#anyway this is why i shouldn't be allowed to do things. rolls away back into the void from which i came

[timey-fandom-stuff]

here's some sketches of Jailbroken AU, AKA the chronicles of 'what if a Deltarune modder got creepypasta-style isekai'd for trying to hack their Kris and now they're stuck in a get-along shirt with a depressed teen while the world's most ineffective .exe tries to knife them every 2 seconds.' there's two Krises and that makes it a Krisis by default!

it's also got an overarching plot in there somewhere probably

Bonus: Kris (and their Player) find the point(s)

"HEY-- how come THEY get to have magic in the light world???"

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Caught

Yandere!Demon x Gn!HauntedReader

warnings: mentions of bullying, sleep paralysis, mentions of hallucinations, paranoia, drugging, attempted kidnapping, attempted murder, murder, gore, death

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Slender gnarly hands slithered over your exposed skin, curling around your throat, squeezing so tightly that black spots floated around your vision.

You were being chocked.

A silent scream was caged in your throat, while your eyes ripped wide open and death was awaiting you, and you couldn't do a single thing other than stare into two large orbs of never ending black depth.

This was your final moment, the last seconds on earth, you had to do something, anything or else you were going to die—

Or were you?

Hiccuping and gasping you awoke to your sheets drenched in sweat, trembling all over with the sensations of needles pricking your limps, all of them heavy and uncomfortable.

You were always a weird kid, since childhood to be precise. You see things that are not there, feel things that shouldn't be able to be felt and hear whispers in the dead of night. You know of things that you should not know of, things that no one else has discovered yet.

Groaning you drag yourself up, swinging one leg over the other, ascending to your numb feet, barely catching yourself before you fall down again. It's horrible, each morning you awake to a body exhausted and aged, as if you were never granted rest.

Another day of your boring job, simmering away in an office, an occupation you loathe, with coworkers regarding you with the same disturbed glances and hushed whispers that have haunted you your whole life.

Perhaps you may feel strongly, stronger than any other person in the room, but they can sense it, the air of animosity around you. That cursed energy emitting from you.

Maybe that's why every single man you were interested in, killed himself after the very first date.

The hours in the office rolled around painstakingly slowly, yet somehow the seconds faded into minutes and then into hours. You were used to the lingering judgement around you, that none of your colleagues meant it when they smiled at you waving you goodbye as you finished for the day, yet what you weren't used to was for him.

He, your office crush, to approach you.

“Good work today.” he mentioned casually, dropping praises onto you as if you were a golden hen instead of the mascot for all things depressing. You knew what they whispered behind your back, how unbearably edgy you were.

“Uh, Thanks.” you sputtered overwhelmed by the sudden attention, which wasn't unwelcomed by any means but definitely alarming. Alarming in that sense that you now feared for this man’s life.

“Would you like to join us? We’re going out to eat at the new Italian. Might be fun.” he offered lightheartedly with the same picture perfect smile that you fell for.

Instead of joy, you felt your fear now unfolding infront of your very eyes. You just couldn't allow him to also commit the same mistake as all the others. So you flashed him an anxious smile, acting as if you were oh-so busy, apologizing profusely and thanking him.

Yet he was more stubborn than you initially assumed.

“It's really not that expensive if that's what you're worried about! And the food is great. Besides I think it wouldn't be so bad if you opened up more, would make you certainly more popular among our colleagues!” he exclaimed energetically, overly confident, with such a glimmer in his eyes as if he knew, knew about those gnarly fingers that kept trying to choke you. You shook your head at yourself, you were succumbing to paranoia again, this had to stop besides he was right though, you needed to at least try to make this better for you, and it wasn't a date anyways.

So it was win-win, right?

That's at least what you had hoped for. And yet it turned out yo be a disaster. Their burning gazes never leaving you, so penetrating with unfiltered judgement bordering on almost hatred, you couldn't stand it.

Admittedly as the night progressed and you after you managed to pull yourself together after a mini meltdown in the bathroom did things starten to loosen up, well your colleagues certainly did through the help of alcohol. So you started to be drowned in the mass of boisterous laughter and messy gossiping, making you finally stop sticking out like a sore thumb.

Perfect that's what he wanted.

While everyone was too occupied, it was easy to watch you in silence, face a perfect facade, he knew you, that knew the moment you staggered, blinking slowly.

“Hey—everything okay?” asked one of your colleagues who was intimidated by you, yes, but not heartless enough to not notice the odd way your eyes moved, pupils dilating and shrinking, while you felt fuzzy all over, as if you were the one that chugged two beers instead of her.

Before you could even answer, your colleague who had been so kind to invite you jumped up in concern. Worry lacing his tone as he suddenly laid his palm flat against your forehead, startling you with the sudden intimate gesture.

“Are you sick? I wouldn't have suggested you join us if I knew you were sick.” he muttered seemingly more to himself than you, while all you could do was watch in silence, your voice refusing to work no matter how hard you tried.

From then on it was all a blur, you heard all of the noise at once, everything overwhelming and overly stimulating your senses as a arm was draped over your waist, squeezing your midrift slightly as the restaurant faded into nothingness.

There was something like a breeze softly tickling your nape, no, it was someone breathing down your back—it was him, you made out, the colleague who was guiding you to his car.

“Don't worry.” you felt something wet against your neck, body so numb you were uncertain how you were even able to walk. “I will be gentle.” he breathed into your ear, reminding you of same haunting voices that whispered into your ear every night.

You didn't even understand what was happening, his words failing to properly register into your mind, as he dragged you into his car, placing you in the passenger seat like a ragdoll while you couldn't even keep your head upright.

There was only this silent scream deeply plunged in your chest, some sort of instinctive panic, that tried to wake your body up, but nothing, you could only sit there trying to fight off sleep as the engine started.

“Took some time.” he groaned, starting to laugh. It wasn't a laugh you ever heard from him before. That laugh was unhinged, squeaky and something you would hear from a killer in a horror movie.

“Y’know how hard it was to get my fingers on that drug? Phew! Took ages to be discreet! But it worked! God it worked!” he laughed, his tone starting to sound like nails scratching against those green boards you saw in school.

“Fuck—you’re a real weirdo but so hot, god! No one would miss you anyways—easy. And you're just so dumb too! You didn't even think twice about trusting me—or well you didn't have another choice with how drugged you are right now!” you felt your chest tighten, thoughts muddled yet one was clear, concreted in the forefront of your mind—that you had to find a way to escape.

And that opportunity presented itself to you so swiftly, so brashly and so painfully you regretted wishing for it.

You couldn't even make out what occurred, only the sudden flickering of lights, something indescribably loud ringing in your ears, making you want to claw your eardrums out and before you realized it the car tumbled over and crashed.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in Breathe out—

For a moment there was only this ringing, similar to that of a buzzing of a phone, before you glanced over at what remained of you colleague; a pulp of red, raw flesh.

You gagged, but before you could lose yourself in a sea of despair you felt slender, gnarly, icy cold fingers caress your cheek.

“You're mine, human.”

it was an omnipresent voice, words not uttered but received by you nevertheless.

Cursed with the gift of knowing things others couldn't, you were also cursed with living with the owner of those gnarly fingers that gently wrapped around your throat squeezing so tightly until peace crept inside every nook and cranny of your brain, lulling your eyes back into your skull.

[sageteapost]

sephiroth with a reader who is like him, but they were made for him yk? Like they are supposed to reproduce and not have feelings for each other but they somehow do? They also just want to make him happy, so they will do whatever to acheive that-

~✨anon

| "We're cannot be together, Y/N." |

[ Sephiroth x GN! Reader ]

CW + Tags: None, honestly more on the angsty side. Pining. Forbidden romance. Technically a rejection but still pining hard. Talks about reproduction. Maybe a bit OOC? (No established relationship, but implied to have been secretly hooking up for non-Shinra motives. Written to be gender neutral in mind but can also be interpreted however you wish.)

Summary: The two of you were created for one purpose alone—to reproduce. But to make matters more complicated, you both find yourself pining for each other when you're not supposed to.

[ Author Note: Yippie! I finally wrote something for Sephiroth. Honestly, I was really in the mood for some on the angsty side and a short fic. I hope that's okay ✨ anon, haha. The idea you gave me screamed for it, or at least it did for me. Lowkey teared up a bit, so...have fun!]

"No, stop that. You know we shouldn't do this," Sephiroth pants, his previously softened eyes becoming cold as he reluctantly pushes himself off you.

You look up at him, feeling dejected from the sudden withdrawal of affection and beginning to miss his warmth. "Why not?"

Sephiroth looks down at you, his expression unreadable. "Don't play coy, we know why. You're falling for me, stop that."

"Quit thinking about Shrina for once, why does it matter? We're supposed to reproduce anyway. It's Shinra's fault for putting us together in everything."

"Shinra would try to intervene if you developed any sort of romantic affections towards me. I won't allow it."

You sit up and look at him with a tinge of playfulness and hope, crossing your arms. "So you care about me then."

Sephiroth sighs heavily, turning his head away slightly in an attempt to hide his face. "No. I simply don't want Shinra laying a hand on you," he replied almost coldly. "What part of 'we can't do this' do you not understand?"

You groan in frustration. "Same damn thing!" Your eyes soften slightly, your tone tinged with sadness. "Not a moment ago, you kissed me like you would a lover. Like you meant it. So, do I? Do I mean anything to you?"

Sephiroth's breath hitched slightly. For a split second, his knuckles tightened until they were white before relaxing. It took a moment of silence, but he eventually replies, "...Do people always fall for the things they can't have?"

His response surprised you, to say the least. Your eyes widen slightly, your body almost freezing. In a way, he admitted there was something between the two of you.

"So...you admit it?"

"I suppose I did."

Sephiroth turns back to look at you, his face softened slightly as the sunrise shining in through the window of your quarters brightens your skin. "I've said it. But...it doesn't mean we should be. As much as I want this—us, so badly, I can't. We cannot be together, Y/N."

A tear rolls down your face. Deep down, you know he's right. The two of you have been paired to reproduce with each other, just so Shinra could have more SOLDIERS with Sephiroth's genes.

You want something more. The love is there. Hidden, but there. And it hurts. It fucking hurts.

"You know I'd love you, no matter how many times you push me away," you reply, looking at him with heartache.

"I know, and I feel that way as well," Sephiroth replies. His gaze moves to your window, looking out into the early morning smoky sky. "And that scares me."

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 09

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 5,1k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.),

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

It had only been a few hours since the whole disaster.

Before, you had thought that you would return to your family home purely to collect your things; now you were lying in your bed again, in a room buried in the darkness of the night, staring mindlessly at the white dress hanging over the back of a chair. You associated it not with being abandoned, but with the nightmare that was your wedding. Maybe Bucky was doing you a favor? He'd bought you some time before you had to go through all that again, to eventually tie the knot anyway?

You didn't blame him for doing it. He had made it clear to you right from the start that such a relationship was out of the question; in fact, he had told you so at every turn – that he wasn't husband material, that he wasn't trying to be charming, that he was a stubborn asshole, a piece of shit…

But the truth was – despite everything – you didn't see him that way. To you, he was just a scared, confused human trying to do this for you. He had failed, the situation had overwhelmed him, and all you could think about was how much you wanted to see him. Where was he now? What was he up to?

What did Timothy say to him?

Although Michael participated in this conversation, he did not want to reveal its details to you. He decided that it was a man's conversation, and it was better for you to stay in the dark about it. Apart from a businesslike, practical alliance, you no longer had anything in common with the Barnes. But if it had been up to you, you would have crushed that alliance and shoved it down Timothy's throat. However, destroying a long-standing friendship was not in your intentions, but one thing remained clear – Timothy Barnes wasn’t your friend. Now you weren't even sure he had ever been your father's friend. You understood that he cared about securing his Family, but he shouldn't have kept that from you.��

You rolled onto your back, your eyes stuck on the ceiling.

At that point, you didn't really care what was going to happen next. You didn't care about your future or the fate of your Family; you figured you had every right to, since submitting to the expectations of others wasn't producing the desired results. You needed a moment without worrying about everything and everyone. You would have liked to focus entirely on yourself, but your thoughts revolved around him. It was far too soon to forget, but why couldn't you hate him? You were naive and weak. But you could allow yourself to be. At least until the morning.

Suddenly, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position. You heard something, or you only thought you did, still, you froze motionless, listening to the sounds of your surroundings. 

There it was again – a quiet knock, knock coming from somewhere downstairs.

Your heart beat almost painfully; you left the bed, hesitant and a little stiff, and although you immediately wanted to be at the door, you got out of the bedroom carefully, then went down the stairs to the floor below. Without thinking much, you turned the key in the lock and pulled the handle. And your first instinct was to be terribly disappointed when you found Sam Wilson behind the door. 

“We don't have much time,” he began, before you had a chance to say anything. “I parked across the street. A black car,” he emphasized, as if you should remember this particular piece of information. “I will wait ten minutes. If you don't show up, the case will be closed. If you're going to show up, you'd better pack some things.” Without waiting for your answer, he turned and walked away.

You were more than surprised – completely thrown off guard. You had loads of questions, but no time to dwell on them. Sam had only given you ten minutes and you weren't going to waste a second. You couldn't even imagine what it could all mean, but you felt with all your being that you had to make the most of this opportunity. All the heaviness, the soreness, all the lethargy you had been stuck in for hours - it was all gone, replaced by a sudden adrenaline and a need for action.

When you rushed back into your bedroom, you immediately found the bag you had packed with Connie's help much earlier – you weren't sure where you were going to go after the wedding, so you wanted to be prepared, and even though the wedding didn't work out, the bag turned out to be a lifesaver. At least you were confident you'd make it to Sam's car in time.

You grabbed your phone, which you'd turned off anyway beforehand so you wouldn't have to talk to anyone, your charger from the bedside table, and pulled Bucky's sweatshirt from the wardrobe. Everything else you might need fit into the bag. Before just leaving the house, you slipped comfortable sneakers on your feet, meanwhile you turned on your phone and texted Suzie to lock up the house. In the process, you read a message from an unknown number; Sam had tried to contact you earlier.

You stepped out into the cool, refreshing night air. You threw your hood over your head, adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder, and, having taken a look around, walked to the other side of the street. You expected to find a typical SUV somewhere on your path, but after a dozen or so steps you reached an area where the only car was a black sedan. So Sam wanted to give the impression of being a civilian. You ran up to the car, and it started up ready to go before you touched the handle.

You shut the door behind you and looked around the interior of the vehicle, but the only person inside was Sam.

“What’s going on?” you asked. “Where are we going?” 

“We're going to fix something.”

The car stopped in front of an isolated, abandoned hangar. 

You were on pins and needles the whole way, and reaching – as it turned out – the destination didn't bring you peace of mind. Not having the slightest idea what you could expect, you were even more nervous.

You took your bag from the back seat and followed Sam to the entrance. He opened the heavy metal door with a creak indicating a lack of proper care for the building, and let you inside. For a hangar, the interior of this particular one was surprisingly dimly lit; the enormous space was unpleasantly cold.

You heard quiet, echoing footsteps, so you immediately turned to look in that direction. Seeing him, you unconsciously held your breath, and all the emotions bothering you that day, which had not yet found their way out, gathered in your eyes in the form of tears. As the first, salty, burning tear ran down your heated cheek, you dropped your bag so that you could freely cover your face with your hands; to hide from him in this moment of weakness.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Bucky said softly. You didn't even notice when he crossed the distance separating you and got right beside you. He scooped you into his arms, drew you close to his firm, warm body and closed yours in a strong yet gentle embrace; one of his hands remained in place, wrapped around your back, the other moved higher, to the back of your head – he stroked your hair tenderly, and you still felt like hiding, but this time not from him but from the whole world, in his arms; you wanted to melt into his body, into his broad chest.

“You f-fucking-,” you choked out between sobs, tightening your fingers on the material of his t-shirt.

“I know, Y/N. I acted like a dick,” he agreed without hesitation. “Cry it out, just like that,” he praised, keeping on stroking your hair. “Can you take a deep breath? Come on,” he instructed gently. Your chest was beginning to ache because of the spasms of crying clenching your muscles, so you obediently breathed air into your lungs. “Yeah, just like that.”

You knew what you had to do next, and Bucky knew what you needed. Clarity of mind and calm slowly returned to you, but there was still that most important part.

You lifted your head and looked at Bucky’s face, therefore meeting his gaze. He was watching you in such a soft, vulnerable way that made you feel like crying all over again. He moved his hand from the back of your head to the side of your face and tenderly wiped your wet cheek; you could feel his skin on your skin, and the bandage he must have used to wrap the cut in his palm.

That reminded you of the situation from a few hours ago; of the lack of knowledge regarding your appearance here. Despite everything, you didn't have the slightest desire to break out of his arms. Why would you deprive yourself of this comfort and sense of safety? You deserved it, especially after the events of the last twenty-four hours; maybe even the last few months.

“You left me,” you finally spoke, your voice weak because of all the crying.

“Only for a moment.”

“For a moment?” Your forehead puckered. “You destroyed the agreement,” you said, pulling away from him against your will. A flash of mild anger didn't let you stand as close as before. “We are no longer married, I am alone again and still need a husband,” you pointed, determined to make Bucky realize the situation he had put you in.

He sighed heavily. “I know what I did. But I didn't do it without a reason,” he claimed, making you even more confused. He clenched his jaw briefly, not taking his eyes off you. “I owe my uncle a debt. After my father's death, I should’ve been the head of the Family, but I couldn't handle it, I wasn't in the right place. Timothy stepped in, helped me out,” he admitted reluctantly. “Now he wants complete obedience from me; he expects me to do absolutely everything for him, and basically, he is right, because otherwise it would be a betrayal. But I couldn't let him use this against you. You don't owe him anything.”

Now you understood his position – you understood it, and in that moment you hated the feeling, your forbearance. But you said nothing; just folded your arms, waiting for further explanation.

“We can still get married,” Bucky continued. “But outside his rules and conditions.”

Your eyes went round, that familiar wave of warmth ran through your body. “What… What do you mean?”

“All we have to do is actually get married. Legally, without any deals, tricks or fucking loopholes.” He took a small step towards you, and probably didn't predict that you wouldn't move away this time. “We'll just create a proper prenup, and when you want to divorce, you'll get back everything that was yours before the marriage.”

You raised your eyebrows. Up to now you had been convinced that he had run away because he didn't want to get married, and it turned out that he wanted to get married again. You didn't even know which question you should ask first. “Buck…” you said tentatively, as if that would bring him back to his senses. “An actual marriage is something different, something more... real.”

“People get married for various reasons,” he asserted, not giving up. Your sceptical approach was no obstacle. “For money, insurance, visas…” Bucky listed casually. And he was himself again – a calculating, clear-thinking strategist. He impressed the hell out of you with that. “As my wife, you will still become part of my Family, and this’ll give you protection. Except it will all happen more naturally, not like my uncle wanted. We will have more freedom.”

There was still too much chaos in your head for you to be able to pick out any rational thought. “Wait…” You raised your hand, closing your eyes for a moment. “Why didn't you tell me any of this earlier? Why did you leave me like that? I was scared to death.”

“My plan was just coming clear then, at the wedding,” he confessed, his lips pressed together in an unenthusiastic smile. “I didn't want to tell you about it till I was sure. Till I could find some safe place for us.”

His words effectively made you soft. “And did you find one..?”

You could see that for a split second he hesitated; as if he wasn't sure how you would react to further news. “Vegas..?”

“Of course Vegas.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

“Look, it'll be quick and relatively painless.”

“I haven't agreed yet.”

“Then why didn't you take off the ring?”

Your eyes wandered to your hand. Bucky was a little too observant for your taste; his grandmother's ring stayed on your finger. Unlike the wedding band. Maybe you kept it subconsciously, since the ring had such sentimental value?

“You already ran away once, so why do you still want this? You could’ve never come back, wouldn't it be easier?” Having looked back at his face, you could tell he wasn’t offended by your question.

“You still need me. This marriage,” Bucky answered, and didn't do it with audacity or meanness; he was simply stating a fact. “And Timothy fucked me over, so I want to do the same to him, just for the hell of it.” He shrugged indifferently. For a while, he stared at you in silence. “And… I didn't see through his intrigue, because I was distracted… By you.” His jaw clenched. You swallowed hard, your palms became wet, and a warmth flared up again in the pit of your stomach. Bucky turned his gaze away, sticking it into the ground. “So, I need this marriage too, I guess.”  

You took an uneven breath and scratched the back of your neck. Bucky was distracted by thoughts of your safety, or...? “What other choice do I have?” you asked; partly out of curiosity, partly for the appearance that this marriage was not your last resort at all.

Bucky immediately brought his eyes back to you, his face taking on the harsh expression with which he usually handled business. “If you don't agree to do this, I will personally find you a suitable partner. I won't be more picky than necessary. And then I will disappear from your life for good,” he said bluntly.

You nodded slowly, absorbing that side of the story. You gave yourself some time to imagine it somehow – you with someone else; someone who wasn't Bucky. Then you remembered the weeks of longing when you were dating John Walker, and already knew that you didn't stand much chance of surviving without Bucky beside you.

Still, you decided to approach it with calm. “Okay.”

To your surprise, Bucky's face lit up with a slightly excited, satisfied smile. “Yeah?”

You nodded again, also unable to stop a grin creeping onto your lips.

“Whose house is this?” you asked as the headlights fell on the stately building.

“My godmother’s,” Bucky answered, turning off the engine. “I know there is no lack of hotels in Vegas,” he added straight away. “But I need a good night's sleep, and I trust my aunt enough to get some shut-eye.”

You shrugged. “I don't mind. After all, we'll all become one big, loving family, right?”

Apart from the clear, audible irony in your voice, Bucky smirked with delight. You wondered when the thought of marriage – of you being together – had stopped burning him. You supposed he was just exhausted; you both were. After a total of forty hours of car trip, interrupted only by bathroom stops. You took turns at the wheel so that the other could rest, but Bucky's stubbornness resulted in him driving most of the time. 

You got out of the car. Bucky opened the trunk so you could get your bags out, then you headed to the front door. Despite the evening, it was hot outside; not as torturous as during the day, but it was doing its job.

The aunt that Bucky mentioned greeted you right at the door. She put her arm around Bucky's shoulders, their cheeks brushed together. In your case, she respected your possible need for personal space; she looked at you carefully but not suspiciously. “Is this the girl?”

Bucky also glanced at you, as if he had to make sure his aunt was talking about you; as if he had to make sure you were still there. “Yeah. Y/N,” he confirmed.

“Marion.” She held out her hand to you, which you shook. “Jamie told me a little about the situation you kids are in,” she began, and you were prepared to hear some scolding words, disapproval. “That prick, my brother, didn't inform me – not to mention the invitation – about my godson's wedding?” She snorted with annoyance and almost contempt. “You’re doing the right thing, and have my full support, and the place to stay, for as long as you want.” 

Although you and Bucky preferred to freshen up and rest after your trip, Marion persuaded you to have dinner with her. Her justifications for why you should do so were really reasonable – firstly, her chef had served the meal minutes before you arrived; secondly, Marion was going to leave the house right after dinner, and as befits an exemplary hostess, she wanted to spend some time with her guests. And with that, you had the opportunity to get to know Bucky's aunt a little better.

She ran a casino and owned an elegant nightclub, she was independent not only financially – she had no husband and no children; she lived as she wished and with whom she wished, and she must have been really organized, since the businesses she operated did not fail, on the contrary, they were doing very well, as you could tell from the luxurious furnishings of her house, expensive designer clothes and sophisticated dishes, prepared by her costly chef. 

You were jealous of this life; maybe not its pace, but this independence – Marion Barnes didn't have to marry anyone to stay alive. You learned that the Barnes simply didn't do that – they didn't give away their children; they didn't arrange marriages; they didn't take part in weddings for the sake of business. Considering Timothy, this wasn't a very strong rule.

Pulled abruptly out of your sleep by something that seemed so terrifyingly real, your gaze wandered unconsciously over your surroundings; a new room, a strange room. Only after a while did you remember where you were and why. You were given two separate bedrooms; Bucky didn't care where he was going to sleep, and you felt a little more comfortable alone. But at that moment you didn’t feel comfortable at all. 

Memories of what you had just experienced swirled vividly in your mind – you were standing in Timothy's cave, wearing a white dress and veil, and you were about to be married by Elvis himself. The thing was, Bucky, your groom, was sitting in the front row right next to his uncle; they looked at you with amusement, whispered something to each other and burst out laughing. Bucky never stood at the altar; he whispered back and forth to Timothy and they both laughed. They laughed at you – at how stupid and naive you were.

You got out of bed and walked noiselessly to the bathroom. Having turned on the cold water, you washed your face. It helped; you felt less panicked. But were you still so sure of your decision?

Because of the dry air, your throat was craving water; anything to drink, so instead of returning to your bedroom, you went to the kitchen. Despite the fact that the whole house was air-conditioned, the downstairs was much more pleasantly cool than the floor above. Maybe you felt this way because of the cooled tiles your bare feet touched.

Having found a glass in one of the cabinets, you filled it with tap water; it had a slightly strange aftertaste, but you wouldn't call it bad. Besides, your dry throat would settle for anything.

“Can’t sleep?”

You almost dropped the glass. Though you knew his voice, you were still startled to see Bucky when you turned around. He was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen entrance, and you – regardless of the temperature around – felt hot again. The muscles of his crossed arms strained and accentuated, but you had seen those before. Unlike his torso. You knew he had a broad chest, but shirtless it evoked a completely different sensation in you; you also expected a well-sculpted stomach, but expecting and seeing with your own eyes were two different things, and your own body didn't let you confuse the two experiences. And his thighs? Oh, his thighs…

Apart from his face – as beautiful when it expressed tenderness as when it expressed indifference, his spirit – so unpredictable but caring for you for no apparent reason, there was also his body – perfect, godlike, seeming to have cost a ton of work.

With restless eyes you scanned what was in front of you, your throat getting dry again. You were stunned, as if you had never seen a man in just his underwear before. You had. But you were convinced that you didn't miss any physical contact after that situation in the nightclub; after you almost let some man get into your pants. And you didn't miss it. You didn't miss just some man; you desired Bucky – you'd been drawn to him since that evening when he and Timothy turned up at your house.

You suddenly remembered that he could see you too; see the way you were looking at him. Tentatively, you lifted your gaze to his face – puffy because of the recently interrupted sleep, rested – and met his stare. For a brief moment you wondered why he let you do that; why he didn't stop you.

You brought the glass back to your lips and drank the rest of the water.

“I had a bad dream. And you..?”

“And I have my future wife in the back of my mind, and something told me to check if she was safe,” Bucky said with conviction, pulling away from the doorframe. He casually walked closer and rested his lower back against the edge of the kitchen counter. “Tell me.”

“About my dream?” you asked, to which he nodded. “There is nothing to talk about. It was... weird.” You shrugged. “I think... I think I'm subconsciously afraid of this wedding.” You nibbled your bottom lip and looked away. “You left me the first time, so who knows what will happen next time.”

Bucky gasped. “I didn't leave you. And I never was going to. I just changed the plan,” he asserted. “I know I should have told you earlier.” Seeing your lips parting, he interrupted you before you had the chance to speak. “I made a mistake, I know that now. And I will keep making them. I'm just learning, Y/N.”

“And all of this has no right to hurt me, and I can't get angry, because from the very start, you didn't want any of it. I get it,” you answered calmly.

“I didn't say that,” Bucky protested, standing right in front of you. “I said you're not in my debt, and that hasn't changed. I-” he paused for a moment, his mouth set in a hard line. “The truth is, I would not let you marry anyone else. I couldn't stand it. I would go fucking mad,” he added. Firmly, yet cautiously, he grabbed your hand and brought it to his face. Without taking his eyes away from yours, he placed a barely noticeable kiss on your palm; on the still unhealed cut. “I told you,” he whispered. “I stepped into your life, and now I can’t get out. Don’t want to. Okay?”

You replied with a delicate nod.

“No, baby,” Bucky continued in the same low tone, and a cloud of butterflies rose up in your stomach. “I need to hear it from you. To be sure you understand.”

Your bodies were only millimeters apart; you could feel the heat radiating from him, the warmth of his breath on your cheeks.

“I understand.”

“You understand what?” he asked softly, persistently searching for something in your eyes – Fear? Decisiveness? Resentment? Permission?

“That you’re jealous-”

“Very jealous.” His voice was more like a heavy breath.

“And that you would be angry if I married someone else-” you added. Bucky sucked hungrily on his bottom lip, his stare seemed half-conscious, he shook his head slowly. “You would go mad,” you corrected yourself.

“Mm-hm,” he murmured, and keeping his instincts in check, covered the rest of the distance separating you, then pressed his lips to yours. You instinctively lowered your eyelids, and as his soft mouth laid on yours, you were hit by a wave of unknown sensations. 

You welcomed him without thinking, throwing your arms around his neck. 

When you did; when you allowed his mouth to devour, to abuse yours, his inner leash tightened and then snapped, enabling him to let it all go. He thrust his body against yours with surprising force and need – it was so rapid that the bottom of your spine collided painfully with the edge of the countertops.

You moaned – not from the feeling of sudden discomfort in your lower back, but from the overload of impulses coming from everywhere; his lips turning the mouths of you both into a wet, sweet mess, his stubble so rough on your chin and cheeks, his massive body pushing against yours, caging it and cutting off a way out that you hadn't even considered.

Bucky's hands desperately slipped down the sides of your body, over the silky material of your nightgown, and stopped under your tights; he squeezed your ass, making you gasp. He lifted you up, and you involuntarily wrapped your legs around his hips; he sat you on the countertop and pressed himself between your thighs. His tongue slid between your lips, and again, you eagerly welcomed it. Warm, soft, wet, it explored the inside of your mouth, the texture and taste of your own tongue; and this time it was Bucky who let out a whimper – desperate, yearning for a feeling he'd never experienced before; this horrible hunger you were driving him into. There was no doubt that Bucky wanted you as much as you wanted him.

You felt something hard on the inside of your thigh. You barely pulled away from his mouth to see it – the material of his briefs stretching over his stiff cock, stopping it from jumping out. You felt lightheaded when staring at it, but also somewhat delighted – it was all for you, because of you. 

You dared to reach out your hand for what was soon to be yours; your fingertips touched - still through the material of his underwear – his bulging length, and Bucky let out a rasping sound. He immediately grabbed your wrist, stopping you from going any further.

With lips parted and swollen from kisses, eyes full of desire yet innocence, you looked at his face. He wasn't angry or displeased; he was burning with an aching need, and you both knew that sinking his cock inside you would put out that fire, ease that pain – for you both.

“I can’t,” Bucky said, panting. “I want to do it right, the way you deserve. And now I don't trust myself.” 

You didn't share his opinion – you were ready to take him now, anytime. But you respected his boundaries. “Okay,” you whispered; your voice weaker than you expected. Bucky smiled, then placed a tender kiss on your forehead. Not being able to resist, you glanced restlessly at his crotch again. 

“Don't worry, baby, I won't touch myself. I'll wait for you, promise,” he said with slight amusement somewhere into your hair, leaving another kiss there. He moved away a little.  “Come on. I'll walk you to your room,” he instructed and put his hands on your hips so that you could safely slide off the countertop. 

“You don’t have to, I’ll be fine,” you claimed, but in reality, you were glad to have him right next to you – your legs were like jelly.

“Yeah, I know, but-” He exhaled heavily, glancing down. “I need to, uh- walk it off.”

Drunk with all the touch, the heat, the wetness and the rest of the experiences of a moment ago, you let out a soft giggle.

True to his word, Bucky escorted you to your bedroom. Seeing his exposed body, remembering how much strength he possessed, you were amazed at how someone so big, so strong moved so silently. With that, you realized how little you knew about him; how little you had managed to observe so far in a man who was to play such an important role in your life.

Feeling his hand on your hip, you looked at him immediately. “You okay?” he asked.

You were tired, distracted, still insatiable. Nevertheless, you nodded in response, and after a brief consideration – which was more like staring into a black hole – you climbed on your toes, and, resting your hands on his shoulders, crashed your lips into his. Bucky instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing you against his body as tightly as possible. He grunted into your mouth. 

Although there was still that devouring fire smoldering between you, that kiss was different from the previous one – slow, lazy, as if you were giving each other time to get to know your lips, even though they were still pulsating from the last caresses. 

Bucky's mouth parted; he let out a loud, heavy breath. You sucked on his lower lip, then bit it - a little harder than you both expected; Bucky hissed, and you tasted blood. You pulled away, but he didn't look angry or even shocked. He touched his lips with his thumb, and when he saw the blood, he smirked. “Don’t make me break my promise, baby.”

“Sorry-” you said quietly, but he shook his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky answered, leaned towards you again and pecked on your lips gently. “If you have a bad dream again, you come to me, alright?”

“Alright.”

He opened the door for you and waited until you got inside and made your way back to the bed. He gave you another smile before disappearing from your sight.

You let out a heavy breath, closed your eyes and flopped back on the mattress. You were aware that you wouldn't fall asleep, but it wasn't the nightmares that were to blame.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign @xhollycowx @samfreakingwinchester @thrnlvr @samjuarezzz

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 2 ✦ 」

---

Part 1 [Part 2] Part 2.5 Part 3 Part 3.5

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

Author's note ~ From this chapter forward, Y/N will develop a strong, somewhat intimate bond with her fellow Harbingers, but it's still, essentially, platonic. After coming up with the full storyline for this series, I figured it'd best to keep romance to a minimum, so it won't distract me or the readers from what's happening plotwise. But make no mistake - all of them care quite fiercely about you... it's not labelled "Harbingers x Reader" for nothing :) And of course, you're free to interpret their relationship in any kind of way you prefer <3

---

Featured in this chapter, we have (drum roll, if you please)... Scaramouche, Childe and Columbina!

Warnings: brief/indirect spoilers regarding Sumeru's Archon quest and Scaramouche's lore

Word count: 3k

---

A month had passed since the funeral, and the day you'd become the 12th of the Fatui Harbingers at Pierro's request.

*Note ~ Even though Signora's dead, I still consider her to be one of the 'Eleven Harbingers', and thus Y/N's position will be the 12th!

Truth to be told, you hardly cared whether such a dubious position had been offered to you out of respect for Rosalyne's legacy, or merely because they'd wanted to keep an eye on the immortal girl who possessed two Visions.

For the past five centuries, your life had lacked any clear purpose - perhaps this new title could change things to something a bit more... colorful?

Perhaps they could be the change.

On that note, there was something quite peculiar you'd come to notice about the infamous Harbingers.

Despite joining their ranks, you had kept the reason behind your questionable situation as a secret, so on a very essential level they still knew next to nothing about you (except for the Director who definitely knew enough to make you very uncomfortable!) In this regard, shouldn't they have considered you a stranger, or at least a high security risk?

Yes, yes they should have.

Yet not only did they treat you as one of their own, but it appeared that for some reason, these people cared about you to an extent beyond just professional relationships, always looking out for you in weird ways, like making sure you didn't overwork yourself, stayed healthy and never lacked any weird luxuries like expensive bath salts - that, and the fact that they were almost constantly lingering around you...

As someone who'd grown used to getting by on their own, you didn't really know what to make of their behavior. Or how to return it.

But did you dislike it? Not really. Why? Well, you were still sort of figuring that out.

You were currently sitting in Pantalone's office, looking through some financial reports while the Regrator himself was away on a business trip. As things stood, this was pretty much all that your title as a Harbinger was good for - assisting your colleagues by handling the less direct approaches to their duties as diplomats of Snezhnaya. It was only natural that you weren't yet expected, or trusted, to do any actual fieldwork.

So, your days were mostly spent being surrounded by endless piles of documents...

*knock, knock!*

...and them, as you might have guessed.

You sighed, placing the papers down on the desk when another round of impatient knocks came in. Clearly, that someone was going to invite themselves in regardless of your answer, and it wasn't hard to narrow down the list of possible suspects since only the highest ranking members of the Fatui were allowed in this part of the headquarters - frankly, the doors here tended not to be Harbinger-proof?

But it's not as if you really minded, breaktime was due anyway. Also, their company was always vastly more entertaining than work!

"It's not locked, you know" you commented, leaning back on your chair.

A scoff was heard before the door was rudely pushed open, and an unfamiliar character marched with such arrogance you'd think they owned the place. This made you raise an eyebrow; what an admirable sense of superiority? It wasn't someone you'd met before, but judging from the way they carried themselves, you recognized them nonetheless.

The man with child-like features (and a rather beautiful face) stopped in the middle of the room, staring curiously, though somewhat condescendingly, at the girl behind the desk.

"Are you," he started, "perchance the Director's newest recruit?"

"It's already been a month, but I suppose... in any case, what can I do for you, mister?"

"Mister?" The Harbinger crossed his arms, both amused and irked by your way of addressing him. "Ha, do you not know who I am?"

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain I do," you sighed. "A presumptuous attitude, and a strikingly non-traditional kasa hat... the Balladeer, I presume? I heard you were busy playing a god in Sumeru with one of Dottore's segments, so I thought it might be a while before I get to meet the last one of my colleagues. But here you are - Scaramouche, was it? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was being rude too, you were just returning the discourtesy.

Scaramouche held back a chuckle, the bells from his hat jingling.

"Ah, yes, that would be me. And as to why I bothered coming all the way from Sumeru just to meet you, miss Twelfth..."

"I have a name. It's Y/N."

He clicked his tongue, taking a step closer.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Now, sit there and listen. I was in the middle of my little experiment on blasphemy when I suddenly heard that the Jester had recruited a new Harbinger, who, incidentally, has two Visions and is supposedly immortal - but she blatantly refuses to reveal anything about herself. Surely, you can imagine my slight annoyance at this, seeing as you, on the other hand, seem to know an awful lot about us."

You smiled a bit, fiddling with the quill pen in your hand.

"Yes, I don't exactly go around advertising my past to others. But aren't you same in that regard, Scaramouche?"

"I won't amuse you by answering that." He smiled eerily. "The point is, I don't like being kept in the dark - it gives people the chance to stab me in the back, and that's not something I'm particularly fond of."

"Ask the Director, then. I can assure you he knows all kinds of scandalous things about me - about all of us, no doubt."

He shrugged. "That won't be necessary."

In the blink of an eye, Scaramouche was no longer where he'd been standing before. The Sixth Harbinger had suddenly jumped on top of your desk, scattering the paperwork you'd spent hours organizing. He leaned forward with a smug look on his face, grabbing your chin between his delicate fingers.

"So, our little miss Harbinger refuses to reveal her secrets? We'll get those out of you, don't you worry~"

"My goodness?" Your previously dull eyes sparkled a bit. "What a bold move - it's certainly... something. I must say, I find your character quite fascinating, Balladeer."

"Likewise."

Behind that ruthless, indigo gaze, was a forlorn soul that had faced so much injustice...

When travelling around Teyvat for the past centuries, you'd caught bits and pieces of hearsay about Scaramouche's tragic past - most of it probably accurate. But it wouldn't have been wise to bring up such matters when you'd only just met him, especially since the Balladeer was widely known for his foul temper.

Though, judging from the way was looking at you, he probably knew what you were thinking. Even so, there was no ill intent in his eyes.

A new voice suddenly interrupted your odd encounter.

"I hope you're not harrassing our princess, dearest Scara!"

Tartaglia waltzed in to the office with an ominous smile. Scaramouche jumped down from your desk, scoffing at the sight of his ginger colleague.

"Ha, barely! I just happen to find her very intriguing."

Childe laughed a bit, stepping forward to pat your head.

"Well, I did tell you she was special, comrade. And to think you didn't believe me? Yet, here I find you. It seems Y/N Lohefalter is capable of drawing the attention of even the Balladeer himself, ahahhah~"

You followed their interaction, thoroughly entertained - compared to your previous uneventful life, this was certainly refreshing.

"Foolish boys," yet another familiar voice was heard, and Columbina strode in gracefully. "Avoiding your work to disturb Y/N with these shameful antics? Pierro would be quite displeased. Now, perish."

Damselette then turned her attention on you, smiling sweetly.

"Would you like to have an afternoon snack with me? I hope you've been eating enough, my dove."

"Now, now, don't be greedy..." Scaramouche taunted. "It's rather obvious that she and I were having a conversation."

You smiled a bit, pointing at each one of them with your pen.

"Technically, you're all are here equally uninvited. And on that note - as much as I'd rather do anything else right now - I really should continue with these documents or they're going to pile up..."

"Hey now, you know Pantalone doesn't like it when you overwork yourself, Y/N," Childe pointed out, crossing his arms.

Columbina smiled gently. "Yes, how about we go and have some tea instead?~"

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow at this.

"You sure speak to this girl in an unprofessional manner, Tartaglia, Damselette - if I didn't know better, I'd say it sounds almost intimate. Trying to snatch her away from me, perhaps? But you've already known her for a month; it ought to be my turn to get acquainted with our new little Harbinger. Y/N and I have some things to discuss, after all..."

"Oh?" Childe raised an eyebrow. "Then what exactly were you and her chatting so intimately about before I came?"

"Enlighten us, Balladeer," Columbina chuckled.

You shook your head a bit.

"Let's not go down that rabbit hole-"

"No." Scaramouche cut you off with a smug expression. "These two, and the rest of them... would agree with the opinion I shared with you, don't you think? Surely it's something that we've all been wondering about."

Columbina and Childe shared a brief but knowing look - it wasn't hard to guess what the Balladeer had said to you, and though he should have gone about it a more discreet manner, they couldn't deny their curiosity either.

The angel-like Harbinger walked next to you, brushing back a loose strand of hair from your face.

"I'd rather hear this from you," she hummed.

Her touch was a little cold but gentle, not at all unpleasant. You just weren't used to this kind of physical intimacy, or rather, it had been so long since you'd experienced any kind of intimacy, that it caught you a bit off-guard whenever your co-workers offered these weird gestures. It's not like you... really minded this. But it did make it hard to refuse when they the asked you for something.

You sighed, leaning back on the chair.

"Of course, I... know you're all somewhat displeased that I'm keeping these secrets from you, about my past, that is - how I've lived for this long, and how it's possible that have two Visions. It might be difficult for you to trust me because of this, but even so, I am not obliged to reveal anything. And you know as well as I do that the Jester already knows what there is to be known; he wouldn't have let me join otherwise."

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes, not content with your answer.

"Yes, but I also know that the Director is a man of his principles - either those secrets are shared of your own accord, or not at all."

"Then maybe you don't need to know? Maybe you're better off not knowing?"

Tartaglia frowned, leaning against the wall next you.

"Being a part of the Fatui already means that we're in way over our heads when it comes to anything questionable that's going on in Teyvat. Your... situation, is included in that, even more so because you're one of us now. And in case it's not clear yet, we do care about our own, even if that often gets a bit lost behind our agendas and differences." He put a hand on your shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. "So, we'd like to know more about you, Y/N. I'm sure that's what Scaramouche has been trying to tell you too, albeit he has a weird way of choosing his words."

The Balladeer crossed his arms. "What a speech, Childe." It sounded like a snide remark, you somehow sensed that he didn't mean it as one.

"For once, I agree with these two," Columbina said. "Though both are going about this in a rather thoughtless manner. Regardless of her past and whether or not she chooses to disclose it, she is a Harbinger - and that does not necessarily mean we should know all these things about her. Her only responsibility is to serve the Tsaritsa, after all."

She smiled at you. "But it is a shame you don't seem to trust us very much, Y/N."

Reverse psychology? Smooth.

"I think you've misunderstood me, though. It's not about trust."

You stood up from Pantalone's fancy office chair, stretching a bit.

"At this point, revealing those things might or might not cost me, but I'm pretty sure I won't gain anything from it either. If that's the case - well, is survival not about keeping the trump cards you have, or at least not giving them away for free? And information is often more valuable than Mora."

"You sound like the Regrator, though I'm sure he would disagree about the Mora part." Tartaglia chuckled. "But I like the way you think! So, what is it that you'd like in return for those secrets?"

"I'd be happy to arrange whatever it is~" Columbina singsonged. "Within the bounds of good taste, of course."

Scaramouche clicked his tongue. "What an insufferable girl - what is it you want, then?"

You tilted your head, wondering why these people were so invested in you. One day, you'd surely understand... but in this moment, you could only think about their offer and how it was just slightly too tempting to refuse.

"Well, right now, I'm craving for some excitement. Something more thrilling than this paperwork I'm drowning in day after day. I don't suppose one of you has a solution for that?"

Columbina's soft laughter jingled in the air.

Scaramouche was glaring at you.

Childe's eyes were sparkling.

"Excitement, you say?!" the ginger exclaimed. "Oh, that won't be a problem. How about we make a little bet, Y/N?"

"I'm listening."

"Let's fight a bit~ I've been wanting to see what you're capable of, and a match against the Eleventh Harbinger is far from playing around, so I'm sure it would prove exciting enough for you." He nodded toward the two gemstones hanging from your belt. "Use those Visions, any weapons and all the shenanigans you can possibly come up with - if you think you can. I promise to make it worth your while. Naturally, you'd have to share some of your past in exchange..."

You raised an eyebrow at his suggestion. "...if you manage to win, that is?"

Columbina chuckled. "Careful, Y/N. You'll get Tartaglia too excited~"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure you understand what you're agreeing to, miss Twelfth. But by all means, go play with this idiot - I'll gladly come and watch, it ought to be entertaining. The next phase of my mission in Sumeru is not due in a while anyway." (And if by some miracle you do manage to beat Childe, I'll come up with other ways of discovering those secrets.)

The Balladeer as well had grown quite captivated by you.

Childe smiled innocently. "How about it, Y/N? Are you in?"

"You bet."

---

...who in their right mind had recruited this maniac?

Sure, the Harbingers had inhuman abilities, but this was pure madness. Tartaglia had yet to even demonstrate his Hydro powers, much less a Delusion, but merely by using his agility and a pair of escrima sticks he had already brought you to your knees.

It's not as if you considered yourself to be a particularly skilled fighter, but you did have five centuries' worth more experience than him, and quite a few tricks up in your sleeve. But Childe only ever gave you the time to use your polearm - no Visions, no shenanigans - and even so, you didn't manage to land a single hit on him.

You lay on the floor of the training grounds, breathlessly gazing up at Tartaglia who was pinning you down with his knee.

"Ready to yield, girlie?"

"Ha... I'm not, *huff*, giving up that easily..."

He smiled, putting a bit more pressure on your chest - not in a painful way, but it was still enough to diminish your remaining fighting spirit rather quickly.

"Alright, alright, fine... please, *huff*... stop, Tartaglia... I, *huff*... give... up..."

"You can call me Ajax, by the way."

The ginger stood up, gazing down at you with a grin on his face. Well, at least now you knew that the rumors about his martial arts prowess weren't exaggerated? Neither was the fact that whenever he did fight, there was this euphoric (honestly a bit scary) aura around him. Reminder - think twice before you accept a challenge from this guy in the future!

That said, you had quite enjoyed yourself...

Ajax offered his hand to you, and you meekly took it, allowing him to pull you up from the ground.

Columbina and Scaramouche, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, appeared slightly amused and certainly pleased by the end of your struggle. This outcome had been more or less expected, but ever so welcome. A Harbinger never backed on their word, after all~

"Now then, my angel..."

"...you better keep that promise."

The three of them led you to a small lounge, dimly lit by a fireplace and deserted from any members of Fatui. Exhausted, you slouched down on a couch and closed your eyes.

Damselette came next to you wordlessly, laying down and letting her head rest on your lap. This was a habit of hers that you didn't mind; while admittedly rather intimate, it was something like this that you had long yearned for.

Childe leaned against a nearby wall, smiling at you encouragingly. For some reason, you always felt at ease around him. He was like an "older" sibling - more than she ever was, the one you'd already lost before her death.

The Balladeer was sitting on an armchair, observing you with an unreadable expression. The slight softness in those cold eyes was perhaps only noticed by you; an abandoned soul recognizes its own kind.

"Now then, Ajax, Scaramouche and Columbina. Allow me to tell you a story - one that discloses how my first Vision came to be. While I'm at it, I suppose I might as well reveal why Rosalyne and I shared such a difficult relationship..."

(to be continued)

[izvmimi]

"don't make fun of me but..." you start, which already puts you at a loss as your friend looks up from her book, then stifles a laugh once she catches your exasperated expression. you trail off, deciding not to say more, then rub your temples, and she pouts.

"keep going," she insists. by now she's closed her book and is taking a few notes in a notebook, legs cross-legged on the bench as she sits beside you. you're out in the park, per her request for you to get at least an hour of sun all day, and the sun really is overhead beating, but the shade does provide you some solace. there are a few children playing on a jungle gym across from where the two of you are facing, but you're not really paying too much mind to them - rather, you're thinking about your roommate and the fact that he's been acting strange.

you sigh.

"i'm not exactly sure what the best way to say it is," you start.

"then say it however you can," she says. she takes a sip of her lemonade and you remember that you have a drink too, a peach tea without boba, and reach for yours to buy yourself some time. the condensation of the plastic cup almost makes it slip out of your hand. a lot of things are slipping between your fingers recently, you think.

"does uh..."

"yeah..."

you swallow hard then go ahead.

"is kento seeing someone?"

you pause and she pauses and then she laughs so loud and recklessly that you want to blame satoru for influencing her. she doubles over cackling and you fume, crossing your arms, but you deserve to be made fun of a bit.

"since when do you care what he does?" she asks. "also don't you live together? just ask him."

you purse your lips.

"if i ask, it has the implication that i'm interested."

"and are you not?" she asks.

the question shouldn't take you off guard, it's the natural course of this type of conversation, but you can feel your cheeks warm.

"if i didn't like him back in high school, why would i like him now?"

she gives you a look and shrugs, and in the look, you recount nearly her entire history with gojo. it's a very loud look and you look away.

"anyway, ken hasn't said anything to me, if that helps." she leans in further as you absorb that information and process why it even bothered you enough to ask. "did you hear anything? do you want to be that person? i can help, you know. i would do an excellent job at selling your good points."

you roll your eyes.

"we didn't meet yesterday so it's not like he doesn't know me. actually, the issue is that our walls are thin. i'm hearing... things."

she blinks.

"what do you mean things?"

your face warms again.

"i've overheard him, a few times... i'm just not sure if he's sexting or what... since it's all of a sudden."

she freezes for a moment, and you're reminded of how cute and innocent-looking she is with doe eyes and round cheeks, but the next thing that comes out of her mouth is far too crass.

"a man is allowing himself a well-deserved nut after a hard day of work and you're being insecure about it?"

"shh! not so loud!!" you hiss, your heart feeling like it will stop as you look around the area to make sure no kids overheard. her eyes twinkle as she leans him.

"if you're so concerned, then take care of him yourself!"

"___!"

"you don't have to be a thing, you can stay friends, but clearly you want to, unless you wouldn't be here pressing your knees together in public and asking me about it."

you blink, dumbfounded, but she's right.

perhaps.

you give it a little more thought on your way home, and when you stumble into him on your way back in the hallway, an unintentional dance to the left and to the right before he stops and allows you to step around him, you try to stop thinking about last night's moans and/or how he'd feel inside you.

[ikkosu]

REWIND / CHROMEDOME

(adopting gn!human reader)

a/n : been wanting a cute fluffy request I hope I wrote them uh satisfactorily 😭😭 I actually enjoyed writing about baby and cdrw maybe I’ll write more scenarios with this little family ughhh so cute

"Alright folks, we're leaving in thirty minutes!" Rodimus's voice echoed through the speaker.

"It's either you get on or get off the ship forever— Er, ah...oh what's that? We're not allowed to leave when— Damn it. Apologies, there's been a restatement by Ultra Magnus declaring it's illegal, you guessed it, for whatever reasons I'm not bothered enough to care. Blah, blah blah. Oh, shut it drift. Anyways, latecomers are welcomed in the brig. Buckle up in thirty! Rodimus out."

Rewind swivelled his gaze from the rock nestled on the grass, then to the ship, hovering not too far from where he's crouching. "Huh, guess I'm taking a detour." Then, his camera skims over the verdant fields of rolling hills. Red lights, blinking. "Won't hurt, would it?"

The LL had a short break stopping on Earth, mostly for refuelling, fresh air, stretching limbs,,,totally not because Brainstorm blew up the left wing again and The Science Team had to patch things up discreetly

Seriously, where is HR when you need it?

And, obviously, the Archivist is not missing the opportunity to explore, of course. It's earth! Home to,,,well,,,,the most complex (derogatory) kinds in the cosmos. And, this rock he's been examining? It's an extraterrestrial mineral. Figments of rocks from asteroids, comets, and the like originating outside of the Earth. Crazy, huh.

Better keep that for safekeeping.

Aside from, ah, well wandering where he's able to film stuff, occasionally animals and cows of the like, it's more like a need, at the moment, for a bit of (lets put this gently) space away from his conjunx — since, he's been acting like an ass of late.

Ahem, going behind his, ahem back to doing ahem Mnemosurgery....again.

It's not even an 'again' anymore, it's just borderline often

Why does he even bother to listen? You can't break old habits, as Ratchet would say. They'd break themselves before they could ever stop.

"So that's it? You're just going to ignore me like that?" Footsteps pattered behind him

Rewind huffs, walking faster. "Took you long enough to figure it out, genius."

He groans. "Oh for— Primus sake, Rewind, come on. Don't do this. We can talk."

"Oh sure, sure! Talk." He threw his hands up, whirling around to face his conjux. "That's what you always say, promising me like you're going to get your eyes gorged out if you didn't. What else, tell Red Alert to stop being paranoid and Whirl, a psychopathic ass?"

Chromedome palms his face. Primus, this apology isn't going well as he expected it to. "Look, I messed up. I breached a trust you had in me. I shouldn't have done it. That was very... inconsiderate....of me..."

"What is this, eight grade? Spelling bee on who's responsible?"

"That's not the point! You can't just—"

And, so it begins. The bickering. The blaming. Hand pointing. Arguments ablaze, never listening. Voice raising — just the tip of the iceberg, not even close to it's full potential.

"I bet my words doesn't mean anything to you now, does it?"

"It's does, Rewind. It does!"

"Hey! Stay there! Don't even come any closer or I swear to Primus I'll—"

A cry gurgled out amidst the bushes.

The Mnemosurgeon stiffens. He looking around for the source of the cry when he notices conjux was staring at him. "What?"

"Wow. Wow. Low blow, Chrome dome." Rewind puffs and presses his fists on his hips. " Low blow. I didn't think you'd do this. You're gonna resort to mocking me, now?"

He sputters. " You think that was me?"

"Yeah, blame it on the cows. Blame it on 'em like you do when avoid all responsibility."

"What's even a cow? Oh, for—" Then suddenly he lets out a surprised sound, dropping to crouch next to a bush. Rewind doesn't bother to look. Why would he? He's busy sulking and he wants that Mnemo-no-to-the-o to see it. Though, his audials tuned into a rustle of leaves when—

"There! Primus, Rewind look at this."

Said Archivist was still sulking, arms crossed, looking away. "Nuh, uh."

"Don't you nuh uh me." CD chuffs and figured actions were bigger than words so he scooped up the bundle of blankets and shoved it up his face. "Well? Still got film for this?"

Rewind takes a moment to register the visage.It was, if he knew his terms correctly, a human child. No, wait. A baby. It's the size of a sparkling but....smaller. And, significantly softer.

Most of all, it's crying. Coolant— er, tears streaming down the side of it's cheek. Gently, his servos curled around the scoop, nestling it softly against his chassis. He felt a kind of pull in is spark. Something fond pulsing. Chromedome loosened, looking away. What's the point? The mask already hid his smile.

"Seems pretty far from it's residential zone." Chromedome peers across the horizon searching for even the most recognizable specks of rooftops.

Nope, nothing.

Just rolls and rolls of green foliage.

"Hey there little fella." The Archivist coos, digit caressing the cheek to soothe it. The baby sniffled then blink, lifting up it's tiny fingers to bap his index. "What's a baby doing here of all places?Aren't human, uh, carrier, sires are very protective of their offsprings?"

Chromedome doesn't know what to say, he's not Ratchet or Percy, but he's sure as hell relieved their argument took a turn into park. "Misplacement, maybe."

"...How do you misplace a baby in a bush?"

"Things like that can happen, you know."

"If anything, it seemed like it's deliberately thrown in there. Look! It's even wrapped in a blanket."

He held it up for the Mnemosurgeon to see who, in turn, simply shrugged.

"Yeah. To keep it warm."

"Until someone finds them."

Chromedome narrows his optics. He's got a bad feeling about this. "Rewind. What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say is that this child is deliberately left here to be found. We can't just leave it out here—"

"Are you saying we should steal it?''

"I'm not saying we should- ugh yes! I'm saying we should steal it—"

"You're kidnapping children now?"

Ratchet cuts through both of their comms, immediately barraging them, "Are you two idiots done squabbling with whatever stupid problem you have or are we gonna have to wait another fraggin' hour until you both make up and kiss?"

They had to take the baby, much to CD's dismay.

Ultra Magnus was losing his mind. What do you mean you found a baby in a ditch, in a bush, in a field of all places?! Even worse, literally miles and miles away from the nearest habitual region!

Purely, coincidental. He'll have to look in his files for crimes like this lest another is let loose for havoc. The young are the future for society! Something Cybertron is severely lacking in

Unacceptable. Simply unacceptable. Oh, and by the way, you're both going in the brig. You're late.

"Chromedome stalled me."

"Here, we go again."

Everyone is busy cooing and taking turns prodding the bab, and can someone please keep whirl away from the child he's armed, (with the exception of Megatron, the medics and UM) who didn't, mostly for the fear of passing diseases to it, mostly stood far with unimpressed looks on their faces.

First Aid, though, eventually took matters into his own hand,,, by taking it into his own hands and putting it in a glass box (shut up Brainstorm we're not using your stupid Polyhex Quadrilateral Box or whatever) to scan it's vitals and conditions

Everyone was outside, peering through the glass, prodding, helms jut at odd angles to see through the crowd — while the medics delicately assessed its condition.

Ratchet had to explain poor Rewind that not everyone wants children and not every parents are deserving of it so. He's seen this a lot in human culture.

"So they abandon babies just for the fun of it?!"

Well, he's got a point. Most of it at least. "Rewind.... no."

When they were done ensuring the baby is in optimal condition, Ratchet comes up to the, er couple, if he had to put it that way and crossed his arms, a brow raised.

"Do you trust yourselves enough to look after the child?"

"Might as well." CD sighs. ".... I've got enough responsibility on my plate, already."

"Nobody forced you to go back and take it." Rewind mutters.

Ratchet held up a servo to cut off another argument brewing. " I'm going to put this out clear."

A digit points to them. Ratchet grits his dentas and every word that spooled out of his vocalizer, more intense.

"You both are going to have to put your differences aside. You're going to resolve that problem of yours, and resolve it clean — not in front of the child, but behind. Go hide in a broom closet for all i care. Mutilate or incapacitate each other's limbs, if it helps. Fight all you want, kill each other if you have to. But this baby? This baby? You're going to give this child the most loving, caring family it can have. You hear?"

Shenanigans ensue.

Obviously, given they're Cybertronians, human anatomy isnt a topic they're very well versed with. Rewind does know a thing or two. But consulting videos are not really the best way to go when neither of them have the tools to feed the baby

Percy and Nautica (because he doesnt trust brainstorm) are tasked with concocting the milk formula. They're seen tinkering away in the lab, barring the other scientist against a let-me-in charade. Lab doors are locked and padlocked with a specific colde — suck it BS.

All elements, minerals and resources as such are to be provided Rodimus (begrudingly), then fact-checked by the medics, very, very carefully.

They're like guts deep in space and very far from earth. A quantum jump to said planet, in case of an emergency, can affect the only organic living onboard.

Moreover, Ratchet doesn't trust CDRW to learn the stuff themselves, so he holds five hour long sessions daily on how to provide sufficient needs for the baby. You know, handling them, playing with them, learning their gestures, mannerisms,,,etc

CD loves holding baby by the armpit, and especially loves it when he does that, baby tries to bap his face, squealing and babbling, trying to reach him— he finds that his chassis always melts a little.

Rewind, on the other hands, adores cradling baby in a blanket. He likes how warm and soft it is against his arms. And how easily it his to nestle baby under his chin as he walks.

He is the most affectionate from the two. And definitely records everything. Soccer mom-esque, cheering loud whenever baby does something' monumental, for instance, blabbering dada coherently. But also the most rigid. Like, lattice structured rigid.

''Rewind you watch snuff films you hypocrite, a Sunday cartoon getting a liiiiittle violent is nothing compared to the archives you go through." Rodimus wags the CD in front of the Archivist, an upturned pleading pout, pulling his features. He looked comical hunching to regard the smaller Archivist with baby nestled under his chin.

It was an obvious ploy to fiddle with the baby. Everyone's trying to get a nab of their little squeals, these days. Why wouldn't they?

Those adorable fats for cheeks, soft and cuddly, crawling around the habsuite like a cretin, gumming on everything they could find.

Skids managed dodging through the vents after a successful glimpse of peek-a-boo (Rewind forbids physical touch. He's not risking any disease that can be transferred.)

He slinked down and baby immediately latched onto his pedes, babbling for an upsie. It took him a while, and much restraint, not to take it through the vents

Swerve almost poisoned baby with the engex again because, in his own words, what's a little harm in trying new things?

He's now locked up in the brig, banned from touching baby ever .

This entire crew is a hazard and Rewind wasn't having it.

"Is this the same captain known for illegal conduct of meteor surfing?"

"....Oh, shut it."

Chromedome's not very affectionate but is less-rigid when it comes to baby. He's the type to cave in when they want something. Sweets? Oh, you want sweets? He doesn't care if the Lost Light is miles away from the nearest planet. He's going there and he's going now.

Stop him and he'll plunge those long, needle-like nails into mecha's skull, their ancestors could see Primus's aft whole again.

Hoards like,,,,around fifty satchels of sweets. It was only until Ambulon had a private chat with the Mnemosurgeon, that, yes, the baby is going to die eating that much.

So, he offered safer alternatives if baby wanted something sweet. Boiled potatoes, ripe avocados and fruits could help. (They'll have to frequent the nearest planets)

CD is like the most cynical ass ever to exist so Rewind find himself with an existential crises, staring off into a wall, when baby would scrunch up their face, the way CD does when he's displeased.

"That mask stays on."

"But I didn't even—"

"It stays on."

But he also finds, a little begrudingly, that CD is a lot more understandable these days. Mostly always cradling baby and humoring the little cretin . Arguments are close to nill. He barely has to raise his voice

Cybertronians naturally have harsh edges, given they're metal (duh), so their rooms would be congruent in terms of features as well. Not exactly a pleasant thought when an organic is dawdling about.

So to be safe, in their habsuite, Chromedome installed padded cushions everywhere. Even the ceiling is padded, mecha's kibbles are also padded (much to Rodimus's chagrin)

And, every inch and crevice of that room is filled with scribbles. (Scribbles only Swerve can decipher, but he's busy lounging in the brig so there's that.)

Red Alert, during a habsuite check, once blacked out inside the room because he didn't recognize the new change. It was so pastel-ish, bright and soft, he justs goes away

Chromedome finds the poor mech on the ground, baby on top with their crayons, assaulting said mecha's face while squealing at the teal green against stark red paint

"A new paint job, huh."

"Chromedome, get the poor guy up for Primus's sake!"

Baby is limited to the Library and Med-bay (as per Rewind's request). Library because Megatron is there and they know for a fact he's more trustworthy with the baby than anyone. And, Med-bay because, well, medics

But obviously, baby is like, a little cretin who thinks rules are a no-go and said social construct a danger to society. And, by who's declaration? Rodimus. It's Rodimus.

Rewind is going to murder that speedster of a captain

So , it's a given mech's will see CD scampering across the halls upon spotting baby dangling off a goddamn beam. Or, hanging off someone's shoulder, (said bot doesn't know, because baby is so small, the sensors didn't pick up), then sees the mnemosurgeon slumping onto the ground in relief, passed out for a minute

What's baby doing there?!

Rip CD's spark rate.

And, since they've got to play the part of a happy family, Rewind has to sleep in the same berth as his conjux. Not that they didn't ever

After the reveal (CD going behind his back doing unethical things w/ his fingers) Rewind was obviously displeased so they sported separate berths. Now? They'll manage squeezing in the same bed.

Rewind tried to act all huffy about it, glancing to one side, as though he doesn't want to be there. He does. He's just sulking.

Chromedome silently stares at the ceiling. Baby is between them, chewing on a miniature Rung figure (that Rung gave because, somehow, it calms the little thing)

Baby notices the silence and wants attention, so they bap their hands on the surface when both mechs weren't listening. And does it again for the fifth time. CD sighs and decides to humor baby, a little.

"It's past bed-time." He says quietly, patting their head

With a squeal, baby plays with CD's servo and curls it over their head. He scoops the little bundle up into his arms and loosened up a little.

Rewind swivels to find baby nuzzling his conjux, both deeply asleep. Something soft thrums in his spark, and while he’d rather bash his conjux’s a skull with a hammer, he can’t deny the lovely visage of him cuddling their child. So, he scoots over a little, resting his helm on CD's shoulder. He doesn't flinch when a servo lands on his shoulder plate, pulling him close.

Maybe, it wasn’t so bad.

[freckle-face-ace]

Portgas D Ace X CisFem Reader

10

You returned home in the middle of the afternoon when the snowfall became too much and you couldn't find anything else to occupy your time. As you sat in the slowly cooling bug your phone began to ring startling you from your daze.

"Hey Thatch." You greeted.

"Hi F/N, are you with Ace right now?" He asked.

"Not at the moment." You frowned staring through the windshield, "Everything ok?"

"Oh yeah, it's just his phone is broken so I can't reach him. Can you tell him we'll be closed tonight it looks like a nor'easter is rolling through."

"Sure no problem." You replied wondering what could have happened to his phone and if Thatch knew why didn't he call you sooner?

Your stomach dropped. Maybe he really did go home with Katie and Thatch supported it? Why wouldn't he? He knows her better and she's gorgeous.

"Ya still there?" Thatch chuckled.

"Uh yeah sorry."

"I asked if you have everything you need in case you lose power." The brunette rumbled.

"Yeah yeah a generator and everything. I'll call you if we need anything." You assured.

"Alright then stay warm."

"You too." You hung up the phone and sighed.

It was still quiet inside so you busied yourself putting away groceries and feeding Kuma. You went back to your room to put some things away finding Ace snuggled up in your blankets. It shouldn't have been surprising considering that's where he slept every night anyway. You found yourself standing next to the bed resisting the urge to brush his hair from his face.

Regathering your resolve you turned to make your exit. Warm fingers coiled around your wrist firmly keeping you in place. You hoped he couldn't feel your pulse hammering erratically beneath his digits.

"Were you just gonna stare?" His tone was playful but you didn't dare turn back to peek at his face.

"Thatch called me to say they are closing the restaurant tonight. We're supposed to get a lot of snow." You stayed perfectly still it was the only way to keep your voice from faltering.

"Good then nap with me. I know you didn't sleep." He tugged you toward the bed.

"No I - I have to make sure the pipes outside don't need to be rewrapped and the porch and steps are salted."

"Fine, I'll help you and then we can nap." He released you and sat up swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

You quickly made your way to the door pressing the back of your hands against your cheeks.

"I'll get the insulation wrap and meet you outside."

Kuma hopped around in the fresh snow while you and Ace trudged around to the back of the house to wrap the two exposed faucets that were already set to a steady drip. Once the task was complete you returned to the porch to spread the rock salt over the creaky wooden slats.

"It's faster with two people. Your nose and cheeks are already really red." Ace commented while the two of you removed your coats, scarves and hats, wafting lingering snowflakes to the floor.

"Yeah." You murmured kicking your boots off, "It's fitting weather for Christmas eve."

"Like the song." He chirped following you down the hall.

You couldn't help but feel irritated, normally he followed you around the house like an eager puppy and it never once bothered you. Today you tried your damnedest to get some distance and he just wouldn't allow it. Even when you were out all morning you only thought about what he could have been doing all night.

Ace frowned. He knew acting like nothing had happened probably wouldn't work...but that didn't keep him from trying. Clearly you weren't happy. The conversation was going to have to happen whether either of you liked it or not.

"F/N." He called lowly after flopping back into the bed.

You hummed sitting at your PC to check the weather.

He sighed feeling sort of childish, "Are ...you mad?"

Were you mad?

Yes.

"No." You huffed stubbornly.

"Liar." He chided.

"Why should I be?" You stared passed the screen in front of you, "You're an adult you can do whatever you want. I am disappointed that you already broke your phone."

His chest was tight, "How did you know it broke?"

"Thatch told me." You replied curtly.

"Let me tell you what happened." He sat up.

"I have a good idea." Your breath caught in your throat as you swiveled around finding him now standing quite close.

This was the first time you'd seen this expression. Brows knit, eyes dark, lips pressed into a straight line. He raked his left hand through his thick black waves.

"You're so stubborn." He rumbled, "Katie got completely wasted and broke my phone when I was trying to call you."

That bitch.

"Remind me to bill her for that."

He snorted and continued, "Thatch had left so I didn't have a way to call you. I ended up driving her car to Thatch and Grace's."

"So you moved your date to your brother's house." You commented.

"It wasn't a date." He leaned down resting his hands on the armrests caging you into your office chair, "She slept in the spare room and I stayed awake on the couch until Thatch got up."

"Wh-why are you telling me?" You croaked passed the lump in your throat.

He moved in closer, eyes half lidded but smoldering, breath fanning over your cheeks, "You were upset about it."

Before you could protest his soft warm lips gently pressed to yours. After a few seconds you matched his rhythm scooting to the edge of your chair to gain more real-estate. Sensing what you were trying to accomplish his right hand moved to your nape, his fingers leaving trails of tingling heat into your hair line pulling you closer. It was tender but intense leaving you completely overwhelmed. There was no winter storm, no stress, no anger, no Katie -  only Ace.

He sucked your bottom lip between his teeth earning a small surprised gasp. Taking advantage of the opportunity he pushed his tongue passed your parted lips deepening the kiss. You surrendered immediately clinging desperately to his hoodie. Before long your lungs burned for oxygen and you released each other huffing.

"Forgive me?" He murmured nuzzling against your cheek.

"There's nothing to forgive, you didn't do anything wrong." You dropped your still shaky hands into your lap.

"Can we nap now?" He smiled tapping his forehead to yours.

[recreationalfanfics]

Takeshi Asakura x GN! reader General headcanons

tw. dysfunctional relationship because it is Asakura, slight! OOC Asakura because I'm still trying to get a handle on his character.

Note: Kamen Rider Ryuki fandom, where are you??

- Oh, this man is gonna ruin your life. Like, he's a literal criminal/murderer. He just constantly acts like a rabid alleycat that's backed in a corner.

- Takeshi Asakura is a rather fickle lover, never really being all that good with affections and emotions. Somedays it seems like he couldn't care less about what you did but then there are others where his arms around your body feel like a snake coiling around it's prey.

- Takeshi would be so frustrating to deal with, mostly because he's not allowed to let you find out about his Kamen Rider alter ego, so he will randomly go missing for days at a time. He's considerate enough that he'll give you a heads up about when he's going but that's really about it. He won't elaborate on any details of why he needs to leave or where he's going.

- While you know you shouldn't put up with this, Takeshi will always give you a heads up that you won't be seeing him for a while. He won't elaborate on why or how long he'll be gone, but he'll at least give you a heads-up.

- If you didn't know your lover as well as you do, you'd assume that he was cheating on you. The truth of the matter is that you know your lover has very little tolerance for other people, sometimes you think he barely tolerates you, and really the only reason you don't end things with him is because you're slightly terrified at how he'll react given his past of aggression and violence.

- However, (this is the OOC part) Asakura has no desire to hurt you. Which is rather surprising to others and to himself. From the moment he met you, you were the only person he could tolerate and never had violent urges towards. The people around you are not so lucky, as they somewhat vex Asakura with their judgemental looks and hushed whispers to get you to leave him.

- Despite the fact he does it so much so casually, Asakura truly doesn't like leaving you alone and he's never as far away as you think he is. When you sigh to yourself as you wash your face to the night, you're unaware of the purple Kamen Rider who silently watches you from the other side of the mirror. He allows himself to admire you with a tender and loving gaze from the other side of the mirror only to become irritated at the thought of seeing you be around all those boring people.

- He does like to physically fight, it strangely enough helps him gain a clear mind, but he gets just as much joy and clarity during your lovers' spats (which you can imagine happens frequently). He has committed that attractive annoyed face you make or frustrated furrow of your brows to memory and he will sometimes be purposely antagonistic just because he loves your upset expressions so much. Meanwhile, you know to give up when you see that mischievous smirk on his face because you know he's just being a jerk on purpose.

- When he pushes you too far, he will let up. He doesn't ever outright apologize because he rarely feels remorse for what he does but seeing you get all mopey and moody annoys him *and makes him feel a LITTLE bad*. So he makes it up by either stealing something you had your eye on and giving it to or secretly taking out someone who has been a huge thorn in your side.

- Speaking of crimes, he does not hide his from you because you're going to find out anyways so what's the point? He would like to get you to join him, you know, as some kind of couple bonding activity that you try to urge him to do so much. Only for you to roll your eyes and dismiss the idea.

- He definetly protects you from mirror monsters and he's much more brutal when finishing them off if they ever come to attack you. In all honesty, his love language might just straight up be murdering people/monsters and committing crimes. That's how he shows you he cares.

- He bites, I don't know how to explain it but I feel like he bites.

- Secret relationship obviously. At first, it was because he didn't want the law to arrest you anytime he got in trouble. Now, it's more like he just doesn't want involved in the fight between Kamen Riders in general and risk having you be used against him. Especially when Shiro Kanzaki has threatened you in case he doesn't want to fight. *Unlikely, since that is all that this man wants to do*

- He likes that you don't try to fix him or try to rationalize him as well. Asakura really does appreciate the fact that you don't try to fix him or try to justify his actions in your head. You know what kind of person he is and that there's no point in trying to change him. Which he finds romantic in his own way.

[zippidi-dooda]

Now, you aren't a good cook by any means, sometimes you liked to try and improve your skills, or at least try to make things you wanted in the moment. And right now, you were craving homemade cinnamon rolls.

No, you didn't know how to make them. But you knew Trey probably did, with him being a baker and all. So, why not set off to ask him how to make them?

It didn't take long to find him, he was just in his room.

He was leaning against his desk, hand tangled in his green hair, lips pursed and eyes squinted as he analyzed one of his textbooks.

Studying no doubt. You were a bit envious of his studying habits seeing as you often waited till the last second to remember you had to study.

Shouldn't bother him too long then.

"Hey, Trey? Where's that recipe book of yours?"

He looked up at you, his concentrated expression melting back into the soft smile you usually saw him wearing.

"Oh, hey, Y/N. Um, it's in the dresser by my bed. Middle drawer. What'd you need it for?"

You searched for the book as Trey shifted in his chair to watch you.

"I want cinnamon rolls. Ah, here it is."

"I see. I can help you out if you'd like." He stood, attempting to start walking to the kitchen to help you out.

But you shook your head and gently pushed him back on his chair, hand pressed against his chest. "Thanks, but, I think I wanna do it myself."

He held his hands over yours, looking up at you from over his glasses. "You sure? I won't do anything if you dont want me to. I can just watch and give you tips when you need it."

You shook you head. "No, that's ok. I think since I'm using your book I'll be able to handle it. You look like you have to study anyways, so it's best if I dont distract you with this. I'll be fine, Trey, don't worry."

He smiled grew taut. "I just have to keep the book from you so you ask for help then."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Well, call me if you need anything." His smiled returned to normal and he let go of your hand.

You frowned and slowly walked away. "O-kay. Thanks."

You weren't sure what that was all about. Maybe he wanted an excuse to not study? But what would Riddle do to you if he found Trey skipping studies because of you? Sorry, Trey, this is for the best.

You couldn't help admiring Trey's handwritting as you flipped through the book, searching for the specific recipe. You weren't sure why he wrote it down since he seemed to have all of the treats memorized, but you were glad he did.

It allowed you to learn what made his food so good (oyster sauce excluded) and see how his writing improved after each page. He seemed to have had this book from a young age, most of the first pages crooked and illegible.

"You should really rewrite some of these, Trey." You chuckled.

Soon, you found the correct page. You gathered all the necessary ingredients, rolled up your sleeves, then started baking.

Everything went fine at first, you even begin to think that might start having a knack for baking. Until you got to the kneeding part.

It's not coming out right. I let it rise long enough, didn't I? Is it too dry? Should I add more oil or water? Uh oh, now it's too wet. I should add more flour. Now, it's dry again. Oh God, what do I do? If I try this again, the same thing's gonna happen and it'll taste bad. How do I fix it? I'm not a chef or a baker. Why do I even try, I know I'm not good at this in the first place and this is more proof of that. What do I do? I can't just leave it there now, that's wasteful. But, I can't fix it.

You sighed and looked glumly over your shoulder.

I guess I should just go ask Trey for help.

You dragged your feet on your way down the winding Heartslabyul corridors to Trey's room.

"Trey," you sighed. "I need help."

He turned to look at you, brows raising as he noticed the dejected look on your face. You were avoiding his gaze, apron and hands covered in flour yet shiny with oil. Had the baking not gone well?

No, worries, he was here to help.

He smiled softly and walked towards you, wrapping his arm around you. "I'd be happy to."

You were soon back in the kitchen, you sitting by the counter, watching as Trey rolled up his sleeves and got to work fixing your mistake.

He rambled on and on about whatever came to mind, hoping to distract you. But it wasn't working. You replied with half hearted murmurs and watched his hands as he worked with bleary eyes.

He pursed his lips.

You closed your eyes, tucking your chin on your crossed arms, just waiting for Trey to finish and put the dessert in the oven.

Maybe you should have taken time to study instead of trying to bake. At least with studying there wasn't technically a way you could fail. Next time you'd just go buy what you want from Sam's instead of wasti-

Why was your nose wet?

"Pfft, ha ha ha!"

You opened your eyes to see Trey laughing at you, finger covered in brown frosting.

You went cross eyed to look at your nose, finding the same sugary, brown spread there.

You pouted tried to wipe it off. "What was that for?"

"S-sorry, thought you might like to try it." He stuck his finger in his mouth for a taste. "I think it tastes great, you don't think it needs more sugar, do you?"

You took a lick of your own and sighed. "It's perfect."

Trey frowned before taking your chin in his hand and making you look up at him. "You know, you started this on your own, I just came along to help in the end. It tastes perfect cause of you. And if you like this, I'm sure you'll like the rest when they're done."

You hummed, unintentionally rolling your eyes at him. "Yeah, thanks."

He narrowed his eyes, mouth twitching into a smile. "You know, you don't have to do everything perfect on your own. Especially not on your first try."

"Huh?"

"It takes time to perfect things. If it overwhelms you, take a break, most things can be done later anyways, even these cinnamon rolls."

"I know .... Thank you, for helping me, Trey."

"Of course. If you need help or want to try baking or cooking again, don't be afraid to ask me. Even if I look busy."

"Okay." You took a breath and placed your hands on his forearm, eyes closing again. "Thank you."

Instead of going to Sam's next time, you could go to Trey. Nothing's better than getting help from an expert right? Besides, Trey could be fun to hang around sometimes.

Trey hummed, looking at you for a moment before leaning forward. He brushed stray strands of hair behind your ear, then smirked.

Your eyes shot open as you felt something else wet (and warm this time) touching your nose and the smell of mint filling your senses. And you found Trey's face against yours, tongue licking your nose.

"Agh! What are you doing?!" You squeaked, all shades of red blooming across your face.

He pulled away with a chuckle, golden eyes twinkling with mischief, thumb brushing the skin under your lower lip.

"You missed a spot earlier."

"Y-you know what? You're kinda mean."

"Ha ha ha! Me? No. Not at all."

Yeah, you don't think you'd mind baking with Trey some more.

[typically-untypical]

Hiring: Drummer Wanted

AU: Band AU

CW: None that I can think of

WC: 1,100

Date: 12/19/2023

"We don't need a drummer," Janus rolled his eyes, gently setting his guitar in it's case, looking over to Logan for verification. The man sitting at the synth board looked up and nodded before adding his two cents. 

"I don't believe we could offer gainful employment to a percussionist. We very seldom use a standard beat in our songs and though we have used drums in the past it wouldn't be enough to justify having someone on our payroll full time." 

"Right, I thought about that," Remus said shifting on his feet. "But I have an idea for a few songs and those songs would require more of a drum aesthetic, and the guy we normally work with is going off and doing his own thing next month right? So like we need to start feeling out for people who might work well with us and I have an idea."

At those words, both Janus and Logan looked up each sharing a matched expression of amusement.

"It's the emo you met at the poetry bar isn't it?" Janus asked, letting out a sigh, taking a seat so Remus would have his full and undivided attention. Their lead vocalist was blushing a bit at this point but smiling his stupidly big grin, eyes sparkling with mischief and knowledge. Yes, it was definitely the emo and once Remus got onto an idea it was hard to get him away from it.

Logan joined Janus on the small couch in their recording space and gestured in front of them for Remus. "Present your case." This was their normal procedure when one of them wanted to do something unorthodox. It was normally Remus, and it normally turned out well, but there had been a few times he had suggested something that had to be completely shut down.

Remus' whole body moved with his excitement and he allowed his eyes to go wide as he shuffled in front of them.

"Our music is good, no one doubts that except us occasionally but like our tastes suck." He laughed a little, "But it's also important we try new things and expand our repertoire of possibilities."

"You aren't going to win me over with fancy words," Logan teased, reaching over to Janus and taking his hand gently.

"I can certainly try," he laughed his little meniachle laugh before continuing his sales pitch. "Expanding what we do isn't just good for our listeners but it's good for us too. Different styles and genres can help us express ourselves better and isn't that why we all go into music in the first place? Anyway, we normally work together on songs, and I still think for the final thing we should work together to make sure we all agree on the sound and the flow, but I also think we should all try writing our own songs for this next album. A little look into each of us separately as well as together. Logan is always talking about how it's important that we maintain our individuality even when we are existing as a throuple."

"Counter point," Logan started, holding out his free hand to Remus who took it willingly. "Our current album is almost finished and we shouldn't attempt to change it at this point."

"Counter counter point," Remus squeezed Logan's hand. "We don't need to make changes on this album but we aren't doing tours yet, so as soon as this album is done we're going to be focused on the next one, right?" The tour thing wasn't an issue of popularity, it was an issue of energy. Most likely they were never going to be able to do tours. Logan had a few health issues that kept him a bit grounded in this city which meant touring was really difficult. Remus and Janus both knew he felt guilty about that so they typically tried to avoid that topic but Remus was hoping to show that this time it might actually be a good thing. 

"True," Logan whispered, squeezing Janus' hand before looking back up at Remus. "So you aren't suggesting this to be for the current album we are about to release but rather then next album we work on?"

"Yes."

Logan looked over to Janus who was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I don't see why we can't pursue some new sounds, but we aren't doing it for a full album. We can add two or three new sounds to the album but the rest needs to be similar to what we've already produced, we don't want to ostersize old fans in search of new ones." Janus sighed, leaning forward a bit. "We can invite him out and see if we gel with him personally before we try to get along professionally." Janus took in a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back and tilting his head to the side before he opened his eyes. He looked at Remus with the cocky ass smirk he knew both of his boyfriends loved. "Afterall, that's what you want isn't it? A date with the pretty emo boy?" 

Remus blushed. "What if it is?" He asked. "Pretty emo boys are pretty, but no. It's not just because pretty emo boys are pretty. It's also because we're going to need a new drummer we trust!"

Janus and Logan both laughed soft chuckles. "Fine," Janus whispered, "Go get the pretty emo boy and set up a date."

Remus cheered, dancing a bit before he leaned in and gave both Logan and Janus a kiss. "I'm gonna go call him now." He pulled away, dancing about as he grabbed his phone. He was already talking to the other man before he was even out of the door. Logan leaned against Janus, closing his eyes as he took in a slow breath.

"How long until the two of them are dating?" He asked quietly.

"I give it two weeks," Janus said shaking his head. "The real question is, how long until we fall as well." He wrapped an arm around Logan, pulling him closer and running a gentle hand along Logan's arm. It seemed like this recording session might have been a bit too much for all of them. 

"You genuinely believe that will happen?" Logan looked up at him, his eyes were filled with exhaustion.

"It happened with you didn't it?" Janus teased and Logan blushed a little, closing his eyes to avoid Janus' knowing stare. 

"Yes, I guess it did."

Janus leaned in, giving Logan a soft kiss. "Now get some rest, I don't need you pushing yourself too hard."

"Very well."

@tsspromptmonth

[mas-o-kissed]

Buddy Jett supposed it should be grateful for how its final audit had gone. The old Buddy had never had much ambition when it came to things like promotions. He never would've climbed the corporate ladder on his own. Instead, he'd been shoved into an elevator that only seemed to go up. The heights were dizzying.

The old Buddy also wouldn't have applied for this kind of position in the first place. He would've hated the idea of being a corporate stooge. Not that government stooge had been much better, but at least he'd been comforted knowing that those companies had to cough up a few more pennies towards the public good because of him.

The new Buddy wondered sometimes why it had been allowed to recall its past so freely. There was no shortage of imployees and impterns that seemed to have no memory of who they were before they joined the company. Was it simply because its old work experience was still useful here? It did feel good to be useful. Its eyelids fluttered dreamily at that thought.

Still, remembering its old attitudes and beliefs felt... Risky somehow. Like it was getting away with something it shouldn't. It didn't want those unapproved ideas to gain a foothold again. If they did, there was every chance it would have all of its thoughts washed out of its brain, not just the troublesome ones. If that happened, it wouldn't be as useful to the company.

But that was only part of it, if it was being honest. As thorough as Buddy's imployee onboarding had been, it was learning even more on the job. Creating a believable paper trail to satisfy its former supervisor had been an interesting process. Despite the frankly abysmal state of the company's actual bookkeeping, the list of social contacts was much better kept. It didn't take long to find people who were tangentially involved in the company's various projects and then bend their ear (and their will) until they'd vouch that, yes, the inordinate amounts of money spent on genetic engineering equipment was definitely a business expense. They couldn't say what it was for, of course. Legally and mentally binding NDAs and all that. As helpless as Buddy had felt in the Boss's office chair, there was something satisfying about bringing someone else's mind to heel. Power corrupts, but Buddy was learning that corruption also empowers. Impowers?

It knew that authority was only borrowed, that it didn't even control its own mind anymore. But that didn't mean that it was keen on losing more of itself than it strictly had to. It just needed to keep those pesky old morals in check somehow.

But first, to business. It knocked on the door to the Boss's office. "Report's ready for you, Boss. Do you have a minute to go over it?"

(Big Boss Imp is laying across his desk, his head facing the door from an upside-down perspective. It looks as though he had been doing absolutely nothing, just staring into blank space with a placid expression on his face. Still, when he hears the knock on the door, he gives a start, blinks, and grins.)

My Little Buddy!

(He rolls over, now facing his new employee right-side-up, so he can rest his head on his hands. He kicks his feet in the air playfully.)

I’m so glad you came to visit me. I was just coming up with some new augmentations that I think you’d really enjoy. Tell me, have you ever had clockwork insides? Oh, I suppose that wouldn’t have been an option in your former life… well, it’s a lot of fun. You wouldn’t need to eat, or sleep, so you could work, work, work, work, work! You’d need some help winding the clockwork mechanism to keep you moving. (One time an unfortunate Imptern unwound completely in an unused section of the office and we didn’t find him for months! By the time we realized he was there he was alllll covered in dust. He’s fine. He works in operations now.) And anyway, you would look so so so so so so SO cute with a key in your back! Like a little wind-up toy. Wouldn’t that be delightful? Did you get taller? What are those papers? Is it fanmail? For me?

(He snatches one of the records from your hands.)

Oh. This has numbers on it. Is this what you came here to talk about?

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

POV!

Okay! I've finally carved this into a finished product! Why is it so long? Because I know no such thing as brevity. Anyway, thank you so much for this prompt. It was a delight to work with

So, here we are: the first Boneyard scene and Rashad through the eyes of Wei Chen. Probably worth noting that Rashad's villainsona is Heartbreak and regularly referred to as "he" by the media.

Read it on AO3 or

Wei almost doesn't believe his eyes when he sees Rashad sitting on the far bench of the Boneyard, their cane propped against the wood beside them. They sit with their shoulders hunched, their eyes screwed closed, everything in their posture rigid and exhausted like they're being hounded by troubles unseen. It feels impossible to ignore that fact that they've only seemed to have gotten worse since Ricardo dragged them into Headquarters the first time. Every time they show up, they look as though they've somehow gotten less sleep than the last time Wei has seen them.

He approaches them slowly, expecting them to pick up his presence telepathically as they always do, but Rashad stays still as a statue where they sit. He should announce himself, but Wei can't help the curiosity at finding Rashad off their game. They still don't move as he sits down beside them, being careful not to knock their cane over as he does, as far from them as the small bench will allow. It's as if they haven't picked up his presence. Strange. Rashad is always seemingly aware of everything going on in their vicinity. Always vigilant. Not quite always, Wei sees.

This is an opportunity that he has been presented with and Wei takes it with both hands. He watches Rashad's face as they scrub their palm across it, never once opening their eyes. The dark circles beneath their eyes have grown deeper. Their face has grown more gaunt over the last year. Haunted. Hunted. Wei files it away with the other oddities of Rashad's behaviour of late.

The longer they sit in silence, seemingly unaware of their surroundings, the more Wei begins to feel like he's intruding on something he shouldn't be. Will Rashad flinch away when they become aware of Wei's presence? Experience says yes. They've not had the most amicable relationship in the past.

He clears his throat, waiting for Rashad to react, but they don't. It's almost like their mind is elsewhere, their body left empty on the bench. It's unlike them to be so unaware. Then again, they've been very unlike themself this past year. Wei tries again, shifting the fortress walls of his mind so one thought shines loud through them. Someone is trying to talk to you. At the same time, he says aloud, "I didn't know you had a dog."

Whatever fog Rashad is wading through, that seems to cut it. They open their eyes blearily, blinking and rolling their shoulders as though they had been asleep. Dark irises shift to Wei, taking him in from his baseball cap to his running shoes. It's difficult to say what emotions lie behind the scrutiny of Rashad's near black eyes. After a long silence, they say, "What did you say?"

"I didn't know you had a dog," Chen repeats. It's a true enough statement, though he doesn't fully believe Rashad has one at all. They've always been….not skittish, but certainly wary around dogs. Always seemed to keep space between themself and dogs. Never reaches out to pet any.

"I don't," Rashad says. They brush their hand through their messy waves, not that it does anything to make their dark tresses any neater. "I like watching them run."

"It is soothing, isn't it?" It's an olive branch. A refusal to acknowledge the fact that he'd snuck up on them. "Coming here always makes me think."

Rashad gives a tired little chuckle, sounding a bit more sharp than sincere. "I come here to do the opposite, actually." Their eyes wander back over the dogs running across the grass. There’s something in their expression that he can’t quite read. Is it longing? For what? They scrub their palm across their face again, taking a deep breath to steady themself. “Which one is yours?”

Wei turns his eyes to the dogs, seeking out Spoon among the pack. He points when he spots him. “He’s over there. The grey one.”

Rashad’s brows furrow at that. “The greyhound?”

“Very funny,” Wei sighs, rolling his eyes. "He's adopted."

They turn their gaze on him, still looking confused. “I assumed.”

Wei bristles a little at the look in Rashad’s eyes. This isn't how this conversation was supposed to go. What are they implying? Are they baiting him? "Not going to tell me about how there's no family resemblance?"

Rashad flinches at that, and Wei feels guilt gnaw sharply at his stomach. “I'm not Ricardo. I'm not looking for a fight."

How they manage to make themself feel so much smaller than their stature has always baffled Wei. Always trying to take up less space than they physically need. It’s only gotten worse since they….he wonders who taught them to be this way. The fight leaves him and he slumps his shoulders. “I'm sorry." He spares Rashad an apologetic smile. "And it's not a fight." Not yet.

Rashad's shoulders relax in turn and they offer Wei an exhausted smile back. "Good," they say softly. They never used to speak this quiet, this soft, just above a whisper. Like a ghost on the wind. "I don't have the energy to fight anymore."

Wei tries not to wince at that. He's certain Rashad means arguing. Just an unfortunate phrasing, he's sure. He hopes.

Impassive dark eyes give him a long, discerning look before Rashad nods near imperceptibly, as though whatever they're looking for in Wei was found. "I don't think I've ever seen you out of uniform." A statement of fact before their voice softens. "It suits you."

Wei thinks back to their Sidestep days, before he had the weight of the title of Marshal on his shoulders, before he had both their and Anathema's blood on his hands. No, he supposes they never have seen him out of uniform. Arguably, he'd never seen Rashad out of costume, either. Hints of teal and charcoal grey always peeking out beneath heavy hoodies and zipped up jackets, mask hanging out of their pocket. Always ready for a fight. Anathema and Ricardo saw them out of uniform, right? Or were they on edge with them, as well?

"It doesn't happen as often as I'd like," Wei responds at last. He turns Spoon's leash over in his hands as he thinks. How do you have a conversation with a dead man? Especially when they've never been friends. Staunch allies, occasional chess opponents, but Wei has never been sure what Rashad does in their free time.

Rashad saves him the trouble, answering, "I can imagine. It's a miracle you find time for a dog."

"I do have a life outside of work, you know." It comes out sharper than Wei wants it to. Old habits returning to the surface. He regrets it as soon as he says it.

Another wince. "That's not how I meant that." They pick at the skin around their nails. Funny. Wei thought Anathema had broken them of that habit. He supposes, without her around to take their hands and berate them, it's easy to fall back into nervous tics. And they're not familiar enough for Wei to get away with doing it instead. He's pulled back into the conversation as Rashad says, "I just meant that I don't know where you find the time."

“I don’t mind the early hours,” Wei admits. "And I need to stay sane somehow."

Rashad chuckles. A genuine laugh. It's a warm sound from deep in their chest. Wei wonders when the last time he heard it was. "You and me, both."

It's strange, sitting beside Rashad, having a calm conversation. They used to be more prickly, meeting every question Wei had with a sardonic rejoinder, always parrying then feinting. Whatever happened in time after the Heartbreak Incident seems to have sanded down their sharper edges. He's not sure if he's relieved or if he misses it.

The sight of Spoon padding up, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, pulls Chen from his thoughts. He scratches Spoon behind the ears and adjusts his muzzle, watching Rashad out the corner of his eye.

There's a subtle shift as Rashad leans just a fraction away from Spoon, tension in their shoulders and knuckles, but they don't stand up from the bench. They seem to be watching him and the dog closely. For what, Chen is unsure. They don't reach out or ask to pet him, as expected, but there is something in the set of their lips that Wei just can't quite place. If he didn't know better, he might call it wistfulness.

"Hey, boy," Wei mumbles as he pats Spoon's head. "Go have another run; I'll be right here."

As Spoon trots off to rejoin the other dog, Wei turns his full attention to Rashad once more. "I was always under the impression you didn't like dogs?" Normally, Wei wouldn't be quite this forward in his prying. Better to be subtle and gentle, but Rashad seems to be more receptive to being direct. Shame Wei learned it seven years too late.

Rashad's brows furrow and they turn their gaze back to the dogs on the field. Their eyes track the movement as their frown deepens. "We have a complicated history."

For a moment, Wei isn't sure if Rashad is talking about the dogs or themselves. They've gotten better at speaking in riddles, giving Wei only half the pieces of the puzzle and no bigger picture to go by. Though, if he's right about his hunch regarding their connection to the new Heartbreak, it makes sense that they'd perfected telling half truths. He's still not fully convinced he is right. It's hard to reconcile the fanged mirror with the face of the man sitting beside him.

"What's his name?" Rashad's voice. Not the many voices of Heartbreak. It brings new questions with it as it hits Wei's ears.

Wei's brows knit together. "You never ask for names."

"I don't ask because, most of the time, I don't need to," they say with a shrug. They give him a wry smile and tap their temple twice. "It's easier to just ask when it comes to pets."

"Not going to just pull it from my head?" There's no bite to the question, but a hidden hook. Heartbreak had strong enough telepathy to not only down Carter's guards and rock Wei's mental shields, but also to pick out the location of the staff in danger. A wide step above what Rashad used to be capable of. Or so they used to say.

They scowl at him, the look in their eye implying they think he's being obtuse on purpose. "I already told you, I can't turn it off, but I don't go digging around in people's heads without reason."

Without reason. Wei wonders where lie the lines of reason Rashad won't cross. They don't seem to be the type to kill, and neither does Heartbreak, but how long will that last? How careful can they be before they hurt someone? Or themself.

"Chen?" Their deep voice is gentler now. That glimpse behind the exhausted mask is gone again. "Are you going to tell me his name?"

Chen turns away, watching his dog run with the others. "It's Spoon."

There's a long pause as Rashad considers that before they ask, "Like….spoon theory?"

Wei smiles despite himself as he spares Rashad another glance. "I thought you might get it."

"I guess that was obvious even before I-" They stop abruptly, staring down at their own hands as they flex their long, scarred fingers. As Wei watches them, it hits him that it almost looks like Rashad's right hand has the wrong undertone, maybe just a shade too light to match the rest of them. His thoughts stray back to the doctored photos. A body tattooed, broken, and torn open. The body's right arm had been shattered beyond hope of repair, had it been alive.

But that wasn't Rashad. Rashad isn't dead. They're sitting right next to Wei, wearing long sleeved layers that would cover bright orange tattoos and should, by all rights, be pushing them towards heat stroke. Just a trick of the eye, of the light, of the imagination. Nothing more than a paranoid mind drawing connections between things that don't exist. He’s been spending too much time listening to Ricardo’s harebrained theories again.

"It's not an indictment, Basri." An olive branch. "And, if it's any consolation, it's only noticeable if you know what you're looking for."

They clench their fists one last time, holding until their knuckles pale, before they relax their hands with a deep exhale. Rashad's expression smooths out as they watch Spoon run. "He's a good influence on you."

"He is," Wei admits. It isn't the first compliment Rashad has ever given him, but it is the first given without being couched in joke or tease. He scratches his chin idly as he wonders if it's also the longest they've ever held a civil conversation. It feels like it. It only feels fair that he does his best to keep it going. Making up for lost time, perhaps. "I didn't grow up with dogs." Definitely the first time he's discussed his personal life with Rashad, but maybe they'll open up in kind. "I got one for rehabilitation after I lost my hands."

Rashad raises an eyebrow, but doesn't sound judgemental when they say, "You had a service dog?"

"In a way." It's Wei's turn to flex his fingers. He wore his civilian hands today, preferring the facsimile of flesh over the dark metal of his work hands. They’re still not convincing enough to Wei’s eyes. They move too clean, too smooth, to precise. Does Rashad notice their inhuman grace? Most don’t. “You remember the early generation cybernetics?”

Rashad nods, their eyes also trained on Wei’s hands. “I do.”

A silly question, in retrospect. Some of the only non-confrontational interactions they ever had were the quiet moments spent on the workshop floor, letting Rashad adjust his cybernetic hands. They had worked with such precision that it was impossible for them to not be trained in working. Just another specialty that they were too young to have.

"Then you know they had problems with the sensory interfacing.” Another meticulous flexing of his fingers. They’ve come a long way since his first pair. “Touch…especially soft touch, was an issue. Had it been feet, I doubt they would have cared, but hands…" The sound he makes is more of a grim bark than a laugh. "Soldiers need hands, pilots need fine motor manipulation, and I was a good enough pilot that they wanted me back."

“And the dog?” They’re invested now. Wei can hear it in their voice, see it in the way their dark eyes zero in on him.

"They handed me a puppy.” He cups his hands, remembering how he held her for the first time. Different hands, same pang in his heart that he’d break her like he had so many other things since his cybernetics were installed. It’s similar to what he’s feeling now. This tentative peace rests in his hands. He doesn’t want to break it. “It was so small. You have to be gentle with a puppy. The consequences are bigger than a broken glass or a bent fork. Fostering it became part of my rehabilitation."

Rashad’s eyes fix on Wei’s hands. Something is circling in their head, he can see it in the way a muscle twitches in their cheek. “They didn’t let you keep her.” Her, not it. They don’t even have the self awareness to frame it like a question. Just plucking the thoughts from his head like it’s nothing.

“No,” he answers regardless. “She got adopted out.”

“And you were sent back to the army.” What is it in Rashad’s tone that catches Wei off guard? There’s a connection there. One he can’t make out, hidden deep within the walls Rashad keeps up at all times, but it’s there. A lamentation for the lack of autonomy.

He can’t focus on that, or he’ll want to go digging for the source of that emotion. Ripping up metaphorical turf and rosebuds to find whats beneath, no matter how much Rashad will hate it. Instead, he turns his attention back to Spoon and says, “It was a long time ago.”

“It’ll never be long enough, though.” It’s spat out so low and bitter that Wei isn’t sure he’s heard correctly.

“What?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Why is he muzzled?” Definitely not what they said a moment ago, but something earnest in their tone catches Wei’s attention. It sounds like they’re bracing themself for something.

“He was trained to race. To chase small, soft things and try to catch them,” Wei explains watching the small shifts in Rashad’s expression. What are they thinking in that head of theirs as they watch Spoon. “He doesn't mean to bite, and he’s gotten a little better, but accidents happen. This way, he's safe. He can't hurt anyone." Wei motions at the fence, drawing Rashad’s eyes with the motion. "Just like he can't run away from me."

“Run away…..” Rashad echoes. They sound a bit like they’re far away now, trying to cling back to reality from whatever it was that Wei said that set them off. He recognizes that slipping. Ricardo says they’ve been seeing a therapist, but Wei wonders if it’s helping them at all. After all, how many therapists are equipped to deal with someone who’s lived Rashad’s life? There are so very few psychiatrists who are trained for the particular traumas that crop up in boosts, especially in heroes.

"They're trained to run away from their handlers. First time I got him, he escaped. I made a bad call.” Seems to be more and more common these days. “Ran until his paws bled. Almost got hit by a car. Had to call in D-” Wei comes to a dead stop as he remembers himself. He spares Rashad a tentative glance before continuing, “Herald to find him."

Something in that makes Rashad smile a little. “He told me his name. You can call him Daniel.”

Wei shrugs, “I wasn’t sure.” He levels a serious expression at Rashad. His tone brooks no argument. “Stick to Herald in public. He’s trying to keep it out of the press.”

Their dark eyes snap up to him, a question obviously resting on the tip of their tongue, but instead, they simply say. “Of course.”

Rashad picks up their cane from beside them, but they don’t get to their feet, they just turn the handle between their hands. Apparently, they’d grown tired of picking at their fingers. “You were always good at that,” they don’t look at Wei, but they keep smiling softly as they stare down at their cane. “Respecting boundaries. Luis’, Anathema’s, Herald’s…..mine. Even with the way we are, you’ve been respectful. I always admired that about you.”

The compliment catches Wei off guard, leaving him reeling for something to say in response for a while. They’ve never been one to give compliments as freely as they have today. Ricardo spent years trying to needle flattery from them to no avail. What’s changed?

The silence between them must stretch out too long for Rashad. They change the topic as they break it. “Wouldn’t a puppy be easier than retraining a grown dog?”

“Puppies are more of a hassle,” Chen answers automatically. Too young, barely listen, foolhardy, and brash. He looks at Rashad again, who is once more intently watching Spoon. Their lips press into a thin line, their eyes hard despite the melancholy there. Wei wishes he were the telepath between them. “And….I feel like I understand him.” Admitting it feels like pulling out his own teeth, but Rashad has been generously forthcoming. It’s only fair that Wei meets them halfway. “Being good at something. Being lost when you can't do it anymore. It's easier to find a balance when you're on the same level."

Rashad’s head snaps to look at him, their brow knitted, their lips just slightly parted. They look at him as if really seeing him for the first time. The scrutiny makes Wei shift in his seat a little. As if on reflex, Wei opens his mouth and says, “So why did you come here?” He immediately regrets it. It sounds too much like an opening jab, even to him. The start of a fight. Rashad shouldn’t put him so aggressively on the defensive this way, but they so often do.

Rashad’s posture shifts, hands tightening on their cane. Their shoulders hunch again and they lean just a touch away from Wei. Withdrawn, wary, waiting for the next attack. “I came to watch the dogs.”

“I watched you for a bit before I spoke,” Wei admits. He tries to keep his tone gentle, light, conversational. It still sounds a bit like an interrogation. “You looked…” Distracted. In pain. Like a wreck. “You’ve never let me sneak up on you before.”

They shouldn’t be able to physically slump their shoulders any more than they already have, but still Rashad seems to manage. Wei wonders if they’d collapse in on themself if they could. It’s only gotten worse since their Sidestep days. At least, back then, they’d stand tall sometimes. When the mask was on. Always so sure of themself when not wearing their own face. Perhaps that’s why Wei sees so much of Rashad in Heartbreak. That same self confidence in the set of his shoulders that Sidestep had, the same authority in his fragmented voice, the same single-minded focus on his goals.

Rashad’s jaw works a moment before they answer, “It was a rough night.” They sound honest. More so than they have felt for the entire conversation.

The weight of what they’re not saying drapes itself across Wei’s shoulders like an albatross. “Are you okay?”

Rashad’s laugh is hollow, weighed down by grief. “No,” they answer easily. “I don’t think I’ve been okay for a while now, Chen.”

“After everything you’ve been through, I’d be surprised if you were.” Wei winces as he realizes how that sounds and quickly amends. “I don’t think any of us are. I know I’m not.”

Rashad’s eyes flash to him and then back away. “Huh.”

Wei fights the urge to cross his arms. “What?”

“I guess I always saw you as unshakeable,” they admit. “Indestructible.”

“What gave you that impression?” How can someone so intelligent be so damn dense sometimes? It baffles Wei to no end. "A lot of my body has been replaced. I'm intensely aware of exactly how destructible I am."

Rashad physically flinches from the words, their thumb worrying over the back of their right hand. Another old tic. Wei frowns as he watches the motion. Did the old burn scar from Anathema’s acid fade? He can’t even see it anymore. “I didn’t think about that,” they say at last. Their voice shakes a bit when they speak, like something in Wei’s words struck a nerve. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Wei looks at Rashad, suddenly missing how open their expression used to be. They used to wear their emotions on their sleeve. Now they’re hidden behind a wall as impressive as Wei’s. “You never used to apologize before.”

Rashad nods at that, slow and solemn. “I didn’t. Never felt like I needed to.”

“What changed?” This one doesn’t sound like a jab and Wei nearly sighs in relief.

“I didn’t have as much to apologize for back then.” The sentence digs its nails unpleasantly into Wei’s mind. He doesn’t like the implications. But Rashad continues before he can mention it. “And like I said earlier, I don’t have the energy to fight anymore.”

Wei hums thoughtfully at that. Sitting next to him, slouched and dressed in drab, baggy clothes, they certainly do feel too worn to fight anymore. But Wei has spoken to Daniel. He knows they’re training him in hand-to-hand. Why? If they have no more energy to fight, why should they bother trying to teach him better? Like they’re trying to prepare him for something.

And then there’s the connection to Heartbreak. If it is Rashad under that mirrored faceplate, under the teeth that smile menacingly, then they’ve got quite a lot of fight left in them, after all. He’s seen the footage from the gala on the night of Heartbreak’s debut. He tore through the Rangers with little trouble. Not that long ago, Wei watched him take on Argent on the Millennial Span Bridge. He approaches fights similarly each time. Always defensive up until a point, then something shifts, and Heartbreak fights with a controlled brutality. It isn’t a combat style that requires little effort.

“I mean it,” Rashad intones before their expression softens. “I know we're usually at odds, but it's been years, and I'm tired."

"Tired." Wei echoes. They’re not wrong. They look dead on their feet most days, this day in particular. Is that really all they are, though? "I wonder if tired is the word you're looking for."

"I wish you wouldn’t be so cryptic,” they sigh.

"Am I?” Again, Wei wonders how they can be missing the obvious so easily. “I think you know what I'm talking about."

"Do we have to keep coming back to bickering?" Rashad asks, almost a little desperate. They sound like they’re fraying at the edges. "I thought we were playing nice."

"So did I," Chen admits, glancing away from Rashad. They were, weren’t they? It was nice while it lasted. Chen offers a wry smile, hoping to salvage the mood. "Maybe neither of us are good at it."

"No, I guess not.” Rashad’s mood darkens a moment, hovering between bitterness and grief.

Wei tries and fails to find anything to say in response. He’s not sure what he can say. It feels, once more, a bit like Rashad is having a conversation with themself rather than with Wei. The silence stretches between them as they both seemingly don’t know where to go from here. Maybe this was a mistake, after all.

"He's a good dog,” Rashad says at last. An apology without apologizing. They don’t meet his eyes, just keep looking out at Spoon.

Chen smiles, glancing at Rashad. "He is.”

The silence falls over them once more, but this time it doesn’t feel so awkward. Just the comfort of not needing to speak. They sit together for a little while longer, watching the dogs. Wei hopes he finds them here again sometime. Despite the struggle for balance, this was nice. He wonders if Rashad feels similarly.

[gmanwhore]

Small thing for my Nightmare Mode thing WOOOO (also the angel mentioned is an oc, not Quachil. She's already there.)

The snow melted under the feet of the two figures. The cold didn't seem to bother them in general, the snowflakes falling down landed on hard skin and sizzled. The shorter, bug like figure stooped to dust off a bit of stone, then they both sat down. It was late at night. The air was freezing, the February cold inching into absolutely everything like it was holding on desperately before spring came to erase all it's hard work.

The pair sat in silence for a bit. The snow around where they sat continued to melt and expose dormant plants. The taller one, with a head of snakes and scaly skin, shook her head.

"Do you smell it?"

The shorter one tilted her head, tasting the air similar to how her companion's snakes did.

"Yes, but it definitely shouldn't be there."

"Didn't we just get the young Princess?"

"Yes. And the new War has barely crested his thousandth year."

They fell silent again, though there was a restless unease. A wind began to blow, but the pair seemed unaffected.

"It's not either of us this time, is it?", whispered the insect.

"Don't be silly. We are as old as time, and neither of us plan on stepping down, do we?"

"I suppose not."

The taller one suddenly snapped her fingers, a triumphant expression on her face.

"Of course! It's that angel. The one who came to guard us from the changers."

The shorter one laughed, not in disagreement but almost in disdain.

"A worthless task, for sure! Any Nightmare worth their salt could destroy a weak creature like that as easy as blinking!"

"Yes, well, the heavens work in ways they refuse to let us understand. We can't complain much, though," she shot her partner a wink, "we aren't allowed to."

The shorter one rolled her eyes, leaning on the snake-haired woman.

"They shouldn't meddle."

The taller began to run her fingers through the bug-like woman's hair.

"They will anyways. We just have to deal with it. Speaking of heavens...your daughter-"

"We don't have to discuss that. That damned princess..."

"She could have taken Quachil for herself."

The shorter one looked up, offended.

"She could have let me split from that no good, lazy slab of rotten meat without getting in my business."

The taller one raised her hands defensively.

"Easy now, Ishtar. I'm just saying if she insisted on removing your child, she could have chosen a better guardian."

Ishtar crossed her arms and looked away, like she was pouting. Her companion sighed, wrapping her arms around Ishtar from behind and nuzzling her neck. This made her sigh and rub back.

"She's overstepping her boundaries, Shub. She thinks just because she holds a royal title, she holds power over everything."

"Well...she technically does. Does she use it well? Oftentimes no. But she is part of the founding family."

Ishtar sighed, leaning back into Shub.

"I know...she's just infuriating. It's like having a child that can actually make their own rules!"

Shub couldn't help but laugh.

"You and your kids."

"It's true!"

Ishtar sat up, rubbing her face.

"I need spring. This whole winter has been horrible."

Shub kept a hand on Ishtar's shoulder, moving it down to rub her back.

"I know. But it will return, and you'll get your strength back."

Ishtar nodded, and stood up.

"I better go prepare breakfast for tomorrow, so I can sleep in. Do you want to help?"

"Why not?"

The pair stood and walked away, leaving footprints behind in the snow. As they left, for a very brief second, the sky lit up with the light of the sun.

[morganee]

Byler Fic Rec Week - Day 2: Season 5 speculation

and do you feel like you should by tellthatbrokebitch (@tellthatbrokebitch) (105k, complete)

Will Byers has a big heart, his mom always said. He loves and he loves and he loves. He gives it away because it’s too much to be contained inside one small human organ, too full to bursting. It’s always been this way, his whole life, giving away love; to crying girls in sandboxes, to loud boys on swing sets, to uncaring fathers who yell and break things and force him to change, only to leave anyway. By the time he realizes the love isn’t infinite, it’s too late to fight his nature, and his heart bleeds out, year by year, until he’s drained and tired and empty. He cries into his hand and wonders what will happen to him when he’s truly empty. Wonders if that day is rapidly approaching. Wonders if it’s already here. A hypothetical s5. They're back in Hawkins now and Will's friends and family are ignoring him. Meanwhile he's having dreams he can't remember and everything feels like it's falling apart.

no takesies-backsies by AttaboyLuther (@titforatat) (12k, complete)

"Why did you lie?" Will felt gravity leave him, felt his body untether itself from this mortal realm and float directly into the setting sun. The room was casted in a yellow-gold, beamless and directionless - and because Will was a sinner, he replied, "About what?" Mike's face creased. He shook the rolled up painting, tightening his fist around it. "About this, Will. Don't play dumb." (AKA: Oh, you know - just your standard Mike-finds-out-about-the-painting confrontation.)

Be the Boy by katbatsupreme (@byleresque) (17k, complete)

“Jonathan…” His voice was high and resigned. “You know there’s no way I could do that. There’s no point—he likes girls. Plus, he’s going through a break up. And all this Vecna bullshit…” He sighed heavily, voice crumpling up like a tin can the more he spoke. “The last thing he needs is me burdening him further with my lame crush.” In a blink Mike snatched up the walkie with trembling hands, shoving the plastic brick’s speaker hard against his ear. So. El was right. Will did have a crush after all. In which Mike hears something he shouldn't.

this is a beautiful start to a lifelong love letter by borealisaurora (5k, complete)

Ever since Will gave Mike the painting, Mike has been acting... weird. He's been standing closer to Will, there have been lingering gazes... but nothing too crazy, right? Nothing that Will can allow himself to dwell on. That is, until Mike starts kissing him.

These feelings are not my own by Corvi_dae524 (4k, complete)

Will Byers has enough to deal with already. After returning to Hawkins, he has been getting flashes of what's happening in Vecna's mind too often for his liking. Not to mention everyone keeps their distance from him in case he goes all mind-flayer-super-spy again. Well, almost everyone. On second thought, maybe it would have been better if everyone did stay away. Or, Will accidentally forges an emotional connection between Mike and himself, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

[thebigrewatch]

TASKMASTER : SERIES 1 : EPISODE 2 : The Pie Whisperer

I'm back folks and ready for another viewing of Taskmaster. This time it's series 1, episode 2 and it features my favourite episode name, The Pie Whisperer. I like pies, I like whispering, what's not to love about it all? Anyway, my boss is away today so I'm doing this instead of working. I've had some breakfast which included a giant chocolate orange button from M&S (a bad habit I've got into recently) so I'm ready to roll! I still find it unnerving that they do a sort of comedy dig at the contestants when they introduce them because they don't do that going forwards. I'm glad because it does make it more of a panel show vibe and that's now what TM is about. Prize Task: Most Impressive Item.

Tim Key goes first this time and brings in his London Marathon medal from 2009.

Romesh brings in an Arsenal cap that was thrown from the tour bus after the 2001/2002 win. Romesh says he doesn't know which player it came from and Josh says that someone could have thrown it from the other side of the bus which is a fair point! Now we know with hindsight that football things do not go down well with Greg so he's not to fussed about this prize. Greg goes so far as to say when he's King football will be banned! You'd think future contestants would learn from this but there's always someone that brings a football item.

Roisin next and she does a classic Roisin and brings in a massive bottle of champagne! Romesh goes into a hilarious tirade about Roisin being an alcoholic and how we shouldn't be celebrating that.

Josh's prize elicits a gasp from the audience because he brings in the trophy he won on the TV quiz show Pointless. Everyone loves a bit of Pointless so you can see why that would be great. Great bit of back and forth with Greg, Josh and Romesh: Romesh: The whole set up for that is just so that we know that Josh won Pointless...

Josh: No!

Romesh: ...that's the whole reason he put that up there.

Greg: Is that because your hat has been rather downgraded in the last 10 minutes? I imagine, Josh, when you were on Pointless all the money you won went to charity, didn't it?

Josh: Correct.

Romesh: *looks absolute daggers*

A great moment. Anyway, on to Frank's prize offering. He's such a great man, he's brought in a leather hat that you get out of a Christmas cracker because he says it's the only style of hat that looks good on him. He says you can't wear a paper cracker hat all year round because 'the seam is unreliable'. Brilliant. And again we bring it back to Romesh by Greg saying he's impressed by Frank's hat but 'if only you'd tossed it over a bus' like Romesh's Arsenal hat.

Tim Key wins, then Frank's hat, then the champagne, then the Pointless trophy and then of course the Arsenal hat. Bit gutted about the Pointless trophy as that was the only one that got a reaction from the audience.

Task 1: High Five a 55 year old, fastest wins, your time starts now. Oh this is a cracker of a task. So cringe getting them to speak to members of the public in a shopping centre. It's interesting to see what they're like, the awkwardness of having to ask people their age. And we're in for yet more Tim Key shenanigans!

Frank starts off by trying to bring a member of the public into his predicament by saying 'I'm looking for a 55 year old, what do they look like?' just desperately trying to get some help from them. Frank decides to high five people of different ages and see if he's allowed to add them up, he gets enough people but needs a one year old. He looks behind him and there's someone pushing a buggy so he goes running after it. Brilliant editing.

Romesh makes a sign to say he'll give someone £20 if they high five him. After this point he remains almost motionless because I think he thinks that the sign will lure the 55 year olds in, but alas it does not. He manages to pay a 50 year old for a high five after an hour.

Tim Key looks so hilariously ridiculous in his outfit here. It's alright if he's in the house but when he's in a shopping centre he just looks ridiculous, it' brilliant! He's so awkward here, it's almost unbearable to watch. In the end he says he's filming something for Comic Relief and he needs to high five a 55 year old. Cue much discussion from the group! They agree Tim needs to give some money to charity in order to absolve himself. He starts trying to negotiate with Greg to ask how much he'd have to pay to go to 1st place! Task 2: Identify the contents of the pies, you may touch the pies but you may not breach their pastry.

Frank goes first, he is quite quick and took a psychic approach to the pies, just looked at them and said what they might be. This is where the title of the show comes from as he's described as the Pie Whisperer. We get to see the pies opened now to see what's in them:

A picture of the taskmaster, a regular steak pie, frozen peas, toothpaste and marbles (not easy to pick up with a knife and fork).

Romesh and Josh were grouped together. They try smelling and they both see the pies have had the bottoms cut out of them and can see bits and pieces through them so they get some good guesses. Then comes a hilarious discussion, as illustrated by the gif, where Roisin says that they both breached the pies with their eyes! We see later that the pies collapsed for a lot of them so they actually were able to see what was in them.

Next up it's Tim and Roisin. They both ask Alex to breach the pastry for them, but Roisin adds another element of difficulty by looking away while he breaches the pies and looking back to see his reaction to eating them. Tim's reaction when he sees the marbles in the pie is brilliant. Alex eating the toothpaste pie is something I'll never get out of my mind.

Frank has a hilarious moment trying to guess the hot toothpaste pie:

Milk pie

Yoghurt Pie

Extra Strong Mint Pie

Minty Tippex Pie

The final pre-recorded task: Do something that will look impressive in reverse.

NOW. This bring us an iconic TM moment. Romesh and Tree Wizard.

But first we see Josh who is pulling a van while he's lying on a skateboard. Obviously he was being pulled along by the van. Alex says that Josh said that was the most exciting thing he'd ever done.

Tim Key - his is quite dull, he does a jigsaw, but it was cinematically quite nice to watch with the Bond style music.

Frank...well, bless his little heart. His is called 'Push Up and Away' and he basically stands up from lying down without bending his knees.

Roisin's is quite beautiful even though she is essentially just spitting water out of her mouth, but it's got melancholy piano music and it's in black and white so it looked great. And now onto Romesh. TREE WIZARD BACK FROM THE DEAD TO CREATE SOME BALLOONS

It's just brilliant. He's got the balloons there and he's unpopping them, but the song is fantastic. And genuinely it's something that goes round in my head a lot! Roisin and Romesh become joint winners. I thought Romesh should have got the full win but on the re watch I think they both deserved it.

Now we're onto the live tasks. I don't usually like the live tasks because they tend to be a bit of a car crash but let's see what we've got now. They're all shackled to a bench and they've got to crack the code to get themselves out. The clue is it's Alex's weight and Greg's weight. Roisin manages to get herself out first, then Romesh, followed by Josh, Tim and lastly Frank.

Roisin is the winner of the episode and she gets the Pointless trophy! I thought it was a great episode again, I mean they all are really so it's silly me saying that every time but I enjoyed it a lot.