling up, he strode to the bars in a second, reaching through the gaps to hold you. “Thank Christ…” he exhaled in relief, bringing your forehead to his lips between the bars. You pulled away after a few moments, sharing relieved glances. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?” he asked, eyes scanning you for any sign of injuries.

“No, no, I’m okay. Are you alright? Did we lose anyone?”

“I’m... fine; I haven’t done a head count yet.”

You didn’t reply, watching as Jonah came up to tap Edward on the shoulder. “Capt’n?”

He turned around, withdrawing his hands as Ryan came into view. “I can’t find my da’.” His voice was barely stable, cheeks stained with tear tracks. For a second, you both exchanged sorrowful glances.

Edward crouched down, ruffling his hair. “He’ll be around, lad. We just have to find him. Maybe he’s escaped and is planning his own rescue mission for us.”

Ryan nodded, wanting to believe him. Meanwhile, Edward stood and brought Jonah close, leaning to whisper in his ear. He withdrew, a willing but uncertain look on his face. Both retreated back into the small crowd.

“What did you tell him?” you asked.

“...That he has to look after Ryan now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to stave off tears. “Shit.”

His fingers gently grazed your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright? Does Marlowe know you’re here?”

Frowning, you shook your head. “I wouldn’t have thought so; if he did, I’d be stuck in there with you.”

His expression was nearly unreadable, but you could sense his anxiety. “I saw him come from here a few moments ago. What was he saying?”

“He…” Pausing for a moment, Edward swallowed. “Just Templar bullshit.”

You scoffed at the notion. “Of course he did. Look, I know how to get out of this.”

“I’ll take anything at this point.” Although his tone was sarcastic, you could tell that for the first time, he didn’t know what to do.

“He needs to die.”

Edward froze, brows narrowing, realising your intention. “No, Y/N, no.”

“‘No’ was an option in Nassau, but we don’t have that choice--”

“No, there must be another way -- “

“There is no other way! This is our only chance--”

“Are you hearing me?! He--”

“Do you understand the situation we’re in?!”

“No, Y/N, please--”

“All it takes is--”

“Just LISTEN to me!” He hissed through gritted teeth, grasping your arm to give it a sharp shake to stop you talking over him. The shock threw you into silence. Lowering his voice, he continued. “If you make so much as one mistake, he won’t just kill you; he’ll make you wish you were dead. Please, please, don’t do this.”

You were stunned. You’ve never seen him so adamant about staying your blade. The desperation in his tone threw you off; you’ve never heard him this serious -- this frantic -- before.

Edward grabbed one of your hands in both of his, bringing your knuckles to rest against his lips. “I love you… with everything I have; I can’t lose you. Not if I can help it,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Your heart broke as you watched a tear escape, trailing down his skin.

“Okay, okay.” You rarely saw Edward cry, and when you did, it was usually due to either drinking or laughing. He took a small, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself.

“We wait for Adé. Then we’ll think about Marlowe.”

“Alright, okay. Hey...” you caressed his jaw. “I’m okay. We’ll be okay. Trust me.”

You heard ruckus above the deck. “Someone’s coming.” Both of you broke away like shrapnel, Edward sitting himself on the floor while you mopped, facing the wall.

And that was how things were.

----------

A couple of weeks had passed since the crew was abducted from the Jackdaw. Everyone had been forced to labour on the deck, doing various jobs, from scrubbing floors to adjusting sails to everything in between. Adé was nowhere to be seen; whether he was hidden on deck and still strategising, or God forbid, something worse, you didn’t know.

A few didn’t make it.

Keeping your identity hidden was becoming increasingly difficult as time went on, of both being a woman and lover of the imprisoned Captain. You had, however, been able to gather intel of Marlowe from the crew that despised him. Each day further validated your belief that this man would be much better off dead; the crew have no loyalty except out of fear, and you could work with that.

You understood Edward’s fear, but it would be selfish of you to stand back and not do anything, watching as almost everyone on the ship suffered; if you did nothing, you would regret it for the rest of your days.

One particular morning was extremely hot, extremely dry, and extremely labour intensive. You were almost halfway through your journey, and you knew you were running out of time. Something had to happen, and soon, or you would never make it to the end of the year.

----------

Edward

After the first week, the crew joined the common sailors around the ship, performing average labour over hours. There was barely time to rest, eat, or drink; he could tell that this was wearing him down more than any form of torture.

The sun’s rays beat down on the nape of his neck as midday approached. Orders were to scrub the floor. He had a brush in his hand the size of a polishing brush, sharing a bucket with four other members of his crew. Each time he made eye contact with one of them, he’d give them a reassuring look; they’d all get out of this, he just needed a plan.

Doors were haphazardly flung open, Marlowe revealing himself from his cabin, followed by an entourage of his closest crew. They clumsily made their way across the ship, bumping into those scrubbing the deck, only to send them a look as if it was their fault in the first place.

One of them knocked over a bucket of water, spilling the liquid across the wood. Edward looked up to observe the situation. It belonged to his crew, including Jonah and Ryan. Marlowe stopped, his stare set on the ones kneeling, completely ignoring the real culprit. “You.” He crooked his finger towards Ryan. “Get up.”

With a petrified look on his face, Ryan stumbled to his feet, shaking like a leaf. “It wasn’t--”

Marlowe put his hand up, a warning to shut up. “It was your bucket, was it not?”

“Y-Yes, but--”

“So it was your responsibility, correct?”

“W-Well--”

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, boy.”

“... Yes, sir.”

Marlowe turned to call to his second in command. “Get the cat.”

Edward’s heart stopped. By now, the ship had dropped to complete silence. They wouldn’t… he was only a boy. Marlowe was sadistic, but he wouldn’t be that evil, would he?

Before he could stop himself, Edward found himself standing protectively in front of Ryan. The child gripped onto his sleeve as he was pushed behind his Captain by the arm. “Why don’t you give a punishment to someone who deserves it?”

Marlowe held a neutral expression. “You’re right…” With a wave of his hand, arms snaked themselves around Edward’s, pulling him away from the others, restraining his movements.

Edward’s eyes flitted to Ryan for a split second; he was pulled to sit beside Jonah before he gained any more unwanted attention. Marlowe came to stand in front of him, unpinning his cape from around his shoulders. It fell into someone’s arms, who carried it away. Although his limbs were pulled harshly behind him, he held his head high, a hard expression in his eyes.

Undoing his cuffs, Marlowe smirked. “I believe you deserve twenty, in place of that boy…” Without warning, a fist came into contact with Edward’s sternum. If it weren’t for the arms holding him upright, the force would have sent his knees buckling. As he regained his breath, he glared at Marlowe. “Another twenty is in order for disobedience…” Another strike winded him again, this one seemingly worse than before. Keeled over, hair blocking his vision, he almost didn’t notice Marlowe leaning into his ear. “Then, about as many as I deem fit…”

Standing up straight, he shook out his hand. “Get him ready.”

Edward stumbled as he was half-dragged across the deck to the main mast. His chest and face collided with the post, the wood almost burning his skin. His arms were pulled taut above his head, rope quickly entwining itself around his wrists. He gave them an experimental tug, his heart skipping a beat when he found not even an inch of give.

Oh, fuck.

Hands gripped the back of his shirt, swiftly tearing it open. His muscles tensed as the sunlight hit his skin. Closing his eyes, he steeled himself with a breath.

The first strike licked his skin, the force shoving him against the post, ripping open stripes of flesh. Pain shot across his back. Biting a back a groan, Edward clenched his jaw. Sweat trailed down his temples, arms straining against the ropes.

Resting his forehead against the post, he prepared for the next lash.

But the strike never came.

----------

Y/N

Ooh, boy.

You were shocked at yourself for a moment, your hand firmly wrapped around Marlowe’s extended wrist, the cat of nine tails trickling Edward’s blood onto the back of your hand.

“I demand satisfaction.”

Gasps and muttering littered the crowd, and you kept to yourself the true realisation of what you’ve done.

You’ve challenged Marlowe to a duel.

“Don’t…” Edward looked over his shoulder, voice loud enough for only you to hear.

You spared him a side glance, urging him to quiet down.

Instead of the expected anger, Marlowe chuckled. “Alright; who demands it?”

You pulled off your face covering and hat, the sun hitting the skin on your face fully for the first time in two weeks. “Naturally, me.”

He hummed darkly, eyes narrowing with recognition. “Naturally.” He began to unsheathe his sword.

“I thought you were a man of tradition; are pistols not your forte?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

After a prolonged glance, metal clicked back into its leather hold. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into, my dear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“... Let’s get this over with.”

Your heart pounded. This was such a stupid move.

But it was also your only move.

Hiding your own fear, you held eye contact with Marlowe. With trembling fingers, you drew your own pistol, gifted to you by Edward from your last birthday. It was very much your lucky charm, and you hoped it wouldn’t fail you now.

“Ten paces, on my count.” You had no idea who the voice belonged to, nor did you have the current emotional capacity to care. Pulling the hammer down on your pistol, you turned your back to Marlowe. A blank was fired, the echoing shot a signal to start moving.

1…

2…

3...

It was almost deadly quiet.

4…

5…

6…

This was stupid, this was a bad idea. You won’t make it.

7…

8--

An unexpected shot rang out. You dropped to the floor, a pain beginning to blossom in your side.

“NO!”

Marlowe had cheated. Internally, you scoffed. Of course he did.

Although it stung, you were surprised at how bearable the pain was, given you just got shot.

Or did you?

You lay still, partly in shock and partly to plan what to do next.

“What are you all looking at? Get back to work!”

“Y/N? Y/N/N!” You heard Edward’s voice crack. “You cheating bastard!”

“Now, now, Kenway. Don’t forget the position you’re in.”

Floorboards creaked as someone approached. Pistol miraculously still in hand, you waited for as long as possible. Just a little longer....

A shadow shaded your face from the sun. Without thinking, you turned, aimed, and shot.

Marlowe stared back, glassy eyed, blood trickling down his nose.

A moment later, he collapsed.

No one dared to move, choosing to stare at the body in front of them, not quite believing that he was dead.

The monster of a man was dead.

After the adrenaline ebbed away, you sighed heavily. “Glad that’s over.” A hand came into view, offering assistance to stand up. You locked eyes with someone who should have made himself known a long time ago. “Adé!” Accepting the help, you smirked. “Great timing.”

You quickly moved to Edward to begin untying the knots around his wrists. “What the fuck were you thinking?!” he exclaimed, exertion clear in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for worrying you--”

“Worrying me?” One wrist freed, he deftly moved to the other. “When I saw you lying there, I felt as if I had died!”

You sighed. “I needed to do something, lest you became more bone than back.”

“That was the most stupid plan I’ve ever seen in my life.” His hands free, he paid no heed to his own wounds and immediately tried to inspect yours. “You were so irresponsible--”

Bringing his face to yours, you stopped him talking with a kiss.

He diffused immediately, finally processing that you were in front of him, alive, and Marlowe was the one dead on the floor. Melting into you, the tension in his muscles dissipated, replaced only with relief. He broke apart from you, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“If the plan worked, it couldn’t have been that stupid,” you remarked.

“I’m so sorry.” His words were mumbled into your shoulder.

“You were looking out for me; I would have done the same if the roles were reversed.” You hugged him back, recoiling when he suddenly flinched in pain. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“Shall we just accept each other’s apologies and call it a day?”

You laughed. “That would be good.”

Turning to the hands on deck, you raised your pistol in the air. “It’s over, lads! We can go home!”

You held your side, the pain greatly subsided under the amount of other emotions you were feeling; joy, relief, but also grief. Not for Marlowe, but for the ones that didn’t see this day.

You made a vow there and then; a vow to live your life the way they would have lived.

With joyful, carefree fun.

With the ability to live in the moment.

With gratitude for what you still have that they lost: For some, love, and for others, life.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed x f!reader #edward kenway x reader #edward kenway x f!reader #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed oneshot #edward kenway imagine #edward kenway oneshot

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nillegible · 4 years ago

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It wasn't supposed to hurt him. Ouyang Zizhen had used the talisman before, on his sister and his sister's idiot fiance (Now he was her fiance. Before the talisman, he'd just been a shixiong who absolutely refused to confess his feelings to her). In retrospect perhaps it was unkind. A talisman that was meant to force you to confess what you were hiding from the other person? Jiujiu would have smacked him for even thinking about using it.

Jin Ling would punish himself if it would help, would do anything, to snap the talisman, or to get his stupid uncle to just say his stupid secret, because right now?

Right now, his uncle is choking on his secret, literally forcing it down by strength of will alone while Wei Wuxian flutters around desperately, trying to destroy the talisman and Hanguang Jun plays his guqin. The spiritual energy from the Lan musical technique is so heavy that Jin Ling's skin buzzes with every note, and it's even more concentrated on the three older cultivators, visible threads of it sparking over their skin.

Jiujiu still looks like he is in agony, breaths harsh and ragged, choking, his face screwed up, twisted, awful.

"Jiang Cheng please, please, just spit it out, I don't care what you still blame me for, I don't care just say it," Wei Wuxian begs, but it's no use, his uncle shakes his head no, and Jin Ling covers his own mouth to stifle a sob. He hadn't listened when Jin Ling begged, either.

It's such a simple talisman, so terribly simple a compulsion that it's not meant to be fought or broken. Powered by the strength of the secret and the spiritual energy of the person it was affixed to… Jin Ling hadn't known it was possible to even try.

"Jiang Wanyin," says Hanguang Jun. He has to say it again to get his uncle's attention. "Let me help." His uncle stares blearily for a few moments, then nods again. Abruptly, even the gasping choked off noises break off, and Jin Ling rushes closer, but he's okay. He's still okay, slumping a little and leaning onto Wei Wuxian in exhaustion, but alive.

"Wei Ying," says Hanguang Jun, and apparently that means something to his other uncle, because Wei Wuxian immediately turns his attention back to paper he'd been scribbling on, and continues.

It takes Wei Wuxian a full hour more to break the compulsion, for his uncle to collapse sideways like a broken puppet onto him, and cough up mouthfuls of blood while Wei Wuxian rubs his back. "Thank you, Hanguang Jun," says Jiujiu.

Then he looks up at Jin Ling, who is frozen in place, not sure if he should run or fall to his knees and apologize, and holds out a hand. Jin Ling throws himself forward and hugs his uncle sobbing his apologies. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."

“Stupid,” Jiujiu says, voice hoarse, but he doesn’t let go of Jin Ling until he falls unconscious, and Wei Wuxian disentangles him from the half embrace – Jiujiu’s other arm was clutching Wei Wuxian’s robes, tightly – and lifts him into his arms.

“He’ll be okay, right?” asks Jin Ling, a bit pathetically. This was all his fault, after all.

“Jiang Cheng will be fine,” says Wei Wuxian.

When Jin Ling thinks back to this moment, he will realize that Wei Wuxian sounded oddly broken, not just tired.

It turns out that Jin Ling had actually ruined everything. He’d been sure that his uncles cared for one another, he’d watched the weird way they held each other at arm’s length but seemed desperate for more, and only wanted to help them out. Whatever it is they were keeping a secret couldn’t be worth it right? Wei Wuxian was back from the dead. He was, not Jin Ling’s mom or dad or anyone else. Jin Ling had only wanted them to make the most of it.

Instead, all Jin Ling does is show Wei Wuxian that Jiujiu has some giant terrible secret that he would rather tear his lips bloody trying to suppress than admit to, and Wei Wuxian seems to give up. He’s cautious around Jiujiu after that, He’s polite. And that only makes Jiujiu angrier and frostier in turn.

This is not what had happened to Ouyang Zizhen’s sister and her husband! (They’d gotten married in the spring, Jin Ling had even gone to their wedding.)

Perhaps Jin Ling should have considered what would happen if the secret was a bad one.

“Would you tell me?” asks Jin Ling. He’s treading on dangerous ground here. Jiujiu hasn’t punished him for the stunt ( “You’re a Sect Leader now, brat, you pick your own consequences,” he’d said, and Jin Ling had assigned himself a lot more make sure Jiujiu is recovering okay missions, whenever he could make the time) and he doesn’t want to remind him to.

“Of course not,” he snaps, Zidian sparking in hollow threat on his finger. At least he scowls? When Jiujiu isn’t busy being angry, he’s been strangely melancholy, recently. Jin Ling hates that, too.

It’s Hanguang Jun that Jin Ling approaches in the end. Oddly, he’s the one who’s angriest at him, Wei Wuxian had just waved off his apologies and asked him to introduce him to the maker of the talismans, and never mentioned it again.

“I really am sorry,” Jin Ling tells him. “I want to know how to fix it.”

Hanguang Jun is silent for a long time, and Jin Ling braces himself for dismissal, to be told he can’t, that it was his fault in the first place, he should stay away from Hanguang Jun’s husband.

“It is hard to speak when you are afraid,” Hanguang Jun observes. Which, what? Yes, of course. But why now? Jin Ling nods uncertainly. “Why should Jiang Wanyin be afraid of Wei Ying?”

Oh. Huh? “He’s not, he’s never…” Jin Ling trails off, uncertain. He’d grown up secure in the knowledge that Uncle Jiang would protect him from the evil Yiling Patriarch. That he wasn;t afraid of him. Things were apparently far more complicated than that, but Jiujiu had never been afraid of Wei Wuxian. So why wouldn’t he tell the secret. What did he think his secret would do, that hasn’t happened already? They barely even look at each other anymore! Hanguang Jun just keeps his steady gaze on Jin Ling, waiting for an answer. “Um. He was afraid… to hurt him?” asks Jin Ling.

He gets a slight nod in affirmation.

“You’d think Senior Wei would know all the awful things already,” Jin Ling says, quietly. Wei Wuxian’s life kind of sucked.

“Sometimes, it isn’t the terrible things that hurt,” says Hanguang Jun.

Jin Ling peers at him closely. “Does Hanguang Jun know my uncle’s secret?” he asks.

“No,” he says, and explains nothing further. “And Wei Ying does not.” He looks up then, over Jin Ling’s head, towards the door. “Wei Ying does not need to know, if he trusts Jiang Wanyin.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, lightly. “Who would have thought Lan Zhan would be defending Jiang Cheng some day, hm?”

“He’s right, Wei Qianbei,” Jin Ling hurries to say. “Jiujiu cares for you. He says awful things, he’ll say, ‘You’re a stupid brat, who raised you, I should break your legs’ but he doesn’t mean any of it. Except maybe the stupid part.”

Wei Wuxian laughs again, then drops a hand to Jin Ling’s head. “I know, A-Ling,” he says, the name sounding so fond when he says it. “He’s my brother, and that part of him hasn’t changed.”

“He hasn’t changed,” says Jin Ling, fiercely. Jiujiu is the only constant in Jin Ling’s life, he wouldn’t just become something else.

“He has though,” says Wei Wuxian softly. “He’s all grown up, now. The last time I saw him, he was little older than you. And look at him now, keeping secrets from his shixiong.”

“I don’t believe he ever called you that,” says Jin Ling, because his nose is sour and he doesn’t want to cry.

“No, no, you’re right, he didn’t,” says Wei Wuxian, a little more cheerfully.

They put themselves back together slowly. Wei Wuxian makes an effort to reach out again, far more determined this time. With some pointed nudging from Jin Ling, Jiujiu tries his best to meet him half way.

It’s not easy. There is. There is so much between them that Jin Ling will never understand, broken promises and dead family, and debts that can never be repaid.

It shouldn’t be possible, to put all of that aside and start anew. Especially not for Jiujiu, who held his grudges forever, and didn’t quite believe in second chances.

They had once been the twin prides of Yunmeng though.

They don’t care that it shouldn’t be possible.

They do it anyway.

[Inspired by this post because holy shit I love Yunmeng Pride reconciliation fics so incredibly much, but it’s not always about divulging that secret really, is it? I just wanted to write one which is definitely about that secret but also not if that makes any sense. I’m not sure if I succeeded, if I confused you I apologize.]

#jiang cheng #wei wuxian #jin ling #yunmeng shuangjie #yunmeng brothers #yunmeng shuangjie reconciliation

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cryxtal-moon · 3 years ago

Text

little cart of wonders | ksj - 02

Summary: Those born with the ability to use magic are rare. They hide in plain sight while helping people with an ordinary career path they have chosen. You’re no different, until you get caught by Seokjin in a desperate attempt to help his friend. Things get more complicated when people you know with magic begin disappearing one by one, and you two take it upon yourselves to find them… even if it means losing your ability forever.

Genre/warnings: investor!Seokjin, cart owner!reader, magic au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, a teensy bit of angst, adventure, reader has magic, Seokjin is a little stern at the start, Seokjin is adorably bad at feelings and flirting but he gets better and that’s what matters hehe, some TXT members show up too yea

Word count: 3k

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

Author's note: part 2 here we go :)

In all the years of using magic to help people, you pride yourself in knowing how to keep it a secret, for the simple fact that you were one of the most at risk.

You didn’t hide within the walls of a skyscraper steel and glass building one floor away from disappearing into the azure sky completely or confine yourself to a large room with a charming view of the cityscape like your brother. Working in an office was, quite frankly, one of your worst fears. Nor did you have a private greenhouse laboratory where you could brew magic potions disguised as medicine from plants you nurtured like your mother. Your father didn’t have the ability – he was the only normal one entrusted with the secret, but went about imparting knowledge all the same to hundreds of students in literature classes.

You went with a more upfront approach, your love for helping people directly overruling the worry of your methods not being entirely conventional, though it had taken some convincing for your parents to agree. Lessons in business management throughout your time in high school were merely a safety net should you ever change your mind, even if they just taught you where to buy materials to make the trinkets displayed on the cart.

Three days have passed since your last encounter with Seokjin. You hadn’t dared to go anywhere near the college vicinity in fear of running into either of them again, not even with the notion of worrying over whether you had managed to help Jungkook. Everything had happened in a blur too quick for your mind to process, yet your concerns if you had used the right spell of inspiration were eased when you saw an envelope on the table, the usual magic cheque at the end of each month inside.

Hoseok, your high school best friend turned successful dance choreographer for an entertainment industry, probably gained another set of abdominal muscles from how much rambunctious laughter was still wracking his body. Recounting the entire tale to him was apparently much more effective than any gym workouts Jimin put him through.

“You just left him standing there?” He managed to get out between bouts of giggles you would have normally found infectious if it weren’t for how annoyed you were. “Oh my god, I would have killed to see the look on his face.”

The dancer was also one of the few friends you trusted implicitly to keep your family secret.

“Stop laughing!” Your harsh whack to his shoulder just made him double over. How he was able to properly walk down a bustling city street next to you was truly miraculous. “It’s not funny, okay? He knows my secret now. He’ll probably tell everyone else to stay away from me cause I’m a complete nut–“

“Okay, let me just stop you there,” a hand on your shoulder quite literally halted you in your tracks, unintentionally next to a convenience store’s outdoor shelf of magazines. “Who’s gonna believe him, hm? When you first told me, I thought you were crazy. I didn’t tell my friends cause they’d probably think the same.”

You bit your lip, still uncertain. “Really?”

“Without evidence, what’s he gonna say? Hey, I know this girl with powers. She stole my friend’s sketchbook and performed a magic trick right in front of me.”

A scoff of indignation and amusement huffed past your lips. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Exactly! See?” Hoseok winked with a giant grin, “You have nothing to worry about.”

It was then you turned to the right, sunlight glinting off a very uncomfortably familiar person on the cover of a random magazine catching your attention.

“Wait a second,” you pondered aloud, mostly to yourself, “is that…”

A few paces over and papers were fluttering in the slight breeze between your palms, Seokjin’s face staring back at you with a slight glare meant to intimidate, fierceness emphasised ten fold by the sharply-cut white shirt, black tie and slacks adorning his form where he perched on a high stool. Business Times in an equally razor-edged font was printed in black across the top though it didn’t take away from the undeniably handsome young man.

The magazine started to tremble a little in your grasp. “This…” your voice was barely above a frightened whisper, “this is him.”

Hoseok wasted no time in going over, curiously eyeing the cover. “Who?”

“The guy I revealed my powers to.”

“Seokjin?” He peered a little closer to the image. “Hey! That’s Kim Seokjin!”

“You know him?”

“We shared an elective in college for a year,” he shrugged as though it was the most casual piece of information he carried around with him, despite how it made you stare at him like he’d sprouted a second head. “He’s an investor? Amazing… his career must have really taken off.”

Curiosity had you flipping the pages to where the article about him was written and it wasn’t too far from the content page seeing as he was literally on the cover, A Companion To Start-Ups being the title they went with. A modern company logo of a white club symbol, the same one found on poker cards, stood inside overlapping green and blue squares impressed beside the name Kim Investments. More pictures of him in the same outfit except in different positions – standing by the window with both hands in his pockets, and sitting before a table they brought as a prop to pretend to work – were featured, all found next to a bunch of immaculate white text of transcribed interview questions and his answers.

“We always said he was handsome but wow,” rustling of fabric reached your ears as he removed his phone from one of his jean pockets, “I need this for blackmail. Don’t move.”

You could feel the familiar beginnings of another panic mode overtaking your mind, but it halted in its tracks in processing his words. “What blackmail? These pictures aren’t bad.”

“Ah, _____, you wouldn’t get it,” he shook his head with an air of resignation, “he used to call himself worldwide handsome like all the time. We teased him for being narcissistic, but he always got shy when others complimented him. Just wait till I send this to the group. Namjoon and Yoongi are gonna freak.”

“I don’t believe freaking out is even in Yoongi’s nature,” you clapped the magazine shut tightly, placing it back among its friends, “and did you not hear what I said? He knows my secret! And now I find out he’s some big shot investor? He could sell me out to the public and that’s it. My family wouldn’t be safe anymore.”

“_____. Calm. Down,” Hoseok’s lowered tenor indicated his seriousness, this time gripping both your shoulders and shaking them to knock some sense back into you. “I know Seokjin. He’s trustworthy. All you need to do is explain to him the same way you did me. I promise he’ll listen to you.”

You sighed, his words doing little to comfort you. “Yeah, but how? It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.”

“Uh, hello?” Two arms waved wildly around in the air like he was trying to imitate a bird flapping its wings. “I have his number. I mean, we haven’t talked in awhile, but he never turns down visits from old friends. It just so happens I know exactly where his company building is, and it’s his lunch break.”

“How do you know that?”

“Social media does wonders in helping you find out what people are doing,” a few more taps on his phone screen and he was shoving the device in your face, what you recognised to be a post on Instagram taking up half the page with an aesthetic image of noodles next to an array of side dishes. “Also, he has a food account. Now come on.”

You barely had time to ponder over the peculiarity of a high powered businessman owning a blog similar to most food enthusiasts, feet clumsily tripping over a crack in the sidewalk when he grabbed your hand and pulled you alongside him, heading in the direction of his parked Subaru. “We’re doing this now?”

Hoseok shot you another smile over his shoulder, big and blinding. “No time like the present, sunshine.”

Kim Investments turned out to be a carbon copy of the massive skyscraper publishing company your brother owned, literally positioned a couple of blocks down, so close you could walk and be there in less than ten minutes flat. Tinted glass panels you knew were extensive windows covered the outside of the building completely, shiny enough to reflect the azure expanse of sky and clouds but conserving privacy so people could only guess what went on in those office rooms.

They just had to construct the front door out of glass as well, taking the chance to show off the name plate etched in elegant gold cursive on the overhanging awning. Everything appeared to be accented in gold from the mug of complimentary black ballpoint pens on the counter, to the waterfall again detailing the company’s name against a stone wall, to the crystal chandelier secured in the middle of the ceiling, to the designer outfits and accessories hanging off the arms of employees lounging around the front desk or lift lobby.

You could literally feel the heat of their gazes searing through your jacket sleeves and self-consciousness had you doing a quick once over of your attire; verdant jacket, white shirt, light wash skinny jeans (that thankfully weren’t ripped for the sake of fashion, intact to provide absolute coverage), and black sneakers. It was sad how the only item in gold you had to match the atmosphere was a drop necklace, a singular vertical bar hanging off one end, but it was better than nothing. A black blazer Hoseok had shrugged on in his car was his saving grace, sufficiently business-like so he didn’t draw too much unwanted attention.

You continued to glare at the smooth swoosh of the sliding doors opening to welcome you and him in, a little too reminiscent of Cheol-su’s building and you briefly wondered if Seokjin used the same interior designer as him when he first started out. Flecks of gold were even moulded into the surface of a marble counter you approached upon arrival.

“Hello,” your friend said with a certain charm he used in formal situations to the receptionist, “we’re here to see Mr Kim Seokjin.”

Light clicking of a keyboard reached your ears and she was looking up again, “Mr Kim is currently on his lunch break. Do you have a scheduled appointment afterwards?”

“No, but I’m an old friend of his. My name is Jung Hoseok.”

This time there was the rustle of paper as she pulled a black clipboard out of a hidden drawer, one perfectly manicured blood red nail sliding down the first page, probably with a black table or list printed on it.

“Ah, yes. You’re on his personal guest list.”

You nearly choked on the perfumed oxygen in the room. His what?

You could barely contain the smile threatening to burst on your face, though it did fade slightly when he led you past the fancy gantry you swiped using guest passes you received and to four polished golden elevators, two on each side. Honestly, you shouldn’t have expected any less.

“Seriously?” A laugh bubbled past you in the silence of the lift, louder than classical music streaming from overhead speakers. “Why does he have a personal guest list?”

In spite of the nudge to your left arm, his smile gave away the shared amusement, “Just be grateful. We wouldn’t be here without it.”

The elevator doors mimicked the same swish as the glass entrance but your frown disappeared once you stepped out into a massive cafeteria two times the size of the one in your old high school and a thousand times fancier. Vases of white orchids with dots of violet in the center graced each hardwood table, equally spaced out among themselves for walking room, white cushioned chairs adorning both sides. Stalls of food somehow appeared pristine, a far cry from the ones you’d seen in outdoor food courts. A spiral staircase was built at the far corner leading up to the second floor – a space you gasped outrightly at – and had the same gold metal railing you saw lining the elevator walls.

Only the gentle pressure of Hoseok’s arm around your shoulder guiding you deeper into the room reminded you that this wasn’t some complex dream. The memory of how he accused you to be a thief, one you had ridiculously proven otherwise, slowed your footsteps down so you were trailing behind him as he approached a door attached to an adjacent hallway.

“Knock knock,” ring-clad knuckles rapped on a darker wood though didn’t wait for the typical come in that would come after, simply pushing the handle down to peek his head in, “is the worldwide handsome in here?”

“Hoseok?” Muffled scraping of a chair could be heard on the grey carpeted floor before your friend’s entire stature disappeared behind the frame, at least at your vantage point against the wall where you were temporarily hidden from him. “Hey, it’s really you. What brings you here?”

“Well, I heard–“ long fingers wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you into view and you visibly flinched under the shocked widen of his eyes “–you had a rather interesting encounter with my pal _____.”

Eyes flickering up, you only allowed yourself to meet his gaze for a second, mustering the friendliest smile you could but it was tinged with awkwardness, “H-hi. Nice to see you, again…”

You didn’t have to glance up again to know he was pointing at you. “_____? How do you know each other?”

“That’s simple. College friend,” he referred to Seokjin while thrusting you forward none-too-gently, “meet high school friend.”

Once all three of you had settled down around a circle table filled with the dishes you saw on his online post, and he promised Hoseok he wouldn’t call any authorities on you, anxious butterflies fluttered relentlessly in the pit of your stomach. Somewhere between fiddling your fingers, hoping your stare didn’t burn a hole through the table’s surface and listening to the piano music streaming from a radio on a nearby counter, you wondered whether the awkward silence that had settled was bothering him as much as it was you. There was an entire speech you planned encompassing how your family had the inborn ability to sense and help people in need, how you were part of it and how important it was to be kept secret, yet the first thing that left your mouth just to dispel the uncomfortable quietness was,

“Do you believe in magic?”

That was all it took for Hoseok to burst out laughing, jovial sounds piercing the balloon of tension in the room with a sharp needle. “You’re starting with that?”

You landed another punch to his shoulder. “Hey! You’re not helping.”

Seokjin, however, remained unaffected by his reaction. The only form of visible surprise you saw was the way his doe eyes widened because his tone was calm in his next sentence, “Not really, why do you ask?”

You could almost taste the metallic tang of blood with how hard your teeth were assaulting your lower lip, “You’re gonna have to.”

That was all it took for you to launch off into the five-minute (you had timed yourself) backstory, words like the rapid-fire of a machine gun spilling from your mouth and not quite giving him space to ask questions or room for yourself to breathe. Hoseok, much to your relief, found a cup of ramen in the cupboard to entertain himself with and hadn’t interrupted once, other than the occasional snicker at his friend’s different expressions of confusion and intense focus in trying to understand everything.

It was just the tip of the iceberg, but you had second thoughts he actually believed you the moment you revealed that there were other people around the country hiding in plain sight too.

Only upon breaching the subject of meeting Jungkook did he speak up. “So that’s why he’s been going to the park so much?”

You nodded, white knuckles regaining their colour as you loosened your grip on the hem of your shirt. At least he didn’t look one second away from grabbing his phone and calling a mental hospital.

“Magic has a way of drawing people who need help to me. To them, it’ll just seem like coincidence.”

Seokjin looked down at his noodles, colder in the time he spent listening to you. “How exactly do you help them?”

A deep breath gave you the strength to continue, “You know I asked if you needed luck? Or courage?”

“Yeah…?”

“That’s what the trinkets are for,” you could see how he was trying to remember what he saw that night in the clearing, so you supplied, “The ones on the cart. All of them are filled with magic, but each has a different purpose.”

“Filled with magic?” He frowned, trying to understand. “Like… what you did yesterday?”

“That’s how I instil it, yes,” this time, you tightened your fingers around your arms. “I gave Jungkook inspiration. The next time he uses his sketchbook, he’ll get ideas right away. Also,” you straightened your spine to its full height, “I didn’t mean to steal his stuff. I just wanted to visit him and see what I could do to help, honest.”

“Oh, come on,” Hoseok cut in, a mischievous glint in his irises, “what’s a better meet cute than someone thinking you’re a thief and chasing you down?”

Now it was your turn to be puzzled. “Meet cute?”

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” it confused you more to see a light shade of red dusting the tips of Seokjin’s ears while he reached around to rub the back of his neck, “for thinking you’re a thief.”

The entire daunting businessman image he exuded seemed to crumble slightly, and you found yourself able to relax more, shoulder blades slumping into the cushy backrest. “It’s okay. So… are we cool now? You won’t tell anyone about this, right?”

“Tell who? No one will believe me.”

Hoseok reached out to plop his palm on your head and ruffle your hair affectionately, “Told you.”

“Oh shut up.”

The shake of the choreographer’s head coincided with Seokjin rising to his feet, sweeping invisible specks of dust off the front of his blazer. “If that’s all, I need to attend a meeting now.”

The return of that persona made your heart jolt and it translated to the stutter in your next words, “Y-yeah, of course.”

A curt nod was sent your way, and then he turned to his old classmate. “It was nice to see you again, Hobi.”

“You too,” both guys exchanged a quick hug, “I’ll treat you to lunch one of these days. You can’t stay cooped up in your stuffy office forever.”

He sighed with feigned disappointment, “You sound just like my mum.”

“She’s right, though.”

The butterflies you felt earlier created a destructive tornado battling the walls of your tummy as Seokjin’s gaze lingered on you before you parted ways at the lift lobby, the investor taking one up to his penthouse-like office and you returning to the lobby, but you just brushed it off as remaining fear of his reaction to your secret.

Besides, there was no way you’d ever see him again.

#bts #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts reactions #kim seokjin #kim seokjin imagine #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin fluff #seokjin imagine #seokjin x reader #seokjin scenarios #seokjin scenario #fic: little cart of wonders

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