#I assure you those are noodles in the first image

[kerakn]

femtanyl x parappa because im braindread hehehuhu

[cherrychilli]

18+ Living painting! Steve x F! reader, supernatural AU, monsterfucking (kind of), lil bit of angst, mentions of blood, mentions of bodily injury, oral sex (f), allusions to unprotected PIV sex

WC: 2.9K

A/N: So, I found the painting in the middle on Pinterest and couldn't help thinking that he looked pretty similar to Steve and this happened to be during the time I became interested in writing a monsterfucking fic of my own. It all kind of fell into place that night and I pretty much fell in love with the idea of a Steve who's a literal work of art that comes to life at night and becomes your secret supernatural boyfriend💛 I'm still figuring these two out but this is what I've come up with so far. Enjoy!

One week had passed and the remains of the old picture frame still sat in the waste basket in your kitchen, the ends of splintered poplar jutting up and out of the rim like jagged teeth.

It taunted you like a sneer but you made no move to empty it. Not until you knew for certain if he'd come back or not.

The new frame you'd selected was made of polished, treated pinewood. Sturdy and reliable, you were assured. You only hoped your glassy eyes had nothing to do with how strongly the sales lady had urged you of the frame's durability. Anything to clear you out before the other customers noticed the beginnings of tears wetting your lashes, a part of you suspected.

But the brand-new frame felt firm in your trembling hands. Solid. Sleek. Unbreakable, you hoped. Now all you had to do was wait while doing your best to disregard the many whispers of your neighbors as you passed by them in your apartment building.

"He must have found someone better", Mrs. Owens had muttered haughtily to her husband as you departed the elevator after exchanging forced smiles with the older couple, never knowing how close she'd come to having one of her gaudy gold earrings ripped right out of her lobe had you not managed to contain yourself at the last second.

"I think they might have broken up", you caught Tiffany from 20F's whisper directed at her boyfriend when you walked by them in the hallway, their tight, sympathetic smiles making your stomach churn as you hauled in your grocery bags containing only beer, instant noodles and a pack of cigarettes. The first pack you'd touched in a long time.

"Seriously? I never even got a look at the guy", he'd whispered back to her in a whine.

Sometimes you wondered what kind of image they'd conjured up of Steve. After all, there's only so much you can imagine when all you have to go by is what you can sometimes hear through the walls of your apartment.

~

That night, you stared at his painting while you sat at the foot of your bed like you had every night for the past week, waiting.

The rip in the canvas that ran up the length of his forearm stared back at you. Looking at it made your own arm sting, like fishing hooks in your skin.

Around you, your apartment had fallen into clutter but you didn't dare try to dust or clean again until you knew for certain if what you'd done had ruined everything for good or not.

"Please come back", you chanted under your breath as the minutes passed, waiting as patiently as you could for 12.00am to arrive. You hoped he'd come out of his frame like he had all those nights before. You hoped those brushstrokes would warp into flesh and blood once again despite the unintended gash marring the painting's canvas. You hoped to feel his warmth under your fingertips tonight.

You craved it.

You needed it.

But he doesn't come.

The clock ticks past 12.10am and you let your eyes slip shut before the tears start again.

~

When you wake, you see that the time’s 12.56am once you'd managed to blink the sleep fog away from your eyes, finding a sheet draped over your body and your cheek resting on a pillow you hadn't placed there yourself.

Springing up, your throat grows tight, like rope around your windpipe and you very nearly choke at the sight of the empty framed canvas hanging on your bedroom wall, nothing but swathes of buttery yellows, whites and greys pictured where there once was a pale brunette in the foreground too.

The five inch long cut that'd been made when the painting had scraped against the edge of your dresser was absent from the canvas as well, you notice, frantically kicking off your sheets to begin searching your apartment.

He's peacefully clearing up in the kitchen when you find him, a fresh kitchen towel wrapped securely around his forearm but you can see the blood stains seeping through the pale blue cotton from where you stand.

"You're out of bandages", he smiles when he sees you and it nearly makes your knees buckle, the doorframe holding you up as you lean against it for support.

"Does it hurt?", you manage to ask, eyeing the bloodied towel sadly, guilt scraping at you from the inside out like a saw grinding against your bones. It was all your fault.

"Barely", he answers and you almost believe him. Almost.

It's Steve who crosses the distance first because your legs have grown too weak to do so, reaching out with his injured arm to cup your cheek lovingly.

He notices too late that the blood from his wound has managed to trail down to his thumb. A crimson thumbprint stains your cheek and he attempts to wipe it away from your skin but you stop him before he has the chance.

"Don't", you plead. You didn't want to wipe that trace of him away, not after thinking you'd lost him. Not when you want to wear it on you like rubies.

"I could see you the whole time", he tells you, looking all kinds of apologetic for the worry he’d caused you. "Wanted to tear through that damn frame and be with you. I needed to hold you and tell you that I was okay – that you didn't need to cry anymore but this–" he clutches his injured arm. "I don't know why I couldn't come out sooner– I don't understand this– I still don't understand this", he gestures to himself and it's with a deep pang of sympathy that you understand his frustration.

His entire existence was an anomaly. For all the months you had spent together since you'd first discovered him, the both of you were yet to know how it was that Steve came to be. What had brought him to life? what other kinds of limitations were there? what did this all mean for your relationship? The thing is, none of these questions would be answered tonight because none them mattered to you right now. He was here again and that's all that really mattered.

"We don't have to. Not right away at least", you tell him, fisting the front of his white shirt with your hands, clutching him. "Just promise me you'll always come back", you plead softly, voice cracking as you sniff back a sob.

Smiling again, Steve cradles your face with both hands then, returning your adoring gaze with his mossy, cinnamon eyes. "I promise."

You're quick to lean into him after that, your arms winding tight around his waist as his drop lower to wrap around your back, pulling you in closer as you hold each other for a while.

It's no ordinary embrace. You spend those few blissful minutes memorizing every detail; his scent, his warmth, the gentle beat of his heart as you press your cheek to his chest, relishing all the little things about him that you thought you'd lost forever.

And then you're reminded of his injury, the thin, still bleeding slash running down his arm that the two of you are yet to attend to.

"Let me patch you up", you pull back to look up into his eyes, thinking of the spare first aid kit you had tucked away somewhere deep in your closet.

He only smiles back at you in that way that makes it impossible not to feel so cherished, like you’re the only thing he’ll ever treasure in this strange life he’s been granted.

"Later."

Gently, Steve interlaces his fingers with yours, pulling you into the kitchen and guiding you towards the kitchen dining table.

You watch closely as he pushes the clutter that'd gathered there off the table with his free hand, letting the empty grocery bags and more fall to the floor. You don't even have it in you to feel ashamed of the mess, too relieved to have him back, too pleased to give yourself to Steve as he wraps his large hands around the back of your thighs, lifting you up and placing you down on your table with your legs dangling off the edge.

Neither of you are surprised when things begin to take on a feverish, needy haze as your legs spread further for him to step between. His hands find the hem of your old, oversized t-shirt so he can pull it up over your bare breasts and over your head, stripping you of it and tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties.

Five and a half hours remain until the sun is due to come up and he'll have to climb back into frame again.

It just doesn't feel like enough.

With how badly you've missed him this past week you feel like you'll need an hour just to kiss him, another to let him explore you, one more for you to return the favor and the rest to wrap yourselves around each other – both of you connected, exchanging the same shaky breath back and forth, fanning the flames of each other’s' fire as you take him so deep inside that you'll carry the forthcoming soreness between your legs with a smile.

For now, though, Steve's kisses start off slow and lazy. Soft licks swipe along your bottom lip before you grant him entry into your mouth and his tongue finds yours, wrapping around it all languid and sloppy. It doesn't take long for him to begin sucking on it gently, eagerly swallowing down the many moans that rise up from your throat when his fingers start to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples.

It's impossible to keep from squirming when he touches you like this, knowing exactly where you're most sensitive and how best to stimulate you. It almost feels like he's weaponized all the knowledge he’s accrued during your time together, circling your nipples with his thumbs, bringing you right up to the cusp of just enough but purposefully withholding more – dangling your pleasure out of arm's reach

Unable to tame your greed because, how could you? how could anyone after what you’ve been through? you try to seek out more. You arch your back and push your chest out to meet Steve’s hands but all that does is make him pull away from your lips, a gentle chuckle working its way up his throat.

"Not yet, baby, not yet. Be a good girl and I'll treat you right."

You’re just about ready to pout and give him your most imploring, desperate Bambi eyes but he attaches himself to your neck next, teeth grazing your pulse point, lips forming a tight seal on your skin as he sucks fresh hickeys on to the surface.

Head lolling back, you can already imagine the sour scowl sure to twist Mrs. Owens' face when she sees the result of Steve’s work tomorrow, a grin emerging on your face as you plan to display the hickeys proudly instead of make any kind of effort to conceal them later.

But just as quickly as the thought had emerged, it falls to the wayside as Steve begins to grow less gentle, his lips leaving your neck as he urges you to lay your back flat against the table. Your own touches are growing more insistent as you help him rid himself of his shirt too, running your hands up the plane of his soft stomach, fingers trailing through his thick chest hair, loving the way it tickles your palms when you do so.

Leaning over you, he begins his descent down your body by pressing one last hot kiss at your neck and then two more between your breasts and on your stomach, gently pushing your knees further apart as he brings his mouth closer to your clothed cunt. You yield to him easily, soft and pliant under his touch like a bud unfurling its petals, ready to bloom. Your breath catches as his lips kiss up your inner thigh, his tongue seeking out your core, dragging over the damp cotton of your panties when he finds it.

Your reaction is instantaneous, hips twitching and whining for him just how he likes when he hooks his finger around the gusset of your panties, pulling it up so that it sinks firmly between your folds. The bump of your swollen clit is so obvious and easy to find underneath the stretched-out fabric and the curls between your legs peek out around the now tight, narrow strip of material. It feels so vulgar when he plays with you like this – so right because you’ve come to love it so much, even to the point you can’t imagine being touched any other way.

“Steve”, you can’t help the high-pitched rasp your voice has taken on, hips twitching again when he smirks and pulls on your panties hard enough for the material to drag over your clit and make you yelp.

And even now, when you're both so desperate for each other, he takes the time to tease you – loving the way you try to urge him on by wiggling your hips and the near pitiful way you whimper out "please".

"I promise. I'm going to treat you so good, sweetheart. Can you hold on a little longer for me, please? I know baby, I know – I just need to play with her a little bit first, okay? Gonna have my tongue on you soon", he coos sweetly in an attempt to placate you as he reaches for the waistband of your panties next.

You lift up your hips to help him get them off, a fresh flare of heat surging through your cheeks when you notice how he has to peel the sticky cotton from your cunt, catching sight of the glistening webs of slick that stretch from your pussy lips to your ruined underwear.

That self-conscious burn doesn’t remain for very long though because during your time together you've learned that Steve likes it messy. So, you're not surprised when you look up to find his face bright with delight, spreading your legs again once he's got your panties off from around your ankles, placing his thumbs on either side of your puffy lips and pulling you open.

"That's my girl", he mutters, his face so close you can feel his breath fan over your naked cunt. “So beautiful.”

He watches your wet hole clench and flex with an unquenchable fascination while you prop yourself up on your elbows and bite down on your lip, both of you unblinking when he gently pulls up your hood to get a good look at your throbbing clit.

“Aw baby. You’ve needed me badly, haven’t you?”, he looks up from between your legs, licking the pad of his thumb before pressing it against your swelling clit to rub slow circles into the sensitive bead.

You sigh out blissfully at the much-needed stimulation, thankful for it as your toes curl and you begin to nod your head. “Missed you so much”, you tell him through a whimper, nails dragging across varnished walnut.

At your admission, you see him reach between his legs to rub at the tent in his pants, lightly grinding his crotch into his palm for some relief. "I missed you too”, he tells you earnestly, letting loose a deep groan that makes your belly twist and somersault with want.

Watching him only makes the ache between your own legs worse and as if sensing that, Steve gathers your thighs in each hand, placing them over his shoulders.

"I'll never make you wait again", he promises, leaning down low, his tongue slipping inside where you needed him most and just like that, after a week of feeling utterly fractured, like you were nothing more than a collection of shattered pieces in shambles, you’re suddenly made whole once again.

~

You hated that he couldn't stay with you in bed, both of you naked, sweaty and sticky, legs tangled together. Steve’s chest is practically pasted to your back as you both lay on your side, his arms around your waist, his soft cock against your bare ass, his cum leaking from between your legs and his lips busy at your neck.

His cut has stopped bleeding too, you were relieved to notice, a layer of scar tissue already forming in its place. Add that to the list of peculiar things you were yet to understand about Steve.

With a quick glance at the clock that shifts into a glare, you realize how quickly Steve must leave you with only ten minutes left until sun up. You wanted those minutes to stretch on as slowly as molasses, anything to keep him here beside you just a little longer.

"Let me help you clean up in here tomorrow", he kisses your cheek, pulling you away from the previous bitter thought.

You can still smell yourself on his lips the same way you're sure he can probably smell himself on yours, your tongue heavy with the taste of his spend as you keep swirling the muscle up against the roof of your mouth, sucking the remnants from it.

"Okay", you sigh contently, nuzzling your cheek against your pillow, pressing yourself against his naked form a little more.

"Don't drop me again, okay?", he chuckles against your skin like he can’t help it, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re quick to pinch him on one of the arms he’s got wrapped around your waist. "Don't even joke about that. I thought I lost you", you turn to face him with a pout, one he's quick and plenty eager to kiss away with a smile.

"You didn't. You won't. I'm yours, always."

[rieindiegames]

Every April Fool's Day...

I'd like to add onto my 2022 year joke about, "Turnabout Kai." As I didn't have time to code the full scene this year, please enjoy the opening episode transcript instead!

Day 1, 9:23 AM - Ise’s Throne Room

Seina: …..

Ceres: M’lady? M’lady, are you well?

Seina: Huh? Sorry, what did you say?

Ceres: Ise shared the portal to the Realm Summit Meeting is ready. Have you everything you need?

Seina: (I should. Ceres checked, double checked, and triple checked our luggage. Despite Ise’s insistence we’d merely need three changes of clothes and some toiletries. One bag at the most.)

Seina: Yes, I believe we have it all. Unless there’s something I forgot?

Ceres: Well, you’ve seemed distracted all morning, so I’m worried you have?

Seina: Look, I already apologized for spilling milk all over the table instead of into my tea this morning.

Ceres: My concern remains because it was the floor. You’d yet to sit at the aforementioned table.

Seina: Yes, but that was the only mishap!

Ceres: And the sugar I swapped for the salt you grabbed. And the cup in place of the saucer you raised to your lips. And…

Seina: I get it! So I’m a little nervous! That’s no crime is it?

Ceres: No, it isn’t. Forgive me for troubling you about it, but I hope you rest assured. You’re wonderful at public speaking. Ise would agree.

We pan to Ise, where there’s luggage in place of his sprite.

Ise: If my entire wardrobe doesn’t fit, I’m not leaving.

Attendant: M’Lord, it won’t fit. This bag is too large…

Ise: Nonsense. I bring it every year! Fetch someone with arms that aren’t noodles and you’ll see.

Ceres: Wha-What happened to one bag?

Ise: It IS one. I never mentioned the size, did I?

Ceres: Three outfits implies minimal size.

Ise: Maybe for your pitiful wardrobe it does, but I’m a king. I have an image to maintain.

Seina: Bags aside, can we go?

Ise: GAH! KAIMANA!? Why are you sweating like a mortal at a cannibal’s butcher-shop?

Seina: I already said I’m nervous! Quit pointing it out!

Ise: Hahaha, don’t be. You’re the first mortal to attend, and nobody’s ever ruined this meeting before.

Seina: (Comforting. Thanks.)

Ise: You’ll be fine! If it helps, remember these three fail-safe awkward encounter enders. The smile. The laugh. And saying, “I look forward to our continued prosperity.” That’s how I ace it every year.

Seina: I doubt I can deliver those with as much gusto as you, but I’ll keep it in mind.

Attendant: Attendant wheezing* M’Lord…spare me…your bag…

Ise: Seriously, every year with you. Kai!

Kai appears and Seina jolts.

Seina: (Yep. Still not used to that. Especially since he pierces me with a glare every time.)

Seina: What? Why are you looking at me like that?

Kai: Why are you so sweaty? It’s creepy.

Seina: Anybody else want to comment!? You’d be nervous too if you were me!

Kai: No, I wouldn’t.

Seina: Listen here—

Ise: Come enough bickering. We’ll be late if we don’t leave now. Kai, my bag. Kai shoves the bag clean through and disappears with it.

Ise: See? Told you it’d fit.

Seina: (Then why didn't you call him in the… Nevermind. I wonder how much of that was Kai’s sheer willpower.)

Ise steps through behind Kai. Then Ceres and Seina walk up to the portal.

Ceres: After you, M’lady.

Seina: …Here goes.

To Be Continued...

[letarasstuff]

Making the Voice quieter

(A/N): This was requested by an anon. I hope you like it!

Summary: Spencer finds out about his daughter's eating disorder, he will he react?

Warnings: Angst, discription of an eating disorder (bulemia to be more specific), discription of (binge) eating, bad body image, self hatred, abuse of pills (diet pills)

Wordcount: 2.2k

✨Masterlist✨

______________________________

Prison. Cat. Diana. All those things happened close to each other. Luckily a few months have passed since then and slowly everything settles down. Spencer is able to get his feelings sorted through, processing the events.

Ever since his imprisonment he follows a more or less strict routine, given the uncertainty coming with his job. Spencer still tries to keep it up. So is every Friday dedicated to buying the majority of groceries and needed non food articles.

Sometimes (Y/N) tags along, other days she already has plans with her friends. Her father doesn’t mind it much, he is happy to see her socializing with people her age. The two of them have one father-daughter-night in the week anyways.

“Sweetheart, I’m heading out! Did you put everything you need on the list?” He shouts into the apartment. A faint “Yes! Love you!” echoes back to him. A smile forms on the doctor’s face. Oh how he longed to hear those words from her every night while he laid in his bed, locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. “Alright, love you, too!”

Meanwhile her father has to deal with Karens being their ignorant selfs, (Y/N) is under the biggest stress she has ever been. The end of her sophomore year and suddenly every teacher thinks it’s alright to give the students a load of work in every single class.

It’s beginning to get to her head. Four essays, three projects and studying for two tests and everything is due next week. She can see herself sitting at that very desk for the whole weekend, trying to contain control of her current situation.

As (Y/N) begins to read the page in front of her again to pull any information from it, it feels like her brain shuts down. Only one thought possesses her. One thing that can assure her, make her happy again.

Her body moves automatically, into the kitchen to the fridge. Her hands grab what they can. Puddings, yogurts, bananas, apples, last night’s dinner, everything that she can carry. Then the teenager sits down at the floor and devours everything she just got out. (Y/N) doesn’t stop until she gets to this intense feeling of being full.

It seems like she snaps out of a trance. Upon seeing what she ate in the shortest time, the girl feels even worse. Quickly she tries to destroy any kind of evidence, getting the trash out, making the fridge appear more full than it is, anything.

In her panicked state she remembers the small container of pills in her room. Relief washes over (Y/N), thinking everything will be better. She takes two of them for good measurement.

With the relief also guilt takes over. What just happened wasn’t normal. But (Y/N) tells herself that she can stop any time she wants. It’s not like she is sick or something, everything is fine. It’s just her way to copy stress. A way she discovered while her father was in prison. The diet pills help her to undo her mistakes. Someone from her friend group, who is already 18, got her them from the doctor for a fair price.

Feeling calmer now, the teenager sits back at her desk. A new perception of control helps her to continue her school work. She has to get done as much as possible, because in not even half an hour (Y/N)’s best friend will be the toilet.

Spencer is completely obvious to it. Sure, he is a profiler and he noticed his daughter’s new view on eating healthy food and working out. He just assumes that (Y/N) and her friends are on a healthy trip and he doesn’t see a problem in this. On the contrary, he is happy that she wants to be good to herself and her body.

But as the weeks go on, a suspicious feeling captures him. “(Y/N)? Why is the fridge nearly empty? We got groceries last Friday and it’s only Tuesday. Did you have a party over here while I was away on the case?” Spencer enters his daughter’s room, trying to joke about it.

(Y/N) freezes. Of course she isn’t able to say that the food went bad and she threw them away, her father is meticulous regarding this subject, always checking the best before day date. “Uhm, please don’t be mad. But Alex, you know her, the short one with red hair, uhm her parents are on a business trip and she is not the best cook. So I brought her lunch and dinner over. I’m sorry for not telling you.” She looks down at the floor, not only to feign sadness but also to avoid his eyes.

The second the teenager talks Spencer knows there is something fishy. Her voice is higher and she fidget with her hands. But he writes it off as being nervous for not telling him. Ever since he is out of prison, it feels like his daughter is withholding something.

“It’s fine, Sweetheart. Just give me a heads-up beforehand, so I know to buy more groceries. What do you think about ordering something tonight? I heard from Luke that a small Chinese restaurant opened a few streets down. We can celebrate the end of the stressful phase in Sophomore year.”

It seems like (Y/N) is calculating something in her head. Spencer knows exactly what she thinks about. “You can forget about your calorie intake for one night. I see how much time you invest in living healthy, but we can let loose for a night together. Just some noodles with chicken or spring rolls and us trying to use chopsticks and giving up after two minutes and resorting to forks. How does that sound?”

The teenager would love to sigh, but it would only alarm her father further. “Yeah, you are right. Let us let loose. But only if I can choose the movie we watch after dinner!” (Y/N) feels bad for eating unhealthy food again. Her last binge was only yesterday and usually she tries to consume lighter things. But she has to bite into the sour apple, else her father will be more suspicious. After all, she can just stop. (Y/N) promises herself to not think about her weight, her shape or the calories she will eat.

Well yeah, no. Just after the first noodle hits her tongue, intrusive thoughts take a seat in her mind, getting settled.

‘You already look like a potato.’

‘Are you sure this is the right thing to eat?’

‘Can you really stop?’

‘Dad is going to hate you when he finds out.’

All of them and more enter her head. (Y/N) is unable to shake them off. She is fine. She doesn’t have a problem. She just doesn’t feel like eating now, that’s fine, right?

“Uhm Dad. I’m full and really tired from the day. Is it ok if I go to bed? Maybe we can rain check on that movie?” The girl asks, feeling even worse for ditching her father. Usually it’s the other way around.

“Are you feeling ok? You look a little pale. Are you sick?” Spencer fires his question canone being the borderline helicopter father he always is. “Yes, just really exhausted from all the assignment and school work. A good night's rest and I will be good as new.” (Y/N) attempts a small smile, but fails miserably at it.

“Ok, sleep tight baby. I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge for you tomorrow.” Quickly she goes into her room. The thoughts in her head scream louder and louder with each step she takes. Can she really stop? Maybe she should come clean to her father.

‘And risking him hating you? Look at you, thinking you are sane is the only thing keeping him from abandoning you. How would you explain him keeping you otherwise? It’s definitely not for your looks.’

Later that night, (Y/N) hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep because of the voices, she makes her way back to the kitchen. In an attempt to distract herself, the teenager scrolled through her social media sites. There she was met by pictures of perfect people.

Perfect bodies. Perfect lives. Perfect smiles. Perfect family. Perfect friends. Everything about them is perfect.

And then there is her. Her body is unperfect. Her life is a mess. Her smile is not that of a model. Her family is just her, her father and the people he works with. Her friends aren’t always the best associates.

The stress of not feeling enough is getting to (Y/N)’s head. Like several times before that her body goes into auto. She doesn’t control her movements, though she tells herself all of this is willently.

Like so many times before the girl goes through the fridge and eats everything up she can get her fingers on. But this time one thing is different. Her father is at home. And he isn’t a heavy sleeper.

The movement in the kitchen wakes him up. Immediately his brain jumps to a burglar or even worse, an UnSub they once arrested coming after him. Quickly he gets his revolver and sneaks through the hallway to the source of the noises. As Spencer only sees his daughter sitting there, he instantly relaxes.

“Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing up? It’s a school night”, he softly asks in order to not scare her. Still, (Y/N) gets startled at the sudden voice.

“Uhm, nothing much. Just hungry. Probably because I didn’t eat dinner”, she explains, looking at her father like he caught her with her hand stuck in the cookie jar. Spencer watches her closely. “This is it? Because from what it looks like you not only ate your dinner but also tomorrow’s breakfast and right now lunch.”

(Y/N) swallows her bite, feeling that sinking reality in her stomach. The pills. She needs the pills fast before her body begins to digest the food. “Uhm, yeah. I probably should go to bed. I need my sleep. Just let me tidy up. Good night, Dad.” But he is quick to stop her.

“(Y/N), I want you to sit down. There is something we have to talk about.” Hesitantly (Y/N) takes a seat. “What is it Dad? Are you reprimanding me for eating? I thought you wanted me to let loose for a night.”

Spencer sits, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Baby, I want you to be alright. But I think you are not.” His eyes get a sad look. “I’m alright. I am fine, Dad. What do you think is wrong with me?”

“Look, (Y/N), I don’t need to be a profiler to see that you are struggling with something. Do you want to tell me about it?” Her answer is a tight lipped smile and a “I’m fine. There is nothing to talk about.”

The father sighs. She is not leaving him much of a choice. “And what about them?” Spencer asks after getting something from the highest shelf in the kitchen, the one (Y/N) barely reaches by stepping on a stool. He sets a little container down on the table.

“Dad I-” “No (Y/N). You don’t need to explain anything. It’s my turn to talk. I found those in your room yesterday while I was looking for a book. At first I thought nothing of it, I mean you are trying to live healthy, so I thought this is part of the process. But then I saw that they have to be prescribed and I know that these aren’t yours.

“I wanted to talk about it with you anyway. But now I know that I caught you binge eating and I see all the signs. I see them and I’m sorry for not acting sooner. (Y/N), you need help and I’m here for you. I know the last few months were especially hard on you. I can’t change what was and what happened, but I will be here for you now." Tears stream down on boths their faces.

(Y/N) is stammering for words. “I-I am fine. I can stop anytime I want. Th-this was a conscious d-decision.” Her father envelops her in a hug, cradling her head to his chest. She begins to sob.

“I know, Sweetheart. It’s hard and it won’t get easier from here on, but I’m here. You know you can’t stop, it’s only an illusion your eating disorder wants you to believe. But we get through it together. You, I and the team if you want to. We take it at your pace.” By now the two are crying loudly.

“I want it to stop, Dad. Please make the voice go away.”

He can’t make it go away. No one can. But Spencer helps to quiet it. Together they tackle the disorder, through the good and the bad times. He takes off from work for a time and (Y/N) out of school for a few weeks to be able to work on it together, to make the voice quieter and her life better.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962

[narrators-journal]

Step one

Hoo boy, this one is potentially dark as fuck, so remember that this is entirely fantasy. Do not think this is healthy or copy anything here.

Cw: heavy heavy nsfw. Drugging, b+e, somnophilia, Illumi gets possessive lowkey

previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi used the month or so you were closed off and mourning to try and dig up as much intimate info on you as he could, from childhood fears to how many times you've had sex. With this knowledge added to his collection, the last thing he needed to do was set up a cover story, than introduce himself. If this fails, she can be killed, or trained He told himself as he read through your social media on his laptop, ignoring a nagging sense of dread he hadn't felt since his first solo kill as a child.

The cover story was easy enough, murdering the people across the street from your home was boringly simple, setting them up to die of heart attacks and a break in, waiting out the investigation, nothing new to the assassin. By the time things had cleared up there, you were beginning to cheer up anyway, which was good, it'd be easier for Illumi to court you if you weren't verging into suicidal territory. Finally, the day came when he moved into the home, much to the teary refusal of his mother.       "I'm not leaving permanently," Illumi assured her the day he moved out, taking only a duffel bag of clothing with him, the issue was that his mother was holding him in a hug and refusing to let go. "You were so excited for me to be courting a woman, you can't sob and cling to me when I need to move out to properly 'woo' her." His voice was level and uninterested, as always, though on the inside he did feel a bit of reluctance at leaving, which was why he guessed he didn't use a lot of force to remove his mother's iron grip.        "I know, but why can't you go about the process from home?" she blubbered, Illumi's father standing a bit behind her sighing at her antics,              "To build up proper propinquity I need to be near her a lot, I cannot do that from here while also doing my work. Besides, it is relatively frowned upon for a 24 year old to still be living with their parents, so I need to have my own place for...the later portion." Sadly, even logic didn't calm Kikyo down, so Silva was forced to pry her from Illumi and simply wished the long haired assassin well as the man left. To atone for the sin of leaving the Zoldyck estate, Illumi was required to call his mother at least once a day, but other than that, he was free to live across the street from you when he wasn't working. This set up proved to be very useful, as it allowed him to linger on the street without suspicion, watch you from his windows, and it gave him more opportunities to run into you 'organically', despite having your meager outing schedule memorized already, and more. The day he moved in properly, Illumi was helping a trio of butlers move furniture in, trying to seem as normal as possible since he could see you sitting on your porch, getting some fresh air while also watching your new neighbor curiously. It's good to see her out at least, vitamin D is necessary for good health. he thought as he moved the last bit of strategically aged furniture into the home, letting the butlers return home after that. If he was to blend in, he'd have to slum it for a while after all. Though, he could put up with that as long as you stayed as friendly as you were the first night he was there. It was pretty late, the dark hours cooling the relatively warm air of the late spring day when he heard a knock at the door, but when he opened, there you were, your (h/l), (h/c) hair pulled away from your face, in a (f/c) jacket and some of your nicer casual clothes,       "Hello! I'm sorry if you were asleep or anything, but I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" you chirped, your kind smile making something weird happen to his heart, but he hid that, not wanting to scare you by saying he was having a heart attack,      "Ah, hello miss. No, I was just trying to cook some dinner, not to worry." he assured, watching you relax a bit before tilting his head, "I'm sorry if this is curt, but have we met?" he asked, your (e/c) eyes shining with confusion for a moment before realization washed that away,       "Oh! you're the man I bumped into at that party!" he mimicked your stunned reaction, chatting a bit before you heard angry sizzling from his kitchen, the sound earning a concerned look from you. "Um?? Should you step outside?" you suggested, and when he looked in your eyes again, he saw that undeserved concern in those captivating orbs. That weird feeling returned in response, but Illumi repressed it once again,        "No, I believe that's just my food," he said nonchalantly, watching your expression change to panic, it was so intriguing to see how expressive you were compared to his family,        "Maybe you should go check on it??" you urged gently, the panicked look in your eyes compelling the empathy-less assassin to do as you said, so he nodded simply and returned to the pot of boiling water that was leaking with angry bubbles splashing water onto the burner. He simply turned the stove off and returned to you once the water had settled again. You were still there, nervously peeking in to try and check on him he assumed.        "Why didn't you come in?" He asked, making you jump,        "I-I wasn't invited, it's rude to just walk in." you pointed out, and he mentally kicked himself for forgetting that fact briefly. Though he verbally just sighed in defeat, running a hand through his long, silky hair.         "Actually, would it be uncouth of me to maybe ask if you would help me with something?" He asked, and when you shook your head he reluctantly continued, "You see, my family is rather well off, so I've...never learned to cook. Would you maybe teach me how to make the food?" He asked, and he liked to think it was the power of his natural charm that made you agree, not the pitiful mask of helplessness he put on. Either way though, you were now inside of his new home. Could this be considered a date? Illumi mused as he followed your instructions to bring the water to a boil again and put the store-bought noodles into the rolling liquid, People cook together as a date, so this should count as a date. He decided after a moment of watching you prepare food, following your orders until the two of you had managed to make a rather respectable looking dinner. He cemented this occassion's 'date' status by handing you a plate,          "It's fair that since you helped make it, you eat some of it with me." he pointed out when you went to refuse his offering. After that, the two of you sat in his living room in silence, neither making the first move to speak. For Illumi, the silence was comfortable, it gave him time to judge the weird thing that had happened with his insides. He wasn't dead, and the warm, fluttery sensation was fading, so it didn't seem to be fatal. I should get the family doctor to check me over. he decided as he ate, finally glancing over at you while you sat on the opposite end of the couch. Judging by the tension in your limbs and how you radiated discomfort, you were about to bolt like a scared rabbit. That's not good...

        "so." He hummed, hoping to ease your anxiety with some conversation, plus it'd give him a chance to dig into you, "why were you at that party?" There was a stretch of silence, your mood falling again for a moment, but than you seemed to put on a fake smile for him, how sweet.         "I'm a bit shy, so my friend decided to try and hook me up with a man she worked with." you explained, shrugging it off, "He ended up ditching me for some friends when we got there, so I didn't ask for a second date." Well of course your date went badly, you're supposed to be with me, not some stranger. a dark part of him thought, than stopped. What brought that up? I haven't even decided if she's really worth 'dating'. He reminded himself, but that possessive thought still lingered a bit more than he would've liked. However, that issue was for later, right now he wanted to see just how much information he could get you to willingly tell him.       "So, are you looking for a partner?" he asked, and he just caught a bit of a flustered epression on your (s/c) face at his question. He was beginning to enjoy seeing such an expression.        "R-right now? Um..not actively, b-but I'm not against a relationship." you said, not looking at him as you spoke, your body language screaming how flustered you were. After that, the two of you simply chatted, Illumi enjoying when you fully relaxed and opened up a bit more, but what felt like only a short time later, you were thanking him for the food and leaving for your own home. The tall man was polite back, but for the third time that night, his torso felt odd inside. He wanted to ask you to stay, maybe offer you a drink and slip a sedative into it, that way you'd stay the night, but no, he refrained from stopping you. If you drug her, she'll wake up tomorrow and be terrified of you. Maybe even call the cops. He told himself as he shut his door behind you. However, the thoughts were already there, making him groan. What is going on with me?! I'm losing control of myself so easily now. he thought, rubbing his face as if that would wipe away the bubbling waves of dark lust that were once again flooding his mind with images of you naked beneath him, calling out his name, mixing with the urge to control that he usually kept a close eye on. This is absolutely pathetic. She's not even that attractive! He chided himself, glaring down at the growing bulge in his pants as if it were to blame for his urges. Which, to a point was true, but either way it still twitched, demanding to be tended to. However, he refused to masturbate again. His sperm was precious, and while he could produce quite enough to impregnate a woman despite such a shameful act, he didn't like wasting his DNA. So, for a bit, he tried to cook up ways to relieve himself, unable to shake the lustful thoughts of you. Could he wait until tomorrow and lure you over again? No, that'd leave a horrid impression of him in your mind. Maybe he could sneak some aphrodisiacs into your food and than offer to help? No, that'd take too long, and he didn't know how long he could control his lust. Around eleven or so, Illumi finally came up with a satisfactory method. So, he turned his lights off and slipped out into the cool night to slither across the street and into your dark home. It was late enough that he knew you were asleep, so he was free to make his way in and towards your bedroom, What he wasn't expecting though, was to find you sleeping on your couch, your blanket fallen to the floor, revealing your pajamas to him. The sight only seemed to throw gasoline on the fire of neglected needs within him.       "now this is simply inappropriate," he breathed, shaking his head at your baggy t-shirt and (random color) panties, "(y/n), you should know better. Such outfits should be saved for your husband." He kept his voice low, making sure not to wake you as he chided you and his lightless eyes zeroed in on the bit of panty he could see with the way your shirt was ridden up ever so slightly. teasingly. He sighed, this would make his plan easier anyway. So, he just pulled out a needle of sedative and carefully moved you so that he could get access to your neck without waking you, sticking the needle in and injecting you with the fast acting drug. Within a few moments you were certain to stir for nothing less than a natural disaster, so he was free to do whatever he wished. The assassin's body burned with lust, his cock throbbing within his pants while he moved your thighs apart, revealing more of your panties. You weren't much to look at, he'd seen prettier women, but the feeling of your perfectly malleable thigh in his hand, seeing you so complacent and welcoming for him while his hormones were so out of control, you could've passed as a goddess in that moment. He wasted no time in removing your underwear, leaving your shirt and bra on so it'd be less work afterwards, revealing your most intimate parts to him with no arguments. It gave him such a rush to see you so obediently laying on your back, your legs apart and welcoming. your vulnerability was like a form of foreplay for him, but when he ran a slender finger up your slit and realized just how dry you were, it ruined his fantasy. Though, not enough to deter him. Instead of stopping, Illumi simply pushed your shirt up with your bra, using one hand to massage your breast while he kissed down your sternum and up the soft mound of flesh. His free hand slipped between the two of you, rubbing slow circles around your clit until breathy whines and moans slipped from your lips. Carefully, he teased your nipple between his fingers, simultaneously moving up to your throat until he found the spot that made you gasp and whine in your sleep again. The only downside was despite how badly he wanted to mark you, he couldn't. He had to wait until he securely had you, until then he couldn't leave any visual evidence of his actions. So, he nibbled and kissed the spot, but didn't bite too roughly and claim you. He simply teased you, rubbing your clit, massaging your breasts or hip, and pressing hungry kisses to your unresponsive lips until he could dip his fingers down into your warmth and pull them back coated with a healthy amount of slick. With you properly aroused, he eagerly freed his throbbing dick from his pants, giving himself a few pumps before running the head up and down your slit, making you hum at the stimulation. God, how he relished how your face twitched and you groaned at the feeling of him grabbing one of your legs with one of his hands before pushing into you. God the tight warmth alone could've made him cum, but he once again held himself back. He'd gone this far, he wasn't about to squander the opportunity to indulge himself by not savoring it. No, He simply grabbed your hips once fully inside and began moving, pretty soon slapping his hips into yours roughly. He might regret being so aggressive later, when it undoubtedly left you sore, or at the very least left bruises and scratches, but right now he just enjoyed the way your pussy squeezed around him and your breasts bounced with each rough thrust into your womb. He let out a few soft noises after a bit when the waves of pleasure began fogging over his mind again. The combination of your breathy moans, your warmth squeezing around him, begging to be filled, and the possessive urge to claim you continuously driving him forward, encouraging him to go until the blinding waves of pleasure erupted and he stilled himself so that every drop of cum was safely inside of your womb. It took him longer than usual to regain his composure afterwards, but when he did he swiftly pulled out, pulling his pants up and slipping your panties back onto you before too much of his essence escaped. He grimaced at the marks of his nails on your (s/c) flesh, though hopefully they would fade before you noticed. Right now though, his main priority was to get out of your home, and leave as little evidence as possible, save for his cum. He refused to feel sorry for filling his obviously needy wife with perfectly good semen. That's right. his wife. The phrase seemed to fit perfectly.

[starsfic]

10 Different Happenings: Long Xiaojiao

Summary: In different worlds, there are different what-ifs.

Here’s ten what-ifs for Long Xiaojiao.

(Notes: 1 is from @purble-turble’s Time Travel AU, 3 is from @cassidyisnowdrawing’s Swap AU, 4 is also a swap au from @strange-lace, 6 is from @winterpower98′s intro for Zan, 8 is a hc that @vegalocity had for my DND AU, and 9 is from @kitkat1003′s possessed MK au.)

-_-

1.

Xiaojiao had calmly been going about her business.

Well, calmly wasn’t the best descriptor. She was practicing for her new race, which was just zooming up and down the marked practice paths. Usually, Tang or Xiaotian would come to cheer her on. But something had blown up at the noodleshop that required Xiaotian and Red’s help and Tang was on standby in case an ambulance was needed.

Also to steal what noodles he could.

Leaving Xiaojiao to zoom back and forth alone.

Eventually, she called it a day. She should head to the shop to see if they needed help. Slowing down, Xiaojiao headed off the street. It was a smaller side street, empty of people. Like a good driver, she waited for a minute just in case some traffic popped up.

And then someone grabbed her collar and threw her into a wall.

Too startled to react, Xiaojiao felt her suit slip off. “Well, well, well...” The familiar voice made her crane her head up. “It looks like I found a poisonous little dragon.”

It was Red.

But not Red.

Unlike Xiaotian, Xiaojiao hadn’t heard much about Red’s travels through time. She knew there was a lot of timelines. She knew Red usually clung to Xiaotian after he got back. And she knew that it had all started when Red decided to not betray his boyfriend after...

King Red.

This must be him, from what little she heard. 

Fine robes, long wild hair, and a maniacal gleam in his eyes that told her he absolutely wanted to break her neck.

Xiaojiao attempted to get to her feet. Her stomach twisted and her head felt dizzy. “You know,” the king said as she tried to push through what was most certainly a concussion. “I was hoping to kill that weak little version of me. Or to check in on my poor darling.” The last word was panted out and she could almost see the lust radiating off the word.

She fought back a shiver of disgust as she finally got to her feet. She pulled out her sword. The king hummed.

“But you’ll do.”

2.

“Hey, Xiaojiao-” Xiaotian froze when he came into the room.

General Ironclad was running out of the hall. Away from the crashed motorcycle.

Away from Xiaojiao’s still body.

3.

“Hey, Green, have you seen-” Xiaojiao had entered the room to look for something.

Any thought escaped her mind when her best friend gasped and she got a proper look at him. “XIAOJIAO!” Green shrieked. “I told you to knock!” 

His face was bright red. His ponytail was three inches from falling out and his jacket was halfway off his shoulders, one side of his sweater’s collar pulled down. The biggest giveaway however was the distinctive red makeup smeared on his face and the smoke trailing from his lips.

She couldn’t help her laughter.

“What?”

4.

Xiaojiao came to with a groan.

For a moment, there was nothing but ringing in her ears. Eventually, it cleared and the first thing she heard was a groan. “Green?” she managed out, sitting up. “What-”

The garden. The sweet, sweet date Xiaotian had presented them with. Just being happy together.

And then those voices.

The voices of those creepy puppet versions of them! 

“Shit.” Xiaojiao managed out, scrambling to her feet. Her sundress was ruined, that was for sure. When she managed to stand, she got a good look at the damage.

The picnic table was nothing but splinters now, that was for sure. Most of the flowers that had created their clearing and the decorations that decorated it had been shredded in clear fury. There was no sign of Xiaotian. And Green was sitting up, clearly not on the same level of awareness she was.

“C’mon,” Xiaojiao scooped up the staff. Green yelped as she yanked him up. “We gotta find them!”

Before their puppet doppelgangers did anything to Xiaotian...

5.

“Oh, c’mon!”

Xiaojiao paused at the yell. She was heading to her parents’ house to assure them that she was alright and to see if they were okay. She hadn’t had a chance to check on them since the takeover began and... they were her parents.

She glanced down the alley. A small girl- barely fourteen if anything- was glaring up at an orange cat perched on a light. Guessing by his collar, he was the girl’s cat. “Hey!” Xiaojiao called. The girl turned as she hurried up to her. “Do you need help?”

The girl smiled. “Oh, yes please!”

Eventually, the game plan was for Xiaojiao to boost the girl up. “Can you reach him?” she called down below.

The younger girl strained, reaching hopefully for the cat. “Almost! C’mon, kitty, let’s- No!” There was a groan. “He jumped away, Miss.”

“That’s okay! We can find him.” Xiaojiao helped the girl down. The two started down the alley. “Oh, it’s Long Xiaojiao by the way.”

The girl gasped, eyes sparkling. “Oh, you’re the Monkie Kid’s friend!” Xiaojiao chuckled at the excitement, feeling a burst of pride for Xiaotian’s sake. “I’m Bai He!”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bai He.” She didn’t notice the faint white mist curl around their feet, not until a burst of cold shot up her spine. “Hey-”

Then something slammed into her, crawling into her mouth. The girl screamed next to her as she gagged and choked on the mist. Whispers rolled through her mind as the cold chilled her blood. She managed to turn towards Bai He, frozen and staring at her. She managed to whisper “Run.”

The last thing she saw was Bai He scrambling down the alley with a scream of “Monkie Kid!”

6.

Xiaojiao couldn’t help but laugh as she and Xiaotian look over the small pink baby monkey. “Okay, Zan,” she couldn’t help but coo. “This is very important. Who is your favorite between us?”

She and Xiaotian shared a snicker.

Then a high, squeaky voice spoke. “Like. B-both.”

Xiaojiao blinked. Next to her, Xiaotian gaped.

“DID SHE JUST SPEAK CHINESE!?”

7.

Xiaojiao snickered at the image that popped up on her screen.

It was Red. He was dressed in gossamer fabric and lunging off a stool at Qi Xiaotian.

She couldn’t help but grin at the clear meme format.

As long as Red never found out she started it.

8.

The beer was the crappy kind, enough to get them all buzzed. The minute Xiaojiao set the twelve pack on the table, Pigsy opened his mouth. She started before he could. “So, just so we’re clear, Bai He is not allowed to touch these.”

The kid, not even paying attention, looked up. Like the good troublemaker she was, she pouted. “Aw.”

Pigsy eyed his daughter. “Bai He, you’re fourteen.”

“Still!”

Xiaojiao couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s the crappy stuff, kid.” She sat down next to her, unable to resist ruffling her hair. “I’ll taking you drinking when you’re of age and we’ll get the good stuff.”

9.

Her best friend was gone.

He wasn’t dead, at least. But still, he was gone, lost in snow and madness. She had left him behind, left him crying frozen tears. She had to, if they hadn’t left she would be like Sandy and Tang.

But, still. Xiaojiao had left Xiaotian behind.

Behind her, Pigsy and Wukong were yelling at each other.

Xiaojiao couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

10.

The room was warm, both due to the blankets and the company of her partners. Their commitment ceremony was a few hours ago, something to replace the wedding Princess Iron Fan wanted.

Xiaojiao hummed as Red’s hand gently held her shoulder, bringing her and Xiaotian close. She pressed a kiss to his hand and couldn’t help her smile as Red’s hair sparked. Xiaotian hummed contently between them and she pressed a kiss to his temple too.

Sooner or later, instincts or Iron Fan’s attempted meddling would take over and Red and Xiaotian would start trying. Her own instincts of protect, keep away enemies was already starting to eat at her- but it was Xiaotian, her best friend. Her platonic partner.

Of course she would protect him and Red.

The movie started and she settled down.

But they had time.

[kitkat1003]

I finally caved and Made a Monkie Kid OC

Their name is Yin, but they go by Spirit because apparently there’s another guy named Yin who got the copyright first or whatever.  They aren’t too chuffed about it.

They fight dangerous spirits (think White Bone Spirit, for example) around the world, but what makes them so famous, or infamous, is that every powerful God and Demon owes them at least one favor.

All except one.  Monkey King, of course.

They don’t actually cash in those favors, instead keeping them as leverage.  To Spirit, you can’t trust anyone unless they owe you something, because if you haven’t done anything for them, what’s to stop them from killing you the moment they get annoyed by you?

Spirit uses the favors as a safety net, full of anxiety when around Sun Wukong, the most powerful being in the universe who they can’t be assured won’t get rid of them.  On the other hand, Monkey King and everyone else thinks that Spirit is some sleazy and powerful cool villain who has the world under his thumb.  Meanwhile Spirit is just an anxiety mess.

Spirit shows up at the Noodle Shop one day, curious about the whispers of Monkey King’s successor.  They offer to get rid of the White Bone Spirit for MK, for a favor.

MK declines.

Spirit doesn’t stop trying.  In their eyes, if they get MK to owe them something, he, and by proxy Monkey King, won’t be able to hurt them, and then they can finally be safe.

They sort of become a villain by association?  They are trying to manipulate MK, but they never ever cash in their favors, and actually like helping people.  Their anxiety and need for the safety net of a favor makes them a bit off putting, and Monkey King’s poor opinion of them doesn’t help their image.

But they’re sticking around, because MK makes them think they just might have a chance to relax.

[stiltonbasket]

Renouncement verse: you said lwj combs wwx hair in the morning, can you write the first time that happens? Maybe wwx gets overwhelmed but lwj won’t let him run away

anon 2: For your arranged marriage au, I would love it if you can do some domestic scenes between them. Basically things like hair brushing and braiding or making dumplings together, etc 🥺

(brief author’s note: please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

On Wei Wuxian’s first day as a married man, he opens his eyes at chen shi to find Lan Zhan still lying in the wedding bed at his side. 

When the two of them prepared for sleep the night before, Wei Wuxian expected Lan Zhan to retire in full dress, since he had done so every time the two of them slept in the same room before their engagement. During the time they spent traveling together, Lan Zhan only ever removed his shoes before going to bed; he even kept his hairpieces on, most of the time, and he only took them off to keep them from stabbing Wei Wuxian in the face on the few occasions where space constraints and over-booked inns required them to rest in the same bed.

On their wedding night, however, Lan Zhan undressed behind a privacy screen (nearly frightening Wei Wuxian back to death, given the context of what he and Lan Zhan are to each other now) before bathing in a wooden tub and emerging with his hair down and his forehead ribbon looped around his wrist. He was wearing a clean set of sleeping robes, loosely embroidered with clouds and white flowers to match the nightwear Wei Wuxian received as one of his many wedding gifts, and then they got under the covers and went to sleep without saying a word to each other. 

But they held each other the whole night through, which is why Wei Wuxian feels so painfully shy when he wakes up in Lan Zhan’s warm embrace with his left ear pressed over his husband’s pounding heart.

“Does being a newlywed excuse me from getting up at five?” he whispers, trying to hide his face in Lan Zhan’s soft gown. “Can I go back to sleep?”

He isn’t actually sleepy, though; the excitement of the wedding has been thoroughly transformed into the nervousness of a new bridegroom, bringing a thousand uncertainties about living in a new place, with a new family, and with new duties to tend to. No one expects him to do anything, he knows, but he has to do something, or—

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan leans down and kisses his forehead, calming his fears just enough for Wei Wuxian to decide that getting out of bed might be worth it today. “You may do whatever you like, and no one will think any worse of you for it. But will you eat before going back to sleep, at least? For me?”

They eat breakfast together after that, and Wei Wuxian notices that the meal seems pointedly unsuited to Gusu tastes. There is a little bamboo steamer filled with baozi, with pork and cabbage filling for Wei Wuxian (and possibly a vegetarian filling for Lan Zhan, though none of those end up in Wei Wuxian’s plate) and hot dry noodles coated with peanut sauce and chili oil, just like Jiang-shushu used to make for family breakfasts sometimes—and then a few plates with the usual trappings of a meal served to a bridal bedchamber, like sesame cakes and preserved dried longan fruits, but Wei Wuxian ignores them and sticks to the noodles and sweet millet porridge. After all, he rarely had sesame cakes during his childhood at Lotus Pier, and he likes lotus-seed cakes better, anyway. 

“There will be some for lunch,” Lan Zhan assures him, and Wei Wuxian flushes at the realization that he must have said that last aloud. “Brother sent a butterfly to tell you that Li Shuai intends to spend the next week cooking southern dishes and preserving them for you and Xiao-Yu to eat later on.”

Wei Wuxian feels his heart swell. “Really?” he smiles, finally reaching for one of the sesame cakes and putting it into his mouth. “But she’s supposed to be our guest, Lan Zhan.”

“Yu Zhenhong is with her,” his husband points out. “The pair of them took over the kitchens and drove out all the disciples on cooking duty. I expect that the whole clan will know what hot peppers taste like by tonight.”

Thoroughly cheered up by the mental image of A-Shuai cackling over a Lan kitchen cauldron and forcing it to learn the touch of chili paste for the first time, Wei Wuxian finishes his meal and then returns to the bedroom to dress, since he and Lan Zhan are expected at the hanshi for the auspicious hour to greet Lan Zhan’s family. He decides to dress in his usual colors, with a deep red undergown against his white silk chemise and a blue patterned over-robe on top of it all, and then he spends a few minutes choosing a new hair ornament: but the old wooden guans have been put aside for Xiao-Yu, and all of the silver hairpieces feel strange when he touches them, so Lan Zhan picks up the gold lotus comb and helps Wei Wuxian put it on. 

“You have thicker hair than I thought you did,” he murmurs, as he places the teeth of another comb—white ivory, this time, and part of Wei Wuxian’s wedding dowry—against the crown of Wei Wuxian’s head and smooths the knots out of his hair. “It curls a little, just here.”

Wei Wuxian nods drowsily. “I use hot oil to keep it straight. Jiang Cheng does, too.”

Lan Zhan nods and keeps working with his comb, brushing out every last snarl until Wei Wuxian’s hair is smooth and glossy again. It still falls in waves, since he hasn’t doused it in hot soybean oil since the day he left Yunmeng, but it looks presentable enough; and then they put their shoes on and get ready to leave, though Lan Zhan makes Wei Wuxian put a cloak on to keep the morning breeze off his shoulders.

“A-Yu has not seen you for nearly ten hours,” Lan Zhan reminds him, holding out his hand for Wei Wuxian to take. “Come, Wei Ying. We must fetch our son.”

Our son. 

Oh. 

He and Lan Zhan share two children. 

How on earth had he forgotten that?

We can make this work, he realizes. At least until Lan Zhan finds the person he really wants to marry. 

“All right,” Wei Wuxian laughs, lacing their fingers together. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

[illeee-girl]

La La(chimolala) Land Chapter Fifteen: Promise

jimin x reader genre: fluff, minor angst word count: 1.5k warnings: none

[Inspired by La La Land]

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Read on Ao3

The next morning is a Saturday. Crisp, blue daylight streams through your window, and the shadows of palm fronds dance across your duvet. With no reason to get up, you fall back asleep.

But a thought soon jolts you awake:

Park Jimin is asleep on my couch.

You jump up, throw on a robe, and brush your teeth.

Park Jimin is asleep on my couch!

As soon as you're all fixed up (a messy bun and a washed face is as good as it's going to get in the morning), you peer out from behind the wall that conceals your bed to glance out into your tiny living room.

You spot your boyfriend sleeping soundly on his stomach, his face nuzzled into one of your throw pillows. You draped a blanket over him last night, and now he's wrapped in it like a burrito. You quietly shuffle across the room, careful not to wake him up. His hair, now dyed a dark espresso tone, lays disheveled across the pillow he's claimed. You start to play with it lightly; you simply can't help yourself. This is the first time you've seen it anywhere near his natural color, and you like it.

His eyelids flutter open like fairy wings: gentle and soft and gorgeous.

"Morning, Chim Chim," you mutter softly.

"Morning, Jagiya," he whispers back. "Did you sleep well?"

You nod. "You should've told me you were so tired. I would've given you the bed."

"No, that's okay. I probably would've made one too many risqué jokes about your bed."

"Probably," you smirk, then kiss his forehead. "Does your back hurt? This can't be the most comfortable couch in the world to sleep on."

"Oh, it was fine. But my back is aching a little," he answers.

You move from your seat near his head to the edge of the couch near his side and start massaging circles into his tense muscles.

"Mmm," he hums. You feel him relaxing beneath your palms. "You should've told me you were so good at giving massages. I would've snatched you up a lot faster."

"You snatched me up plenty fast," you kiss his shoulder blade, then walk over into the kitchen. "Jessenia was so worried I was jumping in too quickly. They all were, really. And I was, too, a bit. We all thought you were too good to be true." You open the fridge to look for some juice.

Jimin props his elbows up on his chosen pillow, chin resting in both hands. "That was clearly before Diana and Tae became a thing," he says mindlessly.

You slam the fridge door shut. "What?"

"She hasn't told you?" His hands move to cover his mouth. "Whoops."

You cross your arms and move towards him. "Tell me everything."

"Breakfast first," he pops up, pecks your lips quickly, then opens your pantry. "Dang, you have a ton of instant noodles."

"Jimin . . ."

"What's this 'Honey Bunches of Oats' stuff? You must really like it, 'cause there's two giant boxes—"

"It's cereal. I get them from Costco, to save money. Now tell me everything you know about Tae and Diana."

"I'm hungry," he wines, lips puffing into an extremely kissable pout. He's doing this on purpose, you fortify yourself. To try to get you to forget about Tae and Diana. Don't let him get away with it.

You slam the pantry door shut and stand in front of it. "There. Now I have leverage. No breakfast until I hear the full story. Go."

He leans one arm against the door, his other hand brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. "I don't know," his lips twitch. "I might be able to distract you . . ."

Panic mode engages, and you dodge him, leaving the pantry unguarded. Before you know it, he's poured two bowls of cereal and two glasses of orange juice and is carrying them out to your balcony. "Join me out here, and I'll tell you everything."

You rush to your seat at the patio table.

He tells you about how they've been messaging nonstop, and how Tae came to LA a few weeks ago for a couple of days to spend time with her. It doesn't prove to be as juicy of a story as you'd hoped, so the conversation turns to other topics: work, the band, the movie, parents, siblings, travel, books, k-dramas—everything and nothing. Bowls of cereal turn into a platter of fruit and plates of waffles, eggs, and bacon. It's a leisurely brunch with Jimin on your balcony in Burbank, and it's the best Saturday morning you've ever had. So you savor every moment.

But then, as you're sipping your third glass of orange juice, he asks:

"So . . . how do we do this?"

It's a question you don't have a great answer to—at all. You're never going to give up screenwriting, especially not now that Red Writer is almost in post-production. And you're never going to ask him to leave BTS, even if he wanted to. But those two things are in two different places, nearly six thousand miles apart. Even if you moved to Korea for him, he'd still have to leave all the time for tours and such. There was no great solution to your situation.

"I . . . I don't know," you respond.

Then you realize something.

"Wait. Weren't you forming a plan in your head last night?"

He smiles. "It was mostly just to tell you that I loved you and then . . . go from there. But I never formed a solid plan as to how to move forward." He smiles softly. "My mind could never move past imaging how you would react to what I had to say."

Neither could mine.

"Well it does change things," you say. "Now that I know you love me, and you know I love you, we can be a little more confident in our relationship when we're apart."

"That's true."

"But I . . ." you look out towards the mountains. "I do wish things were different. I wish you didn't have to go back."

Solemnity gathers in his eyes. "Me too."

"But you do, and I have to stay here, and there's nothing we can do to change that."

"No," he agrees, "but we can try our hardest with what we're given. That's our job in life, after all, isn't it? To do the best with what we've got?"

You nod.

"So that's what we'll do. You'll enjoy amazing amounts of success here in LA once Red Writer releases and everyone falls in love with it, and I'll go back home and brag about you to everyone I know."

"I think you have that backwards," you say. "I'm the one who will be bragging about you."

"Very well," he grins. "We'll keep doing what we're good at, be grateful for the opportunities we're given, and brag about each other nonstop. I'll get my act together and actually answer when you call, no matter how tired or stressed I am." He turns serious. "Jagi, I'm so sorry for not answering you. I was just . . . nervous to show you that side of me. The less-than-happy, normal human side."

As always, Jimin's struggling pulls at your heartstrings, compelling you to run to his side and shield him from the waves of self-doubt and insecurity. You settle yourself on his lap and hold his face in your hands. "I would love to see that side of you, Jiminie. Don't ever think I expect you to be perfect. We all get tired and stressed sometimes." You chuckle. "Besides, it'll probably be good for my own self-esteem to see you as a flawed human. You're much prettier than me as it is."

"That's not true," he protests, wrinkling his nose. "But thank you, Jagi. For being accepting of me."

"We can write each other letters!" You stand up in excitement, crossing back to your own seat to finish your juice. "It'll be eighteenth century-level romantic."

He nods in agreement. "And we can FaceTime and do Saturday brunch every week, just like this. It'll be the middle of the night for me, but that's OK—I'm always up late anyway. And I'll send you stuff in the mail whenever I'm thinking of you—which, I can assure you, will be all the time."

You feel giddy at his sweetness. "Please do not send me too much stuff. I do not have room in this apartment for tons of plushies."

"No promises," he laughs the same way he did the day you met him, clearly and brightly and beautifully. "But promise me this," he rests his elbow on the table and extends his tiny pinky finger towards you. "That whenever you're feeling lonely, or unproductive, or lazy, or sad, or angry, or just plain crappy, you'll remember that I love you. Promise me."

You intertwine your pinky with his without hesitation. "I promise."

[recurring-polynya]

Apparently, if you send someone an ask, but then deactivate your Tumblr, the ask gets deleted. I got this from our old friend k-rukias, and fortunately, I already had it copied over, but anyway, that’s why this isn’t in the standard ask format. Anyway, k-rukias, I hope you’re still out there somewhere and there’s some way you can see this!

k-rukias asked:

you grasp byakuya’s character SO PERFECTLY it always makes me laugh out loud, especially your “Uncle B” stories. i’d love it if you could write more of the kuchiki-abarai family+ichika(maybe throw in some byakuya&toshiro being bffs) I SWEAR YOU DO THE DOMESTIC GENRE SO WELL one can tell you have kiddos 🥺💕

“Give Uncle Byakuya a big hug, Ichika,” Rukia instructed, stifling a yawn. “You’ll see him again on Saturday.” Despite the cheer in her voice, the second Ichika’s tiny face was buried in Byakuya’s chest, she shot her brother a thumbs up and a quizzical look.

Byakuya gave a very firm thumbs up in return. His inconsiderate adjutant was having yet another birthday, and Rukia had asked if they might hold a small family celebration at the manor this year. Byakuya wasn’t sure why. Surely the man would prefer not to see his commanding officer on his own birthday, but Byakuya loved his sister and had made the arrangements she requested.

Ichika finished rubbing her sticky cheeks all over the silk of his kimono. “Here, Uncle B,” she said, handing him a folded piece of paper. “It has to be just like this, okay?”

“Of course, my blossom,” he promised.

“No, it doesn’t,” Rukia mouthed to him behind Ichika’s back. “Okay, kiddo, you ready to go home and see if Daddy missed us?”

“I bet he fell asleep on the couch again!”

“We’ll find out! See you, Saturday, Brother!”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Sister,” Byakuya entreated her.

“If you have any questions, please call me,” she begged. “Or send a Hell Butterfly, or however you communicate with people these days.”

“I am very good at Text Messaging,” Byakuya assured her.

Rukia gave him an Extremely Disrespectful Look, which he tolerated, because she looked very much like Hisana when she made it.

“I will not have any questions.”

As his beloved sister and niece took their leave, he unfolded Ichika’s piece of paper.

He stared at it.

He had so many questions.

--

“I do appreciate that you texted before you came over,” Captain Hitsugaya informed him stonily. “But next time, could you text, like, more than a minute before you show up? Maybe wait for a reply?”

“Is now not a good time?” Byakuya asked. “Have I interrupted Squad 10 napping hours?”

“I just… would have picked up first,” Hitsugaya grumbled, trying to keep a stack of paper from falling off his desk. “And it’s always Squad 10 napping hours.”

Currently, Lieutenants Matsumoto and Kuna were sprawled out on the Squad 10 couches, snoring quite loudly.

“I have seen it worse in here,” Byakuya replied. “I am your,” he swallowed, “friend, and I accept your imperfections.”

Hitsugaya glowered at him. “What do you need?”

Byakuya spread Ichika’s instructions out on Hitsugaya’s desk. “Can you tell what this is?”

Hitsugaya’s eyes scanned the drawing: the lumpy creatures that might be rabbits, the crayon scribbles, the puddle of glitter. “Is this a test?”

“If it is, I am in danger of failing it,” Byakuya admitted.

“Ichika made this?” Hitsugaya guessed.

“I imagine the glitter gave it away.”

“Can’t you get Abarai to decipher it for you?”

“I cannot. I am hosting a ‘Surprise Birthday Party’ for him this weekend, and this represents Ichika’s vision of it. I need to identify the items in the picture so I can have them for the party.”

Hitsugaya nodded slowly. “Ah. These are probably balloons, then?”

Byakuya straightened up. “Balloons or lanterns? Or possibly the overhanging blooms of the wisteria?”

“You’re overthinking it. She’s five. It’s balloons. Can you ask Rukia?”

Byakuya’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Ichika’s art style bears a certain… resemblance to her mother’s. I am worried that if I ask for help…” he trailed off.

“Gotcha,” Hitsugaya replied brusquely. He sucked his teeth, and poked a finger at the page. “Well, this is obviously Abarai.”

“Yes, he is always distinguishable by virtue of the fact that she draws him three times as large as the rest of us.”

“Also, he’s the only one with pink hair and stripes,” Hitsugaya replied, raising an eyebrow. “Oversensitive, much?”

“I am only three inches shorter than he,” Byakuya grumbled. “The hair makes him look taller.”

“You are not getting any sympathy here, give it up,” Hitsugaya grumbled back. “He’s got a hat on, I think? A party hat?”

“Yes, I did get that far. We are all wearing hats.”

“Abarai also appears to either be wearing a lei, or he is in bankai.”

“A lei?”

“A flower necklace? We should have some around here, from the last time Matsumoto threw a luau.”

“Ah, thank you,” Byakuya replied. He had not actually expected Hitsugaya to be quite this helpful, and he wondered how he was going to repay the man’s patience in this matter.

“All this stuff on the table is… food, maybe? Gosh, I cannot tell what any of this is. These things look like fish, but they’re brown… taiyaki, maybe?”

“Oh, yes, I had figured that part out as well. Even I know that taiyaki is Abarai’s preferred celebratory food. I actually have a specially made mold--”

“You should make normal ones. Fish ones.”

“He likes Admiral Seaweed taiyaki.”

“It’s the man’s birthday, don’t make him pretend to like your weird taiyaki.”

“They have more crispy bits because of the arms and legs! He told me that specifically, in a complimentary manner!”

Hitsugaya gave him an Extremely Disrespectful Look. Unfortunately, the young man did not have the advantage of resembling Byakuya’s beautiful late wife.

--

Byakuya was distinctly Not Sure About This, but Hitsugaya had hit a wall and decided they needed to bring in ‘a bigger gun.’

Byakuya hadn’t actually set foot in the Squad 5 offices since Aizen’s departure. He didn’t have a lot of nice things to say about Aizen, generally, but at least the man had a classical taste in decor. Now, his former workspace more closely resembled the interior of an eclectic Living World coffee establishment for beatniks. One wall (but not the others) was painted orange, and covered in strange, stylized art that appeared to have been done by the captain and lieutenant themselves. The rug hurt his eyes. There was a beaded curtain.

“I don’t know why you thought I was going to have any insight on this, Shirou,” Lieutenant Hinamori grumped, squinting at the picture. “Renji’s the only one who can decipher these things.”

Byakuya could not help feeling the tiniest bit smug that he was not the only one who was sassed by his loved ones.

“Well, I figured you’d been to an Abarai birthday party or two,” Hitsugaya excused.

“Yeah,” Hinamori replied. “The grown-up ones. Unless this thing over here is supposed to be a tokkuri, and Captain and Lieutenant Kuchiki are arm wrestling, I can’t help you.” She frowned. “You’ve been to an Abarai birthday party, haven’t you?”

“They’re a little wild for my blood,” Hitsugaya excused. “And nobody likes drinking around their captain. I’ve been, but I usually leave before he starts bench-pressing people.”

“There are captains who come,” Momo pointed out. “And I doubt your presence would slow Matsumoto down, anyway, she’s impervious to that judgemental thing you do with your eyebrows.” She contemplated the paper. “What are these weird marks? Is this a speech bubble?”

“We couldn’t figure those out,” Hitsugaya admitted.

“Lemme take a look,” Captain Hirako, who was unfortunately present, announced. “Sometimes you gotta look at things from a different perspective.”

He turned the paper upside down. He turned it backwards. He turned it right side up, and turned his head sideways.

“I got nothing,” he replied. “Kid’s got good style though. And I think Momo may be onto something, actually. I went to Abarai’s last birthday party, and Kuchiki the Younger beat me at arm wrestling in an embarrassingly short amount of time.”

“It’s your noodle arms, sir,” Hinamori supplied. She stuck out her lower lip. “A different perspective, though, is not a bad idea. You know who you should go ask?”

Byakuya did not want to hear the answer.

--

“This is dango. This is katsudon. This is shaved ice.”

Byakuya was frantically taking notes.

“How… how can you tell?” Hitsugaya gaped.

Hachigou Nemuri regarded him with her serious, dark green eyes. “I have seen many of Abarai-chan’s drawings.”

Akon made a grumbling noise. “Abarai-chan’s drawing fuuuuu---udged up Nemu’s image recognition subroutines for months. I mean, it was a good thing, in the long run, I ended up implementing an entire art appreciation suite of dynamically created subroutines. It took me forever to figure out why she couldn’t recognize normal drawings of things, though.”

“What are these marks?” Byakuya asked, pointing to the funny squiggles hanging above everyone’s heads.

“Abarai-chan can’t write yet,” Nemu explained.

“Yes, I know that,” Byakuya replied.

“Writing is a form of communication that utilizes mutually understood symbols to convey an idea from one party to another,” Nemu recited. “Abarai-chan does not yet grasp the importance of a common dictionary in the delivery of information.”

Akon scratched his neck. “You’re saying Abarai-chan doesn’t know very many kana, so she just makes them up.”

“Correct,” Nemu agreed.

“Can you read them?” Hitsugaya asked hopefully.

“She does not employ a self-consistent character set.”

Byakuya and Hitsugaya’s eyes darted to Akon, who was unwrapping a piece of nicotine gum.

“She makes it up as she goes along,” he elaborated, cramming the gum in his mouth. “There is no translation.”

“Momo thought it might be a voice bubble, like in a cartoon,” Hitsugaya mused.

“Maybe it’s just a title to the piece,” Byakuya surmised. “Father’s Birthday Celebration’, for example.”

“Abarai-chan calls Lieutenant Abarai ‘Daddy’, not ‘Father’,” Nemu corrected.

“It was an example,” Byakuya bit off testily.

“This could be cherry shaved ice or strawberry shaved ice,” Nemu added hopefully. “Abarai-chan likes strawberry shaved ice, but I prefer cherry.”

“You are not attending this party,” Akon reminded her.

“I just thought Captain Kuchiki might be interested to know,” Nemu sniffed. “In case he felt like buying me a shaved ice. As a thank you for my services.”

--

Byakuya examined Ichika’s diagram and compared it to the celebratory items currently marring the beauty of his garden. He had the balloons. The hats. The dango. The taiyaki. Both strawberry and cherry shaved ice. “I think I have replicated everything,” he declared. “Have I missed anything?”

“You don’t have rabbit ears,” Hitsugaya replied dryly.

“The rabbit ears are symbolic,” Byakuya explained. “I am wearing the lei. You should put on a lei.”

“I am not putting on a lei. I am not in the picture at all, actually, so I think I should probably scram.”

“You could stay,” Byakuya replied, feeling a little odd about it.

Hitsugaya raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t this a family thing?”

Byakuya blinked. “Family gatherings are large, mandatory, and unpleasant. This is a small party and I am very fond of the Abarai.”

Hitsugaya just stared at him.

Byakuya squirmed. “The fact is… I am not good at things like this.”

“Of course you are. Ichika adores you. Rukia and Renji do, too.”

A normal person would have wrinkled their nose, or sucked their teeth, but Byakuya wasn’t really into making facial expressions, so he just made his usual one and stared off into the middle distance briefly. “Hisana was very good with people. At these times, I often think about how easily she would host a birthday party for a brother-in-law, how natural she would have been with Ichika. She loved children.” He contemplated the drawing. “I am sure she would have interpreted this perfectly, text and all.”

Hitsugaya, who did make facial expressions, blew air out of his cheeks. “If it makes you feel better, I can stay.”

“I would, very much, appreciate it.”

Seike, Byakuya’s chief retainer, shuffled out onto the engawa. “Lord Kuchiki, the Abarai are here.”

“Please escort them out here,” Byakuya replied, plunking a hat on Captain Hitsugaya’s head, and one on his own.

“It’s so unusual for Uncle Byakuya to invite us over on a Saturday,” Byakuya could hear Rukia’s voice before he could see her. His impression was that the ‘surprise’ involved in this party was a figleaf for Ichika’s sake. Abarai was a fool, but he wasn’t an idiot.

“What is this?” Abarai exclaimed as he and his family stepped through the doorway, although he did a genuine double-take at Byakuya’s flower necklace.

Ichika’s face lit up as she took in the decorations, the food. But then her expression turned to dismay at her uncle, standing still and awkward. He had missed something. It was the text. It was important after all.

Hitsugaya’s elbow jammed into his ribs. “Surprise!” the younger captain yelled. A voice bubble! Of course!

“Surprise!” Byakuya added, belatedly.

“Happy Birthday!” they shouted together, with Rukia and Ichika joining in a beat later.

“Well, I’ll be!” Abarai did his best impression of a surprised person.

“Were you surprised, Daddy!” Ichika asked, jumping up and down and tugging on her father’s hand. “Were you?”

“I was very surprised,” Abarai reassured her.

“Why is Captain Hitsugaya here?” Rukia asked, utterly befuddled.

“I heard there was shaved ice,” Hitsugaya excused very quickly.

“Uncle B did all of it, Daddy, just for you! Isn’t it perfect?”

“Of course it is,” Abarai snorted. “If Uncle B did it, how could it be otherwise?”

[nommy-thoughts]

Danger Noodles Chapter 6 Snuggles in the Living Room

Wordcount: ~900 words

Summary: The others get home and have to figure out where they’re spending the night.

Note: This version of chapter 6 only occurs in the non-vore timeline. In the vore timeline, chapter 6 is Panic in the Living Room and is completely different!

Cowritten with @that-prey-lounge​!

[Danger Noodles Masterpost]

~~~~~

Logan and Virgil had known that the twins were coming over for dinner, so they’d been expecting that when they opened their front door they’d find giant nagas in the living room. That apparently didn’t mean they were quite prepared to see it, however. The twins looked far bigger within the confines of a house than they did out in nature, surrounded by trees that at least were still taller than them. Their intercoiled tails covered the entire living room floor and part of the sofa.

“Well,” Virgil said, taking off his jacket to hang it in the entry closet. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”

“Indeed,” Logan agreed.

“Patt said he’d make us plates, right?” Virgil headed for the kitchen. A few moments later, he called back, “Found ’em. Want me to nuke yours for you, Lo?”

“Yes, please.” Logan picked his way over to the table and pulled out his notebook, immediately starting to sketch the giant nagas stretched out in the living room.

They were only still enough to sketch in detail when sleeping, it seemed. The twins moved a lot, and they would absently constrict things.

Hopefully the furniture survived their visit.

“Hey, Logan, correct me if I’m wrong.” Virgil set a plate in front of Logan. “But… do they have clothes on?“

“It seems so.“ Logan raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have to get a closer look. I wonder how it’s constructed.”

“Eat first, then poke our guests.”

“Very well.” Logan picked up his fork and started to eat, still looking at the nagas. “It’s minimal clothing, but clothing nonetheless.” Catching a glimpse of white on Remus’s belts, he frowned thoughtfully. “Are those… bones?”

“Don’t judge, you have more bones in your room than any goth I know.” Virgil sat down beside him, eating. “Is that Patton and Dee-Dee over there?”

Logan glanced over. Sure enough, Patton was snuggled down on top of the twins’ tails, Dee-Dee on top of him. “It seems to be so.”

“Should we get him down?”

“He seems at ease, and we know the twins aren’t going to constrict Patton while they’re asleep.”

“True. We’ve slept in those coils before.”

“Indeed.”

“And they’re gentle. With us, anyway.”

Logan nodded, mouth full of food.

“In conclusion… don’t bother them.”

“Elementary.”

Virgil scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes, holding it as though to flick it at Logan. “Shut up, Sherlock.”

Logan threw his arms over his book to protect it, but Virgil just stuffed the potatoes in his mouth.

Soon, the pair had finished their food, and were trying to figure out the rest of the night.

“How are we supposed to get to our rooms?”

Logan eyed the giant nagas and their roommate asleep on top of them. The large tails blocked off all three doorways leading off of the living room. He could see a small triangle in the upper corner of his own, but that was it, and it wasn’t even big enough to squeeze through. “I suspect that we’re not. But, at least we can still access the bathroom.”

Virgil shrugged as he took the plates back to the kitchen to put in the sink. “When in Rome…”

While Virgil washed their dishes, Logan toed his shoes off in the entryway, knowing that he’d be unable to avoid stepping on the thick coils. First he picked his way over to the couch, setting his notebook and drawing supplies on the empty cushion. Then, he crossed over to Patton, taking care not to tread too hard on the twins’ bodies.

Dee-Dee lay on Patton’s chest, the end of his tail looped once around Patton’s neck. Logan carefully slid a hand under his belly, lifting him up and untangling him from Patton. It wouldn’t be safe for someone so tiny to be stuck between two sleeping creatures so big, no matter how careful they were while awake.

Dee-Dee stirred, tiny hands grasping at Logan’s wrist. “Patton…”

“It’s alright, Dee-Dee,” Logan assured him softly. “I’m just moving you over to your tank for the night.”

Dee-Dee frowned, reaching for Patton. “Patton,” he said again, more insistently.

“Virgil and I will make sure he’s safe,” Logan promised. “But you gotta go to your own bed. You know that Patton would be devastated if anything happened to you.”

Dee-Dee pouted, but he allowed Logan to carry him over to his tank and set him inside.

“Sleep well, Dee-Dee,” Logan said, running a finger briefly down the little naga’s spine.

Dee-Dee nodded, still pouting, and slithered into his nest, burying himself in the substrate.

Logan made his way to the empty couch cushion again and buried himself in his sketches. Patton lounging among the coils, one of the twins’ torsos not far behind him, was too good an image to not get down.

Virgil finished up in the kitchen and immediately clambered up onto the coils. “Is it bad I missed this scaley bed? Snuggled up to Patton, between two ferocious beasts you know care?”

Logan shook his head. “It is comforting to many to have much physical contact.”

“Don’t stay up too late.” Virgil sighed happily and snuggled down, burying his face in Patton’s shoulder.

Logan smiled. “I won’t,” he murmured.

~~~~~

Epilogue

[zebraslovescupcakestoo]

Deviltown

An Obey Me! Fanfic with an @snowandseven OC and paired with Lucifer. Inspired by Beauty and the Beast’s scenes. You’ve been notified.

It was a typical Saturday in Devildom. The eternal night sky is slightly brighter during the day, the blood bats were 'cutely' screeching and Cerebus was very excited for walkies since he's been busy paroling the House of Lamentation's underground tomb. Accompanied with Beelzebub, whom he can handle Cerebus next to Lucifer, was the exchange student from the human realm, Valentine.

Deviltown, it's a quiet village - Every day, like the one before

They've stopped at the entrance of the Deviltown, which was the opposite side of Devildom's big city, was what you might called an old fashioned town. The buildings was like old peasant-like housing, brick walls, fairytale look a like, almost slightly before the Victorian style era began. Granted, there were some updated mechanics and technologies, but most were kept old fashioned charm. Valentine fell in love with this place due to being an 'old soul.' -no pun intended-  Whether he had an agenda or not, he'd come here for anything and re-enacted his fantasies of his 'Snow White' image. Valentine hopped down from Cerebus with his DeVil school bag, only exclusive for RAD students and specifically made for Valentine by Diavolo's request. Meaning Valentine's school bag was suitcase-like but turquoise coloured themed.

Deviltown, full of mythical people -

“Are you sure you can manage the tasks by yourself? You have quite a lot to cover and carry.” Beel said to him. Valentine smile and said with assurance. “I am fine and confident to carry the order. It is my duty and also part of an apology of a sort. I must at least show how appreciated you and your brothers that you've forgave, accepted as family and taught me what feeling are after what happened, my 'rebirth,' when my 'secret' revealed and my true motives are. I am determined to start over and gain your trust not as pawns or tools anymore, but as a family.” “Even though we're literally demons?” Beel asked. Val chuckled. “Of course! You've forgotten I was one too on the inside. I can still change, despite my actual age. Now, I must be going. I'll summon if I do indeed need of help. I shall make my best meals from the freshest- er... maybe I'll say it once I've made it. It will make you think of hunger more than it is already.” Thus Beel's stomach started to growl. “I think there's still something left from the fridge back home. I promise to make a feast fit for a king tonight if you can manage long enough!” Valentine thought of a quick strategy. If he can get Beelzebub to get away from the fresh market, he won't cause a scene to devour the entire produce sections. “... Alright. But will there be-”

“Sour raspberry pie? Yes and I can also make other goodies once I finished and- oh! He left already.” Beel had already left with Cerebus. Guess that a yes.

Valentine then started quest to search for his ingredients.

Waking up to say:

He was greeted by the town demon-folks. It was like any other trip, smile and be polite, but this time, he wanted to start practicing being a real, genuine person and not a mechanical doll. He learns a good handful to start on something easy like saying:

[DEMON FOLKS] : Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!

He greeted them back. He realized that he felt a little heart warming that wasn't there before. It's not much, but it was new to him. It was nice!

There goes the baker with his tray, like always - The same old bread and rolls to sell

The first thing he needed was fresh bread rolls and more bread for breakfast tomorrow. The owner of the bakery was a kind ogre. He too has a family and his shop was operated like one. Maybe he can try learning a bit from them if he have that chance, like now.

Every morning just the same - Since the morning that we came - To this poor provincial town

Valentine decided to learn how he interacted with his loving wife and maybe he can do the same when the time will come when he can make a pact with Lucifer. After all, he wanted to be more genuine when he says he does love him. "Good Morning, Valentine! Grocery shoppin' again for the lords?" The ogre baker asked Valentine. “Indeed, but I've decided to make tonight's meal a special treat. I would need...”

Valentine carefully chose the baked goods and he place them in his RAD suitcase. “Our generous lord Diavolo had blessed me with this lovely suitcase and even more is that one of my pact mate, Satan, had placed a special spell on it so that I can carry more than it looks.” The baker was impressed. “I'm impressed! I must say that if that involved magic as powerful as his, you're quite a human! Not many can make pacts from them, let alone being alive for so long.” Valentine felt a bit proud. For someone who's emotions are almost non-existence, the 'feelings' are new to him. Thus, he done his best by learning more and understand what the were. “Thank you for the compliment.” That was the supposed reply, he guessed. Before he asked the baker about his relationship advice, he started shouting in the kitchen, presumably the wife, something about the baguettes. Valentine knows that it's just the language barrier and it wasn't too difficult making out what they were REALLY saying, but it sounded like they were arguing. (But not really!) 'This must be one of those lover's quarrels situation that I've heard about.' He thought. Maybe some other time and leaves for the next item quest. [DEMON FOLKS]: Look there he goes, that boy is strange, no question.

Valentine continue to search for his ingredients. He was in luck for this time of year in Devildom, because it's their harvest season and there are so many delicacies and special imports from the human and celestial realm. Thanks to his brilliant, quick learning mind and his very good memory, he knew exactly what to look for AND finds items his pact mates been trying getting their hands on. Normally, his 'old' self would think this is for keeping them happy just to be pawns, but from now on, he must try to be like a family member.

Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?

He found a good amount of meats such as the FirePhoenix meat, MadCow hamburgs and steaks, FilthyPig pork chops and his Lucifer's favorite, the HellFurry Peacock's pack fit for a celebration dinner. (Or in this case, a 'modest' feast made for a future Demon king's coronation.) He got a fair amount in wrapped plastic. Cause it's for sanitary reasons, even in literal hell.

Never part of any crowd - 'Cause his head's up on some cloud

He then moved on to the next selling stand where they sell a fair amount of human and Celestial goods. The first ones that he immediately noticed was ramen noodles. Mammon and Leviathan’s favorite for on the go or gaming. He remembers the first time he saw this in his last cycle of 'rebirth.' It was in his human realm and he was catching up to the latest youth trends and he was offered a cup. 'You can now just add boiling water and it's done? What kind of magic is this? Is there really no time nowadays to even prep the meals?' Was his first reaction and to him, it's a descent food but not as good as home cook ones he's best at. Would you like to know how mind blown when one time he made a thanksgiving feasts one time to his previous roommates and they were in disbelief when he said it's just a 'normal' dinner?

The other story about it was when he eats it again, this time with 'THE' Mammon, he was taken aback when he devoured it like a beast with no manner. Maybe due to the fact that they were in Mammon's room and not at the dinner table that he think good manners doesn't apply. Valentine did his best, at the time, to show he's 'relate-able' by sipping the broth from his cup. Mammon noticed him and it started off their friendship on good terms. Looking back, deep down Mammon's a good guy and well, he IS his first pact in order for him to gain power... He must at least show him that he's sorry for using him as a tool. Maybe later he can help him with clearing his debt a little or get him off the hook from Lucifer... just once if it's minor.

He got the human world of chicken and beef flavored ramens for Mammon and the Shrimp flavored ones for Leviathan.

No denying he's a funny boy, that Val.

He then stopped to see the imported figurines called 'anime' as they called it. Val was thinking 'first it's animation, then cartoons and now anime?' He thought of Leviathan, his second pact. At first he thought that he was just a shut-in otaku, but as time goes on, he felt he can relate to him. He was scared of people hurting him. He can't understand what 'normal' humans do or 'normies' does. He is passionate on things he's very interested in like TSL and Rurui-chan. He did helped him out sometimes when fixing his uniform one time due to his cosplays and sewing.

He saw some limited key sets of the latest Rurui-can collectables and decided to buy the one that had his color themed and his. 'Maybe he'll like me more if I show this as 'friendship phone straps' and make most out of that gaming app Majolish.'

Bonjour! - Good day! - How is your family?

He searched all over the fresh produce market for vegetables, fruits and exotic herbs. He was thankful that Beelzebub was NOT with him at the moment and his charm spell has cast him away. Otherwise, there will be a concerning letter along another separate big grocery bill and that would make his Lucifer stressed.

He was his third and quite a formidable power house. Finding out his weakness was not so hard and his raw strength does come in handy at times like lifting the couch with one hand while eating a cucumber sandwich in the other.

But what he admire and now values in Beel the most was his kindness. Sure, he does act dangerously ferocious when he was denied food one too many times, but for his family especially for his twin, he would do anything for them. Valentine can learn a thing or two from him.

He already knew Sour Raspberry pies will be another easy favorites, so he made sure that he bought plenty for pies and at least one of them for the others.

Now as for the other twin and the seventh born, Belphegor, he was the one who revealed his 'rebirth' ability to others when he was killed again. To his surprise, he came back to life in hours rather in years unlike the human realm. Must be the realm's magic or something cause he's certainly sure it ain't from his heritage. Belphie was the one who made him confess everything, his true plans, his back story and his reason why he needed power. He thought that at the moment he was going to be kicked out and send back. But instead, they forgave him, said that they were literal demons to each other and that they wanted to start over again with him but be more honest and true.

Belphegor was probably the one who he can be more open and honest with himself when talking afterwards. Asides back rubs and talking about the stars, he does seems like a likeable character and he does care. Like himself, he tries to make amends for his big brothers from his mistakes.  

He saw some silky fabrics with night star patterns that reminded him of his favorite sleeping spot, the Planetarium. Maybe he can get some to make a pillow cover for him whenever he changes and washes out the laundry for bed sheets.

Bonjour! - Good day! - How is your wife?

He then came across the beauty sections where perfumes, jewelries, clothing, you name it is here. Too bad Asmodeous is being help up for catching up his neglected homework. He heard him dramatically sobbing from the other room of how 'cruel' it was for him being held up especially for today when fall fashion had just arrived today and that he'd always be the first in line.

I need six rotten eggs! - That's too expensive!

Asmodeous was the fourth he made pact with and to be fair, it was like they're staring at their own reflections of outer beauty wise. Both of them are beautiful in their characteristic ways such as Asmo is more self-care conscious while Val is more natural. They both shared much in common such as fashion statements, jewelries, skin care, Lucifer, ect...

While Asmo is narcissistic most of the time, he does think about others and wanted to help them as much as he can. One time he cut his finger and when Asmo saw it, he immediately took out the first aid kit.

Valentine decided to at least buy a beautiful beige scarf and a new hand lotion from the human world that's one of his favorite beauty lines.

There must be more than this provincial life!

He then hopped back on a black hellhorse royal carriages that was still new from the handle like it was a free ride during it's time. He was almost done with the shopping and he got most of the brother's favorites. He was in a trance of understanding what emotions are. He already knew what fear is, more than he can remembered. He knew, in others, how they acted with their emotions and their reactions. But he still haven't felt emotions himself until he discovered them during these months whenever he interacted and developed his relations with the brothers. Happiness, sadness, anger, laughter, embarrassment, envy, and others he had seen or heard before. It felt so new to him when he realized that for the first time in what seems forever, he laughed when there was that pillow fights saga and just last night when he had to confess about everything, he cried.

But most importantly, he started to develop something he can't quite describe yet...   He decided to think about it later and hops off the carriage when they've passed at the bookstore where Satan gets his favorites and hard to get books. It's probably the only and closest bookstore in Devildom to get his books. [DEMON FOLKS] Look there he goes, that boy is so peculiar - I wonder if he's feeling well

What he finds attractive in Satan was his vastly knowledge on so many subjects. Like he, Valentine's no slouch when he shows his knowledge. (He lived for almost two centuries.) They can talked for hours on so many topics and they're quite close apart when it comes to the subject of Lucifer. He knows that Satan's power alone is powerful enough to make anyone quiver in fear, but he was also created from Lucifer's anger before he was casted out from heaven. Not to mention Lucifer was a former arc angel and to be honest: He's got that temper that needs to be kept in check unlike Lucifer.

None the less, he is still a valuable person that he was glad to make a pact after that trip to London for the swap curse saga. He picked up Satan's weekly orders and also he picked up a fairytale book for another report. 'Beauty and the Beast.' He read this story a few times before, remembered how both the girl and the Beast learned to love each other. Maybe he can learn too if he tried harder? He also picked up 'The little mermaid' too. For 'human lessons' reasons.

With a dreamy, far-off look and his nose stuck in a book - What a puzzle to the rest of us is Valentine

When he got out of the store, he saw a Hellish black horse that had blue flames as his mane and tail. The creature, like every others, felt a slight charm from Valentine. He took this opportunity to practice a bit of what it called 'kindness' by taking out his 'Beauty and the Beast' book and shows it to the beautifully yet terrifying creature. He then sings gently a bit to help it calm down. [VALENTINE]: Oh, isn't this amazing? It's my favorite part because you'll see - Here's where we meet Prince Charming but we won't discover that it's him till chapter three!

The Hellish black horse then rubs his cheeks with Valentine's as affection. "You're very welcome!" He then realized that he was then surrounded by a few other small street creatures and they were eyeing on him. If he doesn't ditch them soon, he'll get more than just a 'warning' from Lucifer when he sung while cleaning near open windows and not realizing there were Hellbats and Hellbirds flew in. (Though he admitted he finds his frowning face attractive when scolded.) So he the skedaddle over to the next stop. [GARGOYLE WOMAN]: Now it's no wonder that Asmodeous is worried, His looks have got no parallel.

He blushed at this felling what he recalled embarrassment. He halted when he arrived at one of his favorite clothing shop in Devildom. It's the only one that has those old vintage tuxedos and vests made for dukes and 18th centuries royalties. 'I guess I can look for a little bit before I return home.' He thought of himself.

[BUG CREATURE SHOPKEEPER]: But behind that fair façade, I'm afraid he's rather odd - Very diff'rent from the rest of us.

If you think Valentine's had a minor spell from his 'charms' for the demon lords alone, you might be mistaken when there's other powerful demons who wants to make a pact with him and we're not talking about Diavolo or Barbatos here.

[DEMON FOLKS]: He's nothing like the rest of us. Yes, diff'rent from the rest of us is Val!

In the Blood square of the town, there are two powerful demons in their own rights. They were from a neighboring kingdom, who's under the demon king's control, are there for their day off. One of them had a particular goal of meeting Valentine.

There was one demon who's name is Giovanni The Hellian. He's a high ranking demon for his strength, his manly appearance, his legendary rivalry against Beelzebub's sports team, but most importantly, he is very prideful. (In other words, he's the Devildom's version of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast.) He had red hair fairly long like Asmo's but slid back, his attire is something similar to a high school student for today. He threw a fireball towards a black horned goose that flew over them. It hit the poor creature and it hit the ground dead. “Wow! You didn't miss a shot, Giovanni! You're one the greatest hunter in the whole Devildom! I bet you'll be summoned by prince Diavolo one of these days for one of his hunting trips.” The other one was a fairly strong demon named Kiru, he was a male Incubus with some envy. He's got that bowl cut, brown hair and he wore the same team jacket as his friend does. He is most likely the support type. “ I know. I will get what I always want.” Giovanni boasted. “No beast alive stands a chance against you, ha ha! and no Incubus girl, for that matter.” Kiru replies as he took the goose in his bag for supper later. “It's true, Kiru, but I've got my sight set on that one in particular!” He pointed out at Valentine who he just exited the shop. “You mean the exchange human student by Diavolo himself?” Kiru questioned his friend's taste. “He's the one, the lucky boy I'm going to make a Formal pact with!” Giovanni boasted with pride. “But he's-” “The most beautiful boy in centuries I've lived through!” Giovanni cuts him. Kiru tried to tell him about Val, but Gio wasn't listening. “I know, but-” “That makes him the best. And don't I deserve the best?” Gio picks him up from his jacket's collar and look dead in the eye. Kiru fussed with it. “But of course! I mean, you do! But I-” He then drops him. [GIOVANNI]: “Right from the moment when I met him, saw him - I said he's gorgeous and I fell. Here in town there's only he - Who is beautiful as me. So I'm making plans to woo and pact with Val.”

Giovanni wanted Valentine more than just a simple pact, he wanted him to make an OFFICIAL demonic pact. The only difference is that a regular pact can easily be removed once a deal is set or done. An Demonic pact is more like a marriage bond. It's more 'official' and gives more power for the demon.

Giovanni only saw him three times at events prior to today. The first was at a Devil-ball game, where his team was up against Beelzebub's. Valentine was in the crowd along with the other seven demon lords. His feminine-like beauty had captured his attention. The second was on another sparring competitions where high ranking demons, including the seven lords themselves, practices and compete for top spots. The third one was at Diavolo's party where Valentine had changed his appearance to fit in with other demons. He almost ask him for a dance until Lucifer took him away from him. Gio wouldn't let that glare from Lucifer that night to keep him away from Valentine. He 'marched' straight to Valentine who's just strolling into the further end of the town, presumably to return to the House of Lamentation. Whenever Giovanni wanted something, he takes it. No compromise. [FEMALE CHEERLEADING INCUBUSES] Look there he goes. Isn't he dreamy? Monsieur Giovanni, Oh! he's so cute! Be still my heart. I'm hardly breathing! He's such a tall, red, strong and handsome brute! [Witch Woman:] Bonjour! [Giovanni:] Pardon [Beauty incubus:] Good day! [Clown Woman 2:] Mais oui! [Undead Woman:] You call this bacon? [Werewolf Woman:] What lovely grapes! [Vampire Man:] Some cheese? [Ghost Woman:] Ten yards! [Cat Man:] One pound.

Unfortunately, the busy hour of the demon folks in the town residence had commence their daily routines. They unknowingly prevented him to reach Valentine who he was walking away from them.

[Giovanni:] Excuse me! Please let me through! [Vampire Cheese merchant:] I'll get the knife [Undead Woman:] This bread - [Werewolf Woman:] Those fish - [Witch Woman:] It's stale! [Clown Woman:] They smell! [Ogre Men:] Madame's mistaken. [Ogre Women:] Well, maybe so. [Demon folks:] Good morning! Oh, good morning!

Back on Valentine, he looked around to see several interactions between the demon town folks. Some were happy, upset, angry and more. He knew beforehand what they were, but he still haven't learn how and why. Which was new and exiting to him. [VALENTINE]: There must be more than my provincial life!

Eventually, Giovanni had catch up to him.

[GIOVANNI]: Just watch, I'm going to make Valentine a pact!

Gio had placed a hand on Valentine's shoulder and the human looked back at the demon. Val recognized the face before but he was clueless on who he was. “My name is Giovanni The Hellian. You might have heard of me before, haven't you? Ha! Well, as usual, I'm full of surprises for anyone.” Poor Val was like 'Have we really met before?'

[DEMON TOWNSFOLK]: Look there he goes! The boy is strange but special. A most peculiar gentlemen! It's a pity and a sin - he doesn't quite fit in.

Giovanni continues to 'flirt' by bragging himself even more, unknowingly that Valentine's still doesn't know him asides his name. “You know, my little Valentine, there's not a demon in all of the Devildom's united kingdoms who wouldn't LOVE to be in your shoes. This is the day-” Gio had noticed he looked at the widow reflection of himself and just wiped something on one of his sharp teeth with  his triangular tong. “Ah, ahem! THIS is the day where all of your hearts desires comes true.” Valentine might not be a social butterfly, but he knows how narcissistic characters can be. (He ought to know, he was born from one.) “What do you know about my desires? Do you know me well enough about my life before I live here?” Does this demon knew about his mother who she's rumored to be a very legendary, powerful witch? Who she's so powerful that almost every demon shuttered at her very name? Whom she had an obsession of dominance and control over him and tries to break him?

“I know plenty! Picture this!” Giovanni then traps Valentine between himself and the wall. “Once I've risen up and be acknowledged by future Demon King Diavolo, we will live in a modern luxury apartment with all the latest gadgets and clothing. My latest kills roasting in a white, electronic, up to date kitchen that does all the cooking and my beautiful little human, massaging my horns and wings. We'll also have beautiful incubuses to satisfy our needs, so I don't mind if you wanted some fun on the side. I'll make sure we'll have big beds to fit all of us.”

“For you and them?” Valentine 'innocently' asked. Does he think he KNOWS Valentine that well?! “Ha! Not just them but also you! Don't worry, I'll make sure you'll be the only one sleeping in my arms.” Valentine then slides underneath his barring arms. “Thank you for the invite, but your picture and mine are very different paintings.” Giovanni doesn't let him go. He grabbed Valentine's wrist with a bit of force. “Make a formal pact with me, Valentine. Only you can help me.” Val tried to pull away from him. “I'm sorry but no, I want to be with the one I love, not just for status or image alone.”

Giovanni laughed “Love? Ha! Don't be ridiculous! I like my human more obedient, not-” His eyes widen as to someone who was standing behind Valentine. He recognized this menacing aura. “Didn't you heard what our human said? He's not interested making a pact with you.” He then saw red gloves freeing his wrist and he held it up while the other one covered his left torso. “Lucifer...” Valentine whispered with a blush when he looked up to him. “I suggest you leave him be if you want to keep your current status and have a chance to be promoted by Lord Diavolo himself.” Giovanni tsked and then leaves them, cussing mumbling 'freaks.'

“Are you alright? Have he done anything else to harm you?” Lucifer's attention is now on Valentine. “Yes, I'm fine. He really was a brainless boar.” Val responded. He then felt a hand brushed through his long hair and then lips on his fore head. His cheeks heated up. Lucifer chuckled. “My words exactly.” Valentine then looked down. “I... I know that I've wronged you and your brothers with pacts that I made prior to last night's confession. I really mean it when I said that I will change and... I DO want to be with someone I love. I can't stand being with someone who's just wants me as a possession and not as an only partner for life!” That makes Lucifer smiled. “Then you'll only need to prove it yourself if you ever want it really bad. If you can manage to make amends with my brothers, I will forgive you and maybe, we can make a pact. But my standards are normally high, are you sure you want that?” Valentine looked up straight in Lucifer's red eyes and nodded. “Good. Now, how about we both take quality time at the nearest cafe? I want to know a bit more about your... 'early' life in details. The others can wait for a bit.” Valentine then accepted Lucifer's invitation without hesitation. Lucifer chuckled as both of his left wings covered Valentine and pulls him closer to him. “That's what I like to hear. Now, stay close to me. I don't want you to be with another demon apart from me and my brothers, is that understood?”

[DEMON TOWNSFOLK]:'Cause he really is a funny boy. A beauty but a funny boy. He really is a funny boy. That Val! (Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!)

-----

Yeah, this is a different Gaming AU that I’ve played on my phone and I really liked @snowandseven‘s OC and story arcs.

Obey Me! Game belongs to Solomare. OC belongs to @snowandseven

[skylarmoon71]

Rafael Barba Imagine (Extra 3)

Warning: Mature content ahead. 

“(Y/N).” your head lifted at Liv’s call. “Yes boss!” you answered. You cursed mentally. She probably caught you staring at Barba again. When she noticed where your eyes were trained previously she smiled. “I know it may be hard to focus now.” you just looked down bashfully. 

A few months passed after his not so subtle announcement that the both of you were dating. Everything seemed easier now. Barba still got jealous sometimes, which was cute. He’d given a death glare to any man that stared at you too long. And he even formed a sort of bond with Nick, which was weird because it felt like the both of them were batting guys away from you left and right. You should have expected as much. 

Liv handed you a file to look over, telling you to chase down a possible lead. You took it, following Nick to go and question a potential suspect. 

~~

When you got back it was maybe around lunch. The lead fell through. It just led you to another dead end. You slumped in your seat, watching the box of Chinese on your desk. You separated the chopsticks, taking the box and opening it as you started to eat. Your feet twisted on the ground absentmindedly, eventually you were facing Barba’s office. His blinds were open and he was nibbling on a pen, eyes fixed on a document. 

Of what you couldn’t really tell. You bit at the wooden chopsticks, wishing you could taste the sweetness that Barba’s tongue provided rather than the roughness of the wood presently in your mouth. Lately all you could think about was Barba. Which wasn’t exactly strange since you were in a relationship. 

But your mind always drifted to something sexual, the familiar tinge between your legs appearing. A soft breath escaped as you tried to get rid of the feeling. This was the last place you wanted to get worked up in. You weren’t sure if he was a mind reader, but his eyes lifted and your breath hitched at the look in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you would have sworn he was thinking the same exact thing. The intensity of his eyes, even from all the way across the room you could feel the electricity. It made your body shiver. You forced yourself to look away, crossing your legs to dull the sensation that rose. 

You needed a distraction, just settling for eating the remainder of your noodles. You could still feel his eyes, it triggered something in your body. Something you tried your hardest to ignore. 

~~~

“Drinks tonight! On me.” Liv called. Amanda was the first to get out of her seat. Carisi wasn’t too far behind. Pretty soon everyone was piling to leave in the elevator. You joined them, squeezing in next to Amanda. She grinned at you. “Finally joining us, I thought you would bail out.” you shook your head. 

“I could use a drink.” She didn’t question you, which was a surprise. She just seemed happy that you were coming. The doors started to close, but right before it could shut completely a hand stopped it. It reopened and Barba came into view. 

“Room for one more?” Liv shifted to give him some room. “ Sure counselor.” He glanced at you momentarily, before turning his back and pressing a button. Even with everyone in the small space, you could feel the unspoken tension. Amanda and the others were chatting as usual, but you were more focused on a certain district attorney’s butt. You nibbled on your lower lip, unable to tear your eyes away. An onslaught of images appearing in your mind. 

The elevator dinged and your shoulders tensed, hoping no one noticed what you’d shamelessly been gazing at. Everyone filed out and you followed. You didn’t mean to, but you really couldn’t talk to Barba with the thoughts running through your mind. So you striked up a conversation with Amanda, luckily Carisi was talking Barba’s ear off. 

When you all arrived you took a seat to the back. All of you were mixed in together, chatting and updating each other on what’s new in each other’s personal lives. You made sure not to take a seat next to Barba, and you hoped he didn’t notice. He ended up sitting in the middle of Nick and Carisi. Both men kept him more than occupied. You didn’t drink that much, just one cup that you couldn’t even finish. Barba was on his first glass too. He just sipped at it slowly. You tried and failed not to stare at him. Every time he caught your eyes you’d avert your attention elsewhere. 

A little after one, everyone started turning in. Each bidding goodbye as they left. Pretty soon it was just you and Barba. Now the atmosphere was tense. You didn’t know what to say and Barba didn’t say anything, just studied your silence. He was looking as if trying to figure out why you were suddenly uncomfortable. You couldn’t stand it so you did the next best thing. 

“Well, I think I’ll turn in too.” you raised, faking a yawn. You were going to bail out of there quick. 

“Let me drop you home. “ he offered. You were afraid he was going to say that. Damn him and his need to make sure you got home safe. You just accepted, if you denied he would surely know something was up. He slipped on his coat, helping you into yours as he guided you out the bar. You hailed a taxi, jumping in the back. 

Barba slipped in right next to you. You tried to make it less obvious that you were attempting to keep as much space between the both of you as possible. The ride was quiet, you kept your gaze out the window, watching the bright signs and huge buildings in hopes it would keep your hormones under control. 

The taxi came to a stop and you paid the driver, stepping out after Barba. He walked you up the stairs, to your door. You took the keys out of your pocket, about to slide it in when you felt Barba’s hand pressed to the door. He leaned into you from behind and you shuddered. “So, are you going to tell me why you’ve been acting so strange all day, or do I have to coax it out of you..” he whispered into your ear. Your hands were shaking now, all the previous scenarios in your head rushing back to you. You willed yourself to open the door, stepping in. Barba followed in, locking the door behind him. 

When you were inside you shifted on your feet, standing a good distance apart. 

“(Y/N).” he called. Your eyes shot up. Now he was worried, you could tell. 

“If I did something you aren’t comfortable with just tell me and I’ll-”

“That’s not it.” you interrupted. He was completely baffled now. You picked at your nails, wondering how to phrase this. How were you supposed to tell him that you’d been freaking horny for him for the past week but you were a virgin so you were terrified to make a move. 

“(Y/N), just tell me. I’m sure it can’t be as bad as you’re making it seem.” He stepped closer and your willpower broke. You pitched forward, giving him an earth shattering kiss. Barba groaned at the back of his throat, hands moving to steady himself against you. When he regained his footing he was astonished at how demanding your kisses were. Your hands were on his cheeks, hips pressed flush against him. You pulled back after a few hot moments reluctantly. You were panting, and Barba’s breathing wasn’t any better. 

“I..I have no idea what I did to deserve that.” he panted out. You giggled, your previous fear fading slightly. When you caught your breath again you could see the darken of his emerald eyes. You worked up every bit of courage you could. 

“Barba I..I really want you..” you breathed. You said it, finally. You weren’t sure it was possible but his eyes got darker. “But I..” you pulled out of his arms, wrapping your arms around your form self consciously. 

Say it, just say it! “I’m a virgin!” you practically yelled. His eyes opened a small fraction, clearly not expecting that. That’s what you were afraid of. You were scared he would reject you because you lacked experience, or solely cause he didn’t want to bed a virgin. All those thoughts started piling into your head. 

Before you could get ahead of yourself Barba took your hands softly. You were startled at the loving look in his eyes. A look he never really showed to anyone. No one but you. “(Y/N), I don’t really care how many people you’ve been with. I won’t lie, I’m a bit surprised at your confession. If you don’t feel comfortable we can wait until you’re ready. I’d never rush you into any-”

“No I want to!” you exclaimed. You blushed when you realized you shouted. 

“I thought you wouldn’t want to if you found out, s-so I’ve been trying to distract myself all day. I was keeping you at arms length because I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to touch you Rafael..” He took a deep breath. 

“I see..”

“If you don’t want to, I understand, I-I just thought I should be honest about it.” you mumbled out. Now that everything was out in the open you felt relieved. Barba stepped closer, removing his jacket. He dropped his briefcase onto the floor and you looked up at the shine that returned into his eyes. 

“I assure you that I want this as well. “ You gulped. This is what you wanted. You took his hand, guiding him into your room. When you walked in you turned back to Barba. “I have no idea what to do.” you admitted with a laugh. He smiled at you. 

“It’s a good thing I’m here then.” He loosened his tie, pulling it skillfully out of the collar of his shirt. Piece by piece he started shedding his clothing. The less he had on the more heat rushed between your legs. It took you a while to realize that you should have been doing the same. You started striping a bit hurriedly and Barba laughed at your eagerness. You got out of your outfit easily, now just standing in your bra and panties. 

Barba was just in his slacks, his shoes and socks long abandoned. You lowered unto the bed a bit nervously, head sinking into the pillow. Barba climbed unto the bed, towering over you. 

“If you want to stop just tell me and we can immediately. “ his assurance was not needed but very much appreciated. You were glad that he was the type of person with so much understanding, you knew Barba would never force you into anything. Another thing you loved about him. “I won’t.” you muttered. He smirked at that, closing the distance between you. 

You sank deeper into the bed at his added weight. The feel of his chest pressed firmly to your own was so amazing. The kiss was slow, sensual. Your legs hooked themselves around his waist and you gasped when he grinded into you. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips. Your legs shifted, accidentally nudging Barba between his legs. He pulled back with a sharp hiss and you visibly panicked. 

“C-Crap did I do something wrong!” He shook his head with a deep laugh. He leaned back in and you were shocked at his member that was now poking you. “W-We were just kissing..” you said in disbelief. You didn’t think he’d be that turned on just from a kiss. His mouth kept leaving small wet kisses on your neck, going up to your ear. You were so preoccupied with his kisses that you didn’t see his hand moving south. You jerked when you felt his hand slip into your underwear. He pulled them off your hips, sliding them down your legs. 

You wanted to free yourself of your bra, so you lifted, unhooking the clasp and flinging it across the room. Barba started laughing again and you returned to your previous spot. He admired your bust. One hand cupped your right breast and the other went back between your legs.

 “Shit..” you muttered.  His fingers stroked you, admiring the wetness that coated your thighs. When his finger slid in you almost came right there and then. You couldn’t believe you starved yourself of such pleasure all these years. Although, in the back of your mind you were glad Barba turned out to be your first. 

He added another finger, pumping in and out of you. You bucked, trying to match his pace, desperate for release. Barba’s fingers were working magic, hitting your spot every time. It wasn’t long before your walls were clenching around his fingers. Your body tensed for a second, before you released with a cry of pleasure. You were gripping into his arms, breathing coming in quickly. Barba removed his fingers, tongue darting out to lick his wet digits clean. You watched him lustfully, biting down so hard on your lip you were shocked it didn’t bleed. 

He kicked off his pants easily, his boxers following not far behind. You held back a giggle at the way he seemed eager now. His eyes reconnected with yours and you smiled. He mirrored your expression. “If you want to stop we can a-” you bucked into him, effectively silencing him. He growled lowly. 

“I want this Rafael, I want you.” That was all the consent he needed. He lined himself up, giving you one last look before he started pushing in. You weren’t gonna lie, it hurt like a bitch. The fact that he was considerably well endowed probably didn’t help. You held unto his biceps, trying to distract yourself from the pain. Against your will tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. Barba leaned down, pressing kisses on your cheek. “I know…” his voice sounded strained. After a few more seconds Barba was completely sheathed inside you. He was breathing a bit heavily. Your head turned, adjusting to his size. 

“A-Are you okay?” you whispered. His breathing was starting to concern you. He forced out a chuckle. “I-I’m fine..y-you’re just really..” he paused for a second. “Tight.” he concluded. You flushed. 

“M-Maybe it’s because you're so big.” you hummed. He twitched inside of you at the compliment and you gasped slightly. Barba smirked. “Sorry.” he blew into your ear. You had a feeling he wasn’t really sorry. Barba was still for a while, giving you sometime to get comfortable. He wanted you to enjoy this just as much as he would. You gave him a small kiss, nodding your head, and he started moving slowly. In and out. At first it felt so foreign, but after a while moans started slipping out. You were alarmed at the dirty sounds escaping your mouth. His pace picked up slightly when you started moving with him, begging for more. Your hands wrapped around his torso as he found a steady rhythm. 

“R-Rafa..” you couldn’t even say his full name. He was grunting, breathing into your ear, whispering less than virtuous things to you. With every thrust of his hip you felt yourself getting closer to becoming undone. The sounds of both of your moans echoed, bouncing off the walls. You were pretty sure you were being obnoxiously loud, your neighbors could probably hear. You didn’t really care. With one strong thrust you came, body spasming like it did before. This time you actually screamed out your release as Barba’s seed spilled inside you. He gasped, mumbling something in Spanish. 

You weren’t certain but it could have been a swear. He slumped against you and you felt the weight to be pleasant. He took a while, trying to recover and even out his breathing. You were doing the same. When he did he pulled out and you sighed. He fell down right beside you, pulling you into his side. You rested your head on his chest that was now slicked with sweat. 

“That was...wow..” He stroked your hair, pleased that you were satisfied. 

“That’s good,” he said, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Maybe we can explore some more positions in the future?” you urged. His hold tightened on your waist. 

“Absolutely.” 

[rora-s]

The Derivative  Chapter 7: Commonalities

Chapter 1 <- Chapter 6 

“You know I think the fact that I’m not even questioning the giant projector screen with Alexander Hamilton’s face on it in the living room means that I’ve been living with you guys way too long” I muttered, tossing my bag on the couch as I entered the house. 

“Hello Abby” Uncle C greeted with a chuckle as he looked over the screen and began to mark one of the two versions of Hamilton’s face on the screen. 

“Whattcha doing?” I inquired. 

“The FBI is working on a counterfeiting case and I’m helping determine the differences between some old fake bills and new fake bills made by the same counterfeiter” he explained, pointing out which one of the Hamiltons was which.

I looked over the image “check in the center of his brow” I advised. 

Charlie looked up and quickly circled the defect. “Thank you” he murmured, circling another difference on the treasurer's nostril. 

“Hello” Don called in greeting as he entered the house. 

“Hello” Charlie muttered in response. 

“Hi,” I greeted. 

“What are you doing?” Don asked, eyeing the projector. 

“I’m running a comparison between the counterfeit bills you found earlier today and the older bills that that secret service agent lady gave us.” Charlie explained “there’s a possibility that the small differences may yield some data about their current operation. By the way, I did not mean to cause a problem earlier.'' He added the apology in right along with his sentence. 

“You don’t have to apologize for anything” Don objected “I mean Agent Hall and I are- are- I mean, we worked it out. So…” Don dismissed the issue with a sigh. “You know if I left a box of stuff here?” 

“What kind of stuff?” Charlie inquired. 

“It’s just this one box in particular.” Don explained “when I moved back from Albuquerque. I thought I got everything, but it’s not in my apartment. I can’t remember where I put it” he turned to me “have you seen a box of my stuff” 

I shook my head “I wouldn’t know what it was if I had” 

Don nodded “you check the garage?” Charlie suggested. 

“Yeah” Don replied then the front door opened “that you Dad?” he called heading over. “Hey let me get the door” he offered, helping Alan whose arms were full of groceries. 

“You must have some kind of sixth sense.” Alan declared “I buy rib-eye and you just materialize” 

“Well actually…” Don started then paused “you say rib-eye?” 

“Yeah” Alan nodded. 

“With, like, a baked potato?” he asked Alan just chuckled then he spotted Charlie’s set up. 

“Oh, very nice, Charlie” Alan sighed “so how long is this going to be?” 

“This is just for a few days.” Charlie assured as Don took a seat. “I needed to look at this as soon as I possibly could” Uncle C knelt at his computer and changed the screen to the upper right hand corner of the bills “Now the spiral patterns in money are based on a technique called guilloche. It’s like a wheel within a wheel within a wheel; a pattern created by the additions and multiplications of nested sine waves. Same was used by Faberge to create those little famous eggs” 

“Oh well that explains it” Alan muttered and I chuckled. 

“What does this have to do with the case?” Don questioned. 

“I think they have a new artist,” Charlie declared, “in fact, I'm sure of it.” 

“How can you tell that?” Don asked 

“I’ve been running a wavelet analysis of these spirals I’m talking about.” Charlie informed “mathematicians at Dartmouth use a similar process to test authenticity of masterpiece paintings. Here, look it..” Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a real ten “alright ten dollars. Now we don’t often think about it, but someone must’ve drawn this design, right?”

“You’re right?” Don nodded. 

“I want you to think of that artist as a runner on the beach” Charlie gave the visual “he’s leaving footprints which record every decision he makes; faster, slower, closer to the water, farther away. Now these,” he gestured to the screen “are counterfeit bills, a second artist trying to copy the original. A second runner. Now, when that second runner tries to follow the exact same path as the first, it’s impossible. Even if he’s being careful he can’t match the footprints without leaving evidence of himself. Different foot size, different stride, that’s how you spot a forgery. And when a third runner tries to match the footprints, he’ll leave evidence as well, but in a different way than the second runner.” Charlie explained “these two counterfeit bills have two different footprints.”

“Hence the new artist.” Don inferred. 

“You find that artist..” 

“Charlie we can’t find the counterfeiter,” Don objected “let alone the artist” 

“You keep on saying he’s an artist, this guy.” Alan spoke up “he’s not really an artist is he? He’s more like a copier” 

“Well he has to have some skill to draw something so detailed” I commented. 

“It’s actually, it’s more like being able to draw, you know say, the Mona Lisa. freehand.” Don supplied. 

“Oh I see” Alan muttered picking up the grocery bags and heading toward the kitchen. 

“What I can do now, Don,” Charlie continued “is to take this initial comparative analysis and…” 

Don was no longer listening to Charlie instead he got up and pulled out his phone. “Hey David it’s Don. Look, I want to expand the search, okay? Not just counterfeiters, but art forgers. Yeah alright” he hung up the phone and turned to his brother “good work” he declared before heading after Alan into the kitchen. 

“I think we gave him an idea,” I told Charlie. 

“I think you’re right,” the man agreed. 

_______________

The cafeteria was probably my least favorite place in school. At least in the back of the classroom I could tune people out and it was mostly quiet. In the cafeteria everything was loud, people were moving and cliques ran rampant.

I took my tray and headed toward a booth in the corner that was empty. I was almost there when something caught my foot and I fell to the ground, my tray clattering and spraying the chicken noodle soup I had been about to eat everywhere. 

“Watch where you’re going reject!” A girl who had been splashed by my food snapped standing straight up. 

“Really making a habit of this huh street rat?” the girl who had made it a habit to trip me asked from behind as I got to my knees. 

“You could really stand to come up with better insults” I voiced casually keeping the anger out of my voice “you know I’ve been called some pretty creative things and you just ain’t cutting it” 

The girl who’d tripped me scoffed. “This shirt was designer” the girl I had gotten soup on screeched. 

I looked at the blue and white striped top “sorry but I think you got ripped off” I pointed out without thinking. 

“Hey you trying to pick a fight?” a boy asked standing up behind the girl. 

“No, I'm just trying to eat lunch,” I replied cautiously, starting to stand. 

“Yeah well if I were you I’d scram” he told me. I held up my hands in a defensive gesture and reached down to collect my tray. A hand grabbed my bicep yanking me back “I said scram” 

I was tossed back into the girl who had tripped me who launched me forward back toward the guy who was stepping forward fists clenched. “A street rat like you shouldn’t be here” the girl behind me snapped.

“Yeah and a bitch like you shouldn’t be gifted vocal chords looks like nobody wins” I countered looking back at her.

“Why you little-” she threw a punch that caught me in the jaw. I started to go down but grabbed her down with me. 

People had started chanting and gathering as we wrestled on the ground pulling hair, punching, and kicking. I had the upper hand by the time I was being grabbed and pulled off her by a pair of teachers. 

“Enough!” Clive yelled, stepping between us. As the other girl got helped to her feet all I could think was that I shouldn’t have taken Don’s deal. 

________________

3rd POV.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Don murmured. The group began to disperse heading to fill out reports and gather more information connected to this new finding. Don was about to follow when he got a call. 

He glanced at the phone and was surprised to see it was the number of his daughter’s school he sighed before answering “hello” 

“Hello Mr. Eppes this is Mrs. Clive I’m your daughter Abby’s teacher. We’ve talked before” the woman on the other side answered. 

“Yes I remember” Don replied already getting a bad feeling “is she okay?” 

“For the most part” The woman sighed, sounding tired from what Don could tell and slightly annoyed? “She was involved in a fight today at school during lunch” 

“She what?” Don asked immediately, agitated. “What happened?” 

“It was an altercation incited by some other students in the cafeteria” Clive explained “witnesses and video confirmed that the other girl threw the first punch but she’s still going to be having detention for all of next week” 

Don let off a breath his initial anger cooling “do I need to come pick her up?” 

“No she’ll be finishing out the day as normal but I would suggest talking to her about it” Clive stated “she’s right here” 

Don shook his head “yeah put her on” 

“Hello Donald” Abby muttered into the phone. 

“You alright?” he asked first. 

“Yeah I’m fine. Bloody lip some bruising, girl wasn’t that tough” Abby replied and he could visualize her shrugging as she said it. 

“What happened to making friends?” Don inquired. 

“I tried. I got punched” Abby muttered bluntly “does this negate the deal?” 

Don sighed “we’ll negotiate the finer points of the deal later” he paused “how’d the other girl turn out?” 

“Worse then me” Abby muttered and he heard the slight pride in her voice. 

“I don’t want to get more calls at work about you getting in fights” Don stated “but good job defending yourself” 

“Thanks Don” Abby replied a smile in her voice. 

“Yeah kid see you later” he told her. 

“Bye” 

He hung up and pocketed the phone. “What was that about?” Don turned surprised to find Kim looking at him from where she had been gathering files. He hadn’t realized she was still in the room. 

“My daughter got in a fight at school,” he explained. 

“Daughter?” Kim questioned straightening in surprise. 

“Uh yeah” Don muttered realizing how odd this was going to be to explain. “She’s sixteen. Me and her mother were together in college. I didn’t know until her mom died and she was sent to live with me two months ago. Her names Abby” 

“Abby” Kim nodded “you’re a dad. That’s uh that’s not really something I expected to find out”

“Yeah me neither” he joked lightly there was an awkward silent moment between them and he took the moment to retreat from the room. 

______________________

Abby POV. 

“You got in a fight at school?” Alan asked the minute I walked through the front door. 

I sighed “I didn’t start it.” 

“Don called and told me” Alan explained “what happened?” 

“Girl punched me. I punched back. She got suspended. I got detention” I muttered tossing my backpack on the couch. 

“Well why’d she punch you?” Alan pressed. 

I shrugged “she likes to trip kids she doesn’t like going through the halls and call them names I called her one back and she couldn’t take it” 

Alan sighed “Abby, you have to be the better person. Turn the other cheek” 

“My innate ability for sarcasm doesn’t really lend to that” I told him. “Where’s Uncle C by the way. I want to ask if I can help on the case” 

“I think he went downstairs,” Alan explained then looked at me closer. “Is your lips bleeding?” 

I brought a hand up to my lip and touched it causing a little sting. “It's nothing serious” I assured and headed past him toward the basement steps. 

Alan was right behind me. I descended the steps and looked to see Charlie pilfering through a box. “You sure you want to be looking through that stuff?” Alan spoke up behind me. 

The younger man straightened over the box slightly, pictures in his hand “Dad, do you recognize this lady?” he asked, holding up the picture as me and Alan reached the bottom of the steps. Alan passed me and took the photo looking at it and I peered over his arm at it. The image was of my Dad and a woman with long brown hair. She was on his shoulders as he held up his arms proudly. 

“Uh, yeah, it’s Kim, isn’t it?” Alan voiced. 

“That’s Kim Hall,” Charlie agreed. 

“Who’s Kim?” I asked. 

“She and Don lived together in New Mexico” Charlie explained “and, uh, he never told me about it.” 

“Well you know your brother.” Alan sighed. 

“Why do I get the feeling my dad has a lot of ex’s” I muttered. 

Alan made a face and nodded slightly as Charlie packed up the box. “You know we’d never heard your mother’s name until you showed up” Alan explained “Don’s just a very private person” 

“I guess everyone has a right to be private” I conceded knowing there were things I hadn’t told them about me. 

“Even to family?” Charlie sighed. 

______________________

“Alright I’m back” Alan decreed, sitting down across from me and setting a bowl of popcorn on the table. “You didn’t move any of these when I wasn’t here did you?” he gestured to our chess game.

“No of course not” I replied annoyed as I grabbed a couple pieces of popcorn from the bowl. 

“Alright what’s bothering you?” Alan inquired, moving one of his rooks on the board. 

“What do you mean?” I replied sliding my bishop a couple squares. 

“Well normally a comment like mine would have initiated a snarky response” Alan explained “remember your innate ability for sarcasm? Instead I got a short response. So what is the matter?”  

“Nothing” I replied as he moved one of his pieces and I quickly countered him. 

“Yeah right does this have something to do with the fight at school?” Alan inquired. 

“No” I gave him a look “you might not want to hear this but this isn’t my first fight” 

“Yeah I didn’t want to know that but somehow it’s not really a surprise” Alan sighed “check” I quickly countered the check. “Does it have something to do with Don and this woman?” 

“I just don’t get it,” I voiced. Alan gave me a look and I sighed “It’s just, my mom and me we had this agreement that I wouldn’t lie to her and she wouldn’t keep secrets from me” I explained. “But it’s like with Don” I ended with a huffed breath. 

“Donnie doesn’t really understand that when you have kids you have to talk to them.” Alan explained “now there are somethings that kids don’t need to know about but this woman coming back into his life I do think is something you need to talk to him about” 

“He didn’t even mention her when we talked on the phone earlier” I commented. 

“Well when you talked on the phone there was a more pressing matter” Alan pointed out. I let off a breath and nodded eating some more popcorn. “Abby, I have the feeling communication will never be your and Don’s strong suit but just ask him about it alright?” 

“Alright” I muttered. 

“Oh checkmate” Alan informed. 

“Damn” I sighed “again?” 

“Sure” Alan agreed and started resetting the board. 

I looked into the bowl of popcorn before turning to my grandfather. “Do you have any peanut butter?” 

________________

3rd POV. 

“That’s the good part” Kim commented coming up to Don as they watched the woman who had been held hostage reunite with her husband. 

“Yup” Don agreed. 

“I forgot how much I missed that.” Kim voiced. 

“It’s a good thing, right?” 

“Yeah” Kim sighed “everyone’s already at Kinsella’s” she explained “Figure the Secret Service owes the FBI a few rounds if you want to come.” 

“Well, actually, I got a bit of work to do here,” Don objected. “And I have to go get Abby from my dad’s house so” 

“Okay,” Kim agreed “we are going to trip over each other again, Don.” she pointed out “if you and Terry can be partners, we can at least try to..” 

“Yeah definitely” Don agreed. 

“Okay. well” Kim sighed “first rounds on me.” She started to walk away but paused glancing back at the man “you know that kid of yours is pretty lucky to have you as her dad. I’m sure you’re great at it” 

Don nodded and smiled as the woman left passing Terry as she went. “More interagency politics?” the man’s partner commented in passing. 

_____________________

Don unlocked the apartment door and headed inside followed by Abby. “so you basically had three kids ready to fight you and you still made a snarky comment?” 

Abby shrugged “the one girl was too prissy to throw down and I wasn’t sure the jock would hit a girl” 

“Yeah well” Don muttered, getting into the fridge to get a beer. Abby paused leaning on the counter. 

“So this Kim lady” she began and Don turned to her. “You guys were serious in the past right?” 

“Yeah” Don nodded “we were” 

“Okay” Abby bit her lip which stung a little since it was still cut and shifted on her feet. “You know me and my mom had this pact where we stopped keeping things from each other. And I don’t expect you to tell me everything. I mean I get not wanting to share but if anything comes up or like you know ex-girlfriends appear can you just clue me in. Please?” 

Each word was specifically chosen, Don could tell. She’d been thinking about this. She must have found out from Charlie or Alan. Part of Don felt annoyed at the idea that his relatives had told her about this but he knew she needed to know things. Her life was dependent on his now. 

“Okay” he agreed. Abby nodded with a slight smile. “Still you might want to put a lid on that attitude of yours or next time you might deserve to get punched” Don advised lightening the mood. 

“Hey I got it from you” the girl pointed out with a smirk before heading up the stairs to her room. Don sighed but a small smile came to his face. 

The man headed over to the couch and clicked on the tv. He watched it as he heard Abby moving around upstairs and eventually settle before there was a knock on his door. “Don?” 

He turned confused at his brother’s voice “Charlie?” he got up and headed to the door “you alright?” he opened the door to see his brother holding a box in his arms.

“Hey, I found this box. I thought I’d” he shuffled into the apartment.

“What? Bring it over at 2:00 in the morning?” Don questioned. 

“Yeah” Charlie muttered looking around the apartment. 

“Well keep it down Abby’s asleep” Don advised then he got a look at the box “what did you do? You opened it?” he took it away from his brother heading for the coffee table “what is with you, man? Even when we were kids, you were always going through my stuff.”

“You always had cool stuff” Charlie defended as Don sat down to look through the box's contents. His pace slowed as memories started to drift through his mind “seems like you left a lot of good friends back there, huh?” 

“Yeah, well, family first. Right?” Don muttered looking in the envelope his search had really been pointed toward.

“Right” Charlie murmured, still hanging near the doorway. Don pulled the ring from the envelope and shifted it in his fingers. Then he remembered Charlie was there looking up, they locked eyes and then quickly looked away. Don dropped the ring back in the envelope. 

“Look, I was going to tell you. I just..” Don trailed as he tried to gather his thoughts “I don’t know. I mean, we were in two different worlds. You know how it is.” Don sighed looking at a couple photos now “and mom got sick and… I don’t know.” 

“I understand” Charlie murmured. 

“Yeah?” Don looked for confirmation. 

“Yeah.” Charlie nodded “I agree we’re from, uh from two different worlds” 

“Well not so much lately” Don encouraged when he saw his father’s face fall 

“Yeah” a small smile appeared on Charlie’s face to match his brother’s. 

“See me all the time now.” Don pointed out. 

Charlie nodded “I’ve learned a lot from you, actually” he confessed. 

“Thanks” Don smiled. 

“Okay,” Charlie shifted uncomfortably on his feet. 

“You want to watch the rest of the movie” Don suggested pointing to the tv. 

“Okay sure” Charlie agreed, easily coming to sit in the chair next to the couch. 

“It’s a great flick” Don explained moving the box off the coffee table “it’s about baseball” 

“The most statistically driven sport in the world” Charlie commented. 

“You want a beer?” Don offered. 

“No thanks” Charlie objected politely, eyes on the screen. 

“Chip?” 

“I’m okay” 

Abby smiled from her place hidden on the steps. She could tell from the beginning that her uncle and father were from different worlds and she wasn’t sure which she understood more. Still she was glad they could find their common ground, maybe it held hope for a future where her own world made a bit more sense.

Chapter 8 -> 

[shiveringpinkala]

voyage to the heart’s land

so, i wrote a fic for @renelemaires because i’m not good at headcanons as was initially requested, but i can do this apparently. sending happiness and good vibes your way!

voyage to the heart’s land; renee lemaire after the war w/ vague hints of baberoe, renee/gene and possible future renee/gene/babe. 2969 words.

Renee left Belgium two years after the war ended.

She loved her home, but the magic of the forests and memories of running around the city square in the blush of youth no longer held the easy charm that she associated with those times. And so, one day, in the height of July’s peaking summer, she pulled out an old atlas of her father’s – yellowed at the edges, curls crinkling on the front of most pages, one corner missing and taking a chuck of the Soviet Union, Egypt and Newfoundland with it – and looked for something new.

 She bookmarked Morocco for the language and Portugal for the ocean, but stopped completely when she reached the United States. Jagged borderlines between oddly shaped provinces and big – so much bigger than Belgium, bigger than Europe – and thought of Eugene. She traced her fingers down the neatly labeled Appalachian Montagnes, bypassing the likes of Virginia, the Carolinas, Georgia and sweeping over until she landed on Louisiana; little dots pointing out the towns of New Orleans and Baton Rouge. She tapped idly on the image and thought of the Eugene’s low voice and rough accent, the weary determination in his eyes. Her hands stilled.

 Louisiana is was then.

 Her mother kissed her cheeks at the train station. Her father tucked a riot of bills in her pocket and when she tried to protest, only said to write when she reached America. The subsequent journey took her out to England and then to an ocean liner setting sail for New York. She spent every waking moment she could on deck, drinking in the spray of ocean air and watching contentedly as an Irish mother of four tired to corral her children unsuccessfully.

 Once she landed in New York, she asked the nearest shop owner – a plump, friendly woman with a thick Polish accent – where she could find a telegraph office and was given an escort in the form of the woman’s ten year old son who delivered her to her destination with a gap toothed smile. She sent her message; carefully relaying the address that was postmarked on the envelope of the single letter Eugene had written her a year earlier, hoping he hadn’t gotten the urge to pick up roots as well in the time that had lapsed. From there, it was off to the currency exchange station, and then to a hotel. She spent two days in New York, enjoying the rush of bodies and movement despite herself, listening to the array of languages and marveling at the lights that never seemed to dim. On the third morning, she ventured to Grand Central Station and caught a train headed to Philadelphia.

 The ride was surprisingly short, but it was also dark and her next train wasn’t due to leave until the morning, but – to her surprise – when she stepped onto the platform there was a giant hand-written sign with her name on it in blocky letters. She blinked, caught out and cautiously approached the strangers huddled around it. One of the men, short and solidly built, braced on a pair of crutches, beamed when he spotted her approach and waved her over.

 “Hello?” She asked, still confused. The pretty – and lone – woman standing beside the man in question rolled her eyes at the man’s enthusiasm and held out a hand of Renee when she got close enough.

 “Ignore him,” she said, waving a hand at the man’s indignant bark, “I told him that no woman in their right mind would want to walk over to a group of strange rabble without reason, but he insisted,” she smiled, “I’m Frannie.”

 “Renee,” she answered bemused, “as you know, apparently. How did –”

 “Babe sent us,” the man said, accent broad and unfamiliar, but not unappealing, “Doc told him you were coming and he told us.”

 “Babe?” Renee asked, looking at Frannie to see if he was being serious.

 “You’ll meet him when you get down there,” he said, “My name’s Bill. Guarnere. I served with the Doc. And this here –” he looked over at the person holding the sign and then whacked at the legs peeking out underneath it with one crutch, “— put that down, ya idiot. There’s a lady present. This is Ralph Spina, one ‘a Doc’s fellow medics.”

 Ralph lowered the sign with her name and sent Bill a caustic glare, then looked back at her and nodded. “Nice ta meet you, ma’am.”

 “Renee is fine,” she smiled at the trio, unduly charmed, “it’s nice to meet you as well.”

 Frannie stepped forward and looped an arm through Renee’s and pointed at her bags, “Ralph get those, will you? Right this way, honey. No friend of Doc Roe is spending the night in some roachy motel. You like Italian? I was thinking ravioli or gnocchi, maybe.”

 Renee dropped the protest that she could carry her own luggage when Ralph picked it up immediately and followed in Frannie’s footsteps without complaint. She thought about Eugene and this Babe person arranging for her to have a welcoming party and let the bickering chatter between the three American’s envelope her in gentle waves.

 The dinner was amazing (“Now that rationing’s lifting, makes getting the right ingredients easier.” Bill laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at Ralph, and their other friend Joe Toye, who only rolled his eyes at Bill’s bombastic tone, “No more Army noodles here.”) and the company even better as they told her endless stories about what seemed to be every single man they’d served with. At some point, she realized she was laughing so hard that tears were actually welling in her eyes and the salt in them felt like a cleansing of some kind. Like a layer of heavy silt had been washed from her soul. She fell asleep on her borrowed bed that night with a smile on her face.

 To repay their generosity, she woke up early – not difficult as her internal clock was a mess from slipping between time zones so quickly – and made a somewhat augmented version of her mother’s waffles and homemade hot chocolate for everyone.

 Frannie took a sip while the boys ate seconds – or in Joe’s case, thirds – and said: “That was really good. If everything you make is this good, you should sell it. No point in giving heaven away for free.”  

 Renee thought about lazy mornings making bread with her mother in the kitchen of their old house. Kneading the dough, watching it rise and the whole house filling up with the smell as it baked. Regular cooking had never been something she’d had much patience for, but baking was something else entirely. She’d always found a peace in the careful measurements and methodical movements; her mind could wander away and rest from its troubles. The look on someone’s face when they took a bite was only a bonus.

 She stared down at her hands and thought, for the first time in a long time, that maybe there was something special about them.

 “Maybe,” she murmured and enjoyed the contentment of a job well done.

 Frannie and the boys saw her off hours later. “Write, you hear,” Frannie said, hugging her tightly, “I need more women in my life that’ll understand my pain.”

 “I am a goddamned joy and you know it,” Bill argued, but also pulled Renee into a one-armed embrace. “Tell those idiots to write too, ain’t like they don’t have pens and paper in the swamp.”

 “I will. And thank you,” she directed the last at the whole group, who waved away the gratitude with mumbled protests and continued waving as she stepped onto the train.

 This one took her to Charleston, down through rolling green hills and farmlands that gave the country some space, opening up into long tracks of fields that both reminded her of home and was nothing at all like it. It was only a stop over this time, but the hour of rest came with polite men and women, an ocean view and accents that were similar to Eugene’s. The leg after took her down to Georgia where she drank an ice-cold Coca-Cola from a Soda Fountain in the rail yard and watched a group of kids played a game right in the middle of the street with a ball and stick; jeers and cheers filtering into the open door of the Fountain. From Savannah, the train took her all the way to New Orleans.

 New Orleans was like stepping into a different world. Music seemed to be infused in the air around her from the minute she got off the train; slow saxophone’s and staccato snares, trumpets whisking a melody away into the melting summer breeze. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, taking in the atmosphere. She walked around some of the city; wandering into the French Quarter and marveling at the architecture and listening to accented French coming in fits and stops from the residents who tipped their hats at her as she passed. Eventually, she found herself in a kind of civic center and asked for directions to the town that Eugene had written to her from. The kindly older man working there, showed her where it was on a map and arranged for her to get a cab down.

 The bayou, as she learned the whole area was referred to, was almost like something out of a fairy tale. Swamps, running into jungle forests and moss covering everything from the trees to the roofs of the houses half-hidden from the road. The cab dropped her off at a little general store/café that the driver in question assured her would be helpful if she was looking for someone in particular.

 A few curious eyes lit on her when she walked into the open aired restaurant, but the stares were without hostility and her purpose was quickly deduced correctly because a kind looking woman with wild grey-touched curls in a faded red dress came up to her with a smile.

 “You look like a woman who could use a hand,” she said, eyeing the suitcase and bag at Renee’s feet, “I’m Bea, what can I help you with, sugar?”

 “I was told that you could help me find someone?” Renee asked.

 Bea’s eyes widened and she whistled lowly. “Honey, that is some pretty voice you got there. As for help, I know just about every person in this neck of the woods; and if I don’t, then they ain’t here. Who you looking for?”

 “Eugene Roe.”

 A fond smile settled on Bea’s lined face. “That boy got popular in Europe,” she commented and then led Renee over to one of the wrought iron tables in the café. “You sit tight and I’ll give ‘im a call, alright?”

 Renee thanked her and sat there, nerves suddenly erupting her stomach as she waited. It had been so long and she had basically invited herself. Maybe he’d be cross? But no, why send a welcoming committee in Philadelphia otherwise? She drummed her knuckles on the table and was only interrupted when Bea set some iced, amber colored liquid in front of her; condensation beading at the tall glass.

 “Sweet tea,” Bea explained, “It’s a staple down here. Best get used to it, if you’re staying.”

 Renee took a drink, flavor bursting across her tongue. The coolness of it hit her and relaxed some of the tension that had sprung up. “It’s good,” she said, a little surprised.

 “Glad to hear it,” Bea replied, grinning. She patted Renee on the shoulder and then twirled away to serve another customer.

 When Eugene finally arrived, it took Renee a moment to recognize him. Gone were the worn green army fatigues, and in its place was a pair of denim jeans and a button up checked shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His black hair was a bit longer and his skin had lost the deathly pale hue that she got used to seeing in Bastogne, warming to a pale caramel under his home’s beating sun. She couldn’t stop the smile from lighting up her face at the sight and stood up, so that he could see her better.

 Sure enough, he spotted her and froze in the middle of the café before a more subdued, but no less genuine version of his own, smile crossed his features. He resumed his walk and when he was standing in front of her and – after a moment’s hesitation – gently pulled her into his arms. The breath she’d been painfully holding in her lungs gave way, and she breathed in the woodsy citrus kick of his aftershave as she held on.

 “It’s good to see you,” he said into her hair, before pulling away to look at her.

 “Vous aussi,” she said which softened his smile into loveliness.

 “These your bags?”

 “Oui. They are.”

 “Well, okay then,” he reached down and picked them up, “I got the guest room made up,” he stopped for a moment and then shrugged, expression sheepish, “unless you’d rather stay at an inn? Your choice, o’ course.”

 “Your guest room is fine,” she said, following him out of the café, where they waved goodbyes to Bea, who hassled them into agreeing to lunch the next day, “as long as your friend doesn’t mind?”

 A series of emotions flickered over his face before settling into rueful. “Edward don’t mind; he’s the one been fretting about pillows or some such since your wire.”

 The last knot of anxiety loosened in her gut at that. “Then lead on.”

 Eugene’s – “Gene, I insist.” – house was a medium sized bungalow set back a little way from the dirt road and surrounded by a sparse, moss ridden wood with the nearest neighbors half-a-mile down the road. It was sweet and Renee found an instant kinship to the large dormer windows and wide porch that extended out from the house.

 “It’s not much,” he said, almost sounding apologetic.

 Renee refrained from saying that any standing building was stunning to her now, no matter the size or color or shape. “It’s beautiful,” she told him honestly.

 They were greeted at the dog by a floppy eared beagle whose whole hindquarters wriggled when Renee leaned down to pet him. “That’s Rex,” Gene said, rolling his eyes good naturedly at the pup, “wandered into the yard one day and never left. Ain’t much of a guard dog, as you can see.”

 “He doesn’t need to be. He’s lovely exactly the way he is,” she said, laughing when he took a chance to lick at her cheek.

 Gene led them into the house. Renee took in the cozy decorating, lacking a bit in the way that most male driven houses did, and was examining a series of photos on an end table when the last resident of the house came bounding around the corner, stopping abruptly when he saw her. He was as Bill had described him – skinny, redhaired, eyes too big for his ugly mug – though she would argue the ‘ugly’ descriptor; he had a sweet, open face that put her at ease immediately.

 “Hey,” he said, practically vibrating in anticipation, giving her a half-wave from his place in the doorway and biting his lip, “you must be Renee. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

 “Enchante, Edward. I’ve heard much about you.”

 “You have? From – wait, Edward?” He looked over at Gene who was deliberately turned away, though Renee could see the hint of a pleased grin on his face. “Really, Gene; Edward?” He turned back to Renee in a mild huff. “Call me Babe, everyone does.”

 “Babe,” she agreed, noticing that some of the stiffness in his frame had disappeared in the wake of the mix-up. Probably, that was Gene’s intention all along.

 “Right. Are you hungry? Gene was making some kind of stew thing –”

 “It’s jambalaya, Babe, you know this.”

 “— before Bea called. It’ll make your senses wish they’d died, but it tastes amazing.”  

 Renee nodded. “I’d love to try some.”

 She sat at the dining table as Gene and Babe worked seamlessly around each other in the small kitchen, and rather than feeling awkward or forgotten, both men managed to include her in their ritual, making her feel as at home for the first time since the bombs began to fall. Babe, in a similar vein to Bill, gave her all the gossip about town, while Gene corrected the most outlandish claims the redhead made (“It did not try to eat you, Babe.” “It wanted too – I could tell, stared at my leg like it was a rack of ribs.” “It was an alligator snapping turtle not an actual gator.” ���Well, what he hell’s it got alligator in its name for then, huh? Huh Gene? Answer me that!”) with a well-rehearsed fondness.

 The jambalaya was as Babe advertised it – amazing, but eye wateringly spicy – and was finished off with powered French pastries Gene called beignets. Gene asked about her journey and she indulged them with the story, making sure to thank them for setting Frannie and the others in her path.

 “Bill says that you two must write him sometime. He was quite insistent,” she said teasingly.

 Babe snorted. “Sure. Tomorrow I’ll send him a telegram: Dear Bill, screw you, Love Babe.”

 She laughed and Babe grinned all the brighter for it. Gene shook his head, but his eyes kept bouncing between them with a contentedness that Renee was glad to see he was capable of. It made the restless, inadequate feelings in her heart go into hibernation. A tranquil hush came to a rest in her blood. Whatever may come, she thought she could be herself here. Perhaps even be truly happy.

 It was a something to look forward too. A gift.

 And she intended to enjoy it.

[overdrivels]

Imploration

This is a sort of prequel to an old fic of mine, On Guard. Mostly talks about conspiracy and the stuff that led up to the events of that fic. I wrote this long, long ago, but just never finished it. Apparently the last edit was back in 2018, so I’m actually happy I got my ass back into gear to finish it up.

It’s basically just a tangent of potential lore-weaving and what-if Sojiro Shimada wasn’t an asshole and knew Gabriel Reyes.

----

「Sapporo, please.」

“Water.”

The two men waited in silence for their respective drinks to come. They sat side by side at the counter in the furthest seats away from the door with a great view of the dinky ramen shack that could barely seat ten people. One was obviously a foreigner to this place. The other patron was obviously from the area, dressed in nothing but jinbei, and personally greeted by the shopkeeper warmly in his thick dialect (「Welc–oh! So-chan, long time! How are th'boys?」)

Their drinks were placed in front of them not too long, and they each took a pull, relishing in the relief the liquids brought them in this humid weather. The cicadas were loud, and combined their voices with the cheap electrical fan overhead, almost enough to make up for the simmering silence in the shop. Though, one of the patrons decided that cicadas make for terrible conversationalists, and that perhaps the man next to him would be better.

“Are you a perhaps a tourist?” Sojiro asked coolly in near perfect English, eyes crinkling in mirth. Gabriel’s eyes swept the shop before focusing on the man. There were very few who would know English in this part of town. Both were able to speak freely in this nearly abandoned shop. The shopkeep himself was tending to his broth unhurriedly.

Gabriel took a sip of his water, condensation already forming on the side from the hot summer air.

“Yeah, something like that. You a local?”

“Something like that,” he repeated cheekily. Gabriel snorted. His new friend had a sense of humor.

“Are you here for business, then?”

The air shifted briefly when Sojiro said that, and Gabriel had to grin. It reeked of danger and shady dealings. “I’m just here for…sight-seeing. Heard that Hanamura was quite…magical this time of year.”

Sojiro mirrored his expression, a knowing look in his eyes. “Of course. Hanamura is very beautiful. You’ve come at a good time, friend.” He jerked a chin at the shopkeeper behind the counter.

「Koma-chan!」

「Ay, So-chan? What can I do fer ya?」

「My new friend here wants your Tonkotsu special. Double eggs, extra firm noodles, make them wavy. Oh, and don’t forget the garlic. Two heads of it.」

With a knowing nod, and a curt, 「Sure thin’,」 the shopkeeper clicked off the fire to his broth, provided the two a pitcher of water to drink at their leisure, and disappeared into the back, leaving the two customers by their lonesome. The lights above their heads flicked momentarily, and a dull buzzing current that Gabriel could feel crawling up the back of his bare neck. Neither of the patrons moved until they could hear the wooden door to the shop click shut, and a body leaning heavily against it–basic assurance that no one will come in.

In the privacy of the shop guarded by a man who’s paid to keep secrets, both men were able to drop their pretenses.

“Where are my noodles, Shimada?” Gabriel gestured grandly at the kitchen just behind the bar table they sat at. “You promised me noodles when I got here.”

Sojiro laughed out loud. “You’ll get them, Reyes-san. Where is your hat?”

The Blackwatch commander ran a hand over his bare head, seeming annoyed now that he was reminded that he was bereft of his signature beanie. “At home getting tossed ‘round like a toy by some ingrate. Probably.”

The Japanese man had to raise an eyebrow at that. “Oh? A dog, is it?”

The image of Jesse McCree as a dog–the correct analog was a roadside mutt, really–wasn’t entirely wrong, but Gabriel waved it off. “Something like that. But enough of this bull.”

“Yes,” Sojiro said coolly. “Welcome to my Hanamura, I am very pleased you were able to make it.”

The possessiveness does not go unnoticed—a dual invitation and a threat.

“’was getting tired of talking to you through stupid cigarette paper.” From one of his inner pockets, Gabriel tossed out a rolled up piece of scrap onto the table, which Sojiro picked up, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, amused.

“I had assumed you liked my style. Apologies.” The paper disappeared into the inside of Sojiro’s sleeves as he crossed his arms.

Gabriel snorted in disbelief. “If you were really sorry, you’d get your ass on one of our comms already and not send one of your mechanical birds. You’re a damn hack, Shimada,” he said, pounding the table just once to get his point across.

“You flatter me.”

“That ain’t a compliment.”

“Then I’m afraid I misunderstood.” He pressed a mocking hand to his heart. “Forgive the ignorance of this old man.”

While the runaround was annoying, Gabriel could appreciate the sarcasm, it’s much better than listening to the straight-laced Jack Morrison all day. “Just get on with it. You said you had a favor to ask Blackwatch?”

“Ah, yes.”

Sojiro leaned against the bar counter with one elbow, suddenly donning the posture of one more fitting of his actual position. Comfortable, unhurried, but menacing. “But first, allow me to tell you the tale passed down from our family throughout the generations.”

The Blackwatch commander drained the last of his water, and waved the bottom of it at him, willing him to continue. He had a feeling that he’d be forced to hear it whether he wanted to or not.

“My family tells of an ancient legend about two great dragon brothers…”

By the time the story was over, Gabriel was leaned over the counter, his palm digging another crater-sized dimple into his face. "And? What does that have to do with your clan?”

“We, the Shimada clan, descended from those dragons,” he paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before he looked at Gabriel with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "or so it’s said. Though, some have interpreted the story to mean that the two dragons were once the rulers of the Shimada clan. When the Dragon of the North killed his younger brother, he did not fall to the ground. He fell on a Shimada.”

The image of a multi-ton mythical snake falling onto some poor soul made Gabriel laugh out loud, and he slapped the table, shaking the empty glasses in his mirth. Sojiro was not particularly bothered by this, and let him laugh it out–he’s dealt with worse, he has two sons that could disappear at a moment’s notice (one of which does it on a nearly bi-hourly basis).

Gabriel finally calmed down after a couple of minutes, he was clutching his stomach, tears at the corner of his eyes. By that time, Sojiro has already drained the last of his alcohol. “That’s hilarious, Shimada.”

His lips quirked upward and he shrugged far more casually than a man who just had his family legacy laughed at should. “There’s more–”

“Did he fall on more than one?”

“–to this theory. When the elder Dragon was asked to descend, he did not descend onto any land, but into a Shimada. Possessed a human body.”

“That interpretation’s a stretch, isn’t it?”

Sojiro shrugged again. “Regardless, these dragons are in our family. And the Shimadas have the ability to control them.”

“And? If you have those mythical dragons running around, why do you need our help?”

Sojiro laughed humorlessly. “Because, Reyes-san, you are a smart man. You should understand.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Shimada. I’m not making my people do your dirty work for you.”

“Of course not, and this request is not without adequate compensation.”

Sojiro poured water into Gabriel’s empty glass and then into his own. Gabriel watched quietly as the man turned away from him and ran a hand through his hair slowly, the streaks of grey a testament to how difficult his life must have been. The man’s chest expanded with a deep breath, unwilling to actually sigh, before he faced the Blackwatch commander again.

“They killed my wife, Reyes-san,” Sojiro said solemnly. “Now they seek to kill me to control my sons.”

His eyebrow raised. “The news said she died of heart failure.” Not that Gabriel believed everything he heard in the news, but he was admittedly not very concerned with Japanese politics at the time. The Shimadas always kept their affairs to Japanese soil, though there were always rumors of the clan being seen in various areas of South and East Asia.

The widower scoffed, downing his new glass of water as though it’ll cleanse him of this reality.

“They lie,” Sojiro huffed bitterly. “They killed her. Because she was a strong woman. She frightened the clan elders.” A flash of fondness crossed his face. “She was beautiful. Powerful. But then…”

He gnashed his teeth, and Gabriel could’ve sworn he was imagining it, but something beneath the clan leader’s clothes seemed to glow. “The filthy cowards. They thought I would not discover it.”

“Discover what?”

“They did something to her. She became different.” The older man’s hazel eyes became hard, glaring holes into the wooden counter. ���It was still my wife, but she—she began to lose sight of herself. She looked the same, but she…” He shook his head roughly. “I do not know what happened, but only that the clan elders were responsible.”

“You said something about killing you to control your sons?”

“Yes, yes.” He waved a hand, nonchalant, as if his life was a trivial matter. “My sons are still young. In the case of my eldest, Hanzo, I’m afraid his burden is a much heavier destiny than he can bear.”

“How so?”

“The eldest’s role is to lead the clan.” 

“So, he’s just a you 2.0.” 

Sojiro shakes his head. “It would be my greatest joy, but my greatest sorrow if he were to become like his father.” 

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” 

“If only my second son fell nearer. Wild and rambunctious; capricious.”

“Why? Second son belongs to the milkman?”

Even Reyes knows when he’s crossed the line, regretting those words the instance they left his mouth. There was a threatening crackle in the air, every sense in his body running rampant and screaming danger was near. Sojiro’s face remained carefully neutral, but there’s hardness to his eyes that even Reyes, a hardened soldier and having given the look himself many times, felt compelled to retract his statement. 

“My bad.”

Sojiro nodded. “Do you know our clan’s symbol?”

He’s seen it several times before in pictures of the mobster in the reports he’s given occasionally. Sojiro normally wore it proudly on his back during the day, unlike now, in an unassuming set of the equivalent of lounging clothes. The two dragons like an ouroboros–eating the other rather than itself. Normally, an ouroboros signifies the cycle of creation and life, all as one. Ana had taught this to him before among other things during their times of idleness.

But two of them trying to eat the other? Gabriel could fathom a guess, but he’s sure it’d be a poor one. He’s not much for this sort of philosophical thinking. (It was honestly more of the space gorilla’s favorite pastime.)

“It is rare that both dragons, North and South, are born together in the same generation. Both my sons have received the blessing of dragons.” Sojiro swirled his glass, the water formed a mini-tornado within. “It was supposed to be joyous. The strongest generation, the elders claimed. Finally, the two dragon brothers have been reunited.”

“Isn’t that a good thing for you guys?”

“But there is a problem. My son, Hanzo, has two dragons.”

The meaningful look Sojiro gave him forced the truth upon him so quickly, he got figurative whiplash.

“So they only require one of the brothers, then.”

Sojiro’s eyes were downcast, the grip on his empty glass so tight, it was clattering against the table. “Once they have Hanzo, they will have no need for Genji.”

“Didn’t know the dragon legend had a third brother.”

“Not explicitly. But if one were to read between the lines of text, you could infer the existence of an East and West Wind. But that is hardly relevant. Who would believe such a thing?”  

Gabriel shrugged. It’s true. If it’s not mentioned anywhere, there’s no reason for anyone to believe such a thing. “But why kill your other son? Isn’t the more dragons the better? More auspicious, isn’t it?”

“No. It has to be two dragons, or one of the two.”

“In that case, Genji has no use. They could just oust him or something.” 

Sojiro slammed his glass against the table in anger. “It is because Genji still has a use that the clan elders want him dead. They cannot control him, so they will seek his death.”

It would be easy for another faction to challenge Hanzo’s legitimacy. Hanzo may have two dragons, but they could argue it’s the result of some defect—one dragon split into two. It’s a stretch, but a very compelling possibility. Genji, on the other hand, is whole. If a branch family were to rally behind Genji and claim him as the true heir, the clan elders would either be forced to recognize it or forced to have a civil war. Neither options were desirable.

Genji, from Sojiro’s account, is a force of nature; untameable and unflappable. A cheeky young thing with no regards toward tradition or hierarchy. A walking nightmare for a band of traditionalists stewing in their own filth they call “order”.

“Should you really be leaving your sons alone, then?”

“My eldest cousin, Asahi, is guarding my youngest, Genji. My other cousin is guarding Hanzo. I trust them both to watch over my sons properly.”

Gabriel took a contemplative sip of water, staring off into space. “Cousins, huh? So they’re branch members?”

The unspoken implication hung heavily over their heads, but Sojiro responded, “Reyes-san. I trust them.”  

“Glad someone does.”

It’s not unheard of for the branch members of a family in the middle of a power struggle to take sides or drastic measures. It’s natural, even. Some members may even want to lay claim to the Head seat themselves. But the case of the Shimadas, whose worth was determined by the family’s dragons, they could only make due with manipulating the leader. Gabriel has seen more than his fair share of skirmishes over seats of power, and the inevitable mess of an aftermath. 

Gabriel tapped the counter. “I don’t see why I’m here, though. If we’re talking allies, Talon should be higher on the list than us.”

Sojiro’s lip curled in derision. “They do not know their place.”

“Oh, and we do?” 

“You’re much more preferable to work with. And many times more trustworthy than Talon.”

“Well, I’m honored,” Gabriel answered sarcastically, putting a hand to his chest. “That you think we could do something that even you or Talon cannot do.” 

That Sojiro spoke of his sons and the sticky matter of his clan’s politics to an outsider was extremely telling. It’s a weakness that Gabriel never thought he’d ever get to see. 

“It must be funny to you that the head of the Shimada clan–ruler of all Hanamura–can’t even protect his own children,” Sojiro spat out bitterly. “It is shameful for me to ask an outsider this, but…”

Gabriel did not expect the man to suddenly get on his hands and knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. “Please, protect my sons. I beg you as the father of these two children, please.”

“Get up, Shimada.” Despite his words, the Blackwatch commander was already trying to pull him up. This look does not suit the head of the Shimada empire. Such a powerful man grovelling at his feet when he was only stomping around on things unmentionable just the week before was unsettling.

The man refused to budge, as though the weight of his request and the lives that rested on Reyes’ answer kept him glued to the floor. 

“I beg you.” 

“Don’t be an ass, Shimada.” 

“When I die, I have no power to protect them. They are too green. They lack power.”

“Isn’t that your damn job as a parent?”

“I cannot!” Sojiro shouted. “I have failed as a parent. I cannot hope to pretend to be one now. I can only entrust this to someone I trust.”

“You’d trust an enemy, Shimada?” 

“Yes.”

It was a peculiar thing that most people would never understand. Multiple encounters of their teams clashing, outsmarting each other, outmaneuvering the other forged an ironclad trust that many people would never have the privilege of experiencing. Someone who knows all your weaknesses, your strengths, morals, and respects the rules which you play by. It’s how they were both able to meet in such a place, neither with weapons or additional guards. This was a peculiar bond that perhaps only enemies would ever know. 

Gabriel sighed, dropping his ass onto the ground. “You’re a real piece of work, Shimada.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Sojiro replied, a hint of a smile in his voice. He slowly raised his head from the ground, a red mark maring his forehead. “Is that a ‘yes’, then?”

Again, Gabriel sighed. What Sojiro was asking of him was not only going to be difficult, but risky as well. It could put Overwatch (and Blackwatch) at serious political risk with the Japanese government. Even worse, it would make them the target of the Shimada clan and all of its affiliates and stakeholders. Jack would definitely be opposed to such a plan. 

Even if they managed to protect the two brothers, the only thing Blackwatch would get out of this is the lukewarm gratitude of two brats who would not know the desperate lengths to which their father went to protect their lives and future. And they would likely never understand or appreciate it. 

High risk, low reward was not how Blackwatch liked to operate.

But Gabriel Reyes was a different story. 

“We’ll need a proper plan. Can’t guarantee it’ll work out, but we need your cooperation if we’re going to maximize our chances of getting either of your sons out of this in one piece.” 

“Of course. You have my thanks, Reyes-san.” 

The deal was sealed with a handshake and the ramen that Sojiro owed Reyes. Both men made small talk for the rest of the night before leaving to don the mantle of their respective roles. 

When Gabriel returned, the details with Sojiro were confirmed. Blackwatch’s mission is to keep a watchful eye over the two brothers and ensure they stay alive. If possible, get them out by force. 

He assigned you to Hanamura under the pretense that you will be gathering information about their arms trade by becoming the bodyguard of a Shimada heir. You will get close to them, get them to divulge their secrets. While it’s true that the Shimadas were involved in the exchange of weaponry, he did not disclose to you the real reason—it’s better if you didn’t know. You will protect them anyway, keep an eye on both brothers regardless.

After all, it goes without saying that in order to fool your enemies, you must first fool your allies.

The implant goes without a hitch, at least, from his part.

Sojiro continued to communicate with him through the tiny scrolls delivered by his robotic birds—entirely indistinguishable from ordinary ones. His coded messages were short, but expressed his gratitude and trepidation.

The news of Sojiro’s death does not surprise him. 

What did surprise him was your insistence on leaving. 

“I’m with the wrong Shimada!” you hissed into your communicator, and Gabriel stopped himself from telling you just how wrong that statement was. 

Instead, he carefully considered your words. If you were to leave, there’d be no one around to report on either Shimada brother. It was hard enough for Sojiro to get you accepted in their fold, and it wouldn’t do to waste such an opportunity.

But on the other hand, the oligarchy surrounding the new Shimada head would be considerably less cautious if the outsider finally leaves their midst. Their guard might even be down for a short while as they take the chance to eliminate you which meant a short window of opportunity. 

It might be worth taking this chance. They could get you and one of the brothers out alive. From your reports, you’ve built a fair amount of trust between yourself and your charge. A few words and the promise of freedom might convince the younger Shimada to go with them. 

“Jack, we’re storming Hanamura.”

“What? Gabe! We don’t have jurisdiction over Japan! What are you thinking?”

“I have an agent who wants out. This departure is going to turn the Shimada’s inside-out, I can’t imagine the clan will let a foreigner leave so easily.” 

Moments of silence later, Jack heaved a shuddering sigh. Gabriel could just imagine the man rubbing his forehead, trying to formulate a speech for the media when this all goes to hell in a hand basket. “When?”

“A week from now. Dead of night.”

Little did he know, a week from now, they’d be storming Hanamura for very different reasons.