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pampushky · 4 months ago

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i hate the air he breathes his foolish decrees

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 2 - 5k

woooo welcome to part 2 my loves! sorry for the slight wait. I've been doing hot bitch shit (my actual job). but now we're back. enjoy the fuck out of it. TW: no mention of abuser other than as him. mentions of abandonment and severe physical trauma in the form of a house fire. lore drop on the main character too!!

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Mid-March 2005. Los Angeles.

Niki gets a call from an unknown number that wakes him up from a deep slumber, and he hardly has any time to think as he’s pulling a sweater over his head and forgoing a hat entirely. It’s his third day in as your legal guardian, and you’re already transferred to a state-of-the-art hospital in Los Angeles, across the country from where you’d lived previously. A newer set of mountains. A city to the hamlet you’d once known, hidden away in the foggy mountains of North Carolina.

As he blearily walks into the hospital lobby, there’s already a small team of doctors waiting for him, explaining rapidly what's happening to you as they walk him up to your room in the burn ward. You’re in the best hospital for burns on the continent— Niki had made sure of it. Had paid for the flight over here two days ago, with a medical staff on board to keep you stable during the five-hour flight.

The doctors swarming around your unconscious form resemble vultures. The burn center director explains everything to him when they finally get to your room. The rapid medical treatment nearly made you present early. Freakishly early, by all standards. It’s understood to have been a panic response by your body— because you're on the brink of death in the burn ward, your hormones so out of whack that for whatever reason, your brain had gone, ‘Oh, yes, it’s time to do that now.’

Studies had shown that those in areas where the risk of death was high often presented much earlier, with other cases that also supported something known as “panic presentation”. You’re an extreme example of the latter. But it had never been seen to this degree. You need to be knocked out for several days, going comatose while a team of doctors works around the clock to save your life while it seems likely you will melt away like the first snowfall on a sun-warmed road as it seems new complications get piled onto your case file every day. The way the doctor talks about you makes Niki feel like you’re more of a specimen meant for study, and not a pup who’d just lost her Dam.

Marlene has already decorated the sterile room to reflect more on a child’s room. And wherever there’s an empty space on a table, she’s placed down vases full of fresh flowers. Flowering dogwood. That’s what the state flower was of North Carolina, and however early in the season for blooming it was, she managed to find fresh ones every day. Now, Marlene was back at the hotel, settling a new wave of interest about your identity while Niki tried to figure out what he was going to do with you when he's lead into the room.

You’re already on several new medications to prevent you from presenting early, having them inserted in through an IV and eventually, to be taken as a pill when you could swallow. You'll be on these same medications until you’re seven or eight, when they can start to consider weaning you off of them to let you present then because it’ll be safer. Niki hates the idea of you presenting even then. You should be almost fully grown when you present. Not— not still a pup. With baby teeth still in your mouth. You should be wrestling. Learning to access your canine form, and causing mayhem like his sons had.

So he does what he’s been doing for the past five days. Niki sits quietly by your side in your private room. Holding your tiny hand while a machine breathes for you, not even five years old, and fighting for your life. Completely unaware of the complications your existence has thrown straight into Niki’s lap, dredging up old, old wounds that his sons have yet to recover from.

Because the great complication is that you’re his biological grandchild.

Through a son, a beta, that neither Lukas nor Mathias had gotten to know. Or Niki, for that matter. But here you are. The only link to that son. To the ultimate undoing of his marriage and mating, his infidelity thrown back in his face in the form of a sedated, traumatized pup that can’t understand him through his accent.

Left without a dam, your mother. Lost to the roaring flames of a housefire that you’d somehow survived. Part of Niki wants to know how his son had ended up in the area, and if there are any other new descendants he should know about. So he petitions the court to gain access to your files before he legally adopts you, and he stares down at them before finally lifting the cover of the manila folder and starts to read.

All the files seem to stare right on back at Niki as he continues to pour through them, officially five minutes and nine seconds into being your legal guardian. They’re meticulous, just as expected— it had become standard for anyone who’d had so much as a visit to a hospital to create a DNA profile, especially after they presented. His affair child’s profile stares back at him, with what he can only assume is an up-to-date photo. Male. Beta. Signed away parental rights before birth. Austrian nationality. That’s all you have to go on for your biological father’s identity.

That’s all that linked Niki to you, and how the social worker had managed to contact him. All other positive matches from your father’s side are his former mistress as your biological grandmother and his two sons with Marlene as your uncles. There are no other pups listed for his affair child. No other grandchildren that he has to worry about. Your dam’s profile is more complete. A smiling picture of her holding you as an infant, left by her family.

Female. Omega. Deceased. American nationality, born in Banner Elk, North Carolina.

And under that:

Dam’s pack signed away pack and next of kin rights to the pup. Relevant health history is accessible through the International UN DNA database. Pack requested no contact order until the pup has reached legal age, or unless the pup does not survive her time in hospital, so they may bury her in the family plot with her Dam.

This makes a chill run down Niki’s spine. Your pack had… signed you away? The only people who had been familiar to you— and they had signed away their rights as though you were more of a burden than anything, only asking for you back if you were dead. It makes him shudder, as he looks down at your tiny body again, for what must have been the thousandth time since he’s been introduced to you. Since he’d so quickly agreed to become your legal guardian, your legal sire. Covered in bandages and hooked up to dozens of wires.

The social worker explained that signing you away was them not wanting to pay for the massive medical bill, along with the scandal your birth had caused in the small community. Your Dam was unmated, and even worse, unmarried, raising you on her own in a less-than-up-to-code cabin her late father had left her, further out in the mountains, a thirty-minute drive into town.

The matriarch of her pack had been well-regarded in the area— it was an open secret that she was looking for any excuse to remove you from the picture. This just happened to be the perfect excuse. How was she going to be able to pay for your medical costs on her own when it was just her? All the advanced treatments you’d need— it would be too much in her old age.

When told about the Children’s Health Insurance Programs that could easily provide care for you, your grand-dam had just made a sour face and told the Social Worker she was still signing away her rights. Her surviving children were quick to follow her lead.

What a backward system. Niki had growled to himself, pacing in the room. Reading the reports from the insurance company he’d managed to legally bully his way into receiving from your biological family.

The cabin had burnt down in nearly an hour. You’d been trapped under a metal bed frame when the roof collapsed in on itself. When they’d found you, it had been a recovery effort for bodies. And despite it all, you’d survived, your whimpering and crying alerting the firefighters that you were alive. Severely burnt, with the old mattress and polyester blankets having melted and dripped across your little body as the embers settled. Half of your body severely burnt from where the flames could still reach you. Crying out for your Dam even as you were airlifted to the nearest hospital with a functioning burn ward.

Going over your files has become a habit for first past three days. Ever since Marlene had gone silent when Niki told her that he was going to adopt you, before brusquely starting to order furniture and calling countless contractors that a new pup-friendly room be added to his house in Hof. He’s lucky to at least be considered a friend of his former mate, otherwise, he would be stumbling through his second round of parenting. He looks down at the newest addition to his pack. You. Four and a half. With burns covering an incredible amount of your body. Nearly 45% percent of your torso, completely mangling one of your legs, crawling up your neck and dancing across your jaw. Now lying in a medically-induced coma to conserve your energy.

You wake up nearly two days later. Five days into Niki’s tenure as your legal sire. Unable to scream. Eyes fixed on Niki as your little chest heaves with the effort it takes to breathe. You pull at your IV and try to snap at a nurse who tries to stop you. But your eyes are still fixed on Niki, likely horrified by his burns. You were glancing at your own bandaged arms and body as if to gauge how you would one day look.

There is a wild look in your eyes as you look at him. The way you tremble as the doctors try to explain everything. It hurts Niki’s heart, especially with the gasping noise you let out before they sedate you again when you’re still not responding well to anything. Niki wants to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go. You mumble something out as you drift away again, tears in the corners of your eyes. Foggy eyes on the extravagant bouquets of flowers on the tables beside your bed and across the room.

Where is my Dam?

Early February 2024. Woking.

Your right leg was acting up again. It always did when you were stressed. The fire had mangled it— and that was putting it lightly. Not bad enough to amputate, because that would be too easy, and they didn’t want to send your body into even more shock. So you had your crispy, chicken-fried, useless leg. You could put some weight on it now, after nearly twenty years of intense therapy and correcting surgeries. But it was still incredibly weak. All twisted, mottled skin and a full knee replacement.

That’s what had made it so easy for him. That’s what had made it easy for him to chase you down as you tried to leave every situation that saw him near you. Easily able to keep pace with your shambling, stress-induced walk as you choked on his scent.

Your upper thigh twinges. The needle pierces your skin all over again. That was the only reason you’d been able to walk away without experiencing a true heat from whatever drug he’d hit you with. The bad, mangled leg of yours. Your downfall and savior.

The halls are winding, but you can vaguely follow the way to your office from previous talks. You call Lewis the moment you get to the room. There’s already a brand-new mini fridge sitting on your desk, likely from the accommodations you’d listed in the countless documents you’d had to sign when you got hired.

There’s a few people unboxing your items and they look a bit shocked to see you back from what was supposed to be a much longer meeting.

“Ms Lauda—”

“Leave, please,” you whisper while pacing across the room, trying to calm yourself down. You can feel your scent-blocking, adhesive strips tingling. Your scent glands, especially the damaged ones, threatening to blister from the stress of what just happened. You were going to be sacked for certain. Not only had you yelled at the driver you were meant to work with, you’d also thrown an empty can at him. “I’d like some space.”

The workers, your new assistants, you realize, hurry out, not even catching your mumbled thanks as you tuck yourself into a corner where you can’t be seen from the door. So much different than Williams. So much more support. Lewis doesn’t pick up immediately, but just as you’re about to call again, his contact photo appears on your screen.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay—” Is the first thing you hear, like the protective older brother he’s always situated himself as in your life. “What room are you in? I still haves ways to get into the classified parts of the MTC—”

“I’m going to fucking kill Lando Norris,” You growl into the phone, and Lewis lets out a relieved noise, before breaking off into a fit of laughter, his voice more distant as if he’s trying to muffle himself. “Don’t laugh! That fucking brat, I should box his goddamn ears, showing up nearly an hour late to what was supposed to be our initial meeting—”

“Ah, yeah, sounds like Lando!”

“Fuck off, Lewis,” You whine, and he has the audacity to laugh even harder, because your accent slips, as it always seems to do when you’re with your immediate pack. You can hear him shuffle a bit. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” You concede to him with a soft sigh. You hear the chortling barks of Roscoe in the background of Lewis’s call. “I’m gonna do my job. But I’m gonna hate it. Unless I get switched to Oscar.”

“Don’t sound too hopeful.” Lewis chides on the other side of the phone, and you hear the doorknob jiggle, followed by a soft knock. “Sounds like you have some work to do.”

He hangs up before you can say something in response to him, leaving the gentle knocking on the door to slowly drive you insane. Likely Andrea or Zak, telling you that you were going to be let go for committing a minor assault against their star driver.

And you're right, it is Zak. But he looks more concerned than angry with you, immediately putting his hands up in a placating manner when you open the door as if you’re the one with all the power and he’s not the CEO of McLaren Racing, your ultimate boss. Your boss’s boss. The one who bulldozed his way into getting you on the team because he’d seen your work to get at least a modicum of respect back to Williams, and, in his own words, got a good vibe from you.

(And maybe Niki had been in his ear a little bit about it, but when Niki Lauda spoke, people had a habit of listening rather closely to whatever he said.)

“Mr. Brown,” You start formally, leaning down in a way that is traditionally seen as submitting and a very, very formal way to apologize before he starts to squawk in surprise at it all.

“Don’t– What are you submitting for— are you alright?!”

The last thing you expect is Zak fretting over you like you’re a pup. He’s gently squishing your cheeks with his hands, checking you over, and you can see his nose twitching, as if he’s checking your scent for any signs of distress. Only to look confused by how… clean, you smell.

“Are you— are you still hurt from everything?”

“No, I just,” You take a step backward, and hold up your hands just like he had just been doing for you a few seconds ago. “It’s easier to hide my designation when I smell like this.”

He just looks confused at your explanation but doesn’t seem to question it.

“And you… want to continue hiding it?”

“Preferably.”

Even as you say it, you can see a bit of pity in his eyes. You know his mate is an omega. He has a pup who’s an omega. Both of which he supports wholeheartedly. You’d seen all the articles. Part of you is jealous. Another part just wants everyone to stop caring about what your designation may be. Why should anyone care what you are?

You’re proud of yourself, regardless of your designation. You’re not some prize to be won! You can stand on your own two feet, you can take care of yourself. You had more than shown that—

Zak is hugging you. Rumbling softly like any parent would do for a distressed pup.

“You don’t have to justify it. I just need to know so I can make sure that no one else is told, aside from our medical people.” He whispers, and you sag against him. Relief fills your mind. “What— what do people think you’ve presented as?”

“Alpha. Like Vati. They think I’m an Alpha.”

“We can work with that,” Zak pulls away, looking at you. There’s only worry in his eyes. “Can I ask one more thing?”

“Yeah,” You sniffle, not realizing you’d starting to tear up as you look at him. “What is it?”

“Why…. did you throw an empty can of Red Bull at Lando? You’re not in trouble, I just want to know why.”

You flush, and Zak just starts to laugh.

McLaren is much, much different than Williams.

Lando has been sitting in a chair while Oscar screams at him. Andrea has disappeared. It’s been ten minutes and all he wants to do is curl up and die and apologize for commenting on your voice and being late and not charging his phone and really, every other thing that he’d done wrong, ever.

Yes. He is technically the older one. No, he shouldn’t be acting like such a pup over this.

Yes. He should know better than to comment on things that people can’t change or help about themselves.

Yes, Oscar, Lando was aware that you had survived a very traumatic house fire that nearly killed you. No, it’s not okay that he called you a robotic bitch. No, he didn’t read the email about the apparent triggers that you had from this event. Frankly, he wasn’t even aware that they had emailed those to him. That seemed like a bit much.

“I mean seriously, Lando! This is ridiculous! Fucking calling her that!”

It feels like he’s being lectured by his Dam again, her words blending English into Flemish until he can’t tell what she’s saying, just that she’s pissed at him. Instead, it’s just Oscar’s accent getting thicker and thicker until Lando’s certain he’s never heard anyone sound so furious with him, and that’s really saying something.

“I get it,” Lando whines, letting his head slip so that he can press his forehead against the table. And he does feel bad! Really! “I didn’t know she’d respond like that!”

“Wonderful excuse to be a fuckhead, champ,” Oscar drawls, eyes narrowed. His arms are folded. He looks unimpressed. He smells more, now than ever, of rotting oranges. Lando can imagine the maggots. “I’m shocked you didn’t comment on her designation as well.”

“She’s an alpha! And she smells so medicine-y,” Lando wrinkles his nose, lifting up his head enough to glare at the omega in front of him. Oscar’s face is a blank mask of annoyance, with a flicker of some other mystery emotion. But he can at least tell what he’s thinking because he can smell his displeasure from across the room. It’s all rotten oranges, burning rubber, and singed hair. “C’mon! I didn’t know it’d set her off that much, man!”

“Commenting on traumatic events tends to do that to people.”

“How was I supposed to know it was traumatic?!”

“Wow, you really didn’t read any of the emails,” Oscar lets out a low huff, sitting across from Lando in one of the plush office chairs. “We’ve been in talks with her for weeks!”

“You were in talks with her, maybe,” Lando says snidely, narrowing his gaze at the omega across from him, “I didn’t think I needed a new race engineer, yet here we are. But you seemed awfully interested when you heard she was looking for a new team.”

Oscar scoffs. His cheeks turn slightly pink. “No, I wasn’t. She’s a good friend. I thought she’d be a good fit for the team.”

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with the fact that you have such an obvious crush on her? I bet Logan even helped set you up,” Lando knows he’s been a dick again. But he’s frustrated. He’ll get lectured by his therapist for this later, and he’s okay with that. He just needs to make Oscar squirm a little for his high-and-mighty attitude. “You want her pups, I bet. Already have the first three named.”

“Fuck off,” Oscar snarls, and Lando decides to keep digging a bit more. “It’s not like that! Besides— I’m courting someone!”

An awkward silence settles between the two. Oscar’s flushed pink. And Lando starts to grin. All evil like, in Oscar’s opinion. Gleefully, in his own.

"Oh, but it is!” Lando chimes, his voice all sing-songy. He’s in full older brother mode. He knows exactly what to do to push Oscar’s buttons now that his teammate has shown his weakness. He’s done this with his sisters. And Oscar’s probably used to being the one doing the tormenting, as his family’s oldest pup. “You like her!” And then, with a very dramatic gasp, “Oh, you’re probably courting her! No wonder you wanted her here!”

Without so much as a warning, the Australian driver leaps at him with a snarl the moment the words are out of his mouth. They’re both tussling on the ground, before it turns into the two of them in their canine forms, snapping and snarling at each other. This is when Andrea decides to make a reappearance, looking a bit startled to see a mousy-brown wolf and a dark-brown wolf rolling around on the floor of the conference room. Oscar is large for an omega in his canine form, but still smaller than Lando. Lando is wirey, not as bulky as many would expect an Alpha to be. It’s rather evenly matched, considering how often the two of them are training.

One moment, Lando has Oscar pinned. Another, Oscar has him pinned. Snarling and biting and kicking until the door opens again, and now it’s Andrea, Zak, and yourself watching the two of them wrestle until you fearlessly walk into the fray and grab Oscar by one of his hind legs.

Oscar turns human again immediately, hitting the ground with a loud ‘oof’ while Lando scurries away, watching as you start to lecture the other driver as he stands up. Your tone is hushed, but it’s clear that this seems to be a common occurrence between the two of you. You’re leaning over him, and the rumblings of annoyance and displeasure are clear as day.

Lando can’t help but smirk as the other man makes fleeting eye contact with him as you sit on his side of the table, taking your place as his engineer, despite your obvious contempt for him.

“Now, let's get to business…” Andrea sighs. You keep your eyes ahead. Hands folded neatly in front of you. Letting his words blur until you feel Oscar gently tugging on your arm. He looks concerned, and you smile tiredly at him. Only just remembering the promise of cuddling in his nest with him when this was all done.

You don’t even care if you look or act nothing like the Alpha that Lando thinks you are. You just slump against Oscar with a grumpy half-whine as he hoists you over his shoulder. The other driver lets out a loud snort at that, and your friend only glares at him, about to say something else before you bring one of your hands to tap his cheek lightly.

“Just get to th’nest,” You mumble, leaning against him. Your leg aches. You don’t want to walk. “Wanna get th’blockers off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oscar sighs, glaring at Lando over his shoulder before walking past with you in his arms. You don’t care about how it looks. You’ll deal with it later. And before you know it, you’re curled in the world’s comfiest nest, all in shades of orange and black. With the comforting scent of sweet tangerines and charcoal. Oscar hands you a nice little bottle of micellar water to help get the sticky adhesive of the blockers off, much more gentle with your skin than you ever are with yourself. He’s even soaked cotton rounds to make it a bit easier to apply, gently rubbing them across your scarred glands to clear any remnants of the adhesive off of your skin.

The smells of mountain rain and fresh baked peach cobbler mix with Oscar’s scent as you stretch, rubbing your cheeks tiredly.

You let yourself relax then. Sinking deep into the soft pillows as Oscar comes to spoon you from behind. A commonplace action, and had been since he started to get more and more bold with you in his attempts to court you.

You can hear Oscar start to Facetime someone, probably Logan. But you honestly don’t care all that much— he’s there, and you’ll give your friend a full debrief, of course, after you’ve fully rested.

“Your leg acting up?”

Oscar nudges you, and you grumble, trying to press your face further into the plushness of the nest, voice muffled by pillows. “Who cares if it is?”

“I do.”

“So do I!” Logan chimes in from the phone, and you roll over enough to glare at him. “Did you take all your meds, mouse?”

“Unfortunately, yes. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to put me down at this point—”

You don’t even have time to respond as Oscar cuffs your ear. You let out a dramatic whine, actually letting yourself act on your instinctual noises. Nothing hurts, of course. Oscar’s always been gentle, making sure nothing actually hurts when he wrestles with you or cuffs your ears.

“Did you have to get my bad ear?” You whine, looking accusingly at the Aussie who just grins down at you, cuffing the same ear once again. “I’m gonna tell Lewis.”

“He doesn’t scare me, and besides, he’d probably agree with me! All, ‘C’mon, Mousey, that’s not how your therapist said to cope with your trauma—”

“That’s a bit scary, how accurate that was,” You prop yourself up to glare at your dear friend, only to smile broadly at him. You can’t help it, really. He manages to make you smile, even when you feel like shit. And even when he cuffs your right ear by mistake, after swearing he won’t do it again.

In truth, the ear looks almost melted. It’s usually carefully hidden by your personal stylist, with hair masterfully combed over it. The skin around it— luckily missing your scalp— was mottled and pink. What was left of your ear was little more than a small ridge of skin and cartilage at this point, and was much the same in your canine appearance, just more dramatic without all the fur. The upper half of your ear was utterly gone, along with most of the lobe. It was the ear you were deaf in.

“Can it even hurt if you’re deaf?”

“Yeah! Doesn’t mean it’s gone numb to the feeling,” you pout, looking at him as he sets his chin on your shoulder. Logan giggles from FaceTime. He’s set up somewhere, Williams blue all around him that makes you avert your gaze but continue talking to him nonetheless. “Ugh. Logan, I almost killed Lando.”

“She threw a can of Red Bull at him,” Oscar clarifies, to his rather shocked-looking boyfriend and courting partner. To his credit, it takes a few seconds before Logan starts to cackle.

“It was empty!” You protest back, but there’s a wide smile on your face as you hazard a glance at your former partner. “He was being a little bitch!”

“Should I be offended I didn’t get the same treatment my first day?” Logan’s voice crackles and his face is frozen on the screen with a mix of a confused look and smirk, before serenading both of you with a jumbled, robotic mess before the call abruptly ends.

“Stupid wifi,” Oscar mumbles, pulling the phone away to text his boyfriend to see what happened. You just settle back into your side of the nest, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift off while Oscar’s comforting scent wafts over in you waves. You could just about fall asleep when there’s a gentle knock at the door, followed by Andrea poking his head in.

He blinks at the two of you. You blink back at him, already knowing you won't be able to take a much-needed like you had originally planned.

“Ah! Ms Lauda— can I speak with you for a second?”

“Can I do it from here?” you try to press yourself deeper into Oscar’s nest. You’d need to find a place to make one here— a nice, private room. Somewhere you can easily reapply your scent blockers and can fully surrender to your instincts until you were comfortable with more people knowing about your designation. “Took off my blockers.”

“Of course. I just wanted to check in, make sure everything was alright after… how the meeting went.”

There’s a hearty pause. As if he can tell you’re thinking over your words carefully.

“It certainly… went.”

“Ah. And… no other comments?”

“I meant what I said. You baby Lando.” You shift slightly. Tiredly. Giving the team principal the trademark Lauda stare from where you’re comfortably curled into the nest. So soft, yet so harsh at the same time.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re here to fix that,” Andrea smiles politely at you, and ducks out of the room without another word. You just settle deeper into Oscar’s nest, wondering what in the hell you’d gotten yourself into. The only thing on your mind when you finally manage to fall asleep is how much you miss your mother's fresh peach cobbler.

tags: @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @st0rmzi3 @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @seonghwaexile @mrsmelinda

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader

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twis-world · 7 months ago

Text

The Remedy That Is You (Vil Version)

Mentions: Vil Centric, Fluff, Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader

No matter how many a time the students of Nightraven College witnessed how their Housewarden did a complete 180 in your presence, it never ceased to amaze them.

It eventually got to the point where a majority of students began to question if you really were magickless. There was just no way your mere presence could bring out such light in their eyes, face softening and a smile so tender it was as if they were gazing upon one of the Seven.

Just how did you do it?

Vil

If there was anything Vil would choose to pride himself in other than his looks, it would be his ability to adapt. Adapt, overcome, and adjust to any situation needed. It was a skill he finely tuned at a young age; it would have been utterly foolish not to.

In his line of work you were to always expect the unexpected. Anything could go wrong at any given time. A clothing setback during a shoot. An unavoidable sickness striking before his time on set. A social media scandal that could rip his career to shreds in mere seconds. Nothing was an impossibility.

However, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a time where he would not grow tired of it all.

“Then you would not believe what that imbecile did next,” he seethed. While he did an impeccable job at keeping the hand you held still in order to allow you to paint a clear coat of nail polish onto his nails, the rest of his body expressed his current agitation. The way his foot, though crossed over one leg, would not stop swaying this way and that. His breathing that came out in heavy puffs. “Not only did he manage to spill the very same drink he ran late for all over the place, but he then demanded we wait for his costume to be washed and dried after it got dirtied from the spill. An incredibly audacious move when that stunt ended up pushing back a week of filming because of the damage done to all the camera wirings in the area!”

“Isn’t this the second time he’s done something like this?” You asked with a raised brow, gently beginning to blow cool air onto his nails. The man in question being a fellow co-star of your boyfriend’s. A man who from day one seemed to make it his mission of making every accompanied day with him a living hell.

Vil rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Don’t even remind me. Really, how incompetent do you have to be to continuously waste not just everyone else's, but my precious time above all else? Surely no one is this daft?”

“He could be doing this all on purpose maybe? It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to sabotage you.” You gave him a small glance before looking back at his nails, nodding once you confirmed they were indeed dry and gesturing for him to give the other. He did so whilst inspecting the one you gave back, expressing his approval before continuing on.

“I considered that but I refuse to believe he of all people would be able to dedicate himself to this extent. My dear potato, if you were ever so unfortunate to meet him face to face, you would be surprised at how he seems to create mayhem simply through breathing.”

“I know he’s basically a horror show from what you’ve told me but it can’t be that bad.”

“That bad?” He repeated, staring as if you grew three more heads. “That bad? It's only been a month and he’s already managed to delay us so heavily that the producer is considering just scraping this movie altogether. He himself owes hundreds in set damages after today!”

“Careful,” you chuckle, lips curling as you saw just how heavily he was furrowing his brows. Finished with the remaining nail you set the polish off to the side. Carefully, incredibly mindful of the still drying hand you possessed, you leaned forward and gently softened the skin between his brows with the thumb of your other hand. At the contact his eyes practically fluttered shut, barely leaning into the small massage you were giving. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of giving the Vil Schoenheit early stress wrinkles.”

A huff escaped him as you pulled away. “Never. I would rather such a despicable phenomena come from Epel with the trouble he gives me.”

You hummed, fanning his nails while giving him a cheeky smile. “Not even Neige? I’m sure he would be honored.”

“Are you actively trying to raise my blood pressure even higher than it already is?”

“What a horrid accusation! I would never,” you gasped jokingly, hand raising to your heart as he continued to glare at you. “Ah, don’t be like that my love.”

Vil huffed, avoiding your gaze. “Don’t ‘my love’ me. You are lucky I tolerate such an annoying potato such as yourself.”

“Truly,” you mockingly agreed, rolling your eyes this time at the act. Yet, when he continued to refuse looking back, you sighed. Raising his hand up you softly pressed your lips against his one knuckle, then the next, then next. Gently kissing each till you finished with one final one in the center, this time raising your gaze and finally meeting his own. The pupils were all consuming, capturing the beautiful purple you loved so much. Yet, the scarlet hue that painted his cheeks served for an even prettier sight.

“I really am sorry my love,” you murmured against his hand. While he could still hear present humor in the pet name he could also feel the adoration you poured into it. So much so that he found himself swallowing at a loss for words. It didn’t help that your gaze zero’d in on the movement, piercing yet so intimate. “But I don’t like seeing you get so worked up over some nobody who paid his way into this movie. Your movie. He’s undeserving of occupying another second in your pretty lil head.”

“Oh,” Vil began to grin, “and what would you do to make sure of that?”

“Hmm.” You pulled away from his hand, slowly, not once breaking your gaze away from his. “Whatever you would like. You know I never mind pampering you. It’s like my very own treat.” Leaning forward once again you caressed the crown of his head, lightly brushing against his hair and running fingertips down to tuck the very few strays behind his ears. “I went out earlier and picked up some new face masks we haven’t tried yet. Wouldn’t that feel nice? I’ll even run a hot bath for you if you want.”

A delicate sigh left him, cool air running down your arms. He cupped the back of your hands with his, bringing the wrist of each to his lips and leaving behind a dainty kiss. “That would be lovely.”

#vil #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #x reader #gender neautral reader #fluff #x gender neutral reader #disney twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #twisted wonderland x reader #i just love it when its the reader being the all adoring one #mhm #vil x reader #vil shoenheit x reader

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cottonlemonade · 8 months ago

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Mayhem At The Festival

word count: 630 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: Matsukawa x chubby!Reader (feat. Seijoh 4)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: I take a menu A with a soda and a matcha roll and sit next to Mattsun || fluffy school festival with crush Mattsun

The Seijoh four’s laughter could be heard all the way down the corridor of Aoba Johsai High School. Well, not all of them. Between Makki gasping for air and clutching his stomach, Iwaizumi starting to wheeze, hanging off of Oikawa’s shoulder who was holding up his phone requesting a few cute poses, Mattsun did not have a good time.

To be fair, it was foolish of him to think his friends would not tease him for this - or that a picture of him wouldn’t be in the next issue of the school paper. Bemused he tugged at the skirt that barely came down to his mid-thigh and looked around the room of his classmates in more or less obvious and failed attempts to hide their howling laughter. And all of that just to help you out.

When you had come in that morning for the festival, everyone swarmed around you, asking with much concern how your arm ended up in a sling. You had quickly relayed the tale of your way to school and how some guy on a motorbike didn’t think it necessary to follow basic driving rules, having grazed you on your bicycle and sending you tumbling down an embankment.

Luckily it was nothing more serious, but a sprained wrist and elbow would definitely keep you from any possible manual labor today. Your shoulders slumped. You had been looking forward to the festival for weeks, especially when the sewing club revealed the costumes for the maid café. You swore you would wear the adorable uniform whenever you could because how often did a chubby girl with more curves than any roadmap find a maid costume tailored to her exact specifications. In your mind you had seen yourself gliding through the many guests of the little café attraction set up in classroom 3-2 and privately hoped that Issei would forget his duties with the volleyball team and come visit as well. In your imagination he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you and you would wow him with your dazzling smile and maid persona, laying it on extra thick just for him. But all that lovely daydreaming was shattered because someone ignored a red light.

Much to your surprise, however, Issei had broken the morose silence that followed your apology to the event coordinator and blurted out he would take your place.

No one took him seriously at first, of course, but when he didn’t join in the giggles and chuckles around the room, the class president had looked him up and down, squinted (possibly imagining him in the costume) and just nodded with a shrug.

After a good 15 minutes of more laughing and one joke after the other the students started to scatter, getting back to their original tasks. Mattsun sulked in a corner, shifting uncomfortably in the costume but brightened quite a bit when he spotted you coming over to him.

“Thank you so much.”, you said and he took a few seconds to answer, being too distracted by the blush on your cheeks.

“I’d say “no problem” but that would be a lie.”, he replied and you laughed.

“I can make it up to you!”, you said quickly.

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded, thinking he would probably want to be reimbursed for the physical and mental trauma ahead in his day.

“I could… do your homework for a week… or… take over during your cleaning duties once my arm heals or…”

“Go out with me?”

You gasped, then coughed violently at having swallowed too much air. He gave an embarrassed frown and pouted.

“Yes.”, you pressed out between coughs, “Yes, I’d love to.”

“Good.”, he beamed, “Then, my lady-”, he got into maid character, “may I pour you some water to soothe your throat?”

a/n: I had the best time writing this silliness ^^ thank you so much for the request @makkir0ll - I hope you enjoyed it 🌟🫶🏻

#sunnys school lunches #mattsun x chubby reader #matsukawa issei x chubby reader #matsukawa x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #mattsun #matsukawa fluff #matsukawa issei x reader #issei matsukawa #hq matsukawa #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu matsukawa #matsukawa issei #haikyuu x curvy reader #hq fluff

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naffeclipse · 10 months ago

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Okay hear me out.... Journey to west au. Sun being the monkey king from the book and Y/N a traveller. Y/N rescues him from under the mountain and he joins them in their travels. Moon is a demon that's terrorising a town until Y/N and Sun stop him. Moon then joins the two. Finally Eclipse is another demon that kidnaps Y/N in order to eat them but instead is so utterly charmed by them that he joins the party. Shenanigans ensue... Thoughts?

The great monkey king is indebted to a mortal but he has little qualms with escorting you on your travels as a way to give his thanks for rescuing him from underneath the mountain. His magic and strength are at your disposal. Strangely, you prefer traveling peacefully and quietly, avoiding trouble and helping those in need when the two of you come upon them. The monkey king thinks you are vulnerable and too trusting, and he decides to protect you at all costs.

The lunar demon does not take kindly to his mischievousness and destruction being wrought, but when you and the monkey king stop the mayhem he inflicts upon a small town, the lunar demon can't help but become amused and intrigued by a daring, bold mortal who is so calm in the face of dangerous, sharp teeth, red eye demon. He thinks you are naive and foolish, but he follows you and the monkey king because who else will watch over you at night? Who will keep you safe from the other toothy and red-eye demons?

It is not too long down the road of your seemingly endless travels that a problem arises. The monkey king and the lunar demon venture to the river to fetch you food and drink and while you toil, you feel the shadow of a great personage fall upon you before you are snatched away. You struggle and call for your dear, new friends, but the dark being smuggles you into his cave. He ties you up and leaves you on the floor of his home as he prepares to eat you. You, however, remain calm and speak with the great demon and learn he is the eclipse prince. The eclipse prince wants nothing more than to cook and devour you, but you convince him to allow you to serve him tea first. Pleased by the offer, the eclipse prince unties you. You serve him a tea you have used to comfort the monkey king and calm the lunar demon, and speak with the eclipse prince. The conversation continues until the pot of tea is gone and he tells you to prepare another, pot after pot until he is laughing and telling you that he has forgotten his hunger—your charm and allure have sated him. He will let you go and return you to your companions, but you invite him to join your company.

The eclipse prince is pleased to accept. He opens his cave and returns with you to the monkey king and the lunar demon. When you come upon them, they are furious and frantic. They act quickly to take you back and prepare to attack the one who carried you away before you calm them. The eclipse prince stands rather unapologetically as you explain that he is now joining the three of you. The lunar demon does not take kindly to this change and the monkey king hovers close to you, refusing to let you leave his sights while the eclipse prince seamlessly joins the camp and prepares a pot of tea for you to drink.

You continue your travels, glad to have such devoted company.

#eclipse: tea anyone? :)#*sun and moon seething because they lost their little mortal for two minutes and were about to start ripping open the earth to find them*#lots of good thoughts #lots of shenangains #eclipse is arrogant but persuaded by charisma and is the most tactically minded and urbane while being smooth and sauve #sun is hypertension and soft and worries so much about everything at all times and possesses physical prowess #moon is mischievous and wants to bite things and make mayhem because it's fun while being cunning and crafty #y/n sometimes wakes up to moon watching them sleep at night which is very creepy but y/n just asks what they're looking at and moon just sa #“you”#sun man handles y/n the most and carries them and picks them up at the slightest inconvenience like a puddle in their path #eclipse is very haughty but he dots on y/n and gives them all the comforts they might need like fur coats and comfortable shoes #journey to the west au

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latymerct · 3 months ago

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I had the most lucid, gut wrenching, in-detail dream of Sebastian last night. having the mental breakdown he SHOULD have had in-game, after everything that’s happened with Anne and Solomon. All I remember is him crying??? Wailing in fact; His whole weight, dead weight, in my arms like he couldn’t keep himself upright amid the sobs and struggles for air?? Oh my god his hands clawing into my back bc they’ve gone all rigid from shock at that point. Trauma response man. Canonically in the Harry Potter universe, the act of wilful murder tears a soul apart. THATS what his mind bogglingly stupid, impulsive, emotional, ever-loving, foolish, HELPLESSLY LOST character arc should have resulted in. Epiphany about morals, guilt, punishment, false hope. Canon seb gave us not an OUNCE of guilt-ridden philosophy after the fact. I want characters who go through mental mayhem after life altering tragedy. I need them to be not stagnant in their emotionAl depth. I can’t get this new version out of my head your honor am I clinically insane for expecting perspective?

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy

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hcdragonwrites · 1 year ago

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A Tiger on the Mountain (a @semisolidmind Fanfic)

Here it is ! Another one. I made up a creature specifically so I could play out a scenario in my head and lead into another fic after this one. This is not a two parter but it leaves it open for a follow up!

TW: Blood and Violence and allusions to torture at the end. (Not of Peaches SHES fine)

“Get out before you become a new rug for me to wipe my feet upon.” Sun Wukong snarled over the table, his staff in his hands. The Nine Tiger Demon took a step backward at the fury. The expedition to this kingdom of monkeys and flowers had been a fools mission. Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, dipped his head cordially.

“As you wish, my Lord.” The tiger smiled and stepped out of the council room, his great black cape swirling as he exited in a flourish. He had made a jab at the Monkey Kings pride by calling him Lord. He knew that his patience was wearing thin with him. Especially after he had eluded to the weakness of mortal Ally’s.

“It is necessary to procure some of the goods they produce.” Wukong had waved the complaint aside. As if waving a fly. Zari was a lord of a snowy country where resources were few and blood was spilt as common as the snowfall. His kind had been hunted by poachers for their pelts. For the magic quality in their stripped bodies. Bones, blood, tendons, fur, claws… Everything in a tigers body was hunted for medicine, magic and mayhem. To hear that the most feared creature west of his kingdom, the great demonic Monkey King who had challenged Heaven, had made treaties with humans…

Zari had licked his muzzle sensing weakness.

“Why treat when you can take?” The tiger lord had questioned. His attendants beside him fidgeted, their hands straying to the scimitars belted to their sides. A twitch of his tail tip called them off. A tiger was playing with a monkey to see what sort of prey it had between his claws.

“And cause further disharmony around me ? Mortal men are easily placated. It leaves me free to put my resources into more important things.” Here the monkey leaned forward, eyes glowing with the torchlight. “Like seeking new territories in the east.”

The threat was received but Zari didn’t rise to the bait. He was a patient creature. The scars on his stripped hands and body proved how many battles and hunters he had outwitted.

Of course Zari had only come to sieze up the competition in the West. He never had any intentions of swearing allegiance to the ape. To debase himself to an ape? Never. So it only took Wukong a few more verbal jousts to also know the game was at an end. He had dismissed the tiger with a threat. Zari kept his claws velveted. For now.

As he stepped out of the corridor he let the slightest bit of agitation show in his whiskered face. A twitch of a tail brought one of his attendants forward.

“Gather the lower Claw.” Zari whispered. “They need a good hunt.”

“Of course my King.” The lesser demon bowed and raced off, light as a feather in the wind. At least that would humble the foolish ape—

Zari came around the corner and bumped straight into something soft, and pliable. His claws caught it reflexively before the thing fell completely onto his black armor and ruined his perfect complexion. He hissed, about to snap at this new weaker underling of a foolish king when the scent hit the top of his mouth.

Human.

“I’m so sorry!” It was female. The women pulled from the tiger claws. Her eyes remained cast down. Simple peasant clothes. Hair tied up in a messy updo. Flushed cheeks, good proportions. The tigers eyes had been blown wide.

“Are you alright miss?” Zira smoothed the twitching of his whiskers, kept the lashing of his tail to a minimum. But his instincts roared and his mouth pooled. “I did not mean to bump into so harshly.”

A captured peasant girl? A pet of this monkey kings?

“Oh no it was my fault!” The women said. She finally looked up and the tiger demon got a good look at the curve of her throat. The hot pulse just inches from his fangs.

From further down the corridor someone called “PEACHES!” The girl stiffened a bit then smiled sheepishly.

Zira felt as if he was a wolf in the sheep pen.

“I should have been watching where I was going. Carry on!” She bowed and then quickly scuttled off.

“Well well well…”Zira smiled to himself as another monkey ran past and after the fleeing women. He felt his grin widen, the drool threatening to slip. “Look like I have some entertainment myself…”

For Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, was whispered and feared by mortals across his snowy slice of the world. Legends told of how he would slip in as silent as a ghost. How he would visit families and paint their walls in red crimson and spattered gore. For Zari was a man eater, a enjoyer of mortal flesh. And his favorite prey that he enjoyed devouring most was women.

This conquest just got a bit more interesting.

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

“I Demand compensation.”

The threat would have come off more terrifying from the Monkey King if he had been dressed in his armor. However he was… not. Instead Wukong was at the present moment, begging on Peaches lap beneath a cherry tree. His face was a storm cloud as he lifted Peaches hands up to his head.

“I am afraid you won’t be getting any.” Peaches let her hand fall limply off. The stormy face broke into a beggars crocodile tears.

“PEACHESSSS!”

Macaque would have snickered at his sworn brother begging but he was also not getting any sort of touches from Peaches. He didn’t know why she had decided today of all days to deny both of them.

Why was she withholding scratches from her husbands? Well. For many reasons. For one, one of them startled her awake this morning by swooping her into his arms because he got a little too excited and woke her from her dreams. It also triggered a huge sort of panic because she has had enough of nightmares on being snatched away thank you.

Of course telling the one begging at her knees right now that his over exuberance this morning had been one of the reasons for no pats, would only lead to more exuberance.

A second reason she was including both and not just the one who scooped her ? Well because the day before Macaque thought it would be funny to pop one of his shadows beneath her while she was trying to brush her hair and in the fall the hairbrush - still tucked into her hair- wrenched. It had been painful and she had lost several bits of her own hair in it.

And thirdly? Because these two had, for all intensive purposes of the words, kidnapped her and forced her to live here upon the mountain. Yes she was still bitter about it. No she wouldn’t get over it. At least not today. Too many tricks were tugged and her personal space breached for her to simply let it go. A little bodily autonomy and boundary would be nice. Instead her two lovers would look at her as one would a family cat and go “awwwwwwww!” and scoop her up.

So two very peeved simians sat cross legged staring her down. Wukongs tail was lashing back and forth, his eyes narrowed like a cats. He reached forward and grabbed Peaches hand again. She had learned long ago that giving them the satisfaction of her resistance- how cute! They would say as she practically threw all manner of pellmell closet clutter at them- would only prolong their inevitable smothering of her.

Being impassive was her best weapon.

So she let her hand be limply lifted.

Just as limply it slid off the Monkey Kings head.

“Peaches! Come on!” Wukong groaned. He sounded like a kid begging for sweets. Peaches sniffed. The day was nice at least. She had made her way out of Water Curtain Cave and out onto the mountainside before her attendant could shove and stuff her into royal courtly attire. Not today! Peaches hadn’t wanted to attend court. She hadn’t wanted to be near that council room. Her accidental bump into that demon had been as close as she had gotten. A tiger demon? Now that was something she hadn’t seen yet.

Wukong laid himself over her lap, his face pouting up at her. He looked… adorable. It was almost enough for her to forget about his transgression this morning. It wasn’t enough. She turned her head away.

Only for Macaque to be there. He had somehow snuck up, as was his silent way, and pressed himself to her back. He slipped her into his lap, and Peaches felt a little spark of unease. Macaque was the slower of the two when it came to affection, sneaking it in or trying to tease it from her. Wukong was all action and joyful tugs and play. His was earnest and forward. Macaque was… sly. Teasing. A fox inside the chicken house.

“Sweet peach, come now.” His hands settled around her. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and Peaches fought the blush from rising in her face. Think of rocks and birds. What you will eat tonight. Anything but how his voice and how it feels rumbling against me.

“We just want to have a little comfort.” The dark furred monkey lifted her hand. He entwined his fingers in hers. They were so large. The practically swamped her own. The claws slide along the fingers as he lifted her hand and tugged it into his fur onto his cheek.

“Come on, little plumb.” His smile was as sweet as honey, as soft as downy feathers. If it had been any other day she would have mussed his fur and teased him back. However Macaque made a mistake of touching her hair with a free hand. Reminding Peaches that this little trickster had yanked some of her hair out.

She let her hand remain lax.

“No.”

“Then you leave both of us no choice.”

Macaque leaned back and with a woosh and gasp of air and black- they were back in their room. The pillow pit cushioned their fall, as did Macaque who lay beneath her. Peaches let out an indignant squeak as the demon monkey growled playfully in her ear.

“You have only a few moments before Wukong gets here. Do you want to tell me what’s up?”

“No.” Peaches sniffed. His hand was trailing along her skin, almost walking up her arm.

“Are you mad at him?” Macaque asked.

“Yes”

“Are You mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“Is it … a mad kind of day?”

She didn’t respond.

He tutted and tugged her hands free of where she had shoved them beneath her arms. He placed one against the side of his head, eyes gently closing. He kissed her palm, her wrist, her arm.

“Come on my sweet… just indulge us both..”

“No.”

“Little minx.” The purple eyes flashed along with that sharp toothed smile. Peaches felt her face flush. Macaque leaned in and over her now, his free hand twining in the hair on the back of her neck. The demon was angling her from being the one on top, to sliding her into the pillow pit with the dark haired monkey hovering above. He pulled her up and into him, and Peaches had the startling realization that she was so very very small and he was so very very large all of a sudden.

“What sins do I have to whisper into your ears ? What marks should I leave upon your skin to earn your affection again?” His eyes dipped to her lips. Peaches face felt like it was afire. “Should I sing your praises into your skin with my teeth?”

Oh dear.

And then the moment of tension was broken by a furious orange blur bursting into the room and tackling both of them. Peaches cried out while Macaques face looked deadpan at his sworn brother. The moment of tension, of turning Peaches pink as a lychee fruit, was over.

“MACAQUE! THATS NOT FAIR!” The monkey king was entangled with both of them as he grabbed the other hand and shoved it into his fur. Peaches only held onto them now as they jostled her. “HOW MANY HEADSCRATCHES DID YOU GET?”

“None…” His face was exasperated, his tail twitching at the tip.

“None?” Wukong echoed.

“None!” Macaque slammed his head closer to Wukong. Peaches was perfectly sandwiched between her husbands very bare and very exposed chests as the two brothers bristled at each other. She was loosing her own power of wills because … well. Peaches was only human. She could barely stay mad at one Monkey half dressed. Two half dressed and practically pressed cheek to pec against either side of your face ? It was a marvel her body didn’t burn up on the spot from how much she was blushing.

“Why you shouting at me then?!”

“You spoiled my sport before I could tease some out of her.”

“Oh?” Wukongs eyes shot downward. Peaches looked away, feeling like she got caught watching.

Oh no.

The two demons looked down on her. And Peaches felt like she was in danger. Not a you-will-die-and-be-disemboweled way. More of you-will-be-turned-into-a-second-sun-from-how-much-we-will-tease-you kind of way. They loomed over their mortal wife, ears perked forward and grins becoming sharp and feral.

Another burst through the door however saved Peaches from being turned into a puddle beneath the attentions of her husbands.

“Ugh what is it now?” Macaque sighed.

“My King! We are under attack!”

The two warlords changed from flirting devils to stiff and immovable stones as they stood. Macaques ears swished, forward and back, each set twitching as he confirmed it.

Wukong was across the room, his armor back on his body in a flash. His staff was plucked free from his ear, elongating in a flourish.

“Where?” The Sages voice was a silent rumble.

“Off the south slope- a band of panthers by the look of it.” The sentry’s tail was puffed in fear. Wukong nodded and was off in a flash of fur and fury.

Someone was attacking the mountain? They must be crazy. Insane. Or have a death wish.

Macaque set Peaches firmly in the Pillow pit, eyes somber.

“Love don’t move. Don’t leave this room. Understand ?” His face was pinched in worry bordering on fury. He was trying to maintain his composure for her, to hold back the anger that was threatening to bubble upward. Peaches may think of her boys a lot of way. They were selfish when they wanted her attention. They had taken her away reluctantly from her home. She had been forced to live her for the past decade or so. Her husbands were warlords, murderers and Demons.

They also cared for her a great deal, in a way that no mortal could compare. They clothed her in the finest garb but also gave her the option of comfort. They brought her to the Palace and laid laws down among the fellow demonic ally’s that she was to be respected and treated as an extension of Wukong and Macaques power. They brought her gifts from the outside world when they came back from expeditions, made her foods from the finest ingredients, told her stories of their travels. On nights when the past came back to rear it’s head she could find comfort in one or both of their arms.

And at times like this, she felt thankful that, of all the kidnapping creatures in the world, at least it had been these two.

That didn’t sound like a plus at all.

Macaque was waiting for her response. Peaches shook herself free of the cobwebs, of the past and back into the present. The mountain was under fire. Something was trying to earn the ire of the Monkey King and his People. As a very soft once mortal immortal now, Peaches had no sort of power to defend with or help. She was a liability, at least until she began her own cultivation, on the battlefield. So Peaches nodded.

“Yes.”

It was all Macaque needed. He pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered “Good girl.”

And he was gone, falling into shadow.

“Hellooooo?”

Peaches started awake at the voice. Disoriented she disentangled herself from the soft fur and pillows she had been wedged between. She must have fallen asleep some time in the day. The light coming from the windows was a burnished gold, sunset settling on the

“Someone help! Help me please…”

The voice was disjointed, the sound echoing from beyond the closed doors. It set her skin to crawling. Shouldn’t there be guards ? Shouldn’t there be someone outside the doors?

“HELP. SOMEONE HELP!”

The voice sounded like a baby! The shrill high note cut through the last hesitation Peaches had. She opened the door and rushing out into the corridor.

The echos of her footfalls bounced back to her from the stone walls. The cry came again, a baby monkey hooting in distress. It came from around corridors, downs passageways. Peaches raced forward until she had burst out of the cavern and into the dying light of the sun.

The grass swayed in the breeze. The shadows danced across the field, like stripes on a great tigers back.

She felt a shiver go up her spine. Something was terribly wrong. It felt off - the world felt off. The mountain was usually brimming with life and sound. Birds would be calling even at this late hour when day turns to night. The cicadas would be sonorously screaming their complaints to the night air. However…

Everything was still. Not a insect nor a bird called out. There were no generals or other monkeys present on the mountain. Usually sentries were littered about the fields and slopes. There was no one here at this moment.

That’s wrong. Completely wrong…

A faint gurgle, a dying cry of a baby monkey from somewhere just ahead.

“Where are You?” Peaches called. The child sounded in pain- and the sooner she got them inside the cave, the better. “You have to tell me where you are so I can help you.”

“Typical mortals.” The voice came from behind and peaches whipped around. A tiger demon, a creature of immense size and with terrifying teeth, toward behind her. Zira held the languid look of a cat with a full belly, tail swaying in the grass and claws meticulously being groomed. The blood from those long claws was the fresh scarlet of new blood.

“Your kind always come when lured by another— I was wondering if I should do a human baby or a mortal imitation but, seeing as you’ve been collared and tamed by monkeys, I thought that would be the easiest way to lure you out.” The tiger lord grinned. Peaches saw that he was fully armored. The black leather of his body was painted in dark splotches of red.

He’s … killed people. Who has he killed?? Where’s the baby ??

Peaches stepped cautiously back into the grass, heart racing. The tiger lords eyes grew round.

“Are you trying to run?” His voice was practically a pur as he stood straighter. “Please do. The chase will be good for me and clear this monstrous smell of ape blood.”

“What do you want?” Peaches needed to stall. To find a way to keep the beast talking. He liked to talk to full the silence. “Why are you here?”

“Those are boring questions dear morsel. Boring indeed. You mortals think all the same- but at least you taste better then your little brains think.” Zira stepped forward and into Peaches bubble- forcing her backward and further away from the cave. “Why am I Here ? Well to play. It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to play with another demons pet.”

Another slow pace forward. Another hasty retreat from Peaches.

“I can understand. I play rough. It’s hard when you all … scream at the slightest break of bone. At the sudden loss of limb…” the tiger lords body seemed to grow, a secondary face appearing from its left cheek. The new muzzle opened and in horror peaches heard people crying, of mortal women begging for their children. The voices of men pleaded for wives and sons and daughters. Anguished cries, cries of pain. Voices from the past.

Dead voices.

“They never last long.” The tiger smirked, that new face along his left side turning upward as well.

“So when I came to see this terrifying demon lord who has challenged heaven I expected him to have a show of strength. What I didn’t expect was a pet like you.” Those eyes flashed.

“Why? Wukong is the strongest Why—“

“Why did I not expect you?” Zira snorted. “Because demons forget themselves when they stop consuming lesser beasts and start befriending them.”

Peaches looked about her. She wouldn’t be able to make a dash back to the caves. This tiger was driving her further and further from safety. She had been a fool to try and help, a damned fool. The next best thing she could do was to try and stay alive long enough. Long enough for her to call out. Wukong or Macaque would hear her. She had no doubt on that. There was also the willow tree just ten feet behind her. If she could get to it and climb she may be able to stall out this demon.

“Now dear. How would you like to die?” The tiger was closer now as Peaches kept stepping back. She was almost back pedaling, trying to stay out of the range of those claws. Of those red teeth. “I could kill you by fang or claw. Or maybe a sword would be better. But then… where’s the fun in it for me if you die so quickly ?”

Peaches spun on her heel and ran.

“HELP!” Her lungs filled with more air, to shout to the Heavens above. The grasses bent beneath her flight. She had almost made it to the tree, almost got enough air to scream again when something slammed into her shoulder. Bright hot pain bloomed and she fell to the dirt. Her hands reached up and came away with sticky blood.

“Calling for help is useless.” Zira licked the fresh blood clean from his claws, enjoying the taste of terror on his tongue. “My men have them busy against the farthest side of the mountain.”

Peaches rolled, to get up to get away she did not know. Her movement was stopped by a booted heel to her shoulder. The new pain elicited a scream to peak from her lips. It rang eerily off the mountain that was so still. So awfully still.

“The pain will only be temporary.” Zira knelt. The tiger reached down with his clawed hands. He cupped her face as she fought him. He smiled and opened his jaws wide to close over her throat.

The suns last dying ray cast a shadow as black as night over the grassy floor. It pooled beneath the mortal women and then, with a slip and tug, Ziras prey was swallowed by the black. The tiger snarled claws raking the soil in a vain attempt to dig her back out.

“So it was you.”

Zira turned.

There, leaning against his staff was the Monkey King. His clawed hands and golden armor were covered in black blood. Zira felt a worm of unease creep into his calm and cocky smile. Those warriors had been the best of his Claw- the best in the Snowy Steppes. There was no way they had failed—

“Ah King Wukong!” The tiger Lord began. If he could stall him out, lead him into a false sense of security, then that would be better. It would buy him time to get closer, to steal into range and pounce. “So nice to see you agai—-“

The tiger lord didn’t even see the moment. On second the orange monkey was standing before him and the next he felt a blooming pain cut along his secondary face. He roared in confusion as the sight from those eyes was lost in a shower of blood. The tiger had no time to reorient himself however. The neck blow was to one of his hands. Sun Wukong clasped one in hand and with a terrible crunch, shattered all the bones within.

Panic came traipsing up the tigers spine. This was not good. The monkey was moving incredibly fast - too fast- for him to counter. He reached for his Scimitar- the blade of Nine Tigers- to end the fight. This blade could cut mountain in half- it could cleave souls from bodies and leave the flesh whole.

“You come to my mountain…”

The staff slammed into the side of his head, casting several of the tigers teeth from his jaws. He was unbalanced but determined. He just had to grab his sword —

“You attack my home…”

Another blow to his middle sent him slamming into the willow tree. The force of it snapped the bark and collapsed the Willow behind him. Zira felt stars float in his vision, tasted his own blood. He had a hand on his sword now though. He drew the blade, cutting it across the insolent ape that towered over him. Wukongs soul would be cleaved, his body left behind for the flies to lay eggs in. He would be dead. The blade sliced —

And snapped in half.

“You tried to devour my wife…” Fear is not something a tiger experienced often. It raced over his stripes, twitched his crushed whiskers, and made his eyes widen. That had been his wife ? That common little dustmote ? Zira had miscalculated. A pet was one thing. But a wife —

“You took… a mortal… as a wife? Pa—“ Zira tried for bravado, tried to spit into the monkey lords face. The tiger was desperately clinging to what remained of his pride. He had chased a rabbit into a ravine and found wolves.

Zira opened his jaws to cast his last disrespect. Only for the claws of Wukong to cut along his jaw and crush it closed before he could finish.

“I will break every bone in your body before I let you die. You will wish you were dead before I’m done with you.”

The shadows swallowed Peaches and arms wrapped around her but she was still flailing. She grabbed at fur and skin and battered her fists and nails against it.

“Ow - PEACHES - PEACHES ITS ME!” Macaque voice cut over the adrenaline that floated high and fast in her blood. She blinked at him. They were back in their room, back inside Water Curtain Cave. Peaches hand was still curled in a fist, still raised up to beat along her captors face. Only. This wasn’t the tiger anymore. It was Macaque.

“It’s just me.”

“I’m not dead am I?” What stupid words to say but it was the first thing her numb mind could think on.

“What? No.” Macaques face was a sea of worry lines as he gently turned her shoulder to him. The blood was sopping beneath the cloth of her shirt. He gave it a sniff and murmured in soothing tones. Mostly to himself. “But I’m concerned for your shoulder. Let’s get that looked at alright ?”

Peaches nodded. Macaque used his claws to rip free the ruined cloth of the shirt and gain better access to the claw marks.

“It’s an ugly scratch but nothing deep.” She felt his hands, paper soft press along the skin. She hissed at the fiery pain as damaged nerves and sore skin protested. “Peaches you will have to be brave for me and let me stich it closed ok?”

She nodded. Her mind was still processing the events just moments ago. Of tiger teeth flashing to bite her throat. Of claws cutting her skin. Macaque returned to her and tugged her into him. She didn’t protest. Didn’t stop as he pulled her hand up to his face. She twined her fingers into the fur, needing the grounding almost, if not more, then he did. Macaque made soothing chirps and soft noises as he worked, pulling needle through flesh and closing it up.

It was only after a time, when Peaches own fear began to fall away, that he asked her.

“Why did you leave the room Peaches ?”

“I heard … it sounded like one of the babies Mac.” One of the little monkey babies all alone and crying for help. The haunting sound echoing off the stone and always just out of reach. “One of the littles in pain and hurt. I didn’t think. I just … acted.”

“Mmm.” Another stich pressed into her skin and she flinched. “You know this means you will have to have a day guard now yes?”

“Are you putting more restrictions on me after I almost got devoured ?” It was a bad attempt at humor but Peaches tried anyway. Whenever something happened to her - if it was an imagined insult from a courtier, a threat to her life because she tried something new and it didn’t agree with her- the boys would set new limits, new conditions. Macaque scowled at her and she bit her tongue from adding to the humor.

“Precautions. If I hadn’t heard you—“ His voice chocked at the end. Peaches looked back. Macaques ears were all low, dropping like flower petals. For all their faults, for their transgressions in taking her choices from her, they loved her. Peaches could see that love in Macs eyes as he imagined the possible outcomes that could have happened. She twirled her fingers around s patch of his fur, soothing him and herself with the confirmation that this was the reality now and not those flashing teeth.

“We can’t loose you Love. I — we — we were so afraid.” When Macaque had heard the strangled help in the heat of battle he had stopped. He had felt his heart give a lurch and Wukong had been of like mind. That battle was practically won. Between the two sworn brothers, nothing much could stand in their fury. But hearing Peaches— Peaches who they left back safe in their room, in the palace, calling for help—

“I was too.”

“When I tell you to stay inside - stay inside. Understand?”Anger laced Macaques words as he pinned her with a look.

“Yes.” It wasn’t good enough though. Not for him. It wouldn’t be for Wukong. The next time the mountain was under attack—if there was a next time— Macaque would lock the doors and the windows. He would shudder the room in shadow if he had to. But. A yes for now was the best he would get from her.

“Good. That’s all the chewing out I’ll give you because when Wukong gets here he’s going to have some very harsh words with you.” Peaches shoulders flinched a little.

“He’s mad at me?” There was genuine hurt and dismay in her voice. Wukong and Peaches had the toughest days when it came to their relationship. Some days she could forget he had taken her without her consent from all she knew- had wiped her village clear off the map. Other days she only saw the blood soaked Warlord in all his fury. On those days arguments ensued and the kings mood was ever sour.

“Never mad at You.” Macaque reassured. Wukong never was genuinely upset at their peach. How could he be when he was enamored with her so? Macaque couldn’t even keep his own anger at her negligence of self after todays events. All she had to do was look at him with that puppy dog look and he was wanting to tease and soothe her into smiles and comfort. “Never. Afraid for your life ? Absolutely. He has half a mind to keep you indoors from now on.”

“He said that ?”

“As we were racing to come get you yes.” Macaque finished the stitches with a pull and tug. The cord came free in his claws. He set about binding cotton gauze around the area to protect the stitches. In the morning he would let them breathe.

“But I think if you let him coddle you for a few days and you agree to a guard, he won’t take your outside privileges away.” Macaque teased and gave advice. Wukong could get a bit … territorial when it came to their Peach. He understood how important it was to give some sort of semblance of freedom to her. Peaches was like a flower- she needed light and air to thrive. If Wukong took that away, he wouldn’t like how she would wilt. Even though Macaque himself had half a mind to keep her inside forever. Especially after today.

Peaches head brushed beneath his chin suddenly and the monkey was jarred from his thoughts. She was nodding off, fighting sleep. Macaque gathered her up easily and set her into the bed they shared. He took care to arrange the pillows, to settle her into her most favorite blankets and soft things. It was a distraction from the rage that now was bubbling upward. For though Macaque had the calmest demeanor- he was just as bloody and furious as his brotherly counterpart.

“Go to sleep.” He commanded. Peaches yawned, catching the trailing end of his tail.

“You won’t leave me … will you?”

“I will be right here till Wukong gets back.”

It was hours later when Macaque heard his brother step into their rooms. Wukong had bathed and cleaned himself elsewhere from the smell of the water and floral oils coming off of him. They both knew how Peaches had an aversion to the scent of blood. The monkey king was across the room and hovering over the pillow pit where she slept.

“How is she?” Wukong asked. All the rage had gone from him. Only worry remained. His tiny little wife… he could still see the Tiger hovering above her, his jaws parted wide over her throat to devour. It made Wukong wish to break his muzzle again.

“Worn out. The cuts are superficial at best. I stitched them up.” The sheen of white medical gauze and cotton took over one lovely shoulder of Peaches back. Wukong felt his teeth beginning to grit in a threatening smile.

“Why would she go outside?! Peaches isn’t a fool.”

“And she wasn’t one.” Macaque soothed. He was standing now that Wukong was here, making his way to the door slowly. “She went outside because she heard the bastard imitate a baby cry.”

“A baby?”

“She thought it was one of the babies.” Wukongs heart gave a shudder. Of course she would throw caution to the wind. His Peaches loved the children of the mountain almost as much as he himself did. “Peaches said she went out to look and that’s when he leapt at her.”

Wukong felt a bit of his anger ebb. He was never angry at Peaches. He could never be. But anger around how she acted ? … yes. That was a possibility. Hearing how she didn’t go out until she thought it was a baby- well. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“The sentries are dead.” Wukong had come across their bodies after restraining the tiger demon. Seeing his peoples cut throats and crumpled bodies had not soothed his anger. He hoped the tiger healed quickly enough so he could repay them for each of his peoples lives. “The tiger killed them. He thought he could kill me by swinging his fancy sword. Too bad it snapped on the first try.”

“Did you leave him alive?” Macaque was at the door now, his fists uncurled.

“He’s somewhere beneath us in a wet cave. I broke all the bones in his body. But … I Left the tail for you.”

“Good.” The door opened and his brother was gone.

Wukong stared at Peaches as she slept for a moment. He had almost lost her today. He half wanted to wake her up and shake her and the other half just wanted to keep her tucked away and safe inside the mountain. Wukong would pull promises and such from her tomorrow. In fact, he may have to teach her some basic self defense. She would never be able to stop a full demonic beast. It would ease his mind however - it would sooth him and settle the fur that kept rising along his back- if she at least had an understanding of what tricks and traits demons used to tempt food out of hiding.

Wukong slid into the nest, settling himself so he didn’t jostle her awake. Tomorrow he could sit her down and tell her the new precautions he would have to merit out. A new guard, lessons in defense, maybe even a copy of him nearby or in the shape of some common item… Wukong could gift her a hairpin each morning and do her hair with a copy of himself. A magical copy that would have ears out for any mischief she may wind up falling into.

It would give her the illusion of freedom without telling her I put a spy on her person. That made Wukong feel better. For the next few days however, she wasn’t leaving his side. He didn’t care if she cried out or pouted or started to throw things. They had almost lost her.

Peaches half woke with a start as Wukong adjusted the blankets about her. Her face came upward, staring and trying to see all about.

“Wukong?”

“It’s just me… you can go back to sleep.”

To his astonishment Peaches shifted, settling herself into his chest. Wukong welcomed her tangle, twining has hands into her hair as she tugged on his fur. Her cheek was pressed to his chest where his heart must be hammering beneath. The Monkey king made soothing chirps and soft calls to her, a reassurance of safety and care. Soon enough her fingers relaxed again as she fell into sleep.

He kissed her temple and nose, twirling his fingers through her hair. It was just as soothing for him as it probably was for her.

Wukong was glad the tiger had been able to survive him. He couldn’t wait to gift his pelt to her when he was finished with him.

If Macaque didn’t kill him after all.

#hcwrites #hcfanfics #fanfic for semisolid #twice as bad au #bad end wukong #HERE YOU GO #again I could have made this longer but I was already at 6000 words and I did NOT want to go too overboard in detail #did I make up a tiger demon just to have an excuse for other things to come ? maaaaybeee #poor peaches #this probably is the only time this ever happens where the mountain is just not expecting some upstart demon to come swaggering by #you can bet Wukong laid waste to the snowy steppes #those are gone #and yes this one is a bit darker so read with a bit of caution #six eared macaque #jttw au #sun wukong #jttw tag #jttw fanfic #I See Mac as very support in times Like this while Wukongs gotta get his energy and rage out.#doesn’t mean that Mac isn’t capable of being a murder boy #just means he has more control #there is fluff in this I Promise I just wanted to write about a murdery tiger #and give peaches a reason to be afraid of tigers for #for future things 👀#jttw x reader #lmk #idk how to tag lmk stuff #lmk macaque #lmk wukong

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 1 year ago

Text

the counterpart

• chapter 1 — a welcome threatening stir

rating: explicit. please don’t skip straight to (future) smut parts though, i’m currently learning chess just for this fic /hj

word count: 4,5k

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of ‘y/n’)

cw: alcohol, occasional cussing, reader is a smoker (she plays chess and lives in the 90s, how do you expect her to have healthy lungs in these conditions?). a LOT of tension, viktor is a certified brat tamer. i think that’s it — please come yell at me if i missed anything. basically just a silly little chess rivals (sort of) au.

i am finally writing this multichapter and i hope it will be a fun read for you and an excellent torture for me. i have a vision but i don’t know how to make shit perfectly executed. we’ll see how this goes. an ao3 link will be added later. any feedback is highly appreciated.

part 2

⸻

You weren’t obsessed with him.

Nor with the way his tongue would click against his teeth so astutely irritating — a gesture you grew to define as some brief foreplay before the mentioned appendage touched his palate precisely one torturous time, whispering a victorious ‘check’. Nor with the crease dissecting his forehead — a rare occasion you managed to grasp only twice: the first time being your failed attempt to capture his queen, and the second — a recent one, at that — being the foolish way you’ve lost a freshly promoted rook: concurrently the most humiliating way to jeopardize an intellectual sparring.

You weren’t obsessed with his bizarre contemplative humming, nor with his Czech last name — needless to mention the disheveled mayhem of dark hair: Viktor was but a mere enigma you fancied to occasionally demerge — sneakily, patiently, with a positive passion to it. Habitually in the private ambiance of either his or your dorm room, though, more commonly, his — something about it simply screamed peace, as contradictory as that sounds. Sweetly quiet, relatively neat, with the never properly made bed being the only truly concerning mess in it.

His apartment looked like the embodiment of a grandmaster’s mind, and it certainly had every chance of belonging to one at some point: if only he had kept up with those meticulous tactics you were (secretly) so jealous of.

"Envy is a waste of time," he unkindly reminded you one particularly languid evening. "You should pursue ways to expand your knowledge—not to contract it with such trivialities."

That reproach got into your ambitious head. Call it a reality check or a simple first impression (since that encounter happened to be the first one you two had shared).

Though, could someone really blame you? You didn’t need humbling. Well, not any more of that crude kind, at the very least: the local college chess club had more than enough of it to offer. You could consume their disdain for weeks and it still wouldn’t make them run out of it — they had plenty in stock specifically for women. That much became obvious the second you'd appeared in front of those arrogant, prejudiced fools. You stepped in there innocently hoping to enroll, but stormed off with a genuine intention to commit homicide — manslaughter, to be precise, and god weren’t you going to be merciful.

‘You can’t enroll without a rating,’ hissed that bespectacled, caricaturely tall boy — all heavily starched collar, a stupid checkered tie, and a greasy strand of dirty blonde hair plastered across his forehead.

Bullshit, you thought, gathering every last ounce of your forced politeness, who needs a rating to enroll in a fucking college chess club?

‘We don’t accept amateurs,’ assented his just as grimy interlocutor, his expression a tad more bearable. ‘Please, leave,’ he demanded, lancing your face with his hostile eyes.

Well, it’s a good thing you accept ill-mannered bastards, you almost muttered, feeling both fists clench hard into white-knuckled disasters.

And perhaps you were even willing to negotiate, to have their best players all lined up in front of you — each waiting for a turn to be relentlessly put in his place by you. And you would certainly show them — quick, efficient, and dangerous. You would force them into submission, professionally so, in a way that would make them all wonder whether the next Judit Poglar has decided to bless them with her presence.

Because, sure; you were certainly many things — an excellent mind, a trickster, a fanatic, but that list never included an amateur. The mere audacity of them to insult you in such a way — and without even sparing you one game of chess — was, frankly, deeply humiliating.

So you decided to let your pride win. You walked out of that damned club with an ostentatious huff, muffling their demeaning, misogynistic brouhaha with your heels — an addendum to your passive-aggressive ‘good luck, gentlemen’.

They didn’t want you — fine, whatever, you didn’t want them either. You’ll find yourself a counterpart soon — not any less intelligent, and, most importantly, very respectful. They’ll come crawling back to you once you gain a rating, mourning their loss and pathetically begging for sweet mercy. You could already imagine the holes they'd rub in the fine fabric of their dress pants from all the kneeling you’d make them do.

Besides, Jayce had already promised to introduce you to someone decent. ‘He’s sweet,’ he assured you, a friendly arm wrapped around your tense shoulder. ‘Incredibly smart,’ he proceeded with his wholehearted praise, proud grin so wide the corners of his mouth must've hurt. ‘Somewhat awkward,’ he mused, raising one eyebrow in consideration, ‘though, I’m not entirely sure if it’s awkwardness, per se, Viktor is simply… pensive.’

Viktor. Your eyes squeezed shut, offering your restless imagination a brief opportunity to brainstorm. A competent, pensive, and sweet chess lover: what is his temper like? Does he have a FIDE rating yet? What if he’s already playing professionally? Perhaps he even has a title?

Jayce’s next comment didn’t offer you much help though.

‘He’s handsome too,’ he whispered, a shit-eating smirk instantly leaving his pleased face. Elbows become offensive weapons between the ribs of unfortunate matchmakers, you see.

Either way: the deal was sealed. You were going to meet Viktor the next chance you get, and Jayce’s upcoming birthday has provided you with precisely that convenience.

It still happened rather spontaneously — you can’t mentally prepare yourself for an encounter you're not quite sure what to expect of. Sure, Jayce’s complaisant flattery was still at your service — a source not exactly reliable, yet somewhat welcome nonetheless: but only because you lacked any additional information about this Viktor persona.

But you decided not to upset a dear friend on his birthday. Acting like Jayce was bearable to be around was a part of your gift, after all.

Unfortunately, him being born on an awfully steamy July day wasn’t helping you accomplish that. You squinted, drowning a glass of that disgustingly warm bourbon, a couple of melted ice cubes in it slightly diluting the once-rich taste of liquor. The man of the hour had quickly dissolved into a mess of infuriatingly noisy people after only reserving you a quick hello, shiny eyes already evidently tipsy — either from all the attention or the contentious quality of the booze this bar had to offer.

You didn’t dare to complain. The tab was on a birthday boy, and you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Knew better, yet kept staring right at Jayce’s laughing physiognomy, his grin so blindingly toothy it had you regretting ever sojourning this feast of life. Not that you despised attending birthday celebrations, but a cramped bar, a cheap drink, and not a single minute spent with the man you came here for weren’t exactly your ideal perception of said… festivity. Not to mention that Viktor was terribly late — though your darling mutual acquaintance was in no state to properly introduce you two anyway. You slipped off your bar stool, rubbing an erratic little pattern into the weary skin of each heavy eyelid — but the sleepiness didn’t magically dissolve under the persistent pressure of your fingers. If there existed a thing you hated more than cocky men and bad booze — feeling hot had to be next on the loathing list. And this awful place had kindly reminded you of precisely that long-forgotten hatred, all sticky air melting your brain into a dysfunctional mush.

Somehow, you managed to find an exit before the headache became borderline unbearable, letting the evening greet you with a chilly slap on precisely that slick spot where your damp blouse kept clinging to your sweaty back. Summer sure was relentless this year — the outdoors didn’t offer you much of that crispy gentle breeze, but it was still not nearly as suffocating as inside that grimy shelter for drunks.

Your shaky hands slid inside your pockets, frantically fumbling with their contents: glistening candy wrappers, a bunch of keys, and a fistful of coins. Took you long enough to finally feel the shape of your old lighter, its spark wheel so terribly rusty the callus on your thumb started stinging the second you laid it on that rough little bump.

With a sigh, you fetched a folded pack of Camel out of the same stuffed sack, the state of said poor thing utterly matching its owner — all ruffled and messy, its bottom barely intact. Well, fine, perhaps that last trait was not precisely pertinent to you, but your rear was hurting quite palpably after sitting on that awfully uncomfortable stool — which meant that relating to your poor box of cancer sticks was inevitable.

The spark wheel gave in after a few insistent pushes, and within seconds you were taking your first greedy drag, back pressed tightly against the cool wall. The filth filled your lungs with sweet relief, and you let that sedation slowly run through your veins, squeezing the filter in an affectionate little embrace of trembling fingers.

And then your private moment was ruined. But not abruptly in the slightest, with just one simple call of your name – the most careful of all interventions, surprisingly quizzical and polite, heavily accented at the edge of its last syllable. Had you choking ungracefully on your tiny nicotine snack, filling the silence with awfully inelegant coughing.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” spoke your pensive intruder, making your back cling off the wall in one unsubtle movement.

That’s how all meaningful encounters happen. Unfailingly when you least expect them, or, even worse — when you stop expecting them entirely, every thought banished from your utterly relaxed mind. They sneak up on you under shitty bars, giving you a slight vertigo and then offering a polite smile to make amends, gripping the handles of their canes with pent-up awkwardness. And god were they peculiar intrusions — matching your silly, much too improper manner to wear corporate clothes to a night out, with just a few buttons of their tight vest undone; limbs lanky, but not inept, eyes brimming with pretty copper right onto your astonished frame. Made you randomly aware of chipped nail polish and messy hair with just the mere presence of their flawlessness: you knew you were facing a tease before you even managed to acknowledge his appearance, brows curiously raising in a cautious attempt of a greeting.

“Well, you did startle me,” was the first thing to leave your mouth after the coughing assault had ended, lips stretching lazily into an involuntary grin. “How do you know my name?”

His eyes — oh those big shiny tormentors — widened in surprise, and a sinewy hand crawled somewhat haphazardly up his chest, fingers caught the knot of a red tie to pull on it firmly. To either adjust it or to make the clearing of a tender throat easier — you couldn’t quite place it, yet still watched him in silent awe, tasting the bitterish taste of tobacco on the tip of your tongue.

“Well,” he parroted your tone with sharp accuracy and proceeded with distinguished sass, “I believe a certain someone had introduced us to each other… in absentia, so to speak.”

Oh. So that was your new charming counterpart? Bravo, Jayce — there was actually something truthful about your flattery for once.

“For I am Viktor, in case you’re still confused,” he obligingly reminded, abandoning his brief fidgeting with the tie to offer you a handshake.

You gulped, almost extending a dominant arm to accept it, but some weird foreboding had once convinced you that to twine your cigarette-scented fingers with a stranger would be somehow perceived as crude — and so you clumsily caught his palm with your other, less nimble limb. Let the heat of his touch engrave into your hand, eyes swirling the tiny mole above that defined cupid’s bow, making you feel stupid for stealing that innocent of a peek. Had you forgetting about the cigarette as your mouth fell open in oblivious awe, almost dropping a decent bridge of ashes on his pretty shoes.

Regaining your lost composure, you managed to introduce yourself in a manner similar to his — not that it was necessary since he seemed to remember what to call you exactly, but the gesture still felt right — you had vowed to treat people with politeness and liked to think that it was going quite well for you.

“So,” he uttered somewhat approbatory, withdrawing his hand from your tender clasp, “normally I don’t… tutor. But Jayce was rather insistent that I try — and he’d also assured me that you’re quite passionate about the subject.”

You huffed, letting out an undefinable sound of confusion. Not without a mixture of evident irritation to it, if you were to be frank — but that was entirely justified. A tutor? Is that how Jayce took it?

“I’m not looking for a tutor,” you sassed matter-of-factly, angrily inhaling from your cigarette. “I’m looking for a counterpart. What makes you think that you’re competent enough to teach me anything at all?” you inquired with sheer hostility, watching him go limp in silent panic.

You had vowed to treat people with politeness and didn’t care if it wasn’t going well for you anymore. Quite a drastic change of plans, to be honest.

“Oh, I am not claiming that,” Viktor rushed to object, and the way a few strands of hair started treacherously shaking when he wagged his head almost caused you to crack a pretentious smirk. But he quickly soothed the unkempt curl and proceeded with his explanation, “I was simply told you might need some help. Why the unnecessary attitude?”

“Because you were told wrong,” you practically spat the smoke into his face, lips smacking together with an audible pop. It made his beautiful nose wrinkle, entertaining you with an ungainly attempt to wave the livid cloud away.

“And that’s my fault… how, exactly?” he mumbled with an utterly puzzled glare, and you scoffed in silent rejoicement, leaning slightly closer to divert yourself with more of his emotiveness.

“You should have paid more attention to what Jayce told you,” you dodged his rhetorical question, paying it no mind whatsoever. Though later, when you'd reminisce about this exact conversation — your own audacity would make you wonder how Viktor managed to refrain from slapping you across the face. The shitty booze must have turned out not so shitty after all — it sure gave you the nerve, and you were holding onto it a bit too tightly.

But your new companion didn’t take that well. His thick eyebrow protruded into a furious arc, lips twitching slightly at the outburst you were so pathetically proud of. His hands returned to the handle of his cane as if getting ready to turn it into a weapon — and he leaned his whole body weight on it with a displeased gasp, accented voice obtaining a lower, more threatening edge to it.

He’s sweet, you scoffed, ready to press your forehead against his like an uncivilized animal. It’s not like you were acting holier anyway.

Well, at least Jayce didn’t lie about the handsome part.

“I’ll have you know that I was, indeed, paying attention,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “and if you wish to quibble over the words that don't even belong to me — be my absolute guest, but do not expect me to align with your enthusiasm and partake in useless insults.”

He cleared his throat again, evidently reluctant to indulge in whatever spectacle you were so clearly asking for. That man didn’t deserve your resentment, but now you certainly deserved his, and so you backed off, fingers twitching as they curdled around your cigarette for one last awkward drag, lashes fluttering with palpable nervousness.

“I was told you needed a tutor — and I sincerely apologize if your request was miscomprehended,” Viktor sighed, and you blinked at him in baffled reverence. Wishing oh so desperately to burn your trouble-seeking tongue with your smoldering tobacco stick.

“No, I…” you gasped in response, but Viktor held a soothing hand up, stopping you from puking out more of that guilty incoherent nonsense.

“Please, allow me to finish,” he demanded, and you obeyed — a mere culpable inch away from accidentally swallowing the filter filling your mouth with the sharp savor of smoke.

And your submission was appreciated right away.

“So, as I was saying,” Viktor returned to his lecture with a distinguished cough, “I’m sorry if your request was miscomprehended. But it certainly wasn’t miscomprehended by me, which makes your reaction somewhat… unfair, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” you yielded, nodding in weak agreement. “Yes, totally unfair.”

“To say the least,” he was quick to add, emphasizing the last word.

“To say the least,” you parroted in response — just like a tamed misbehaving brat. And that’s precisely what you were — humbled, put in your place, and sorry. You were sorry, and it made you quiver as you timidly chewed on the inside of a half-eaten cheek, frantically counting the scrapes on your shoes. Anything to escape the gentle orbs stripping you off your very flesh in an attempt to find something even you doubted was still there: some prudence.

“With that being said,” Viktor summarized, and you heard a resonant click of his cane against the concrete, “I suggest you take out your anger on someone actually responsible for the incorrect wording.”

You dared to abandon your defeated position, head tilting slightly upwards to witness his departure — just as languid as this disastrous evening — no offense to Jayce and his special day, of course.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He smiled, politely nodding to the establishment behind you, “I still have to wish that someone a happy birthday.”

So that’s how you lose both a battle and a war. He’d just taught you a valuable lesson — and here you were, so appalled at the idea of being tutored. Oh how the tables have turned.

You reached out a hand for him, preliminarily putting out that damned cigarette to the sole of your messy shoe. Grazed his shoulder with a fleeting touch, ever so cowardly unsure if you were even allowed such a luxury in these conditions. But he showed you some mercy — allowed it to linger there, slightly dipped into the curvature of his clavicle. Frowning with the look of a man who’d put you in a checkmate before even pulling out a chessboard.

“Viktor, I’m sorry,” you muttered with the most sincere remorseful look your face could master, “I’m terribly sorry, actually. I shouldn’t have—“ But he interrupted you, eyes drifting playfully to the hand that was still invading his precious privacy. “Oh, shit,” you cussed under your breath, hastily pulling it back as if it was leprotic, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Please, continue,” he insisted softly. Gave you a few seconds to finish crumbling into stupid tipsy pieces and stepped back, all of his attention focused on your earnest apology.

Oh, never mind, someone please scratch the ‘showed you some mercy’ part.

“I was rude,” you confessed (as if it wasn’t obvious enough already). “Unacceptably so. I’m not exactly… good with social cues — but it’s no excuse, I should never have said that. Especially within the first five minutes of meeting you.” The words were flowing out of your mouth so naturally — surprisingly smooth for someone who normally takes three to five business days to come up with a proper atonement (or even admit the necessity of one for starters).

“Do you think I could… make it up to you?” You struck him with your most pitiable arrow — the one you were saving up for the rare occasions when you actually wanted to atone for the damage, pretty eyes seeking his forgiveness with a sporadic, perplexed blink. But they found none: instead, he frowned, hummed in consideration, and proceeded to torment you with silence for a few more everlasting seconds, making you softly sink your teeth into the edge of your nail and scrape some polish off of it. You instantly squinted at the awful chemical taste, and Viktor finally surrendered.

You’d realize it was your first time hearing him laugh much later. It was, indeed, a thing to remember — all raspy, and strangely domestic, anything but malicious or willing to destroy you further. And yes — technically, he was laughing at you, but if that’s what you’d get every time this man filled the air with that soft sound — you may as well become a circus employee just to figure out how to make him emit more of it.

“All is forgiven,” he assured you, shaking his head, “the second you made that face, actually. But no more of that, please. If that’s how you plead, I’m afraid someday I might forgive you something utterly unacceptable.”

He’s sweet, you sighed, an unsure smile returning to your face once again.

Perhaps you should start listening to Jayce every now and then.

Viktor was quick to interrupt your pondering. “But back to your request,” he mused. “A counterpart — is that what you need? Why not join a chess club, then?”

His question didn’t mean any harm, and he was obviously inquiring out of sheer curiosity, yet it still made you feel a bit diminished. Not by him, of course — just by those arrogant fucks who dared to deny you their sportsmanship.

Perhaps they would be willing to reconsider if they saw your behavior tonight?

You sighed, shrugging it off. “I tried to. They didn’t let me because I'm unrated.”

“Really? Well, that’s just strange... Since when does one need a rating for it?” His confusion was genuine, eyes widening drastically as if he’d just heard the biggest absurdity of his entire life.

“That’s what I said,” you whined in the tone of a natural gossip girl, almost ready to chain-smoke the entire rest of your pack now that you were reminded of your misery.

“I see.” Viktor hummed, stroking a thumb over his sharp chin in deep scrutiny. “I’m certain I’ve never heard them demand a rating for enrollment before. A club is not a tournament, after all.”

“Wait, are you a member of our chess club?” Your voice pitched up in realization, but Viktor didn’t quite catch on to your astonishment.

“Yes,” he dryly confirmed, “yes, I am. Not that I spend much time there, though — those gentlemen are simply… how do I put it politely? Mediocre. Incompetent. I don’t like careless opponents — what’s the point in playing them if you can picture how exactly you can win within seconds?”

Within seconds. You froze in apparent disbelief, trying to figure out whether he was bluffing. Tensely awaiting something — anything — that might've indicated a joke. But not a single muscle on his pale face twitched into a smile — he’d responded with a look as awfully inquisitive as yours, unsure of what exactly you expected him to do.

So he does mean it. In that case, he’s either very full of himself — or these boys are, in fact, that hopeless at chess. And something kept telling you that it most likely was the latter.

“I’m jealous then. I suppose.” You offered him a safe answer, thoughtlessly toying with your rusty lighter.

“Don’t be,” he countered. “Envy is a waste of time. You should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.”

Bold of him to assume that you might envy his skills. Well, yes — you were definitely beaming with envy, but he didn’t need to know that just yet.

You snorted, almost letting that toxic conceit take over whatever pieces of common sense Viktor had just punched back into you — and his words dwelled, slinking through your skull, filling you not with thirst for vengeance, but with inspiration. It gave you some time to form a decent comeback, but you didn't use it wisely, playfully rolling your eyes at his discreet lecture instead.

“I don’t envy your tactics,” you informed him, gracefully holding your head up, “I'm just jealous you have someone to show them to.”

And that boy smiled again, forcing your light vertigo to return — but this time it had nothing to do with tipsiness.

“So do you,” he whispered and watched you derail with the most victorious countenance known to a man. Reminding you nonchalantly that he doesn’t need a single chess piece to have you in a stalemate. That muggy bar might’ve offered you the experience of being trapped in a figurative, impossibly narrow coffin, but Viktor’s presence was the thing that truly made you feel like an actual cadaver — all empty thoughts, and stiffness, and skipped heartbeats. Positively so.

But Jayce forgot to mention that your new competitor was also deeply laconic.

“Meet me in the library next… Friday, if you’re available?” He wasn’t generous enough to offer you any more seconds on recovering from this exchange, impatiently expecting a confirmation. You could only manage a non-verbal one, nodding weakly.

“Say… somewhere around noon?” He mused, and you instantly nodded again, obligingly waiting for his next suggestion. What a pleasure it is to do business with you!

“Perfect,” he snatched the words out of your mouth, already half-turned to the bar entrance, “Please bring your board, and I shall bring the clocks… Yes, the library should suffice — it’s not like a game of chess requires much conversation anyway. Now, please, do excuse me — I really need to steal Jayce away for a minute.”

You watched him vanish into that devilish and utterly unfitting for a man of his kind place, eyes nailing into his back as the crowd of feasting people swallowed your new interlocutor. Letting an excited little breath slip past your open mouth, escorting him with an uncoordinated wave of a shaky hand — a rather silly, excessive gesture since he didn't witness it and yet it still felt right — like a perfect little goodbye to strengthen this newfound friendship with.

That’s how you met your counterpart — or, rather, that’s what you used to see in him back then.

What you were still oblivious to was that this man would conquer you in many more capacities than just the game that brought you together.

⸻

tags (please let me know if you’d like to be added to them) : @zaunitearchives @blissfulip

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x f!reader #arcane fanfic #viktor smut #*throws this thing at you and vanishes*#the cunterpart

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overly-verbose · 6 months ago

Note

Lol, I put this on submit instead of ask. Sorry if you see this twice, I have no idea how that function works on this hellsite.

---

Be a curse spirit.

Not just any curse spirit, a special grade curse spirit. Complete with intelligence, an intimidating form, and a powerful technique that you wield with a level of expertise that only the oldest curse spirits can hope to match.

You're having fun, causing mayhem, maybe even eating a few of those humans that look so tasty.

You get into a few fights -- puny sorcerers who cannot hope to stand up to your might -- and relish the fear and terror you cause.

You go unbested, unharmed for a long while after you've formed. You doubt anyone can truly end you and your pride swells.

You feel invincible.

Then you come across a pink-haired human. A infant sorcerer judging by their curse energy.

You figure you could use a laugh and goad the human into a fight by killing a few baby humans that so happened to be lying around --

Or at least, you try to. The infant sorcerer proves to be more than a little bit skilled, along with fast. It rips the baby humans from your clutches and attacks you.

*A SERIES OF BRUTAL PUNCHES*

...okay wow, that actually hurt. A first for you.

Also, what the hell. How in the name of all that is unholy is this infant sorcerer so fast? And strong? You can sense its curse energy and aside from the delayed response from its curse energy it doesn't seem to be using any other techniques.

Is -- is it just naturally that fast and strong?!

That's...

No matter, as the infant sorcerer has left an opening for you to attack!

You lash out with your technique, laughing as it cuts through the infant sorcerer's flesh and bone --

Whoa.

Wait.

What?

Is -- is this sorcerer regenerating?

You cast out your elite special grade curse senses and -- okay yeah, that's positive energy.

Alright, so the infant sorcerer has reverse curse technique. No big deal, you have some regeneration of your own. Plus, you've gone up against your own kind many times in the past so you know what to do.

The infant sorcerer can't last forever, especially with all the curse energy its throwing out. You just have to wait for it to run out of energy and you'll have it.

*PUNCH*

Any second now.

*PUNCH*

Aaaaany second now.

*PUNCH*

...alright, what the FUCK.

How is this little insect's curse energy not going down?!

You must have hit it at least three dozen times in the last minute alone, each attack designed to be lethal as fuck! You can sense the positive energy in the air, you know its being used, and yet the kid's curse energy is barely affected!

Does this kid have a second technique?! Is that a thing?!

Alright, whatever. Whatever. You'll just wear this little twerp down and --

*FEAR*

*TERROR*

*THE EYE OF THE BEAST*

You are blasted with the worst wave of malice you have ever felt in your short life.

It as though hell itself ripped open, revealing the hunger and cruelty of a thousand demons who sought nothing more than to feed on your suffering.

The paralyzes you completely. The infant sorcerer takes advantage of this.

*BLACK FLASH*

*BLACK FLASHx4*

FUCK THAT HURT!

Okay, you know what? Fuck this, you're going all out.

You whip out your Domain. The foolish sorcerer doesn't bother to escape, no doubt knowing that it is pointless. It is already within your guaranteed-hit effect and with how lethal your technique is, there is no way it'll have enough of its body left to regenerate.

You'll end this farce right here, right now -- !

"Oh?"

You stop.

Stop moving.

Stop breathing.

Stop thinking.

You stop everything and anything, for you know that if you make the slightest move, you will die.

"You dare lay a hand on my Vessel?"

The infant sorcerer was gone, having been replaced with a being whose name and deeds were carved into the very fabric of reality, so much so that every curse -- whether intelligent or not -- knows their name.

A being of all encompassing evil, of overwhelming might.

A being that all curse spirits fear and worship in the same breath.

"How every brave of you."

He sits upon a throne of Death and Despair, staring down at you with eyes that reflect all the pain and horror your end will become.

"How very... foolish."

Pain beyond the body.

Horror beyond the mind.

Violation beyond the soul.

A thousand tortures and a thousand nightmares descend upon you and you can do nothing but scream and scream and scream.

But the being before you only laughs and laughs and laughs, breaking and repairing you over and over and over again, ensuring that the torment is just as fresh as it was in the beginning.

You beg for death. Attempt to take it in your own hands.

But the Cruel God before you always brings you back, their many hands ripping you from the afterlife just as you begin to taste sweet oblivion.

You feel Fear. You experience Horror. You drown in Despair.

And it is only when your mind, body, and soul are unable to give the being the reactions it wants -- that you are finally allowed to die.

-----

Fighting Yuji is a nightmare in this universe, lol.

Not only is the kid crazy strong, crazy skilled, being taught by the two strongest beings in the entire verse, and has active 24/7 Wolverine regeneration on at all times (thanks SIkuna) --

But if by some miracle you manage to defeat him, you'll have to deal with a very pissed off, very overprotective King of Curses who will happily make the last few minutes/hours/days of your existence a torturous one.

I'd rather take on Gojo tbh.

The submission option worked well, just so you know for the future, but I noticed that you added/changed some things since then so I'll answer the 'revised' version haha :DDD

And- woAH woW WOWIE *insert that one Crash Bandicoot meme where he goes 'WOW'*

A beautiful fanfic for my fanfic (fanfic squared!!) holy macaroni I am HONOURED 🤗🤗🤗🥺🥺🥺

This is such a cool concept, and well, not too dissimilar from the truth heh - indeed, once Yuji and SIkuna get more in-sync with everything Yuji will be Quite the interesting opponent (i. e. not one you'd want to have against you even remotely lmao) to have for sure haha

I love the idea of the POV being an Outsider POV (how in-line with the Main Series proper haha) and the alien (not literally lol) nature of the POV character certainly adds an interesting perspective to how Yuji fighting with SIkuna's active help may turn out heh

And like, yeah, SIkuna's intensity with the revenge for the fight is very understandable and accurate, coming from him after Yuji got freaking mauled during the fight

- the first Special Grade got a taste of a similar thing for 'only' cutting Yuji's arm off heh, meanwhile here this almost-wanna-say-poor Curse not only hurt Yuji much worse, but it would have very likely killed the kid without SIkuna's interference, regardless of his amazingness

And that's, just a little bit Absolutely Unforgivable ::)

The way you described Yuji's fighting style (like his oddly high strength and speed without any CE usage) and SIkuna's intimidating-as-hell presence (Gotta Love Me Some Eldritch Horror) was very evocative, very Cool and Spooky indeed!!! :DDDDD

Honestly, yeah, I feel like basically anyone in the SG(LAT)-verse would rather take on Gojo, despite him being Gojo Freaking Satoru, rather than SIkuna in any way (and Yuji too tbh lmao)

- not getting into power levels and such, it's simply much much more likely to have a swifter death you know

SIkuna doesn't kill everything in this strong of a brutal manner sure, but he could - and that's just a bit too much of a risk ngl

(and just- The sheer dread and horror even his presence imposes on the world is Something Else Altogether, being in the other end of that whole thing also being actively malicious (or malevolent heh) towards you is just, not a Good Time 💀)

Anywayyy - thank you so much again AAAAA I cri (of joy) fr 🥺😭🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

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