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rebelsandtherest · 3 years ago

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They Love a Good Braid

This is for @draw-a-circle-thats-the-foxhole, who has told me that despite my ace inability to identify flirting in real life, I have managed to write some flirting/romance that is very sappy and cute. I’ve also here borrowed her name for the Netherlands (Jan) as well as the character of Matt’s Samoyed dog, Buddy.

This is also for @ego-meliorem-esse, who helped me visualize what it would look like for Alfred to braid Matt’s hair. :)

Soft Bros, silliness, and flirting ahead!

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FF.Net | Ao3

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It had been a while since Ottawa had hosted a United Nations Summit, and last century Matthew Williams would have been wringing his hands over the itineraries and seating arrangements, but time had taught him there were some things you could never fully prepare for, UN summits being one of them. For the last three months, he'd done all he could do to prepare himself and his government for the influx of foreign visitors and their respective nations, but the time for preparations was past. Last-minute panicking was something he'd endeavored to leave to the humans. All that Matthew had control over now was showing up on time tomorrow morning. Until then, it was enough to slip into a pair of joggers, an old Habs sweatshirt, and rip open a packet of orange gummy edibles while he waited for his fellow nations to arrive.

Well, he wouldn't have to wait on all of them.

"Oh hey, Space Odyssey! What a classic." Matt stopped flipping through channels and glanced up while Alfred stepped clear over the back of the couch and onto the cushions, carrying a Coke Zero in one hand and a box of chinese in the other, chopsticks protruding from one corner. Ignoring the disrespect to his furniture, Matt frowned at the soda. It was nearly nine o'clock.

"A bit late for caffeine, don't you think?" Alfred chuckled.

"I just finished my last slide deck for tomorrow, this is to put me to sleep, man." Matt shook his head. Even knowing Alfred had screwy brain chemistry was not always enough to keep him from questioning his life choices.

"I thought you were on adderall again?"

"Yeah, and it wore off at like, 5, so," Alfred tipped his can and took a slurp. He glanced at the foil packet on the coffee table and nudged Matt's thigh with his foot. "You're one to speak, Mr. Smoke-the-Anxiety-Away."

"I haven't smoked since Spring," Matt grumbled, reaching for his gummies with a foot to nudge them within reach. "The office staff complained about the smell and my dry cleaning bill got too high."

"Gummies are better anyway," Alfred said, rifling through his takeout with the chopsticks. "Ugh, why is there always so much damn broccoli in these things? You want any?" Matt closed his eyes in an exasperated expression he'd absorbed under the tutelage of Arthur Kirkland.

"Please eat your vegetables, Alfred, God knows your arteries will thank you."

"Shut up, I'm eating all of the other vegetables, but broccoli contaminates everything it touches. If you don't want it, I'll give it to the dog." Matt glanced at his Samoyed, Buddy, a melted pool of white fur lying on the floor, black nose twitching with interest towards Alfred's dinner.

"The sauce will make him sick," Matt said. "You're so damn picky. Give it here," he held out his hand, but instead Alfred lifted a piece of broccoli directly to his mouth. He bit it and swatted the chopsticks away. "You're hopeless," he munched.

"I know what I like, so sue me."

They both munched in silence while Keir Dullea navigated the stark black-and-white spaceship amid ethereal string music. Alfred was more accustomed to hosting international summits than his Northern twin, but for whatever reason, Matt had never made a habit of showing up more than a day or two early whenever the UN convened in New York or DC. However, whenever Ottowa was hosting, Alfred travelled up weeks in advance, using the summit as an excuse to visit with Matthew.

He'd arrived two weeks ago, his old Bronco packed to the gills with fresh citrus, old video games, sporting equipment, home-made whiskey, and other eclectic offerings that he thought Matt might have a use for. The first time he'd showed up unannounced back in the 80s, Matthew had exploded on him for making him host company while also planning an impending UN summit. The same afternoon, however, Matt had come home to find his dog walked, his kitchen sink repaired, his fridge restocked, and dinner simmering on the stove.

Loathe though he was to admit it, it was useful having Alfred around sometimes. Even if he never ate enough vegetables.

Matt hadn't meant to settle in to watch Space Odyssey, and it turned out to be an existentially tiring movie to watch while high, but the music and the visuals mixed with Alfred's intermittent commentary of "Did you know that in order to shoot these scenes," this and "the technical execution of this shot is magnificent" that, he found himself melting into an liminal space of bright tv lights and cozy couch cushions. His vision jolted sometime around the beginning of the third act and he realized belatedly that Alfred had left for the kitchen. He returned shortly with a neat (and full) glass of whiskey to replace his soda, and if Matt weren't so high he would've scolded him soundly for mixing uppers and downers, but Alfred's had always responded to substances differently. Alfred laughed at something Matt didn't register himself saying, and offered his brother a small bowl of popcorn, which he did register taking with an appreciative hum.

Matt zoned out for an undetermined amount of time and came back to Earth when the credits were rolling. At some point, he'd navigated himself to sit on the floor, back propped up by Alfred's leg, lap now full of a sleepy, furry dog.

"What do you want to watch?" Alfred asked above him, voice pleasantly tipsy while he clicked through the channels. "Ooh, Star Trek reruns. Want to keep with the space theme?"

"You and your fucken space race. No. Keep going."

"Ugh, fine."

They eventually settled on, of all things, late night reruns of How It's Made. While Alfred slurred out overly enthusiastic explanations of how every machine worked and which ones he'd helped build before, Matt stared at the assembly lines and let them massage his brain through his optic nerve, feeling pleasantly like a noodle. He munched on his second gummy and asked Alfred to put the rest away so Buddy wouldn't get into them.

A sip or two past the halfway point of his whiskey, Alfred entered the cuddly phase of drunk, and began idly playing with Matt's hair. Matt groaned appreciatively and with uncharacteristic eagerness pressed the back of his head toward his brother's hand, knocking hard into his knuckles in the process.

"Ow," Matt complained. Alfred chuckled. The couch behind him shifted and Alfred sipped his whiskey before setting it on the coffee table by Matt's extended leg. Alfred's legs appeared on either side of Matt's shoulders and he poked Matt in the side with a toe.

"Don't elbow me, you menace." Matt didn't answer, too mesmerized by the balloon-making process to make words.

Alfred began combing his hands through Matt's hair, and the heavenly scritch and tug against his scalp was more addictive than the bottle-filling machine on screen. Alfred spoke softly above him, about the show and about his hair and surely about other things, but Matt was absorbed in the bliss of his gummies and the feeling of someone else playing with his hair.

"…haven't seen you in braids in a while," Alfred said, and though Matt knew he must've been speaking already, he hadn't been listening. "You look great like this, why don't you wear them more often?"

"Hmm?" Matt reached up and brushed fingers over his hair, letting out a noise of surprise—higher pitched than he liked—when he felt the thick cords of a braid trailing from his temple. "Oh wow," was all he could think to say. "Didn't know you remembered how to braid. Your hair was always matted so badly, Arthur always told me you must've forgotten how to plait before you'd ever learned."

"Hardy har," Alfred jeered, taking the braid from Matt's finger tips and gently prising it back apart. "You were the one who liked your hair long. I only let mine mat up so they'd let me shave it off. Then all my bosses kept having baby girls and somehow I was babysitter. You know how much celebrity you get in the kindergarten crowd when you know how to do special braids? The Roosevelt girls thought I was hot shit." Matt snorted.

"Mmhmm, 'specially Alice…" he smirked, eyes closed. Alfred kicked him.

"Shut up." Matt elbowed him back. A small war of knees and elbows ensued, but stopped when Alfred leaned over Matt's shoulder to retrieve his whiskey glass.

"What kind of braids you want? I'll show Arthur who forgot how to braid."

"Mmm," Matt hummed, feeling his high tapering off but leaving him at a pleasantly hazy, sleepy place. "Surprise me." This response seemed to take Alfred off guard, and he chuckled as he continued brushing out Matt's blond locks with surprisingly gentle fingers.

"Hmm," the southern twin hummed, more to himself than to his brother, "your beau will be there tomorrow, maybe you ought to impress him."

"Give 'im something to untangle when we get home…" Matt mused.

"First of all, ew," Alfred said, tugging his hair, "second of all, no way I'm making it easy for him." Matt no longer cared what Alfred was saying, happy to surrender to the lullaby of nails on his scalp, tugs on his hair, and the warmth of Alfred's hands repositioning his head as he nodded off.

"You falling asleep on me, bro?" Alfred asked.

"No," Matt said. He woke up a while later to a quiet, dark house and Alfred's broad shoulders under one of his arms.

"I've set your alarm for 5:30, looks like your suit is already set out, Mr. Prepared." Matt realized Alfred had taken him to his bedroom.

"Right," Matt said, falling into bed still in his socks and sweats. "Thanks." Something unfamiliar and firm was pressing into the nape of his neck but he was too tired to investigate. The mattress shifted as his dog leaped up to join him on the bed and he let his eyes drift shut.

"See you in the morning, Mattie."

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At 5:30 am, Matt's alarm went off and both he and his dog groaned about it. After the human hit snooze a few times, the dog relented to the day with a high-pitched yawn and began nosing Matt in the neck until he, too, was forced awake. It was still dark out, but the Canadian had centuries of experience rising and dressing in the dark.

He pulled on his socks and slacks before the dog insisted on breakfast, which Matt found and distributed in an equally-dark kitchen. He returned to his dark room and fished a freshly pressed shirt out of his dark closet before tying the tie he'd selected last week—in the dark, of course.

And so, when he finally entered the washroom and flipped on the lights, it was a shock to see his own reflection.

"Oh wow," he muttered to the mirror, which of course gave no comment beyond Matt's own stunned expression. Tentatively, he reached up and touched his styled hair, which was astonishingly clean and flat despite the fact that he'd just woken up. He stood back and surveyed it again, turning this way and that to see it from the side, feeling up the nape to see what his brother had accomplished while whiskey-drunk and watching manufacturing process videos.

"Damn, Alfred," Matt muttered quietly to the air, mouth falling slightly open as he traced the eerily-perfect braids. The grain of his hair was pulled back into a tidy bun he'd begun sporting occasionally in the last decade or so, but he'd never styled it like this, with two small dutch braids coming up from the nape of his neck and one large French braid woven all down his crown. It was immaculately done. Lacking glasses, Matt leaned right up to the mirror to admire the details, having to press down errant strands only here and there in places where his pillow should've rubbed the plaits raw. Still, they held their shape.

"Well shit," Matt muttered. "No wonder Alice wanted you to fuck her."

"Yo Mattie!" Alfred's voice called from elsewhere in the house. "You still sleepin' in there, or are you just getting dressed in the dark again?"

"I'll be out in a minute," Matt said, casting a last look at his reflection before he continued straightening his tie and tucking his shirttails. "Don't drink my coffee!"

When Matt emerged from his room, the lights had been turned on and there was a pair of clean coffee mugs waiting beside the percolator burbling on the stove, but Alfred was nowhere to be found. Matt had only just got the waffle batter into the iron when the front door opened and Alfred came inside, a panting and happy samoyed smiling beside him. Of course Alfred would go for a run at 6am before an international summit.

"Aha!" Alfred beamed even as he bent over to let Buddy off his leash. The dog shook himself and went to go sniff Matt's pant legs. "So you liked the braids, huh?" Matt glared at his brother before turning back to the waffle iron, adjusting the gas range underneath before carefully flipping it over.

"Don't let it get to your head," he grumbled, and Alfred continued to smile, unfazed. "I didn't have time to redo it." Alfred said nothing, happily busying himself with plates, flatware, and fetching the syrup. They danced around each other in companionable silence to prepare breakfast, and neither said a word until they were sat across from each other at the table and Matt was waiting for him to finish drenching his waffles in syrup. "French and Dutch," he said, and shook his head when Alfred looked up. "A little on the nose, don't you think?"

Alfred grinned, dimples shaping his face in that mischievous way that made some nations nervous but made Matt's stomach warm with thoughts of home.

"You're welcome," Alfred said, pleased with himself. Matt frowned at him.

"Alfred, you don't need an entire maple tree for two waffles."

"I know what I'm about, Canuck," Alfred paid him no mind, eyes on the stream of syrup onto his plate. Matt looked alternately between the waffles and his brother. Eventually, he said,

"Seriously, Alfred, that stuff isn't cheap, could you please—"

"Cheaper than it is in my place!," Alfred smacked Matt's hand when he tried to reach across the table to the glass carafe. "You have a whole personal forest of this shit back in Quebec, don't think I don't know about that—"

"Oh my god you're going to make yourself sick,"

"And if I do, it will have been worth it!"

"I'm never making you waffles again."

"I'm never braiding your hair again!"

"Jesus you're such a child, give it here—"

"I wasn't done!"

Miraculously, Alfred had managed to budget enough time in their morning to complete a full course of bickering and still have enough time to brush their teeth, clean up breakfast, tidy each others' ties, and set up Buddy in the backyard before their scheduled government car arrived.

"I hate to disappoint you,"Matthew muttered to Alfred when they were seated side by side in the back, "but your offer of a 1985 Ford Bronco chauffeur service didn't quite meet the expectations from Rideau Hall." Alfred only scoffed.

"Their loss," he said.

They arrived early, and only the greenest of Canadian officials were surprised to see Alfred strolling in on his brother's heels, nearly an hour earlier than his American compatriots. One intern visibly blanched upon seeing the USA flag pin on Alfred's lapel, and when he glanced at her paper badge, he realized she was one of the ones who'd been tasked with helping the Americans navigate the conference spaces.

"Don't worry about it," he gave her a wink, "I cause enough trouble they make this guy boss me around himself," he jutted a thumb at Matt, who Alfred was not entirely sure she would've known personally. Matt noticed him and called him over.

"Stop scaring the interns," he hissed. "The president is supposed to be arriving in fifteen. Don't you have places to be?"

"Yes, mom," Alfred rolled his eyes. He strolled back by the intern, who was not so pale now, but still flustered. He smiled and tipped his chin at her. "Nice braid," he said, prompting her to run a self-conscious hand over her hair. "Dutch, right?" She blushed.

"The President, Alfred," Matt reminded.

"Yeah, yeah."

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Not a soul had commented on Matt's hair all morning, and Alfred was beginning to feel offended. As the other nations began arriving with their entourages, Alfred floated closeby to eavesdrop in the hopes that someone would notice his handiwork. Arthur was first to comment, but it was a quick and ambiguous,

"Ah, there you are, my boy, I hardly recognized you with your hair pulled back like that. It's a clean look. How've you been?" Clean was not exactly the kind of compliment Alfred had been hoping for from the man who'd said he couldn't braid, so he continued eavesdropping in the hopes of juicer feedback.

Jan had been next to comment, but Alfred had no idea what the Dutchman thought of Alfred's braidwork, partially because Alfred's Dutch comprehension was rusty at best, and partially because whatever Jan had said had made Matt get that look on his face that made Alfred want to gag, so he'd turned away in a hurry. Sure, he liked Jan, and yeah, he was glad that Jan and Matt had found each other, but seriously? In front of allies?

"Shall I give you a strand of pearls so you might clutch them?" Asked an accented voice, and Alfred looked over to see Francis approaching, daintily holding a cup of conference room coffee in one hand.

"He's my brother," Alfred said, "I'm allowed." Francis laughed and reached out his free hand to place it on Alfred's shoulder. The American endured la bise with practiced indifference but must've looked grumpy when Francis pulled away.

"Puritanism has never been a fashionable look, mon cher, not even when you were young." He glanced past Alfred to where Matthew was being inundated with fresh arrivals, moving on from his beloved Jan to Emma, Antonio, and the Nordics, who seemed to have arrived together. "Oh my, speaking of fashion… I have not seen Matthieu in braids since he was a child. Who knew he could elevate the style so much as a grown man?" The older nation hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder what prompted him."

"Me, actually," Alfred allowed himself to puff out his chest slightly. "I braided it for him last night." Unexpectedly, this made Francis laugh, suddenly and loudly. He quieted himself in short order, but the smile remained on his lips.

"Oh, I've missed you and your sense of humor, mon ami," Francis gave Alfred's chest a pat and began to move past him. "I'll have to pry Matthew for his stylist's name."

"But I-"

"We will meet for lunch before I go, yes?"

"Okay but I really did-"

"Angleterre," Francis called ahead, "tu marches trop vite, wait a moment."

Alfred's shoulders slumped, mouth hanging open in affronted silence while Francis teased Arthur in French down the hall.

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No one else mentioned Matt's braids for the rest of the day, and Alfred sulked about it at every available opportunity between conference sessions, so much so that Matt himself came to ask him what was wrong.

"Nothing," Alfred insisted. "You're doing a great job, by the way." Unexpectedly, Matt actually flushed at such praise, shoulders relaxing minutely. Alfred forgot how tightly wound Matt could become around these events. "Sorry if I made you worry."

And so, for the sake of his brother's nerves, Alfred was willing to take his wounded pride and bottle it up for future indulgence where it wouldn't upset the conduct of international affairs. Still, when he spotted Francis gossiping with Ludwig and Lux from across the hall, he couldn't help but squint his eyes, wondering if they were talking about his "sense of humor."

That night, after Matt quietly left the nations-only dinner with Jan's hand down his back pocket, Alfred let his wounded ego out for a breather at the hotel bar, where he grumbled about their whiskey selection under his breath and began squinting at the vodka options.

"The drafts here are surprisingly good, if you're having trouble," crowed a feminine voice, and Alfred turned in his stool to find a cute, buxom blonde licking beer foam off her red lipstick. He watched the movement before meeting her eyes; the left one had a dark freckle interrupting the green, and he'd always found it enchanting.

"High praise coming from you, O Mistress of the Brauhaus," he smiled at her, and Emma made a show of preening under such praise. He chuckled. "Whatcha drinking?"

"I can't remember what it's called," she admitted, and pointed at a colorful tap pull down the bar. "That one in the middle, there."

"Oh?" He leaned into her space, grinning goofily as she hopped up to the barstool next to him. "That's one of mine, you know."

"Oh ho," Emma watched the bubbles in her beer before looking playfully over at him. "Tastes like you've been copying someone's homework, Mr. Jones." He grinned, dimples playful.

"I learn from the best." She held his gaze for an intense moment, and asked:

"So whose homework did you copy to make those stunning braids?" She teased. "I didn't know Matthew had a sister hiding about."

"Oh, come on," Alfred moaned, flirtatious efforts shattering as Emma dissolved into laughter. "Who told you?"

"Francis has been gossiping about it all day," she told him, still giggling, cheeks rosy with alcohol and humor. "Saying you're trying to take credit for a masterpiece when you yourself were a… how did he put it? Enfant sauvage? Who… I really can't say it like him. Who "would've have only learned to braid if it were taught in the Navy, and he grows so sick at sea he surely never stayed long enough to find out,"" Emma could barely get through the quote before giggling some more, wiping at her eyes while Alfred glared into space.

"I can't believe him," Alfred complained, watching the bartender deposit a pint on his coaster. He dragged it closer to himself with a sigh.

"Oh, don't pout, mon râleur," Emma put a hand on his arm, "it's un peu drôle."

"It's not funny," Alfred insisted, taking a sip of his beer and having to suck the foam off his lip—he missed how Emma watched him do it—"I'm not that hopeless."

"You're really upset about this, aren't you?"

"I take credit for something I did, and get called a liar? Yeah, I'm a little pissed about it." He sucked back several large gulps while Emma watched him with new skepticism.

"You know, I really can't tell if you're bluffing or not," she said.

"I'm not," he insisted.

"Hmm," Emma sat up a little straighter in her seat, and ran a hand through her shoulder-short strawberry blonde hair. "Alright, then, prove it."

"What?"

"Braid my hair."

"Oh, come on, you can't just take me at my word?"

"You know better than I the exchange rate for that kind of currency is tanking, Mr. Jones," she teased, and shook her head to make her hair fan out toward him. "Go on." He glared at her.

"And what do I get if I can prove I'm not lying?" He asked.

"Hmm," she glanced back over at the taps. "Another pint." He met her eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," He said, and downed half his pint before perching on the edge of his barstool and setting to work. She watched him work out of the corner of her eye as he wove a small, clean braid down the side of her temple, arching over the curve of her ear in a tasteful line. She threw her head back to finish off her beer, but he continued to work, undeterred. When he was finished, he had no tie to secure it, so he gently tucked the end at the base of her ear and gave it a stroke with his finger to put it in place.

"Done," he said, and crossed his arms in a self-righteous way. Emma sat up and took out her phone, using the front camera to inspect his handiwork.

"Well?" He asked. She put down her phone and sighed. She nodded her chin to get the bartender's attention. "He'll have another pint on me," she said.

"Ha!" Alfred beamed, and downed the remainder of his first pint before sliding the glass aside to make room.

"And you, ma'am?" Asked the bartender, fetching two glasses.

"Hmm," Alfred wasn't paying attention while Emma side-eyed him, and was taken completely off guard when she grabbed his face in one hand and pulled him down for a wet kiss. After a few seconds she pulled away, still holding his bewildered face in a hand, and tasted her own lips. "What is it that he just had?" she asked.

"That was the New England IPA, ma'am," said the bartender, audibly trying not to laugh.

"I'll have a pint of that, then," she finally let him go but he stayed right where she'd left him, wide-eyed and pink. She leaned forward, nose almost touching his.

"Color me surprised, he can braid," she said. "But I bet you can't do a proper French plait."

"Hmm," a smile grew on Alfred's face, a bashful shade of confidence that Emma had been chasing for years. "And… what, exactly do I get if I prove you wrong?" The bartender came by with their pints.

"Last call is in five minutes, folks, can I get you anything else?" he asked.

"No, thank you," Emma answered for them both. Alfred frowned at her, but she only smiled at him, eyes playful. "I have an early morning tomorrow," she said, and handed him his pint. "But I'm sure I can think of something if you prove me wrong tonight." His eyebrows shot skyward, but she didn't drop eye contact as she sipped her IPA. He bit his lip in an effort not to laugh even as his face blushed bright.

"Alright," he smiled. When he grabbed her pint and set it aside, she let him. "Turn around, then," he said, and she giggled when he swiveled her around by her knee. His hands buried in her hair. "Saying I can't braid," he teased, smile audible in his voice. "honestly, the nerve." Emma chuckled, swinging her legs as he worked.

"Don't waste time, then, I've got plenty else I plan to say about you before the night is over."

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The following morning, as the crowds returned for day two of the summit, Matt arrived with barely-noticeable dark circles under his eyes and heavenly blonde waves that framed his face in patterns made by plaits that had been lovingly untangled the night before.

"Alfred," he found his brother at breakfast, startling the American to attention just as he bit into a bagel. "Where have you been? I was worried, you didn't come home last night."

"Go home?" Alfred asked around a mouthful, pausing to swallow. "And listen to you and Jan reunite all night? Absolutely not."

"Okay," Matt rolled eyes eyes, "we are not that ba-"

"Yes you are," Alfred pointed the remainder of his bagel up at his twin. "You know you are. I swung by this morning for my suit, your fucking tie was on a rafter. I'm just glad I didn't get an eyeful of you two. Honestly." Matt sighed and plopped down in the chair next to him, cheeks pink.

"Did you at least find some place to sleep?" he asked, sounding a little guilty.

"Yeah, not like there's any shortage of couches to surf on here. Sides, the bartender felt bad for me and gave me a pint on the house."

"He what? Oh my God, Al, you could've just asked, they would've given you a room, you don't have to go complaining about me to everyone who-"

"Mattie, I'm joking."

"...oh."

"Don't worry about me, seriously. I was fine." He sipped his coffee, and handed Matt a piece of bacon, which his brother took and munched without comment. "Though if it's all the same to you, I might swing by and get my suitcase at lunch today. You know. Just. relocate for a few days while Jan is in town."

"That's… probably for the best."

"Yeah."

They chewed in silence as more people filtered into the breakfast hall.

"Oh wow, Emma looks great today," Matt commented. Alfred looked up and nearly choked on his coffee when he saw that she was still wearing the proper French plait he'd given her the night before—it must've taken her an hour just to clean up from how he'd last seen it. He blushed furiously behind his mug.

Clueless, Matt continued, "I'm not sure I've ever seen her wear a braid. It suits her."

"Sure does," Alfred said, sipping quietly. "Apparently all those Europeans are suckers for a good braid."

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sandsorghum · 3 years ago

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JJK Week Day 1 - Sports AU

Prompt by @jujutsukaisenweek

A/N: Phew, just made it within the hour! I'm not great with sports, so I had to really rack my brain for this one. It's pure fluff and overall I'm pretty glad with how it turned out ^^

I ended up going with a rather niche sport because maybe I just wanted an excuse to put Nanami in jodhpurs, sue me. Though the visuals indicate Polo, I leave it to your imaginations whether it's Dressage, Horse Racing or Jumping! Indulgent sexy, expensive EquestriaNanamin. Enjoy!

WC: 3.9K

Warnings: None, unbeta'd though

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Humour

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"Kaito, good morning! Did you rest well?"

As usual, Kaito ignores you, merely releases a huff through his nostrils and stamps his feet.

"Ok, ok I'll get a move on. It's so stuffy, you think I like spending that much time around here?"

Kaito jerks his head to the side with a snort, impatiently indicating you should start your duties for the day. You feel his gaze, somehow both bored and boring into your back as you amble over to the corner where all the equipment is kept.

"I had that dream again last night, of your friend," you remark casually as you pick up a broom and dustpan. Kaito grunts noncommittally, familiar with where the story's headed as you start to sweep.

"Felt like a movie in slo-mo, even though he executed each round in typical, flawless fashion. And maintaining his composure out there in sweltering weather too, it must get hot under that helmet but gosh - the way those blonde locks gleam under the sun," you muse, leaning on your broom. Kaito looks down his nose at you. With scorn, you're sure.

"What? I can't help it," you sigh, starting to bustle around again, "he's almost as pretty as you, which is fitting I suppose. Though these dreams are kinda driving me crazy, what do you think I should do?"

Kaito contributes nothing to the conversation of course, because he is, in fact, a horse. And couldn't care less about human matters, especially those of the heart. It seems he does the equine equivalent of a nonchalant shrug as he lowers his head to his feed bucket.

Well, it's not like you expected him to understand anyway, but at least the animal was a pair of ears that would endure your idle chatter, in a way most people capable of comprehending human language wouldn't.

Dumping the contents of the dustpan into the bin, you continue, "Actually, you performed pretty splendidly that afternoon as well! You two are finally starting to get along huh?"

Kaito nickers softly, and you wonder if it's an indication of assent, till you peer into the trough.

"Oh, you want more oats? I'm not supposed to give you so much for breakfast though, they say you're particularly food motivated..."

There's a rustling sound as Kaito tosses his mane petulantly and you laugh, reaching out your hand to pat the creature's thick, strong neck

"Ok, ok you already smelled them on me huh? Just don't tell anyone." You pull a Pink Lady out of your pocket, presenting it on your open palm. Kaito draws a giggle from you as his velveteen lips tickle your hand.

"Fine, I'll keep this a secret but in exchange you gotta give me some advice, Kaito. I don't wanna be kept up by thoughts of your handsome friend, how can I get a better night's rest-"

"You might try some chamomile tea."

Startled by the sudden voice, you drop the half eaten fruit, having the sense to nudge it under some loose hay behind your heels. Kaito huffs in irritation as his sweet snack disappears, his head dipping behind the stall gate to chase it.

"M-Mr Nanami? What- what are you doing here? Practice doesn't start for another hour."

"Two hours actually," he says drily. He strides toward you and your eyes are drawn to the shapely curves of his calves accentuated by the shin-high leather riding boots. Your gaze quickly flits up over the taut seams along his strong thighs highlighted by slim-fitted khakis (it wouldn't do for him to notice your eyes lingering just below that belt buckle.) You also notice Nanami isn't wearing his typical blazer today, meaning the way the buttons of his Oxford shirt strain against that muscled chest is on full display before you.

The smooth swell of fabric comes to a stop directly in front of you, and you hear the sonorous bass reverberate from somewhere deep within those plush pectorals.

"I thought I might catch the criminal who was making my steed so pudgy."

You wrench your eyes from Nanami's chest, instantly regretting it as you meet his stern gaze in those coffee brown irises, a dark-roast arabica scrutinizing your guilty expression and how you gulp down any excuses.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," you stammer, opting for a straightforward demonstration of remorse, but the corners of his mouth only twitch further down.

"If he puts on more weight, that means at least another hour of exercise - and who do you think has to be the one responsible for making him canter around in the hot sun?"

He shakes his head as you stumble over another apology, caught in your lungs as you abruptly catch a whiff of his cologne when he bends past you to snatch up the discarded fruit, your brain short-circuiting on an aroma of verbena, crisp linens and just a hint of basil.

"Now who could be such a careless criminal, leaving their evidence out in the open?" Nanami frowns at the apple core he has pinched by the stem between thumb and forefinger, examining it with forensic focus.

You snatch it back to stuff it in your pocket, mumbling, "I don't do it daily and it was just going to be the one, I swear-"

Your sentence gets cut off by a distinct thump as another apple, this time green in colour, drops from your pocket in your haste to hide the proof of your original misdemeanor. You feel both you and Nanami's gaze track the fruit as it rolls to a stop by his ankle.

There's a prolonged moment of silence before your voice cracks it, laced with shame. "I - that one's mine, I was saving it to eat later."

You stoop to swiftly retrieve the Granny Smith, deliberately ignoring the way Nanami stiffens when your shoulder inadvertently brushes against his thigh on your way back up.

You dust it off against your shirt, taking an exaggeratedly large bite.

"Mmhhh, yep, I just love apples of all kinds," you declare, willing your tears not to spill past the edges of your ducts as the sour flesh bursts across your taste buds.

"Well, that makes two of us here then," Nanami calmly delivers his observation as he plucks the first apple from your hand, turning to give it to Kaito who eagerly finishes it.

Perhaps three, he thinks to himself as he watches you from the corner of his eye, valiantly chomping your way through the unpleasantly tart apple, wholly committed to your fib while he discretely admires the iridescent twin trails tracked across your face, one of a single tear gliding across your cheek, and the other of the juice glistening as it dribbles past your lips down your chin.

"Perhaps we'd better get rid of that evidence." He stretches an open palm toward you, expectant. "Your breath will smell of apples."

You chuckle, "Nobody's gonna get close enough for tha-"

Suddenly you feel the texture of leather clasped against your cheek, a gloved thumb brushing at the corner of your eyes and a forefinger swiping against your lower lip, causing you to gasp aloud. Shocked, you drop the apple into his waiting hand.

"You're being plenty obvious in other ways, young lady," Nanami remarks, inspecting the fruit, turning it around. Then, he takes a cautious nibble, directly over where your mouth had been molded across its flesh, moments ago. He grimaces as acidity invades his senses, squinting at you with one eye open as your jaw drops wide.

"You genuinely enjoy this variety too?"

"Um...not gonna lie, some are better than others," you admit.

"Well, good thing we have someone who can appreciate apples of any species then." Somehow the timbre of Nanami's chuckle invites just as much warmth to flood your cheeks as his grazing touch had earlier.

Kaito releases a pleased huff, delighted by his master's unexpected generosity.

"Sorry about er, the extra exercise he'll have to do later."

Nanami dismisses you with a wave of his hand, lowering it to affectionately rub between his horse's ears.

"Kaito's supposed to be on a diet, as you well know. Or are you perhaps new around here?"

You shake your head. "No, I started about half a year ago. I just transferred over from the evening shift."

"Ah, hence the late nights. You must still be adjusting."

"Sort of," you say sheepishly, scarlet returning in a riptide as you regard the true source of your sleeplessness gazing at you with an indiscernible expression.

"Actually, uh, you weren't out there listening for long, were you?"

"Just long enough to catch you bribing my partner and skiving off work." Nanami raises a brow. "Is there something else I should know?"

"N-no, just er...Kaito's stools were a little firmer than usual?"

You want to smack yourself - did you just really resort to discussing manure with the most expensive smelling man you've encountered?

But instead of the quizzical or disgusted expression you anticipate, a slightly more serious one settles over his face.

"I see, I'll bring it up with his vets. Thank you for telling me, and for taking such good care of him."

You beam, a sense of pride bubbling up within you. "Of course, it's my job, which I had better get back to - before you make a complaint to my superiors." You quip, sauntering to the back of the stables.

You glance behind you, surprised to see him follow you while rolling his sleeves up, revealing forearms flexing with thick tendons and braided steel.

"Sir?"

"Allow me to assist you," he explains, broad fingers curling around a pitchfork.

"Mr Nanami, I couldn't possibly. I promise I can manage fine, despite what you've seen - or heard - of my work ethic."

"I have a couple of hours to kill, remember?" He hoists a hay bale to the side, biceps bulging beneath his shirt, the strong lines of his sternum arching prominent for a moment. Somehow, all the excuses have perished in your throat.

The two of you work wordlessly, efficiently, like this for a while, till you meet back up at Kaito's stall, grasping the animal's bedding beneath your arms. After depositing it on the floor, you watch Nanami fasten straps of the saddle around his steed with practiced ease, movements mesmerizing in their effortless sequence.

"Adjust his reins for me, please," he requests, not looking up from his task. You comply, worn leather snaking through your palms as you feed it through loops and buckles.

"You're rather likeable, I think."

You clutch the reins, caught off guard by the random comment.

"E-excuse me?"

Nanami walks around to Kaito's head, playing with his mane as he stands near you.

"I've been with this guy for the past seven years, and haven't seen him warm up to any stranger as fast as he has with you. So, he likes you."

"He likes them apples," you joke with a wink at Nanami, whose lip twitches.

He shakes his head, "Somehow I doubt it's just that. Even for me, it took three years before he allowed me to develop a bond. With an abundance of sugar cubes. So, you must be something special."

Nanami leans toward you, peering deep into your eyes.

"R-rein it in?"

You see perplexity, then embarrassment, descend over his features at your reaction, as Nanami quickly glances away.

"I - I meant, the reins. Did you want me to take them in any further than this?"

"Oh." Nanami examines the tension of the straps with a light tug before nodding at you, leaving them in your hands as he heads out to open the gates beyond the paddock.

You lead Kaito out of his stall, waiting patiently for Nanami to return. When he does, he has a pair of helmets in his hands. You look at him, puzzled, as he holds one out to you.

"We have to exercise him, to make up for earlier," a small smile lines Nanami's lips and you feel your heart race.

"Sorry, I think I lost you after we."

Nanami exhales amusement through his nose at your apparent obtuseness.

"You're the one responsible for fattening him up recently, aren't you? Besides, Kaito will burn more calories with the weight of two on him. Plus, you're already wearing jodhpurs."

"I - I don't know if it's a good idea, we aren't all that familiar-"

"It's fine. He trusts you, I can tell." Nanami gets down on one knee to assist you, before glancing up and hesitating, as if something's just occurred to him. "Unless - what you said just now - 'we aren't all that familiar', you meant...us?"

It's the first time he's spoken so haltingly, all assurance vanished. From this angle, with Nanami knelt before you in an uncomfortable position, an even more uncomfortable fuchsia tint dawning on his face, you see an unbearably adorable anxiousness cloud his eyes.

"You know, I mentioned Kaito's poop earlier," you remark, taking the helmet and snapping its clasps beneath your chin. You see Nanami's brows furrow at this apparent non-sequitur, even as you note the relief pooling in his gaze as you accept his suggestion.

"So I'm definitely doing this out of pure concern for your horse's health," you declare, ignoring the tantalizing prospect of Nanami's thighs and the palms crossed above them. Instead, you slip your foot into the stirrup and launch your other leg up over the saddle in one fluid motion.

Nanami's expression of astonishment melts into admiration with a wry smile as he says, "Maybe one rider's enough today. You're sure you've not mounted my horse before?"

You smirk, "Is that supposed to be some kind of innuen-oh!"

Kaito kicks up a front hoof, suddenly impatient, and you gasp, clutching desperately at the pommel to prevent tipping too far back. Nanami merely chuckles as your composure shatters. Still, your death grip on dignity matches the one you have on the reins as you mutter, "Look, this unnecessary regimen was your idea ok? If Kaito's going on any joyrides, you'd better be the one in the hot seat."

You scooch forward in the saddle, glancing pointedly at Nanami who simply shakes his head with a faintly amused smile, slapping his horse's rump as he remarks, "Steady on Kaito, let's be gentle. It's her first time after all."

You squeak in protest as the impact of Nanami's large hand sends a sharp jolt that you can feel, even through the saddle. Thankfully, Kaito doesn't take it as a cue to bolt, staying still save for the flick of his tail at your companion to encourage him to hurry up, while Nanami leisurely fits the helmet over his head, obscuring his golden halo.

At 17 hands high, Kaito's an imposing beast, you're sure he'll make a prize stallion someday. Centuries of strength and power radiate from his back, legends of an ancient wilderness and vast plains pump through his veins, as you feel the thermal flex of thoroughbred muscles between your thighs - but even all this doesn't distract from a much more immediate heat suddenly molding itself against the small of your back, bracketing your own thighs, hips flushed tight to your own.

You attempt to suppress a shudder even as warm hands settle over your own, dwarfing them. And then Nanami's voice, much gentler than it has any right to be, rasps by your ear in a warm gust of air.

"Shall we?"

You nod, and Nanami clicks his tongue, signalling his steed to start off with a quick trot, hooves swiftly picking up speed as Kaito responds to some deep-seated yearning and instinct to roam free.

Everything is overwhelming, the jolt of your bodies against each other with every forward rocking motion of the horse, Nanami's steady, soothing grasp over your white knuckles, the not unkind chuckle as he strokes a calloused thumb over them in a bid to get you to relax and enjoy the breeze that picks up as Kaito launches into a full canter. It brings with it the tangle of your sweat, Nanami's scent and the creature's musk, combining into a heady aroma that has you feeling slightly dizzy. Distantly, you're aware of the man directly behind you (it feels like every fibre of your being is straining not to grind your ass against his crotch in this position) trying to make conversation, asking about your entry into the esoteric equestrian world. So you tell him your origins, how you've grown up with them and developed a love for these clever, elegant, sturdy creatures early on in your childhood. You even regale Nanami with a tale about your first pony and the first bone you broke from a riding accident, and in exchange, Nanami tells you about his most recent injury.

Just like that, an hour gallops by, occasionally interspersed with silence or your hitched breaths when Nanami's strong grip encircles your waist as a particularly rough patch of the path comes up, or a steeper than average incline of a hill, incentivizing Kaito to kick his hooves up even higher. But Nanami is a perfect gentleman, his arm abandoning you the instant the danger's past. You wonder if you could muster up the courage to persuade it to stay securely wrapped around you, if you dare ask Nanami to keep the warmth of his touch bound to your belly stoking a mounting inferno within.

Alas, before you can dwell further on such a brazen request, the two of you have arrived back at the paddock. Kaito slows to a standstill eventually and Nanami is the first to dismount comfortably, expectantly waiting on the ground.

He calls out your name again when you don't make a move.

"My legs are um, kinda jelly, it's been a while since I've ridden for so long."

The edge of Nanami's mouth tilts up, with an arrogance that's starting to become aggravatingly familiar.

"You could get yourself on but not off?"

There's a shade of mockery in his tone that elicits a retort from you, poorly-worded (unfortunately, only in retrospect.)

"I can get myself off just fine, thank you very much!" you snap.

In the moments you take to cautiously shuffle your other leg over to the same side, facing Nanami, you don't immediately notice your Freudian slip. You're only alerted to what you've said when you glance up at the sound of Nanami awkwardly clearing his throat, lips pursed but arms spread wide.

"As entertaining as watching you struggle to...get yourself off - your words, not mine," he reminds you as a furious blush blooms against your cheeks, "Unfortunately we don't have the luxury of time for that. So, jump."

You hesitate, it might only be a little leap, but it still felt awfully high. Nanami takes a step forward.

"Would you prefer a safer option?" He sounds sincere this time. Swallowing your nerves (and pride) you nod.

It's too sudden, though he had signaled his intentions far in advance, the way Nanami's arms snake around your hips and under your thighs, flexed, uncompromising. Warm, so warm. You feel the pull of him brace you against the abrupt tug of gravity, yet still clutch your hands around Nanami's nape, as if trying to wrench the gasp back into your lungs from his scalding touch.

You feel humour reverberate through him at your exaggeration of a reaction, even as the world rights and steadies itself into some semblance of normalcy. But your feet haven't quite resumed contact with something more solid and reassuring (perhaps the earth couldn't match the sturdiness of Nanami's powerful torso, but you could hardly stay in this position for much longer.)

"Y-you can let go of me now, please," you mumble, loathing how your voice trembles.

"After you." His chuckle is full-throated if a little muffled. You glance down, and mortification wholly consumes you. The lack of audibility is attributed to how you've got Nanami's face crushed to your ribs, and now you can feel the hard ridge of his nose pressed to the underside of your bosom, as well as the light twitch of his lips as he fights back a sneaky smile, concealed against the fabric covering your cleavage.

"Oh god, I'm so so sorry, Sir," you babble, swiftly releasing the back of his neck and gratefully dropping back down. Unfortunately, your legs haven't quite caught up with the urgency of humiliation and you stumble. This time you're the one with the face squashed to an ample chest; you're certain that when the deities designed Nanami, they must have mixed up marble and flesh, feeling the sculpted swell of his pronounced pectorals, even if it was for a mere moment.

You wish you could stay here forever, delay the shame of meeting his gaze, but you know there's an exponential relation between the disgrace you've already committed and the seconds you're squandering on impudence, lingering in this position. So you spring away in an instant, the vivid thudding of Nanami's chest fading. Its echo in your ears is the sole indication he's human, just like you.

Well, not exactly like you. His countenance isn't awash in scarlet, dyed in a summer sunset. You can only imagine the shadows those high, stern cheekbones would cast though, final rays of glory finding their purpose of illumination before submitting to the horizon.

You attempt to apologise again when you feel a firm grip just above your elbow, pulling you up to meet a mildly concerned gaze.

"I'm fine," you answer before Nanami even opens his mouth to ask.

"I hope your thighs won't be sore tonight."

Your ears redden but as you look into Nanami's eyes, just like his tone, there's an absence of an ulterior motive or suggestiveness. Not even a glimmer of mischief.

You dust yourself off and shrug. "I'm used to it."

"Used to your thighs being sore?'

Ah, and there's the vaguest spark now. You wave your hand at him, as if that would quell the butterflies in your belly too.

"Don't worry, I expect to be able to walk tomorrow."

"I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning then."

"Tomorrow?"

Nanami smiles, stroking Kaito's forelocks. "Today was good for him, I think we can keep it up. Anyway," Nanami turns back to you, his hand reaching out, brushing against your cheek. You still completely as he plucks a wisp of hay from your hair, letting it drift to the ground.

"I think he rather enjoyed you riding him."

The horse whinnies and Nanami hums, "See, Kaito agrees. Mh, what was that? You want me to tell her something?" Nanami cocks his head to the side, pretending to listen.

You don't dare discover if that ember in his eyes is a full blaze by now, so you train your stare on the tuft of straw, waiting for Nanami to relay his horse's message. Hence, you don't realise how he's closed the distance between you, until you feel his conspiratorial whisper tickle the shell of your ear.

"He said: Next time, bring sugar lumps, then we'll fall for you even faster."

Your head snaps up to object and ask 'what about his strict diet!' but Nanami's already swung back up onto his steed and is trotting off.

You stare at their rapidly shrinking silhouettes, making sure you're well beyond their sight before you bend and snatch up the wisp of hay, twiddling it between your fingers before surreptitiously pocketing it.

Had Nanami really said "we"?

In the distance, the equestrian glances over his shoulder to wave farewell at you, ensuring he's far enough of out earshot before he hums by his horse's ear, "Guess the two of us have a new favorite source of sweetness, huh?"

Kaito neighs loudly, the wind carrying his answer and Nanami's bright laugh back to you.

#jjkweek2021 #jujutsu kaisen imagines #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami headcanons #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #kento x reader #sandsorghum #nanami kento hcs #nanami kento imagines

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onewingeddragonqueen · 3 years ago

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Copper, and Azure? 👉👈 your art is so good, you are so talented!

Thanks for the ask! For the fanart artist ask meme

Copper- if you doodle, want to show us a sample?

Yeah! I doodle all the time actually, its part of why I don’t post much. I draw something, I need to color it. Inspiration strikes and I draw again. I need to color it. Inspir—

You get me. Im constantly drawing and I’m trying to get to a place where I’m comfortable posting really sketchy pieces. I also get worried that people will get annoyed of me flooding the tags with art (seriously I draw or paint practically every day) so I try to keep a cool down period of like a week before posting anything else to the tags. My own blog though… well, I’m trying to see this place as fair game. You followed me after all 🤣

Some Dany and Jon doodles, my two favorite subjects currently. I’ve filled pages and pages of sketchbooks with them its a problem.

I just rlly wanted to capture her smile and presence in these shots, I think they were photos of Emilia on set out of character (I know for sure the last one was). I always found it ironic that many of the shots of Emilia in costume but OOC seemed more true to book Dany than most late show scenes. I might do an actual piece based off the bottom one. She’s just so vibrant and so happy and just so Daenerys. That’s my queen right there.

Azure- Favorite ship to draw?

Honestly I don’t really have one, mostly because I’m more interested in drawing portraits. However I do love drawing jonerys/snowstorm, because they’re cute together and it gives me an excuse to draw my two faves.

(God please give me the strength to finish this painting. The red stain in the middle is from a spread that seeped through the sketchbook seams orz)

More often than not though I tend to just kinda draw my otps not as full bodies together, but as portraits in the general vicinity of each other. This one is an unfinished Robb/Dany/Jon implied ot3 drawing

Some additional stuff under the cut!

I’ve also really been into crackships, crossovers, and canonxOC lately, here’s an extremely sketchy thing I did of Dany x Sephiroth

Modern AU Robb and Cassie, one of my OCs

Jon and Dio, another OC I’ve posted and tagged quite a bit about lately (its brainrot idc idc)

Dany and my semicanon OC Allyria Dayne/Snow

In my fanfic Aly is Jon’s twin who looks like a Targ and cannot be hidden away at Winterfell, so she’s raised at Starfall with the Daynes. She is the most Mary Sue of my Mary Sues and honestly I can’t even be bothered to care. You WILL be hearing more about her, that is a threat.

TW for horror applies here

More Jon Snow because I’m obsessed, this is for a demon AU fanfic that will likely never see the light of day

Anyway thank you so much for the ask!! Sorry to have basically treated this ask as a sketchdump but I have a lot of art and I couldn’t choose what to post 🤣

#asoiaf art #my arts #asks #anonymous #tw horror #(for one image beneath the cut but just to be safe)#if there’s any of these that anyone wants posted on their own and in higher quality lemme know

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diavohno · 4 years ago

Text

peccant pt.1

▹ pairing: lucifer x fem!reader, mammon x fem!reader, leviathan x fem!reader, satan x fem!reader, asmodeus x fem!reader, beelzebub x fem!reader, belphegor x fem!reader

▹ genre: smut, rut!au

▹ words: 6.6k

▹ rating: nsfw

▹ warnings: mc curses like a sailor and solomon has no filter, lucifer’s had a rough time, a pinch of grinding, mentions of masturbation, hickies, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, rough sex

▹ notes: tadaa! this took a bit longer than I had originally planned (hence the big gap between the sneak peek and the full release) but I was determined to crank this out for @hornywrath‘s birthday! hope you enjoy a lil bit of mammon hun, and happy birthday! also, I guess this also counts for a 400 follower milestone, which we hit very recently! thank you all for being here, I hope the wait was worth it ;)

“Solomon, I’m about ready to fight someone,” you seethed to the sorcerer as you glared up at his ceiling from your comfortable resting spot on top of his bed.

The entire situation was ridiculous. The brothers had been actively avoiding you almost all week, which was annoying enough, but today they had cut off all communication with you entirely. No one came down to breakfast, no one was in any of your shared classes, and no one even bothered to text you so you’d know what the hell was going on. If they were going to give you the cold shoulder the LEAST they could do would be to tell you why.

Instead, you were left to wonder what you had done wrong because surely there was some explanation for their behavior. After a full day of scouring your memory during boring classes (in which there was no one to distract you, unlike usual) you were still drawing a blank on what exactly you had done.

This only meant one thing: you were 100% innocent in this situation, and the brothers would never live this down if you had anything to say about it.

When you were about halfway back to the House of Lamentation after class your D.D.D. buzzed. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest seeing that the notification was a text from Lucifer. It was the first time any of the brothers had contacted you all day! With any luck, you’d finally get some explanation as to just what was going on, and (if you were lucky) an apology. The second one is highly unlikely given that it was Lucifer who had texted you, but you still had hope. That is, until you opened the message.

After class, immediately go to Purgatory Hall. You will be staying there with the other exchange students until further notice.

A second set of buzzes followed the first, in case one punch to your heart wasn’t enough.

Under no circumstances are you allowed to return to the House of Lamentation without permission.

Excuse you? Were you seriously just told that you weren’t allowed in your own house anymore? Sadly, yes, that seemed to be exactly what had just happened, and Lucifer isn’t the sort of person that you’d argue with about an order.

But come on, you hadn’t even gotten an explanation!

With no other choice, you turned your livid butt around and marched (read: stomped) over to your new home, ready to tell (read: rant to) your fellow exchange students of the injustices you had been served as of late. As if Lady Luck wanted to send an ‘F U’ herself, Solomon was the only one in Purgatory Hall when you arrived. Not the beautiful and benevolent Simeon, or Luke, who you thought of as an angelic younger brother, but Solomon, with a fox’s grin that was far too smug for your liking. And, unfortunately, the smugness only grew as you lamented about how abysmally bad your week had been thus far.

“Oh, y/n,” he said, a teasing coo woven into his tone. Your attention shifted from his incredibly interesting ceiling to his incredibly boring head that he was propping up on his desk with his incredibly boring hand. Solomon may be one of your best friends, but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t push your buttons all the damn time. “You’re so naive to the ways of the world.”

“Sorry I’m not a fancy pants magic bitch like you,” you grumbled with no real bite behind your words. Would you believe he then had the audacity to snicker at you? Because that’s exactly what he did. It took all of your strength plus a little extra from the Big Man Upstairs to not clock the white-haired menace into next week. “Solomon, explain to me what’s going on before I do something I won’t regret.”

Ever the fake pacifist, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no need for violence. And, really, it’s your own fault that you don’t know about demon ruts.”

Silence filled the room, leaving you to sit there and drown in it as Solomon seemingly decided the desk itself would make a much more comfortable seat than his chair. With just those few words he had managed to switch your brain from operating on Google Chrome to Internet Explorer, and what is the next thing he does? Perches on his desk like it was normal.

After some time passed with you buffering and Solomon preening as if he had just been graced by God, you finally managed to spit out, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

More snickering. Try as you might, you couldn’t fight off the blush that had been steadily creeping onto your cheeks, so you instead gave in and decided to find out as much as you could. “You mean, right now, they’re at home—”

“Jacking themselves off on anything of yours that they can get their cummy little demon mitts on? Ding ding ding, you’ve guessed it! Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been in your room already. Having a—” calculating eyes swept your form from head to toe before continuing irritatingly hesitantly, “presumably fertile female so close is akin to torture when they’re rutting, so what remains of your pheromones are probably the only thing they can smell at the moment.”

Taking the high road for once in your little gremlin life, you chose to ignore the ‘presumably fertile’ comment and remained focused on the topic at hand: the brothers were going through a demon rutting period. “That is so unbelievably disgusting and hot at the same time.”

So some of your inner gremlin slipped out, sue you.

Solomon sighed as if he expected nothing more from you, white strands of hair falling onto his face as he pressed it into the palms of his hands. “Leave it to you to be turned on by the suffering of others.”

“Shut it, Solomon, you know what I mean.” Heat flared across your cheeks at the insinuation. You may be many things, but a sadist was not one of them; Lucifer had that title locked down anyway. “Dammit. What do I do, Solomon? Lucifer texted me saying that I can’t go back, so does he really expect me to wear the same clothes for however many days it takes for their ruts to end?”

“Probably. He’s twisted like that. Ooh, what if he’s getting off to the idea that you’re—”

Before you had a chance to cut Solomon off from finishing a sentence that would have undoubtedly mortified you to no end, a series of rapid-fire buzzes from your phone did it for you. You had patted both yourself and the area around you on the bed down thoroughly only for Solomon to dangle your phone in the air. Warning bells sounded off in your head loud and clear the moment you noticed his cheeky grin.

“I think you should put this one on speaker.”

With a flick of his wrist, your phone sailed through the air and landed on the bed next to you after you failed to catch it. Ignoring Solomon’s snort, you flipped your phone over to see who was calling you. The name, along with everything you had just discussed with Solomon, caused your pulse to pound in your ears.

It was Mammon.

Panic ran through your veins like liquid lightning. Should you answer it? There could only be one reason why he would be calling if he was rutting. Warmth shot straight to your core. Deep down, you realize that if he was calling you to ask for help, you’d say yes. Solomon cleared his throat and gestured at your phone, reminding you to answer before you lost your chance. Without hesitation, you answered the call, switching to speakerphone with a pointed glare from the man across from you.

Within seconds, breathy groans rang out from the phone. Your face flushed as you spared a glance at Solomon, who had donned a shit-eating grin, before your attention snapped back to the phone upon hearing Mammon’s voice. “Where are ya, y/n?” he whined. “I need ya so bad.”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip between them. “Lucifer told me not to come back for now, so I’m at Purgatory Hall.”

A string of expletives exploded from the speaker, although they died down as quickly as they started. When Mammon addressed you again, the pleading tone to his voice was in no way subtle. “Please. . . Please come help me, y/n. I need ya.”

“Mammon, babe, are you rutting?” Your eyes widened in horror while Solomon snickered gleefully; the question had fallen out before you could really even think about it.

You weren’t given much time to worry over it, though, as Mammon answered in confirmation, “Yeah. And everythin’. . . Everythin’ fuckin’ HURTS. It hurts so bad, y/n, please.” Images of some of your succubi and incubi friends flashed through your head. It would probably be best that a demon helped him through his heat. If you helped, you’d likely get hurt. You had just begun to offer to call one of your friends when your words were cut short with a growl. “No, dammit! I only want you! Only you, ya hear me, y/n?”

A milky-white hand clamped firmly against his mouth was the only thing preventing Solomon from alerting Mammon to the fact that you were not the only human hearing him at that moment, and that hand was getting dangerously close to not being enough to save the two of you. The thought of how Mammon would react upon finding the two of you out sent a shiver down your back. You could NOT let that happen.

Executive authority coursed through you as you turned off the speakerphone and brought it up to your ear instead; a curling lick of satisfaction in your chest was the only thing Solomon’s huff of discontent managed to elicit. “Okay, Mammon, I’m on my way.”

A pleased groan answered your words, followed by a click. You blinked a few times, waiting to no avail for anything else— he had hung up on you. Although you’re not quite sure what you expected (some thanks would have been nice) you couldn’t help but to notice how your body seemed to be thrumming with anticipation.

“Oh, you’re on your way, are you? You DO realize that if you go to help one of them you’ll have to help ALL of them, right? So are you stupid? Is that it?” the whirlwind that was Solomon accused, white brows furrowed in total scorn. “And here I was, thinking that you were a creature of intelligence. Oh, how it pains me to be wrong.”

Already on your feet, you pocketed your phone and smoothed out your clothes, ready to head to the House of Lamentation at any moment. After concluding that you were presentable enough to go have a demon rip your clothes off your body— a matter that you had grown incredibly serious about in a somewhat suspiciously short amount of time, as if the thought of being ravaged by the brothers had crossed your mind before— you turned to address the snarky sorcerer in the room. “You heard him, Solomon. He’s in serious pain right now, and he wasn’t going to accept anyone else’s help getting through it.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it,” he said in exasperation. “He’s a DEMON. He’d say whatever he needed to in order to get you there!”

Arguing with him was clearly going to get you nowhere. Instead, you stared down Solomon, daring him to continue trying to change your mind. It was a battle of the minds, and luckily for you, you happened to be one of the most bull-headed humans to ever grace the earth. After what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Solomon relented with a burdened groan.

“Fine, just let me cast a spell on you so you aren’t impregnated and obliterated, for the love of God.” His eyes searched yours imploringly. If you didn’t know any better you’d almost think that he was worried about you, but that would be a ridiculous idea. Still, you agreed, to which he let out a breath of relief.

Without wasting any time he crossed the room and took your hands in his own. Low mutterings in a language you didn’t recognize left his mouth, so you focused on the feeling of his hands; they were surprisingly soft and a bit bigger than you had previously thought.

A faint warmth and a corresponding tingling sensation started at your fingertips and soon encased your entire body, the tingling somehow reassuring as it raised goosebumps to the surface of your skin. Your eyes flitted up to Solomon’s questioningly, only for them to widen in shock— his eyes had gone entirely white and were glowing. Just as you were about to admit that his magic was actually pretty cool, it stopped.

The warmth and tingling disappeared, and Solomon’s eyes blinked back to normal. The only effect of the magic that you could feel was a particular humming sensation in your lower abdomen. That, and you felt like you could take on Diavolo himself and win, but that wasn’t a new feeling; an uncommon one, sure, but definitely not new.

Satisfied with his work, Solomon staggered a few steps backward before flopping onto his bed. “You should be good to go.” He propped himself up on his elbows, fixing you with a squinted stare. “You’re lucky I enjoy our banter, y/n. Can’t let you go and get yourself fucked to death, now can I?”

“God, don’t phrase it like that,” you said in a strangled voice, to which Solomon cackled and dropped onto his back once again. Just when you thought the two of you might have grown closer, he had to go and say something as mortifying as that. With renewed vigor, you scurry out of the room.

Solomon’s silvery voice echoed through the open door behind you. “Like what, the truth?”

He just managed to catch your snort before you walked out of earshot, leaving the sorcerer sprawled out on his bed, his chest heaving in deep breaths of air. The spell he had cast on you had taken quite a bit out of him. Now, he struggled to even keep his eyes open as waves of sleep crashed over him.

Would it normally take this much energy to prepare a human body for a demon rut? He supposed not, although it wasn’t exactly something he did except on the rare occasion, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you wouldn’t just be dealing with one demon. There was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Ah, well, it was sure to come to him after he had rested up again. The comforting blanket of sleep settled over him, as well as his own blankets after he slipped under their covers. Right before he entered dreamland, the vision of a glowing pact mark appeared in his mind. His eyebrows knitted together; was this a premonition?

However, the mark was soon swallowed up by the foggy mist of his mind, and Solomon drifted off to sleep.

x x x x x

Never before had you gotten to the House of Lamentation faster than you did today. Just going home wasn’t nearly the same level of motivation as going to get some demon dick, so you hauled ass in record time, weaving in and out of random pedestrians you encountered that were walking the paths around the Devildom. Your friends really were right: you had no hope of making it into heaven. The worst part is, they had no clue whatsoever how true that statement was.

You came to a halt in front of the dorm you had recently come to call home, your hands on your knees as you struggled to regain your breath. It took everything you had not to just collapse into a weary heap on the front steps, but the promise of what was to come was enough to keep you going. Instead, you took a minute to steady your breathing before climbing the steps and slipping into the house. Technically, Lucifer had forbidden you from coming home, so it would probably be best to not alert him to your unwanted presence.

Thankfully, you had plenty of practice tip-toeing around from all of the times you’d snuck out with Asmo to go clubbing. Lucifer would never know you were there.

As you snuck past the kitchen toward the hallway of bedrooms, the sound of the tap turning on freeze you in your tracks. With your heart in your throat, you slowly twisted your head toward the direction of the sound, hoping from the bottom of your sin-stained heart that the person responsible wasn’t who you thought it was.

There, his bare back hunched over the sink with a glass of water clenched tightly in his degloved hand, stood Lucifer. Although the mere presence of the man had you rattled, what he was wearing— or rather, what he WASN’T wearing— made you even more so. He had donned a pair of baggy grey sweatpants that rested low on his hips and had lost the rest, leaving little to be imagined. Little to be imagined of HIM, that is— the sight sparked plenty of thoughts on your part.

The temptation to slink away to Mammon before you were discovered was great, but the temptation of marveling this new side of Lucifer was greater; you steeled yourself and moved toward him.

His rut seemed to have taken quite the toll on him already, as his usually well-kept hair was now disheveled and somewhat damp as if he had just recently gotten out of the shower. A shiver ran down your spine as the image of Lucifer in his shower was plastered to the forefront of your mind. With much thanks to your abysmally short attention span, the thought was easily discarded when you noticed that his muscles rippled along his back with each movement he took: emptying his glass; placing it back down on the counter; pushing his hair back.

Even as he turned around and realized someone had joined him in the kitchen, you couldn’t find it in yourself to run for cover. Maybe you’d screwed up your survival instincts at some point?

“y/n?” Lucifer croaked, his gaze predatory as it raked down your form. Something akin to a harrowed smirk cracked across his face when you shivered at the intensity radiating off of him, yet it was soon replaced with a pained grimace. His hands clenched the edge of the counter behind him so tightly that his knuckles were white as he ripped his gaze away from you. “I believe I explicitly told you not to return here until you received further instruction. You disobeyed me.”

You’d be lying if you said that the commanding growl in his words didn’t turn you on. Hell, if anyone told YOU that you’d just laugh in their face because damn if that wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. Not to mention the electrifying effect it had on your body; it was as if every fiber of your being was on edge right now, acutely aware of every single thing that Lucifer said or did.

You found yourself longing to press your body up onto his, to entangle your hands in his already messy hair and mesh your lips together while you hook one of your legs around his waist to keep him close as he slams you up against the counter—

The purposeful clearing of his throat snapped you out of your imagination. It’s odd for you to have become so withdrawn from reality, but you just chalked it up to it being a side effect from whatever spell Solomon had cast on you. Anyway, Lucifer had asked you a question, and while it may not have been the smartest decision in the long run, you were in no mental state to be pulling lies out of your ass. “Mammon asked me to come over and help him.”

“Oh really? So you’ve discovered our dirty little secret, but still came?” he hummed in thought, more to himself than to you. Some switch must have flipped in him as he had gone from very obviously holding himself back to slowly stalking toward you with a wolfish glint in his eyes. It was at that moment that your survival instincts kicked in and you took two small steps back for every one Lucifer took forward. Sadly, you seemed to have walked further into the kitchen than you had originally thought you did and soon found yourself pressed along the center table with nowhere else to run from the demon in front of you.

A pink tongue darted out from his mouth, wetting the bottom lip that it dragged along. Lucifer had you right where he wanted you. It took a total of three steps for him to close the gap between you two, his arms resting on either side of you to cage you in. Desire flickered in his half-lidded eyes as he stared you down. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here?”

You hummed in response, too fixated on how alluring his slightly-parted, flushed lips looked. Due to your intense focus on said lips, you didn’t miss how the corners of his mouth quirked up before he leaned forward and out of your sight. Your breath caught in your throat as his heated breath fanned out across your neck while he spoke. “You’re lucky that you ran into myself and not one of my brothers. Unlike them,” his hips met yours and instantly began to slowly roll, “I can control myself.”

The hardness of his length and the waver in his tone seemed to suggest otherwise.

A devious thought pushed itself to the forefront of your mind, one that you were all too willing to go along with. One of your hands ghosted down his chest, your nails lightly scratching his pale skin while the other snaked upward and caressed his cheek. Lucifer shuddered into your touch and bit back a quiet groan, his hips grinding against yours with a tad more urgency.

“What happened to being able to control yourself?” you asked breathily. With any luck, you’d be able to get his self-control to snap and he’d take you right then and there. Your thighs tensed slightly as heat shot to your core at the thought.

Then he pulled away and your entire mastermind plan came crashing down.

Lucifer stumbled backward, fingers pinching his nose tightly shut as he glared holes into the ground. Wait, do you smell or something? You could’ve sworn you had put deodorant on that morning. A discreet sniff of yourself reassured you that you did not stink, so why the abrupt stop?

“I believe that you should find Mammon in your room.” He staggered backward with urgency; so much so that he would have clipped his side on the counter had you not warned him. Pink dusted his cheeks for a moment as he cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed from not noticing the counter. Your bemusement was cut short, however, when he fixed you with a piercing look that sent shivers down your back. “I expect to see you in my room once you are finished.”

Unable to stop yourself, you quipped back, “I’ll think about it.”

“By all means, do,” he purred, red eyes narrowing into seductive slits. Even as he backed out of the room, sweat beads beginning to glisten on his forehead, he somehow still made you want to do nothing more than hand yourself over to him completely. “But let me assure you that the actual thing will be so much more enjoyable than whatever you end up imagining.”

With that, he was gone, and you were left with nothing but yourself and your newfound neediness. You had half a mind to chase after the first-born, but the other half of your mind was insisting that you go to Mammon, as he was the one who had called you in the first place. With a small sigh, you headed off down the hallway toward your room. It was a short walk, as per usual, but the anticipation that had once again began to swirl in your stomach lengthened it a good bit.

What, exactly, did helping a demon through their rut entail? You assumed that they needed help finishing, but was that it? Of course, you’d help the brothers out with anything, ESPECIALLY if they were in pain because of it, but it was a little unnerving not knowing exactly what you had gotten yourself into. Thank God that Solomon had been there to help cast a spell on you (which you still had no clue what it did, but you trusted him enough to believe that you’d be fine) because, now that you’ve had some more time to think about it, there was no way you’d be able to walk away from this little excursion of yours unscathed.

You hesitated outside of your partially opened door for just a moment before stepping inside and locking the door behind you. As you turned around to once again face the rest of your room, quiet huffing and groaning alerted you of the demon in the room with you.

The sight that blessed your eyes ignited a white-hot fire in your core.

Mammon was sprawled out buck-naked on your bed, your sheets and comforter rumpled enough to lead you to assume that he had been wriggling around on them for a while. As a surprise to no one, your eyes immediately zeroed in on his hand— namely, how said hand was loosely wrapped around his length and lightly jerking it. His caramel skin glistened under a sheen layer of sweat from his exertions, and his head was tipped back against your pillow as he chased a semblance of relief.

You mindlessly take a few steps toward the sight. Had he not noticed you were in the room yet? Considering how tightly his eyes were screwed shut and how his breathing was getting progressively louder, it wasn’t impossible.

“Mammon?” you called out hesitantly, unsure if you should be interrupting or not. Although, he had called you specifically to help him with this exact thing, so maybe you were worrying about nothing.

His eyes snapped wide open the moment his name came out of your mouth; he really hadn’t heard you enter then. A shuddering inhale shook his form for a moment before he pushed himself up to a seated position and said in disbelief, “You really came.”

As if you could ignore his phone call. You rolled your eyes as you finished closing the gap between the two of you, your hands lifting to cup Mammon’s warm cheeks. “I said I would, didn’t I?” Unintelligible mumbling followed that you silenced by pressing your thumb against his lips. “What do you want me to do?”

Without a word, Mammon’s hands gripped your waist and guided you onto his lap, your knees on either side of him. His hot mouth instantly found your neck, the feeling of his hasty kisses and the occasional nip stealing your breath away. Not staying in one place too long, the kisses quickly trailed their way down toward your collarbone, only for the fabric of your shirt to get in the way. Aside from his annoyed grumbling, Mammon didn’t make any comments about it and simply tugged at your shirt, wordlessly asking you to take it off.

Of course you complied (because why would you not?) and freed yourself from the now-restrictive fabric. No sooner had you wriggled out of your top than had Mammon’s hands begun to roam all over your body, almost as if he was attempting to commit your form to memory.

Everywhere his hands went brought a tingling sensation to your skin. Eventually, one dipped low enough to fiddle with the band of your shorts, although it didn’t go any farther than that. As great as the makeout session was, a growing firmness pressing along the inside of your thigh and the unsteadiness of his touch reminded you of exactly why you were called in the first place.

“Mammon,” you tried, but your words fell on deaf ears as Mammon was too lost in the feeling and taste and touch of you to even register that you had spoken. Fog rolled across your mind as he found a particularly sensitive spot and capitalized on it, teeth gently scraping against the skin which was immediately followed by a soothing swipe of his tongue. Still, you found it somewhere within you to try again. “Mammon, wait.”

“Hm?” His lips buzzed pleasantly against your neck, eyes turning up toward your own.

Your stomach flipped at the sheer want pooling in their golden ichor. “I’m here to help you with your rut, but right now I feel more like we’re focusing on me.”

“Of course I’m focusin’ on you,” he harrumphed, a look of embarrassment shading his features. “You’re a human! There’s no way you’d be able to jump right on in without gettin’ hurt, so I’m… I’m tryin’ to warm you up a bit.”

You chuckled, running a hand through his hair reassuringly. “That’s awful sweet of you, babe, but I’m seriously fine. Solomon hooked me up with some magic before I came over, so I’m all set.”

His grip on your hips tightened at the mention of the sorcerer, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, his hands jumped from your hips to your shoulders, flipping you onto the bed with Mammon positioned between your legs. You’d never noticed it before, but his canines were slightly more pointed than a human’s; they’re all you focused on when a smirk crept onto his features. “You should’ve said somethin’ sooner.”

If before had been the warm-up, then the main event was the warm-up times ten. Your mouths crashed together, and you found yourself fighting to stay caught up with Mammon’s urgent pace. The bed creaked underneath the two of you as Mammon rushed to get the rest of your clothes off. It was impressive how he managed to slide off your shorts without breaking away from you, but you weren’t allowed to dwell on that thought for very long at all.

“You’re sure about this?” His breathless question warmed your heart. Even now, as his legs trembled with the discomfort he was surely in and his gaze grew hazy, he had the decency to make sure that you were sure. You hadn’t faltered from your original commitment once, but now you were certain you had made the right choice.

A cheeky grin split across your face. “I’ve never been more sure about something in my life.”

No sooner had you gotten the words out than had Mammon’s cock shoved its way through your entrance, his hips pressing flush against your own. The burning feeling of your walls stretching to take him in so suddenly proved too much to handle, your body arching into his own as a gasping whine tore from your lips.

For a moment— just a moment— he stilled, allowing you to adjust to his size. One of his hands hooked underneath your knee and pulled it closer to your side so he could get a better angle. A shot of pleasure ran through you as the repositioning briefly caused your muscles clenched around him. Seeing the shudder rack your form, Mammon rolled his hips into yours. Your head tipped back at the feeling of his swollen length dragging against your walls, and he wasted no time in leaving blossoms of orchid and rouge along the now-exposed column of your neck.

As your eyes rolled back at the feeling, you missed how he shifted above you, gripping the head of your headboard with his other hand for support. You didn’t miss how his hips pulled back and thrust up into you, nor did you miss how each thrust following that was just as strong.

Unrestrained sounds fell from your open mouth as Mammon launched into an aggressive pace that left you scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders or back so you wouldn’t hit your headboard. The moment your hands bumped into something protruding from his back, your eyes flew open to search for what exactly you had just touched.

At some point, Mammon must have shifted to his demon form, as his wings were currently curling over the two of you almost like some sort of shield. Your legs squeezed together at the sight, allowing Mammon’s next thrusts to find your g-spot.

“Fuck, Ma-Mammon,” you cursed, the demon on top of you growling lowly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned before pressing a firm kiss along your jaw. “You’re doin’ so good for me, y/n.”

You answered with a keening moan, as you were sure that you wouldn’t be able to articulate any more actual words— not while Mammon kept plowing into you at this speed, anyway. Tension coiled tightly in your abdomen, each thrust drawing you closer and closer to your peak. You couldn’t tell how close Mammon was, but with as ragged as his panting was growing, you assumed he wasn’t all that far behind you.

With every passing moment, your body grew more and more flush with heat and your moans increased in volume, which Mammon encouraged with more whispered praise. One particularly strong smack of his hips against yours triggered the release of a loud whine from your throat, and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. “Just like that, sweetheart.” His lips brushed tantalizingly against your ear, making sure that you heard him over yourself. “Let ‘em all know who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

A few more solid thrusts were all it took to make you unravel, your toes curling and your body arching into Mammon at the utter bliss engulfing you entirely.

“Mammon!” you wailed, all other words escaping you as stars danced behind your eyes. Your walls clenching down on him pushed Mammon over the edge as well, his hips stuttering before pressing as deep inside of you as he could, release spilling into your throbbing core. A groan tumbled from his lips as his teeth sunk into the crook of your neck, the sharp stinging drawing a soft whine from yourself.

After a few moments of deepening his mark, Mammon flopped onto his back and rolled you on top of him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body to gently hold you against him. The bliss from orgasming was now wearing off and was being replaced with exhaustion. Tension seeped out of you in waves as you relaxed against Mammon’s heaving chest, his skin cool against your warm cheek.

Laughter soon met your ears, and the shaking body beneath you made it pretty obvious who it was coming from. Drowsily, you pushed yourself up to a sitting position and let Mammon slip himself out of you while you threw an inquisitive look his way. The eyes that met your own were no longer ones of a demon in rut, but ones filled with total admiration. “What are you laughing about?”

“You,” he answered simply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear while his other hand rested loosely on your bare hip.

Your heart fluttered at that, but you played it off with a small smile and a tiny slap against his chest. “Why are you being so cheesy?”

He said nothing, only answering with another laugh as he leaned forward to pepper your face with soft kisses. His laughter turned out to be infectious as you, too, began to laugh, leaving the two of you giggling into each others’ mouths before he pulled away, resting his forehead against your own. “I’m just so happy you actually came, y/n.”

“Me too, I was starting to get worried there for a bit,” you snarked, the teasing lilt evident in your tone. Mammon scoffed at playfully rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk.

“Sure fooled me. You sure sounded like you were enjoying yourself.” Now it was your turn to fake being offended; you gasped indignantly before turning your head away in a fake pout.

“With this much disrespect, maybe I’ll just show myself out.”

“Woah there, let’s not be too hasty.” A thumb and forefinger grip your chin and turn your head back toward Mammon, who had a peculiar twinkle in his eye. It was something warm and knowing and light, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. The odd look didn’t leave when he pulled you against his chest for what felt like the hundredth time that day, nor did it leave when you tangled yourselves up in the other while you cuddled, just taking time to soak the other in.

Eventually, Mammon gave himself over to sleep, his light snores rumbling softly against the side of your neck as he unconsciously wriggled himself impossibly closer into you. You were just about to as well until two short sets of buzzes caught your attention.

Twisting around carefully in Mammon’s arms, you were just able to see your D.D.D. flicking off again after receiving the messages. Luckily, your shorts had ended up getting thrown onto your nightstand, so it wasn’t too much of a challenge to snag your D.D.D. from your back pocket without waking up the sleeping demon latched on to you.

Flicking it open, you saw that the messages had come from Levi.

come over please. I know your with mammon right now

I need help too y/n, please

You cast a glance over your shoulder at the said demon, guilt gnawing at your heart as memories resurfaced of how sweet he had been earlier; however, those memories were soon replaced with ones of Lucifer, disheveled and leaning into your touch, and of Solomon, warning you that you’d end up helping all of the brothers out. With a sigh, you tapped a quick reply to Levi that you were on your way and eased yourself out of Mammon’s arms.

As you got to your feet, you were surprised to find that you weren’t sore in the slightest, despite how rough Mammon had been. Solomon’s magic really was no joke. It didn’t take you long to slip back into your clothes (granted, you didn’t bother putting your bra and underwear back on because you’d just be taking them off again) and you soon found yourself staring down at Mammon.

You were still guilty about running off to go fuck his younger brother while he was sleeping, but at the same time, you’d feel even more guilty about only helping one brother and leaving the other six to deal with their ruts by themselves. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, you finally steel yourself and commit to your decision, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before turning around and marching yourself straight out of your door. You don’t look back, because you know that if you do, the rest of the brothers would end up suffering through their ruts alone.

#obey me #obey me: swd #obey me mammon #obey me smut #obey me mammon x reader #heat!au #obey me fic #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years ago

Text

"Doppelganger" *Part 24*

Alright I REFUSE to make this story any longer, so the next chapter IS the finale, I swear to you.

This is just one more little loose end I wanted to throw in, maybe it'll come back around the epilogue. Who knows?! I know.

I would have started the "Wedding Day" here but I really wanted it to be it's own chapter, so this is kinda short and I'm not gonna lie if I have to I will make the last chapter 20 pages long to fit the ending in. That being said I have some stuff to do tomorrow night and work the next night so I may or may not split up writing the last chapter between those and post it late Sunday or Monday.

It's worth it I promise! I'll make it worth it.

Part 23

Finale!!

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-------

The next day Rafael asked you to come by his office once again, making you nervous. Especially when you showed up to the Mayor and a Lawyer to greet you along with Rafael.

“Pinguino,” Rafael smiled as he met you at the door with his arms open wide pulling you into a kiss.

“....More interviews?” You whispered as you eyed the two other men.

“Actually, they haven’t told me what they’re doing here yet,” Rafael whispered back as you both walked over to the men sitting at Rafael’s desk. Rafael pulled another chair around to his side so you could sit next to him. He had a feeling this would take a while.

“So...gentlemen,” Rafael cleared his throat. “What’s this about?”

“Well Barba it’s about your wedding,” The mayor replied.

“...Why am I not surprised..?” He shook his head with a laugh.

“Actually Mr. Barba I think you’ll find this visit different from others the mayor here has sprung on you thus far,” His lawyer answered.

“...And that would be because…?” Rafael raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Because Mr. Fenkell here says that I owe you financial compensation for all you’ve been doing for me,” The mayor replied rather gruffly as he crossed his arms like a petulant child being called into the principal’s office.

“...Excuse me?” Rafael looked at both of them with confusion.

“Well Mr. Barba, I’m surprised you haven’t either realized or brought up the fact that the situation that you’re in is called ‘quid pro quo’,” The lawyer explained.

“Yes I know what ‘quid pro quo’ is counselor, we went to the same law school,” Rafael snarked. “And I graduated with higher honors than you,”

“Barba I’m here trying to help you out, I don’t know why you’re lashing out at me,” The lawyer now crossed his arms.

“Baby,” You put a hand on his. “Just let the man talk,”

“Right,” He nodded reluctantly. “Go on,”

“Like I was saying,” Mr. Fenkell pulled out papers from his briefcase. “I assume you and your fiancée here have been going along with the Mayor’s requests for fear of losing your job, correct?”

“I mean, not mine per say,” Rafael shrugged. “THAT would be illegal,”

“Right,” Mr. Fenkell nodded. “But everything he’s done thus far involving you and your fiancé's likeness entitles you to royalties, and dues for services,”

“Well, that is true,” Rafael nodded. “I’ve been so preoccupied with everything else I haven’t even stopped to think--”

“Which is exactly why I’m here,” Mr. Fenkell cut him off. “I figured a competent lawyer like yourself would realize when all the dust settles, that you were indeed entitled to a sum of money, and would therefore sue the Mayor after the fact,”

“Wow, that’s a lot of assuming on your part sir,” You laughed softly. “You really think Rafael is that shit of a--”

“I mean he is right,” Rafael finished for you.

“...Or I’m just an idiot,” You muttered.

“No, baby you’re not an idiot,” Rafael took your hand. “But we are entitled--YOU are entitled for some kind of compensation for all that you’ve done for the mayor--for me,”

“I thought my compensation was getting to marry you,” You smiled sweetly.

“Aww,” Mr. Fenkell remarked, causing an eye roll from the mayor.

“Right so--” Mr. Fenkell began laying papers filled with legal jargon on the desk in front of you and Rafael.

“This contract states that once we settle on a number, you won’t try and collect more from the mayor with some random claim like ‘emotional distress’ during your wedding, or events thereafter due to all of this,”

“...Trauma?” You couldn’t help but laugh. “You think that after everything I went through, I would classify this as trauma?”

“I mean theoretically you could, Ms. Y/L/N,” He nodded. “The emotional stress of reliving your trauma and trying to plan a wedding while on display for the whole city must be taking a toll on you right now, is it not?”

“...Well it wasn’t until you said it like that,” You muttered.

“Dammit Maxwell I told you, they were perfectly fine with--” The mayor began to pitch a fit.

“Oh no no no,” Rafael wagged a finger at the mayor. “Just because she’s ignorant of the--”

“Excuse you?” You crossed your arms at Rafael’s condescending tone.

“I mean, just because she doesn’t realize or recognize the emotional stress she’s under doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have it, and doesn’t deserve compensation” He looked to you apologetically while he re-worded the statement. You gave him an approving nod.

“Right well this is what this is for--”

“And what kind of price tag have you put on my fiance's feelings, counselor?”

“Well if you’ll peruse the contract, counselor…” Mr. Fenkell pointed to the bottom of the paper.

“This contract blah blah blah, no further seeking monetary blah blah blah…” Rafael spoke out loud as he scanned the document. Then suddenly, his eyes widened and he stopped reading, looking at you then Mr. Fenkell then the Mayor.

“...A million dollars?” He raised his eyebrow, skeptical.

“...What?” You gasped.

“....Each,” He added with a smile as he handed you the paper. You didn’t know a lot of the words, but in plain black and white you read: “...In the form of one million dollars per plaintiff,”

“I’m sorry, WHAT?” You said louder than you intended, but that was insane.

“That’s insane,” You said out loud. “I don’t need that kind--”

“Baby,” Rafael stopped you and pulled you slightly away from the mayor and his lawyer. “I know that you get antsy when good things happen to you, but you deserve this,”

“For what?!” You hissed. “For taking a few photos? For letting a camera crew in a church? Rafael I just--”

“...But think of everything before that, carino,”

“What, Nevada? That--” You shook your head.

“Wasn’t your fault,” Rafael finished.

“...Well it wasn’t the mayor’s fault either, Raffi,” You nodded at the mayor.

“But he is exploiting you for it,” Rafael pointed out.

“....True,” You nodded.

“Excuse you two, but I--” The mayor began to rant again.

“And if I may add,” Mr. Fenkell jumped in. “While Mr. Barba was worried about his job, you also had reason to be worried about it as well. Being as he is your only means of support,”

“Right now,” You quickly added.

“....Right,” Mr. Fenkell gave you a side eye. “Currently,”

Clearly this douchebag thought what everyone else must be thinking. That you were just marrying Rafael for his money. So that you could be a ‘kept’ woman. Well, he was about to learn that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“Alright then,” You finally said. “Then I want my share to go to Rafael, if we’re going to be married it’s his anyway,”

“No no no no, Nuh-uh,” Rafael shook his head. “Your share is your share,”

“...But I don’t want you to think that I’ve got some... ‘escape money’,” You gave him a sad look.

“Escape money?” He laughed. “Baby I told you, I think the last thing I should be worried about is you leaving me,”

“....Also true,” You nodded with a soft smile. You sure as hell had not gotten this far working this hard to ‘get’ Rafael to just give him up. Ever.

“Okay then, do I tell you where I want the money to go or do I do it myself?” You asked Mr. Fenkell.

“...You already have plans for it?” Mr. Fenkell asked you. “...Didn’t you just say you didn’t want it? Why would you--”

“Just answer the question,” You said flatly.

“I mean Mr. Barba could just draw up the contracts and paperwork for you to transfer your funds wherever you--”

“But Mr. Barba is my husband, not my lawyer,” You cut him off. “...And I’d like to keep that way,” You looked over at who Rafael looked at you in confusion.

"Not Mixing business and pleasure," You smirked.

“Right,” Mr. Fenkell nodded as pulled out a legal pad and a pen. “Well I can make a list of where you want to divert the funds and we’ll go from there,”

“Okay,” You took a deep breath. “Well, first of all-- obviously,” You took Rafael’s hand. “I want to pay off the rest of my time at Julliard,”

“That’s unnecessary, carino--”

“Yeah I know you say that Rafael, but I was going there before I met you and it’s not your respon--”

“It’s already paid for, in full,” He spoke over you.

“...What?” You asked him with a breathy voice. When did he have time to do that?! WHY-wait.

“But I’m going to need an extra semester since I’m taking the rest of this one off,” You said softly as you glanced at the other two in shame. You still felt guilty about Rafael having to basically babysit you for the past few weeks.

“Yeah I figured that.” He nodded with a smile, stroking your cheek. “It’s all taken care of, carino,”

“...Alright fine then I want to pay it back,” You insisted.

“No,” He shook his head. “Absolutely not,”

“Rafael come on--”

“NO,” He repeated sternly. “I won’t take it,”

“....Alright, fine,” You rolled your eyes. “Then I want a chunk to go to abuela--”

“No I have them covered too,” He shook his head. “And they are definitely NOT your responsibility. And before you say next that you want it to go to Maria, she will never accept it. We're too proud of a people," He smiled teasingly.

“...Fine,” You sighed in frustration. “THEN I want a chunk of it to go to opening a drama center,” You crossed your arms and looked at Rafael. “Any objections to that, counselor?”

“...A drama center?” He looked at you curiously.

“Look,” You took both of his hands. “I know you couldn’t-- your mom didn’t want you---” You took another breath, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “...You had to give up your dream to take care of your family,”

“Carino…” He took your hand.

“And my parents, they spent all the money we had on dance lessons, acting lessons, all of it. On ME. Just so that I could live my dream,” You continued. “Kids should be able to dream their dreams without their parents having to worry about money to do so,”

“But...your dream, Y/N. You want to be on Broadway. How are you gonna fit--” He started to speak but you were nowhere near done with your speech.

“Baby my dream was selfish,” You shook your head. “I wanted to be famous for the wrong reasons. To be adored by the world, to be loved by everyone. But, now I know the only person’s love I care about, is yours,” You stroked his face.

“If I open this place then I can still use my talents as a teacher, helping kids like us. I told your mom that when I met you, you made me a better person, that you made me want to be better. I want that to be true. I need that to be true,” You finally finished with a small smile, tears lined Rafael’s eyes.

“You are the best person I know, mi amor,” He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think the center is a great idea,”

“Good,” You smiled. “And….I want to name it the Y/L/N-Barba Drama Center,”

“....Well obviously after you,” He nodded.

“No,” You shook your head. “After you. And my parents. Because if it wasn’t for them I wouldn’t have found you, and you gave me everything I’ve ever wanted,”

“I love you,” He beamed at you as he kissed you deeply.

“...And on that note,” You turned back to Mr. Fenkell who looked wildly uncomfortable by your little cutesy side conversation.

“I want the rest to be split between a savings account for me, and the other half into a trust,”

“A trust?” Mr. Fenkell asked as he wrote down your wishes.

“A trust for our children,” You smiled at Rafael. “My parents spent so much money so that I could live my dream. I think it’s only fair I do the same for them; especially when I have the means to do it,”

“See those redneck shithead Jersians have no idea what they’re talking about,” He pressed his forehead against yours. “You are not selfish, not at all,”

“Thanks to you,” You pressed your own forehead against his like a love head butt.

“....Okay, so is there anywhere else you’d like it to go, Ms. Y/N?” Mr. Fenkell said rather loudly, trying once again to remind you there were other people in the room. People who were not amused with your disgustingly cute conversations.

“Um, no I think that’s good,” You nodded.

“Split up mine the same way, Max,” Rafael added.

“Rafael you don’t need to--” You started to protest but he put a finger to your mouth.

“I have money,” He assured you. “I have enough money to take care of us for the rest of our lives. This money should go somewhere that represents the both of us, and our love,”

“Can we please for the love of God just end this, please?” The mayor groaned. “If I have to sit here and watch you word vomit your love all over this office, I might actually vomit,”

“Right,” Rafael rolled his eyes. “Well gentlemen you know where to find us,” He grabbed the pen and signed one of the contracts then handed it to you and you did the same.

“Now if you’ll excuse us we’re going to ‘love vomit’ all over each other now,” He smirked as he handed back the papers. Mr. Fenkell and The mayor nodded as they walked out.

“Well, what do you want to do now?” Rafael wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“As tempting as that sounds, I have another request mi amor,” You played with the hair on the back of his knuckles with a soft voice.

“Anything for you pinguino,”

“Well I mean, you have some pull over there,” You nodded outside towards the courthouse that was attached to the DA's office by a hallway.

“...Why, do you need parking tickets dismissed or something? Did I agree to marry a felon?” He teased you.

“No,” You giggled. “But I would like to skip the ‘name changing’ line,” You pulled him closer as his smile grew bigger.

“I don’t think that’s what they call it, but I appreciate the sentiment,” He kissed you as you both walked towards the door of his office and out into the lobby.

“We’ll be back, Tommy,” He told his assistant.

“Right sir,” He nodded.

“This way to the ‘name changing line’, pinguino,” He smirked as you walked down the hall towards the courthouse.

------

--An Hour Later--

You and Rafael walked out of the courthouse and down the steps hand in hand as you pulled the two papers from his hands. One was a marriage license, and one was a form that was filled with boring legal jargon but at the bottom was printed: “Legal Name: Mrs. Y/F/N Barba,” with your new signature on the dotted line.

“Mrs. Rafael Barba,” You smiled as you looked at the paper.

“Oh no no no,” Rafael shook his head with a laugh. “That sounds like you’re my property, pinguino,”

“True,” You nodded with a teasing smile.

“...So why the sudden urgency to change your name, carino?” He asked as you walked down the street hand in hand. “Not that I’m complaining. I'd be lying if I said just looking at your name with my last name makes me giddy,”

“Giddy?” You gave him a look.

“Yeah, I said it. Giddy,” He laughed.

“...I don’t know, it was something that my therapist said,” You shrugged.

“...And what did she say?” He asked you skeptically.

“She said,” You sighed and pulled Rafael out of the flow of traffic of people.

“She said that women who don’t take their husband's last names had one foot out the door of the marriage before even going in,” You looked up at him with soft eyes. “And I don’t want you to think that I am any less than 100% sure of my love for you, and the rest of our lives together,”

“Well, first of all I’d like to see her marriage to divorce ratios based on that assumption,” He rolled his eyes. “And second-- I appreciate the sentiment baby, I really do. Just as long as you did it for you, and not because your therapist guilted you into it,”

“She didn’t,” You assured him. “I did this for me. For us,”

“Well then Mrs. Barba,” He took your hand once again with a huge smile. “Let’s grab some dinner, shall we?” He asked in a melodramatic, fancy tone.

“We shall, Mr. Barba,” You answered in the same tone, making both of you giggle like school kids.

Now all that was left to do was actually get married!

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fanficton #raul esparza #doppelganger #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader

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senorarelojes · 3 years ago

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Pizzaverse artwork and ficlet: 'A Little Piece'

@maiyashu made this really cute and beautiful Instagram post of Pizzaverse Dave being silly and drawing little monsters/creatures on the notes he leaves for Alan and their kids around the house. Of course, Alan shows off his husband's work on Instagram. Under the artwork is an accompanying ficlet set in the future for the Pizzaverse timeline. Thank you dear Shu for your gorgeous (and funny) artwork! Happy Father's Day to the boys!

Title: A Little Piece Pairing: Dave/Alan Rating: General Tags: Pizzaverse, Kid Fic, Fluff

Dave was always amused whenever Alan teased him about being the one in their relationship who was more addicted to social media. It seemed they were both on an even keel; Alan posted more often, while Dave had a variety of accounts across various platforms that he’d lost interest in after the initial posting frenzy. They had their different addictions too: Dave liked the spontaneity of Twitter and TikTok, while Alan for some reason preferred Facebook and Reddit. But Instagram was their common vice, and most of their friend circle were on it as well.

Before fatherhood, Dave had imagined that his use of social media would dwindle because he simply wouldn’t have the time. But instead he’d found the opposite to be true: now he wanted to post about Alan, Paris and Stella all the time, and he didn’t even care if no one outside their family and a few chosen friends would find it cute.

Of course, both Dave and Alan took care to obscure the faces of their daughters. But the adorable things they did were up for grabs: Paris’ first steps, then followed by Stella’s in a few years. Their first stuffed toys. Their first drawings. Dave shamelessly spammed his IG feed with various pictures and videos, and refused to feel bad about it because Martin was doing the same with his kids, and so was Fletch, who seemed convinced that his daughter was a maths prodigy.

Of course, Dave posted pictures of Alan on his feed as well. Naturally his husband was usually included if it was a picture or video with one of the girls, such as Alan helping Paris with her homework or feeding Stella at dinnertime. But sometimes Dave saved a few precious shots he’d snuck on his phone, like Alan frowning at the computer in his tiny makeshift home studio, or stealing a rare moment after the girls had gone to bed to listen to one of the many records he owned. Those didn’t get as many likes and comments as anything Dave posted of the girls, but he didn’t care much.

In truth, Dave would have probably gone on like this if Alan hadn’t taken him aside one night and asked him why he’d stopped posting pictures of his art. “My art?” Dave echoed, genuinely surprised that Alan had been keeping track because Dave certainly hadn’t.

“Yeah, your paintings.” Alan gestured towards Dave’s most recent effort, which was a white cat posing regally by a candle. Even that had been painted more than a year ago, before Stella had come into their lives. “You don’t really post them anymore. Or paint much more, for that matter.”

Dave just kept staring at Alan in astonishment. When they had gotten married and subsequently made the decision to become parents via surrogacy, it had been pretty much an unspoken agreement between them that family and work would have higher priority. This meant their hobbies were naturally the first thing to be sacrificed for time, and Dave had been fine with that. They hadn’t touched the band in years, not since the last time everyone had performed at Martin’s wedding.

But now Dave realised that he missed painting with an ache like a phantom limb, like something that had always been a part of him was now oddly missing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a paintbrush for the hell of it. Everything he’d designed or illustrated over the past year had solely been for work, and that thought pained him like a spike through his solar plexus.

In contrast, Alan - who had always been very driven and disciplined - seemed to have no problem reviving his interests in mixing and composing after Stella had started sleeping at more regular hours. So Dave didn't even have the excuse of fatherhood.

“You should pick it up again,” Alan told him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, before moving on to the topic of Father’s Day, which was coming up. Dave just nodded distractedly when Alan suggested ordering in brunch from a nice restaurant, still preoccupied with thoughts of Alan’s mind-blowing revelation.

After that conversation with Alan, Dave decided to try and carve out time for painting. Although that wasn’t always possible, he did want to show Alan he was trying, so he started with small gestures. If he left reminders and post-its for Alan around the house, he’d be sure to draw a funny cartoon to accompany his loopy handwriting, like a sentient postbox (to remind Alan to go to the post office) or a funny caricature of Martin and Fletch (to ask Alan if he wanted to have dinner and catch up with them).

Alan never really mentioned the little drawings beyond an amused eye-roll, but Dave knew Alan was never particularly verbose about his true sentiments anyway. Dave had learned to look towards Alan’s actions instead. Sure enough, Alan started taking pictures of Dave’s little drawings and posting them on Instagram with an accompanying dry and witty caption, along with the hashtag ‘#artisthusband’. To Dave’s surprise, it really took off among their friends and other family members, and Dave always had to fend off demands from his mum and Sue about more cute artwork everytime he called home.

Since Paris and Stella loved the drawings too, he started drawing little monsters for them on their paper lunch bags, which he would prepare for them before Alan would drop them off at daycare. It wasn’t long before Alan started posting these on Instagram too, and his comment section would get animated at times because Martin, Fletch, Paul, Daryl and the rest would start discussing which creature Dave had meant to draw. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he’d made them all up on the spot.

Having Alan’s support like this, even for his silly little drawings, was more fulfilling and touching than Dave had expected. So he’d really meant it when he said he was going to get art supplies, but more often than not Dave would get distracted and buy Elsa colouring books for the girls instead. Alan hadn’t said anything at all, but Dave knew how to read him pretty well by now. His husband was definitely planning something.

On the morning of Father’s Day, Dave was the first out of bed so he put in the order at the restaurant before going for a run in Hyde Park. His metabolism wasn’t what it used to be, and he’d gotten into the habit of eating off the girls’ plates whenever they couldn’t finish their food. Alan was a really good cook too, so Dave knew he had to fit in a run today if he was going to be feasting on french toast and eggs benedict for Father’s Day.

When he got home, he thought he spotted Alan in the study with a giggling Paris and Stella. “Hello, my loves,” he yelled out at the door, even more mystified when Alan quickly stepped out of the study with the girls, closing the door hurriedly behind them.

“The food’s just got delivered, I’ll set the table,” Alan told him with a too-bright smile. ‘You go shower first, yeah?”

Dave decided to let his suspicious behaviour go for now. “Alright, sure.” He loped over to where they were, giving Alan a brief kiss and a I’m-on-to-you squint before bending down to stretch his arms out to the girls. “Can I get a hug first?”

“Daddy’s stinky!” Paris protested laughingly, while an uncomprehending Stella just giggled along with her older sister.

Dave’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Stinky, am I? How about I make you stinky too, huh?” He pretended to chase a squealing Paris and Stella for a hug, laughing when they ran to hide behind an amused Alan’s legs.

“Just go shower, the food’s getting cold, you lunatic.” Alan shook his head at Dave with a grin before shepherding the girls to the dining area. Dave left him to it, washing up quickly so he could join his family for breakfast.

However, he wasn’t expecting to find Alan and the girls waiting for him outside the bedroom, all of them grinning innocently at him. “What’s going on?” a suspicious Dave asked.

Paris took his hand and tugged him to the study, Alan picking up Stella and following with her in his arms. When Paris pushed open the door, Dave stared in shock at the brand new easel waiting for him, along with the art supplies neatly piled on top of a blank canvas. He stepped forward, picking up the paints and brushes with trembling hands. Alan had gotten everything right, remembered every detail from when Dave used to paint before they’d gotten married and become fathers.

“I had to take a bit out of the holiday budget for this,” came Alan’s soft voice behind him. “But it’s worth it for me to delay our trip. I’d rather see you painting again.”

“We want more of Daddy’s paper monsters!” Paris declared gleefully, while Stella stared at all of them in bafflement.

“I--” Dave just couldn’t speak. His heart was so full, like it was going to overflow with joy and sentiment and his overwhelming love for his family. There were simply no words that could possibly encapsulate the emotions warring within him now, so instead he grabbed Alan and the girls to him in a tight hug, his breaths ragged and his eyes wet.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Alan said quietly, the smile evident in his voice even though Dave couldn’t quite see his face.

“You too, Al.” Dave pulled away to kiss him, then smothered his squealing girls with equal affection.

#dalan #pizzaverse #maiyashu #fanart

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nxrthmizu · 4 years ago

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---

Prompt: ‘First Kiss’

Pairing: Daminette

Words: 1,562 Words

A/N: ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST then fluff

---

The first kiss.

The first, special moment when two souls meet and use a wordless action to express their feelings for each other. Alternatively, it could be a completely spur-of-the-moment, thoughtless, and immediately regretted in the next moment.

Because that’s what then fifteen-year-old Marinette’s first kiss had been like.

Oh, she had regretted it the moment their lips touched, because she knew instantly they were two puzzle pieces that were clearly not meant to fit. She had stumbled backward, staring into Luka’s hurt, guilty aqua-blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation like this, I don’t know what I was thinking...” Luka’s smooth voice immediately erupted into an endless line of apologies. If Marinette was a normal-functioning human-being, she would cut him off and kiss him one more time, because who in their right mind would turn down a perfect, adoring, affectionate potential boyfriend like Luka?

Only she wasn’t in her right mind.

She knew it was eventually going to drive her to her breaking point. Adrien had come to her, time after time, asking for advice on how to woo Kagami. Any other girl would’ve refused to help instantly, steering clear of the repetitive heart-break that would’ve resulted from the blonde model’s constant onslaught of questions.

Why did she have to be so soft-hearted for him, again?

“Do you think she’ll like white or dark chocolate more?” He asked with a hopeless smile on his lips.

She fumbled for an answer, mind drawing to a blank. She had mumbled a random, probably completely irrelevant and unbelievable excuse before running off like a coward, she thought to herself. Before she knew it, she had broken down crying in a park, sobbing the build-up of her pain and anguish until her breath caught and she had to stop to breathe.

“Marinette?”

The moment she heard her name roll off his tongue, she wanted to kill herself for the heart-break she had been causing a particular blue-haired guitarist. He persisted in caring for her, even after she had told him that she couldn’t find it in her heart to love him. He deserved so much more, especially since he was... Well, he was Luka.

Her mind was screaming against her actions, but she collapsed into his arms anyway, crying out her sorrows. His hand patted her back comfortingly in a steady rhythm, soothing her in ways no one could.

“I’m sorry, Luka...” She murmured quietly, hiccuping and still trying to find her breath after her fifteen-minute-long breakdown.

“Don’t be.” He told her softly, fingers caressing her cheek and making her meet his eyes.

The next thing she knew was that they were kissing. And then she was pushing him away, and there was so much hurt and guilt staining his eyes, but she just couldn’t find it inside her to love him.

“I’m sorry.”

---

Damian’s first kiss, on the other hand, had been of a similar affair. He had been fifteen then, in the period in which girls would lust after him restlessly, shamelessly, and without any thought towards how annoyed he was getting. He dreaded the day called ‘Valentine’s’... It was when the girls were at their worst. Someway or another, they all mustered u enough courage (Or stupidity) to approach him in hopes he would accept their... Crushes.

“Don’t look so upset!” Jon chastised. “If you don’t want to eat the chocolate, you can always give it to me.”

Damian rolled his eyes at his best friend’s antics, ignoring the buzz and annoyance the school corridors brought to him. As expected, there was a pile of chocolates and pink-themed gifts waiting in a pile by the side of his locker.

“Take it, Jon. Take it all.” He told his friend nonchalantly. “Eat until you get diabetes. This whole stash can last you for six months.”

“Damian!”

The green-eyed teen clicked his tongue in annoyance, yelping in surprise. As he turned, the girl who had called his name lunged at him, furiously pressing her lips on his. On instinct, he shoved her away roughly, dropping to the floor and knocking out her legs. The girl squealed, taken by surprise.

Students all around started to whisper, as they do, while Damian tugged out a tissue from his bag pocket, wiping his mouth furiously. “Jon, you wouldn’t happen to have a sanitiser, do you?” He snapped, anger and disgust blazing in his eyes. “I’ll have you know that I can sue you sexual assault.” His tone was venomous, and he relished in the pure terror in her eyes. “Let’s go, Jon.” He said coldly, turning on his heels without another glance at the girl, who had started crying as everyone else in the corridor either offered her sympathetic looks, laughed, or just rolled their eyes at her sheer stupidity.

---

Five years after their individual first kisses, Damian and Marinette met for the first time, in the business class of Gotham University.

Fortunately for the two of them, their first kiss together did not involve a girl crying. Instead, it went more along the lines of this:

“Where are you going, Damian?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at his son, who was trying to be discreet while sneaking out, and was actually failing at said sneaking out.

Before Damian could make an excuse, Alfred the great saviour popped out from the kitchen. “Master Damian is going out to meet his friend for a study date, I believe.” Alfred offered helpfully. “Master Damian, I have prepared some cookies for you and your friend to share.”

Bruce spluttered. “A study date?” He screeched. Okay, maybe he did not screech, but he was surprised.

“Yes, Master Bruce. Damian had been courting Miss Marinette for two months.” Alfred nodded with a proud tone in his voice. “You’re going to be late if you stay any longer, Master Damian.” He reminded helpfully, the green-eyed young adult excusing himself with a blush on his face.

Bruce stared at Alfred, gaping. “Two months?”

---

“My dad found out today.” Damian supplied helpfully, munching on one of Marinette’s macarons as the two of them mulled over Marinette’s various colour-coded notes and Damian’s typed and printed ones for their upcoming test.

“That’s nice.” She hummed, popping one of Alfred’s cookies into her mouth. “How did he react?”

“He screeched.” Damian scoffed. “Like you said he would. Here’s your ten bucks.”

Marinette grinned triumphantly. “I told you he would screech!” The bluenette laughed victoriously, the green-eyed boy watching her fondly as he rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Yeah, yeah. You win this one. I’m betting that once my brothers find out, chaos shall ensue. Once they find out, I’m going to hide you underground because trust me, it’s not going to be pretty.” He grimaced. “I’m surprised I managed to hide it this long.”

“Alfred knew from the very beginning.” Marinette reminded him, flipping through one of Damian’s printed notes.

“Alfred doesn’t count, he always knows. You can’t hide anything from Alfred.” Damian dismissed.

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him. “Just admit that you’re bad at hiding things from Alfred.”

“I am not! It’s just that it’s really impossible to get anything past Alfred!” He defended.

“You’re just being a sore loser.” She teased, laughing when he threw a stack of notes her way. “Now you’re playing dirty!”

Damian made a face. “I just gave you ten bucks!”

“That’s completely irrelevant!”

At this, Marinette tackled Damian to the ground, pushing him down. They were already seated on the wide, open floor of Marinette’s apartment’s attic, surrounded by fluffy cushions and blankets, so their landing was soft. That wasn’t what they were concerned about, though.

“Um.” Damian coughed awkwardly, not daring to move as he observed how Marinette was pinning him to the floor, one hand on either side of his face. A blush erupted across his cheeks. “Um.” He said, slightly louder this time.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.” She swatted at him playfully, the male taking his chance to turn the tables, throwing Marinette off him and pinning her down.

“What a game changer.” He mocked, dodging the light slap Marinette aimed at him. “Gosh, you need to improve your aim.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Silence fell in the attic, only the brief flapping of paper heard in the attic. Damian stared into the swirling, blue eyes of his two-month-long girlfriend. If there was one thing that had changed once he started dating Marinette, after the bluenette muttered up the courage to ask him out after their six-month-long, playful, constantly-throwing-insults-at-each-other friendship, it was that he started doing things without contemplating the results like a chess game. In a good way.

In the same way, he pressed his lips to hers without thinking.

When he drew back, both their faces were flushed, red painted across their cheeks. “There’s no hiding this one from Alfred, either.” He muttered after a moment, rolling off the bluenette when she burst into a laugh.

“Cause you’re horrible at hiding things from him, just admit it~” She teased in a sing-song voice, laughing as he lunged towards her, tickling her sides. “Stop! We have to study for our- Test!” She laughed in between her words, bluebell eyes twinkling in happiness.

Both their individual first kisses had not exactly been... Smooth, but to say that they were satisfied with their first kiss together was an understatement.

---

@how-to-fuction-properly here’s your second request! Sorry it took so long :)

- Cady

#daminette #first kiss #request #cady's requests #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #mlb #dc #mlbdc #cady writesss «#cadyh2o

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hazelandglasz · 4 years ago

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Nothing To Write Home About

@lilyvandersteen once upon a time you tagged me in a post, saying that I should draw some inspiration from it

Here it is after God knows how long

On AO3

Usually, going grocery shopping with Dan is nothing to write home about.

Well, except for Dan, who seems particularly excited to talk about the “cocoflowers” and the “fissies” he saw in the supermarket to his grandfather, who usually listens far too intently.

Anyways.

This time around, though, Kurt thinks he will definitely be the home telling the story to his father because one minute, Dan was by his side, sucking on his pointing finger while holding the hem of his jacket, and the next, Dan is not there anymore.

All it took for this disappearing act to occur is Kurt reaching up for the good box of mac’n’cheese.

Damn you, Annie’s.

“Dan?”

At first, Kurt is not particularly worried. It’s not unusual for Dan to just wander around, particularly this close to the snacks aisle, and he returns to Kurt’s side the minute he hears his name.

But as the seconds feel more and more like leaded minutes, Kurt feels a cold sweat covering his back.

“Dan?!”

The basket lays somewhere on the floor, and now Kurt is running through the supermarket, slaloming between bewildered customers to find his son.

“Excuse me?”

Someone approaches behind him and Kurt twirls on his heel. A stranger carries Dan on his hip, a small smile on his lips.

Now let’s pause for a moment here, as Kurt’s brain fries just a little bit at the sight of said stranger.

The part of his brain that is not rushing on adrenaline, coffee and worries anyway.

Kurt may be a parent, but he has eyes (and hormones): the man holding his kid looks …

Good.

Very good.

That jacket, which is the same one Kurt is wearing, what a man of good taste for sure, does wonder for his shorter but sturdier figure.

Daddy likey.

Speaking of Daddy, back to our tale.

“Dan!”

Before going to Kurt, Dan pats the stranger’s cheek in a gesture so reminiscent of his own father’s goodbye that he has to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

“Where have you been?” Kurt asks as he pulls Dan close to him. “And who are you?” he adds, turning to the stranger who is, damn him, still smiling at them with a smile Kurt wants to taste.

Since things can and will get stranger, the man holds up his hand like he rescues lost children for a living. “Blaine Anderson,” he introduces himself.

Kurt blinks. And blinks again.

Until Dan whispers in that not so discreet whisper, “Daddy, you’re supposed to fake the mifter’s hand.”

“Oh, right,” Kurt says, going back to his senses, shaking Blaine’s hand.

That’s a nice hand. Kurt likes that hand.

“Kurt. Hummel. And this is Dan.”

“So I gathered,” Blaine replies, his smile widening as Dan wiggles his fingers at him.

Shit, his son is better at flirting than him.

Though Kurt is not sure him grinning and waving at a stranger would be as cute.

“It seems that Dan confused me for you because of our jackets,” Blaine continues, finally--alas--letting go of Kurt’s hand. “I didn’t even realize he was following me out of the store until he pulled on it.”

“Thank you for bringing him back,” Kurt says, rubbing his cheek on top of Dan’s head. “It’s the first time I meet someone wearing the same clothes as me.”

“Not as well though,” Blaine replies softly, his voice warm and melodious.

If there is such a thing as a siren in human form, then Blaine Anderson may be one of them, and yes, Kurt is waxing poetics about a man he literally just met, so sue him.

“Oh.”

“Daddy, you need to fay fank you to Blaine for faying fomefing nice.”

Dan is frowning at Kurt as he chastises him.

“Right, fank--I mean, thank you.”

Blaine’s cheeks turn a discreet shade of pink, no doubt no match for Kurt’s red ones. “No need to thank me for simply stating the truth,” Blaine adds, fidgeting with his grocery bag. “Um. I should--I should get going. Now,” he adds, tapping his finger lightly on Dan’s nose, much to his delight, “you stay with your daddy from now on, okay?”

“Otay.”

Blaine chuckles before looking up, straight into Kurt’s eyes (and heart and soul, and oh, fuck you).

“And you, Kurt Hummel, have a nice day,” Blaine says, his voice seemingly dropping as he, the adorable fucker, winks at Kurt before leaving.

Two thoughts cross Kurt’s mind there and then.

I hate to see you go, but sweet it is to watch you go.

And

Who the fuck winks?!? And why is it so effective???

“Daddy.”

“Yes, mijo?”

“Blaine is weally p’etty.”

“Yes he is.”

“Much more p’etty than Adam.”

“Dan, we agreed not to say his name anymore.”

Dan nods wisely, looking down at his t-shirt before clapping his hands.

In that moment, he looks far too much like Santana when she has one of her master plans for Kurt’s liking.

“We should invite him fo’ a playdate!” Dan exclaims, his smile going from ear to ear.

“A what?”

“A playdate!”

Kurt focuses on not thinking about what kind of games he’d like to play with Blaine--it bears repeating that he doesn’t know a thing about the guy beyond his name, his taste in clothes and the fact that he is not a kidnapper.

Though he wouldn’t mind getting to know him better.

“Get to know him biblically,” his inner Santana cackles, and he hates that she is right.

“You know what, mijo? That’s a great idea.”

“I know.”

“Go get him.”

Kurt lets Dan down on his feet with a little pat to his back.

Dan takes off running, a dimple in his cheek as he focuses on his mission as Kurt picks up the basket and follows him.

Maybe something to write home about after all.

(Santana doesn’t even give him hell for turning their son into a “dark golden retriever”, but she never lets him forget.

Not even at his and Blaine’s wedding.)

#lilyvandersteen #sometimes i write #klaine au #meet cute #dan hummel #fluff

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athena14044 · 3 years ago

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It just occurred to me that I could be posting about my attempt to read all of She-Hulk’s appearances so let me get caught up to where I am currently

Savage She-Hulk, 1st time with the Avengers, Contest of Champions, Secret Wars, Time with the Fantastic Four, Secret Wars II

Savage She-Hulk

Generally very nice

There was a letter on the letters page of #8 that was from a 7th grader who said that all of her friends and her history teacher (a nun) love it and I- 🥺 Please that’s so sweet.

I liked the secret identity angst with her father.

The weird love triangle (square?) between her, Richard Rory, and Zapper is very weird.

In the beginning they seemed to be going more for the “she’s one person not two separate personalities” but then they were like “actually Jen is in love with Richard Rory and She-Hulk is in love with Zapper” and I do not like it. Outside of that they weren’t really separate personalities? idk

Anyway, I liked Richard Rory, but not Zapper. They talked about how she was his babysitter?? Hi, what?

Then in the last issue she chooses Zapper over Richard Rory because she’s choosing to stay in her She-Hulk form but he is not mentioned again after that. (at least up until where I am but still)

Avengers (v1 #221-243)

I liked the earlier issues but about halfway through it started to feel like the Avengers lineup was changing every issue which is fine I guess but it felt less coherent and like they had less time to explore the characters’ relationships with each other.

Unrelated to Jen, but I liked the issue where Scott Lang and Hawkeye teamed up to stop Taskmaster from taking over the circus.

Starfox 👎

Contest of Champions

This was kind of bizarre. They clearly just wanted their superheroes to fight each other for no apparent reason, which. Valid I guess.

But it was a bizarre mix of famous heroes and completely random international heroes, and I’m kind of interested to know if the random international heroes were big at the time or if they were just putting them in to entice international readers.

Anyway, it has the distinction of being the first Marvel event.

How dare it spawn the curse that is Marvel events.

But also it was only 3 issues and had no tie-ins so it’s fine I guess.

Secret Wars

I liked it although I think it may have dragged on a bit too long.

I like Molecule Man

Wasp kissed Magneto that was weird

Idk I don’t have much to say

Fantastic Four (v1 #265-300)

This is a really bad time to jump into the middle of the Fantastic Four. Everything is happening.

Wyatt’s here though. That’s good. I like Wyatt.

Generally I like Byrne’s characterization and I think he’s very good at emotional drama.

But then all of a sudden you get an entire issue where Jen has to stop the skeeviest guy you can possibly imagine from publishing her nudes. Or SHIELD agents strip searching her while making racist comments towards Wyatt. (Technically this was in Marvel Graphic Novel #18 but it was during the time she was part of the F4 and Byrne wrote it so) Or the constant reminders that Byrne retconned the age gap between Reed and Sue. Or Sue being possessed by hate and Reed demeaning her and slapping her to snap her out of it. Or uh, just the Hatemonger thing in general.

In summary, mostly enjoyable but I occasionally had to chant “It was 1985″ while scrolling down the page in horror. (which does not excuse it but I’d like to think it couldn’t be published like that today)

Secret Wars II

The beginning of the tie-ins in other comics during events AKA the bane of my existence

Speaking of, I read the Daredevil tie-in bc it promised me the Beyonder badgering Matt for legal advice and then it did not deliver and instead gave me a tragic story where he had his sight restored so thanks for that

I did not need to spend 9 issues reading about the Beyonder’s existential crisis.

I wouldn’t mind reading about a character’s existential crisis, in fact I think comics need more of that and less of incomprehensible symbiotes take over the planet events, but the Beyonder. Why should I care. They did not give me a reason to care.

Can we talk about the two times he showed up in the Fantastic Four during this:

1. A very distressing issue where a small child idolizes Johnny and ends up setting himself on fire. He dies, Johnny considers giving up being the Human Torch. The Beyonder shows up and tells Johnny that he can’t do that. He does not attempt to revive the small child with his near limitless power. I don’t know, there was some crap about him truly living in the moment of his death bc he felt close to his hero.

2. To sum up a complicated mess: Dr Doom is in a random guy’s body because of reasons. He summons the Beyonder. The Beyonder attempts to vaporize him but ultimately gives Doom back his body also because of reasons and revives the consciousness of the man whose body Doom stole. I believe this is because they were trying to explain why Doom was in Secret Wars when he was supposed to be dead.

Why are we giving Doom back his body but drawing the line at resurrecting an 8 year old who set himself on fire.

There was some nice Molecule Man content. I did not realize how much I like Molecule Man but I guess I like Molecule Man. He just wants to play trivial pursuit and watch tv with his girlfriend which is Valid.

Enjoy this cursed lettering mistake if you made it this far (Incredible Hulk #278)

#she hulk #jennifer walters #savage she hulk #avengers #fantastic four #contest of champions #secret wars #secret wars ii #liz reads comics #liz's she hulk readthrough

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alleycat97 · 4 years ago

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Star Dust (1)

Warned y’all about the spam! This is an Au version of With Every Heartbeat! It’ll have a few parts!

f!Dakota x Mc (Sage)

Tag list: @samanthadalton @fundamentalromantic @kwaj05 @penda-bear @gay-dinosaur-banana-milk-carton @shows-simp-card @obsessedwithtragedy @stardustmountain @iamsimpforpoppy hmu for the tag or if you wanna be removed.

College graduation had arrived. That previous 4 years simultaneously flew by and drug on for Sage. She stayed local and went to Massachusetts, a decision she was grateful for. It hadn’t been the easiest journey since Dakota’s passing, but she was making it.

She had made new friends at school and kept her mind occupied on extra curricular’s. Sage still lingered around the topic of dating and Mateo and Lennox still called once in awhile, but life started to take over for all of them. However, there was still one time a year when Sage completely shut down and locked herself away from the world.

Dakota’s Anniversary. It happened to fall a day after her graduation and it really dampened her entire mood.

“Sage? You going to the big grad party tomorrow night?” Remi asked a very ill looking Sage.

“Remi!” Carson quietly hissed pulling the girl aside. “You know what tomorrow is.”

“Yeah? The big party?”

Carson sighed and made sure Sage wasn’t listening, “No! It’s the 4 year anniversary of her girlfriends passing. Every year she locks herself away and doesn’t talk to anyone. I guess she’s starting early.”

“Oh for goodness sakes, Sage!” Marley said stomping over from the kitchen. “You aren’t doing this again! This is our last big party before we all go our separate ways!”

“Marley!” Carson yelled at the bold statement.

“Stay out of it Carson. Stop playing peacemaker for her. We are all suite mates and I’m not going to let this negative vibe thing you got going on Sage keep ruining you.”

Sage kept still on the couch, not really listening, but just thinking back to her last day with Dakota. She saw Marley’s mouth moving but nothing was coming out.

“It was 4 years ago! Let it go! I know it still hurts but you’re just killing yourself. You grieved! It’s time to move on! She would want you to!”

“Ok Marley I think you said enough.” Remi stepped in with Carson.

Sage caught the last of Marley’s rant and it killed her to admit that she was right, so she simply met the eyes of her best friends and nodded that she would go.

The next night Carson kept close to Sage, trying to convince the girl it was ok to grieve and to stay home if she wanted. Sage pushed it aside and mainly sat at the bar all evening. Listening to her classmates hoop and holler, music thudding through her core.

She opted for the sparkling cider and mocktails because they were Dakota’s favorite. Alcohol wasn’t Sage’s friend and even it’s wicked power of mind erasing, Sage wasn’t into it. She just sipped her drinks and looked through her albums of her and Dakota, counting down to the exact time she had passed.

“Hey darlin? Wanna dance?” A preppy male voice called standing over Sage.

“Not interested.” She replied coldly.

“Come on sweet cheeks, let’s party!” He tried again.

“I said no.” Sage never looked his way. She wouldn’t give this guy the satisfaction of entertaining the idea.

“Hey doll!” The boy said snatching Sage’s phone, finally getting her attention.

“Give it back!” Sage hissed.

“Give me a kiss.” He laughed leaning down towards Sage.

“You’re drunk.” Sage backed away at the putrid odor.

“Awwww look guys! Is that you and your girlfriend?” He said looking at Sage’s Lock Screen. “You guys look like a couple of bald freaks!”

Sage snapped and smacked this goon so hard his head should have spun around. He shook off the hit and slammed the phone to the floor, shattering it into pieces.

“My phone!” Sage winced out before looking back to the goon who decided to throw a punch towards Sage that connected below her eye. It was a weak throw, mainly due to his inebriated state, but it still hurt and Sage, trying not to tumble and cry, found her foot resting firmly between the goons legs, sending him to the floor.

“Sage!” The girls come rushing over after the commotion, “Are you alright?”

“My phone....” She whimpered trying to collect the pieces.

Carson and the girls helped pick up the pieces and they apologized to Sage over and over while leaving.

“Hey! Wait up ladies!” A man called out catching them outside.

“Listen, tell your friend we will sue if he tries anything else, my dad is a lawyer. Hell, he will be hearing from him anyway for hitting Sage.” Marley barked out getting in the guys face.

“Easy easy. I’m just here to give her this.” The man extended Marley a roll of cash.

“This is $2500?” Marley spoke.

“Yeah. Some to get a new phone and the rest is just to say sorry. Don’t worry we took it from his wallet. It’s the least we could do.”

“Well. Thanks, now scram.” Marley hissed waving her hand in annoyance.

The suite mates made it home and Sage locked herself in her room. She looked at her luggage in the corner all ready to go and then to her smashed phone. This was Dakota’s night and she couldn’t even relive her memories through her phone. Stupid jerk she thought. $2500 wasn’t near enough to fix the emotional strain he caused.

Sage figured there was nothing left at school now, she graduated and it was best if she left as soon as possible. She had to get back to Boston to see Dakota.

She checked her watch, it was late but she didn’t care. She wrote up three farewell notes to each suite mate, thanking them for their awesome four years and wished them good luck. She heard the suite go quiet and taped the notes to their doors and took her luggage with her. It took a trip or two to load her car but she got it without waking anyone.

The road late at night was calm and peaceful. It was just her and her thoughts. She could finally mourn Dakota without interruption. But her eye continued to swell and bother her so she took some minor pain meds as she fought the pain and sleeping urge.

It was a longer drive than she recalled, most likely the dark and her sleep deprived body made it seem that way, but the sign for the cemetery perked her up even more as drew closer to the city. The closer she got to Dakota the more at peace she felt, she found herself closing her eyes behind the wheel soaking up the feeling of her lover.

She was in her own world now, a world she learned to tap into just for herself and Dakota. It was just them and no one else. She was so in tune to it, she never knew a drunk driver swerved over the line and hit her head on.

The transition was seamless, she was with Dakota in her own happiness.

“I’m afraid I have to go now.” Dakota spoke slowly disappearing.

“Dakota wait! I’m not ready to go yet!” Sage cried watching her girlfriend leave once again.

“It’s ok Sage, just wake up.”

Sage opened her eyes and found herself standing outside of the graveyard. It was daytime now, and she kept hearing her name.

“Sage!!!!” It sounded like Mateo. So she followed the voice.

“Sagggggge!!!” Now that was Lennox.

Sage smiled at the realization, “Ok guys, very funny.” Sage looked around but still couldn’t find the two voices.

Instead, a dark figured man appeared behind her, scaring the daylights out of her.

“Ok, this isn’t funny anymore. Who are you?” She said cowering away.

“I’m death Ms. Woods.”

“Death? But I’m not dead!?”

The man came closer and took her by the arm, opening up a portal with two paths, “Pick one.”

Sage pointed to the one on the right first, drawing her into a funeral in session.

The entire city looked to be there. As well as her mother and The Winchester’s. A funeral that seemed like Deja vu.

“Why did you bring me back to Dakota’s funeral?” Sage questioned.

“Look closer.” Death spoke.

Sage heard Mateo and Lennox calling her name like before and watched them this time. They weren’t trying to scare her, they were mourning her. As she focused on the tombstone, the name was her own, Sage Woods.

“That’s impossible! I can’t be dead!? How can I be dead?”

Death opened the portal and took her to the image on the left, “You were suppose to select this one first, like a book? Left to right.”

“Excuse me for not being very literate right now.” Sage yelled as she was brought to her car crash.

“Watch.” Death spoke pointing to her car.

Sage watched in awe as she saw her soul leave the car and rise to the clouds. “So if that’s my soul? Why am I here with you?”

“Why do you kids always ask so many questions? Look you’re dead and I’m showing you it’s true. Now I’m here to bring you to the afterlife.”

At the snap of his fingers, Sage found herself on a cloud outside of a great city in the distance. There was a gate and a man and a woman. One dressed in black and the other in white. Angel and a demon perhaps?

“Welcome home Ms. Woods. I’m Archangel Pariah and this is Demon Mezaya.” Then man spoke, “Here are your clothes.”

“Wait? Why are they gray?” Sage asked.

“You child, are an unclaimed. Unclaimed are typically mortals who end up here and have to earn their right to be a demon or angel.” Mezaya spoke.

“Up the path, the road splits into two paths, stay to the left. It is for the unclaimed. The other road leads you to the citadel.” Pariah said opening the gate.

“And what’s in the citadel?” Sage asked.

“When you are chosen to be an angel or demon, the citadel is an oasis for your own personal heaven. You can create your own and intermingle between others and their heavens.” Pariah added.

Sage kept on the correct path and ended up in a smallish town like place. It was cute and quaint, definitely old, but beautiful. There was hardly anyone about, but something was calling her to a building in the center of the town.

It was a feeling she couldn’t describe, it just felt right, it felt like...Dakota.

Sage entered the building revealing it to be a restaurant jam packed with unclaimed and a few angels and demons. And just like the new cowboy in town, as soon as she entered, the music stopped and all eyes where drawn to her.

A cup falling and shattering made Sage look at the source and came face to face with...

“Dakota.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #with every heartbeat #weh mc #WEH #Sage Woods #F!dakota #dakota winchester #dakota x mc #f!dakota x Mc

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zeawesomebirdie · 3 years ago

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Hey hey! Back again :)

Sorry to hear about your health issues, that doesn't sound fun at all. I'm glad to have you vibing here though, you always make my days a bit better :)

Next time I feel like doing maths I'll make little graphs or something for my fandoms and ships, I'm really getting into the question now haha. But I'll have you know that Obikin is pretty small compared to Reylo and Kylux actually! The biggest relationship tags on AO3 for SW all media types are more or less Reylo, Reylo again (but this time it's Ben/Rey), Kylux, more Reylo (but they're friends), more Kylux (but it's Benarmie), and like Han/Leia in 10th position. Reylo is at around 20k fics and Kylux a bit over 11k, which isn't Drarry or Destiel or Johnlock or whatever the biggest DSMP ship is type of numbers, but they're clearly the biggest SW ships on AO3 by comparison. Anyway :')) but yeah it's always fascinating looking into fandom stuff! We have to do a presentation about specific vocabularies in one of my classes (language student, all that) and I'm 100% doing it on fandom terms, it's gonna be so much fun. (I actually wonder how that sense of "oh that's a fixed point in time" works? I also saw a lot of respecting the canon relationships by acknowledging them and then saying "but it didn't work out" in HP fics too, which I think is pretty nice considering some fandoms attack and bash female characters just because they're paired off with the guys they want to ship, when it's not their fault really - and I lost what I was saying)

Oh I can definitely talk about her here! When I get around to drawing her and feel less shy about being off-anon, I'll send you drawings even :') I didn't want to create a human because I already have lots of those and if you're creating a SW OC, might as well make them a funky little alien y'know? So she's a Pau'an, her name is Cehim. They're the creepy looking ones that live on Utapau, and yeah they don't look very, um, well they are creepy and weird, but I think the huge red bags under their eyes and the ear-protections because their eating is sensitive are cool and I really vibe with them being tall but still wearing clothes that make them look taller haha. I hadn't even noticed at first but they live hundreds of years, which is honestly perfect, because that way I have an excuse to have her see a lot of canon characters and have weird and useless interactions with them and I don't have to restrict myself to a specific era, which wasn't intentional but now I really like it. She's a mapmaker, she creates old-fashioned maps as decoration for wealthy people who want to fill their too-big houses with trinkets and collectors/art lovers (and she also collects them, that launched me into a whole rabbit hole of what kind of maps they would have in SW). In general she really likes the stars, so she saved up enough to buy a spaceship and then left for space, and now she just visits planets that are fun (and not currently at war) and makes friends and draws maps. I think it would be funny if she was back on Utapau when the whole thing at the end of ep 3 happened haha. In general I like having my characters as randos in the background if I put them near canon, important characters, because otherwise I'd feel bad about it (how I love internalising all that stuff about Mary-Sues when I was young!). So she was there and maybe she sneaked out to see what was happening if she heard noise and she saw Obi-Wan for like a minute :')) but yeah it's definitely fun, the universe is so interesting it's a pleasure! It's super cool to hear you're creating some too, it gets really interesting (and complicated) when you have multiple of them and they're all interlinked in some way.

I love Bespin too, I think the idea of Cloud City is so fun? And yeah, I'm just picking some at random and seeing which ones stick haha

Yeah ships have definitely brought me back to certain fandoms too, like I accidentally get into a ship when I was just giving it a chance or thinking the fic was just gen, and then when I pick the fandom back up months later it's because I was reminded of those characters I love and their dynamics. I certainly am glad to be here right now, though it does feel funny to be back into a fandom where some fics were published when I couldn't have read them yet, it's a nice change from the Kylux side for example (even if it still manages to feel old with all the deleted stuff I see traces of). I just love fandoms with long histories, they're so fun.

I actually do have a few questions! I see people giving Dooku the first name Yan, and I could not for the life of me figure out where that came from? People have been asking what his first name is a lot throughout the years, and they either get answered that Dooku is his first name and his last name is Serenno, because he's the count, and I've also seen joke names or that one that starts with a J that's apparently a rumor caused by a guy who pretended to be close to Lucas when he was bullshitting everything? But no one mentions Yan except a few fics I read and some people on Tumblr. Is this a "the Dark Mark is always black" situation, where people just forget what's canon and what's not ? (the Dark Mark turns black when in use but is otherwise red, in case you were wondering, so all the cool post-Voldemort fanarts with a black mark get it wrong even if it does create a vibe) Cause that happens a fair bit in fandoms :') but I'm still curious of where that originated. Anyway. I also thought about something else and I couldn't find the answer either but I totally forgot so uh we'll skip that one :') But thank you for listening to me and just letting me ask questions, it's very nice of you :)

I'm glad you have fun too, I'm always really stressed people don't actually want to talk ("I know how I would react but what if other people are actually cooler and have lives and they don't want to spend time talking to strangers on Tumblr?" you get the idea lol)

Anyway now that I've written a whole novel, goodbye, hope you have fun today (or tomorrow if it's the end of the day, I know it sure is for me)

- ☂️

Good morning Anon ☂️! Thanks for your patience with me <3 I hope this answer find you well!! Im glad this little blog ive got can make your day a little better, that means so much to me <3

I really can't believe kylux is that popular! Going through the tag on here it seems like theres not much interest, and I'm doing the kylux big bang this year and it feels like theres significantly less people than there was last year. Compared to the obikin population on here, it really does feel like they should be about equal 😅 but thats so cool, more content to read for when I can finally stand reading again!! Im also not surprised reylo has that many fics, its a great ship and canon too, the reylos got super lucky with that i won't deny it! I say that like I myself was not a reylo blogger back in 2016 lmao, but let's be real it is cute (but thats such a side tangent omfg I could ramble about ships at length)

Omg a presentation about fandom terms sounds so interesting! Im not sure what you mean by "fixed point in time," but would it perhaps be helpful to use something like Internet Archive to see exactly what xyz fandom place used to be like back in the day? Oh, and there's still places on ff./net that still contain the usual system of identifying fic, I know my old fics on there still say stuff like "slash" and my bookmarks are filled with terms that are out of use today. Im sure if you went back even further to LiveJournal you'd find even more!

Hey, re: bashing female characters just for being canonically with male characters, i remember back in the shipping wars of the Hetalia fandom (maybe 2012-2016ish?) there was a ton of hate going around for the nyotalia characters, which are the characters but genderswapped. It stemmed from this idea that shipping two men characters, but one of them being genderswapped to be a woman, was actually homophobic or smth? Thats not quite the same as what you're talking about, I've gotten lucky that the media I've consumed hasn't had fandoms like that (as far as I'm aware), but its so weird when fandoms trash the women characters like my dude. Really??? Im not really sure where exactly I was going with that but like fandoms are wack and its kinda crazy what people will say

Wow Cehim sounds amazing!! I love seeing the Pau'an getting some love too, they're such a cool species and to live on a planet like Utapau you have to be pretty tough in the first place. The maps she makes, are they holoprojected or some kind of flimsi? Or even something else, maybe some kind of metal relief?

And I totally get that about Mary Sues, i still feel pretty similar every time I make an oc lol. Its hard to get over that, like its so ingrained to be mindful of it and the worst part is, its an objectively little thing to worry about! Fanfiction is meant to be an escape, if someone wants an op self-insert they should totally get that! Sorry, I have very strong opinions on this 😅

Is,,,,is Yan not Dooku's first name?? (After a brief search of wookiepedia,,,,) huh. It must be one of those fanon things then, yeah kinda like the "dark mark is black" fanon. I havent seen much Dooku content in general tbch, I mostly see him in relation to quiobi content. It makes sense that someone would have a good, solid theory or headcanon that just gets accepted, thats how a lot of fanon gets made. Kinda like the obikin "dear one," because Obi-Wan never says that specific endearment in all of canon. Yan def fits Dooku though, like of all the names he could have been giving by the fandom, thats a very good one yknow

If you ever remember what you've forgotten you're welcome to come back! I also feel that "i know how I'd react to them but what if they have a real life" all the time, and I gotta say its crippling lmao. So please let me reassure you, im more than happy to make time for this! I know this is certainly not the case for everyone, but I actually treat my fanficition writing very seriously, so the bulk of my day is spent either on tumblr or consuming canon or writing, whether writing be drafting or constructing backstory or world building. Im lucky enough to be able to treat my fandom experience this way, as I dont work very often, but the point im getting at is im always so so excited to talk about fandom, especially Star Wars. Star Wars is legitimately my special interest too! So even when im not writing im still actively researching stuff, or reading a sw novel, or something of the sort, I basically breathe it at this point and its always so so lovely to find someone who is just as happy to talk about it with me!!

And trust me when I say, novel length asks are wonderful to receive! I love getting to think through every point you make, I really appreciate you taking the time to come here and have an indepth conversation about SW!! Its super fun for me too :)

I truly hope this answer finds you well, and have a wonderful day today!!

#anon ☂️#im really loving these super detailed long asks #like legit #im just reiterating in the tags bc i do that lmao dont mind me #but for real!!#thanks again for the ask #i love hearing from you!!

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andyet-here-we-are · 4 years ago

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I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 2 (aka Nurse Geralt AU)

(ao3: x

Chapter 1 Tumblr Link: x )

Geralt is not someone who is an active social media user. He has never been.

Hell, he wouldn’t even use WhatsApp if he didn’t have to.

He thinks that apps like this make people so accessible, and leaves little privacy, and ironically, despite it’s called “social media” it makes people less social. He has lost count of how many times he has seen a group of friends sitting somewhere and scrolling through some apps on their phone or something instead of talking to each other.

Of course, it depends on one’s use, but from what he can tell, whenever you’re online, people tend to think that you have all the time in the world.

So no, thank you very much. He likes his privacy.

Whenever he says that “Social media is for people who don’t have nothing better and important to do,” Ciri just gives him The Look ™ and says: “Okay, boomer.”

He has no idea what the hell it’s supposed to mean, but he is sure it’s not something good.

Once Ciri had downloaded some dating app on his phone without his permission while he was sleeping his ass off after a very tiring night shift. That little match-maker of a girl.

And not only that, but also she had said: “I texted some of the users for you! The ones I thought you might like. One of them seemed nice, I like her energy. So, anyway, long story short, you have a date this weekend. You can thank me later.”

“Excuse me, you did what?!”

Needless to say, Ciri wasn’t allowed to use the internet for three days after that.

“I just want you to be happy,” on the third day, Ciri had said out of the blue while they were reading I, Robot together —they were both into sci-fi, and reading was a great escape from thinking about all the things going on in life.

“You deserve love. Everyone does. Your whole life is nothing but me and your job, and… You deserve happiness, dad. You deserve love.”

“Come here,” Geralt had said, opening his arms wide for her to embrace him, which Ciri had applied.

“I am happy, pumpkin.”

“You could be happier… If there was someone you loved and dated—”

“Ciri, look. Love is… A beautiful thing.” he started ‘Even though it can be hurtful,’ was left unsaid.

“But love doesn’t necessarily mean the affection between a couple. It doesn’t just mean romantic love. Love can be in many forms, shapes, and different ways. Love of self, of animals, of nature, friends, family… We experience love every day when you think about it. You can find it in everything. Even in a slice of homemade pie that Mrs. April brought us today.”

“I love pie! But dad, I doubt that if a slice of pie can tell you that you look lovely today. A cutie-pie on the other hand—”

“Ciri, have you been even listening to me?”

“…and a pie can’t run their fingers through your hair-”

Geralt sighs, “Why am I even trying?”

“Deep down you know I’m right. Dad… How about you just… give her a chance? For me? Just see how it goes?”

"Is it gonna make you happy if I do that?”

“So happy!”

“And you’re not gonna do something like that ever again.”

“Promise!”

“Not downloading stupid apps on my phone, and not trying to set me up.”

“You got it, Cap!”

Geralt had met with that woman, and they just didn’t click.

True to her word, Ciri never has done something like that again.

***

Geralt is not someone who likes social media.

But there he is, looking at the musician’s posts instead of sleeping—even though he has to get up early as always tomorrow—scrolling through the app, and feeling like a high school girl with a stupid crush.

He reads every little caption the musician had written.

Surprisingly- well, maybe not so surprisingly- his songs aren’t the only thing he posts about.

He posts about random things; sometimes it’s a pretty flower he came across this morning, sometimes it’s a kitten, a book he is currently reading, food recipes, his drawings, things like that.

His account seems like just his personality.

Filled with all the beautiful colors in the word. Filled with joy, and every little thing he shares feels so sincere. Personal.

[I tried that recipe @Brianricci has sent me and it still feels like there are fireworks in my stomach, so here’s a little drawing for you my life-saver pasta-mate.]

That one makes Geralt smile. Reminds him of that day.

***

“I have something for you, Mr. Should Have Been A Model But Became A Nurse For Some Reason. Not that I’m complaining, for the record. The only thing I have complaints about is your hospital’s awful food. So awful that it should be illegal. A sin, even. You’re sinning whenever you guys force people to eat that food. I can only imagine your staff’s weekly confessing: ‘Forgive me father for I’ve sinned.’

‘What’s wrong, immortal one? What did you do?’

‘Oh, father, even bathing myself in holy water can’t cleanse me from my sins! I made my patient eat that awful food, I had to, father! I had to! I had no choice! But I have faith that I can change that one day!’

‘Faith becomes you. Stay with it. Keep fighting the good fight with all thy might.’

God help him this man is so ridiculous.

“Why are you suddenly Anthony Hopkins from The Rite?”

“Eh, just felt like it,” Jaskier shrugs “Your jello is pretty good though, so, good deed point. And your nurses aren’t half bad either, so I heard.”

Jaskier winks at him.

The audacity of that man.

“Anyway! As I was saying, I have something for you—”

“I have something for you, too, Mr. Pankratz,” Geralt says. He has a good guess about what Jaskier has for him.

A drawing of a flower.

He had heard the staff talking about how the pretty patient in room 242 has been giving flower drawings to pretty much everyone while he was walking around.

“Why thank you, you shouldn’t have! You brought some wine for me or something? For the celebration for my third week here? You’re so kind, my good sir.”

“It’s your medicines.”

“…ever the heartbreaker. I take back everything I said. You’re the devil in disguise.”

After Geralt gives him his medicines, Jaskier pulls a scratch book under his pillow and carefully tears a page from it. He gives it to Geralt.

“I thought I was the devil in disguise?” The nurse says as he takes the drawing from him “Are you sure that you should give demons a flower draw—”

Geralt can’t finish his sentence.

Because what he is looking at certainly is not a flower drawing.

It’s a man who holds a syringe in his hand with a kind smile on his face, and the syringe is filled with cute little hearts.

It’s him.

There’s a giant cactus standing behind him for some reason Geralt finds it hard to understand why.

He has seen the other drawings, and they are nothing like this one. This one looks like Jaskier has tried his hardest to make it perfect. Put everything in it. It’s perfect and detailed as if he had drawn it while looking at Geralt. It also seems familiar for some reason.

“—in conclusion, devils are fallen angels, so…” Geralt hears Jaskier talking.

Yet he is too busy to say something as he keeps looking at the drawing in his hands.

“Ooops, did I go too far with the hearts?”

“Hm.”

“Geralt? Say something, please? Oh God, I broke my nurse. They’re sooo gonna sue me. And I don’t think I can afford a good lawyer, I’ll rot in jails, I’m too young to rot in jails, I can’t be someone’s bitch, I’m not even—”

“May I ask why is there a cactus standing behind me?”

“A comment! Phew! Finally! Well, that would be because you’re just like a cactus.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Better than being a weed, Dandelion.”

Jaskier holds his hand to his chest and gasps, feigning offense.

“Words hurt, Geralt. Words hurt.

I meant it as, like, let’s face it, you’re kinda prickly on the outside sometimes, but soft on the inside? A cactus in the desert.”

Geralt sighs.

“And now you imply that my hospital is a desert. How nice. What’s next?”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.”

It’s obviously more than okay, but teasing with the young man is fun, and everyone needs some fun in their lives once in a while.

“If you don’t appreciate my drawing just give it back,” Jaskier makes grabby hands as he pouts like a little kid that just dropped his ice cream, “I’m pretty sure it’ll look good on my fridge anyway. No trouble for me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I’m not giving this back. Too late, you should’ve thought that before you gave it to me. Can’t take it back now.”

“If you don’t say something nice about my spectacular drawing you can be sure that I’m gonna take it back from your hands even if that means putting up a fight.”

“How bold of you to think that you’re in a condition to put up a fight.”

“You’d be surprised. And if I can’t, your other nurse friends and your fellow patients can do it for me. I haven’t been handing out flower drawings for nothing all day.”

“And you say I am the devil in disguise.”

“I never said I was an angel, have I? Seriously though, you have ten seconds to pay a compliment to my drawing. Ten—”

“ ‘Okay’ was a compliment.”

“I beg to differ, since when ‘okay’ is a compliment? Say that to the Italian chef in Mamma Mia when he asks how is the pasta and see if he takes ‘okay’ as a compliment and doesn’t pour half-full pasta plate over your head, and ruin your favorite bee shirt. Also, nine.”

“That was oddly specific. Did that happen to you?”

“Eight, I have no idea what you’re talking about, I was just being hypothetical. Seven, six—”

“I bet he wouldn’t threaten me with taking my meal back if I did at least.”

“Sev— wait a second I was counting backwards, weren’t I? Where were we? Five!”

“Man, you’re really no good at math.”

“Wanna know what I’m good at? Many things, and fighting happens to be one of them. Four, ” Jaskier attempts to get up from the bed, somehow forgetting about his broken leg for a split second and swears: “Ah, cock!”

Geralt barely holds back a laugh at that one.

“Careful.”

“I can still verbally fight you.”

“You’ve been already doing that for the last five minutes.”

“…three.”

“You never give up, do you?” Geralt rolls his eyes with a smile, “It’s a good drawing. I really like it.”

Another lie.

He doesn’t just like it, he loves it.

But even saying that he likes it is enough to make Jaskier beam at him.

“You gave everyone a flower drawing,” he points out “but I get a cactus and a drawing of myself, why is that? It must have taken some time to draw this.”

“A special drawing for a special nurse.” Not making eye contact, Jaskier says so softly that Geralt nearly misses it. “Yeah, it sure took some time to draw it, and my schedule was so full because of all the crazy hospital parties you guys keep throwing that I could hardly find the time, but eh, I managed somehow.”

“Sucks that they never invite me to that parties,” the nurse jokes back. “Seriously though, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I’d like to draw something for Ciri, too. But I’m saving it for later when I can meet her. You didn’t tell her that I’m here, right?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Good! Keep it that way.”

***

Smiling at the memory, Geralt rises from his bed to take the drawing from his bedside drawer. No, of course he doesn’t look at it every day, what are you talking about?

If he hadn’t promised Jaskier that he wouldn’t let Ciri know until these two can meet in person, this drawing would be on his wall already.

Maybe next to Ciri’s painting of a white wolf.

He had considered doing so but then decided that it would be wise if he didn’t. No doubt Ciri would figure out it was Jaskier’s drawing as soon as she would see it. It was signed by him, after all. Not that Ciri couldn’t figure it out without the signature.

“What the hell, Geralt” The nurse snorts to himself and runs a hand over his face as he imagines his room filled with the drawings of his daughter, and Jaskier’s. “What are you gonna dream about next? Ciri being a flower girl at your wedding?”

Fuck.

He is totally dreaming about it now.

God, it’s crazy how much he misses him, even though he doesn’t really know him.

Ciri already is crazy about Jaskier, and Geralt looks forward to them to meet, to see how Ciri is going to react when she sees him. He feels like the two would talk non-stop, and he would just listen to them talking about God knows what.

He would have no problem with that; in fact.

“I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” he thinks.

He wants to see Jaskier again.

(Thanks for reading! Sorry for the lack of Jaskier in this chapter, but it was like:

-So, it’s time for you to meet Ciri!

-Hah, well, I love her, but I don’t think so. Not yet.

-But Ciri-

-You can have me as a Flashback Guest in this chapter, nothing more.

-But my plan wasn’t like this.

-Too bad, I’m my own character.

Let me know what you think please. Have a good day everyone ~ 💛)

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #nurse geralt au #my writing #I Would Get Into Millions Of Accidents Just To See You #geralt of rivia

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starshine583 · 5 years ago

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Le Paon Part 7

(Here’s the next part! I hope you guys enjoy!)

Part 1 / Part 6 / Part 8

Marinette shivered as the chill of the ice rink crawled up her legs and arms. The brown fur of her jacket clung to her pink mittens as she pulled it tighter around her waist.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” She asked Alya through chattering teeth. She knew the staff needed to keep the room cold for the ice, but this was a bit overkill, in her opinion.

“To ice skate! Why else would we be here?” Alya said, tapping away on her phone with a grin.

Marinette’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve never wanted to go ice skating in your life. Why are we really here?”

Was there an event she didn’t know about? Maybe the ice rink was giving away Ladybug merch?

“Come on, Marinette. Can’t we just have some girl time together?”

“Alya, Nino’s right over there.” Marinette replied, throwing her thumb over her shoulder to emphasize the dj currently on the bench tying his ice skates.

“And so’s half the class.” She added, gesturing to the ice rink where Juleka and Rose were skating together, along with Mylene and Ivan. Alex would occasionally pass by in a blurr. Apparently, when you’ve roller bladed for so long, learning to ice skate isn’t much of a challenge.

Alya held up her hands defensively. “Okay, so I invited a few extra people. Is that so wrong?”

Marinette was about to answer when she caught a glimpse of Alya’s screen, seeing exactly who the brunette had been texting this whole time.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

“Hm? Didn’t what?” Her best friend asked innocently, swiftly pulling the phone behind her back.

Marinette groaned, putting her hands over her face. “Alya, I told you that there’s nothing between me and Felix!”

“Who said anything about Felix?”

She pulled her hands down enough to give Alya a pointed look. “How far out are they?”

“...ten minutes.”

“Alya!”

“So I asked Adrien and Felix to come skate with us!” Alya finally admitted, crossing her arms. “As long as you don’t have feelings for each other, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Marinette sighed. They both knew that her feelings towards Felix didn’t matter. Alya was going to create problems no matter what.

“How did you even get them to come? Isn’t Adrien’s schedule usually packed?”

“Usually, but he said he’d make room. Adrien was so excited about it that he actually asked to bring Felix before I could.” Alya explained casually.

So, Adrien’s the one that convinced Felix to come? That was a surprise. She hoped he didn’t force him into it or anything. Skating with them wouldn’t be fun if Felix wasn’t enjoying himself too.

“I guess if Adrien’s so excited..” She trailed off.

Alya clapped her hands together. “Girl, this is going to be so much fun! Try to aim for Felix as much as possible when you fall.”

Marinette scoffed, ignoring the heat that rushed to her cheeks. “When she falls”? How did Alya know she was going to fall? What if Ice skating was a secret hobby of hers, and she could glide on the ice without a second thought?

...okay, so she was totally going to fall, but that didn’t mean she could aim for Felix in the process! Even if she could, she wouldn’t! The poor blonde has probably had enough of her already- seeing him at the bakery, convincing him to join the art club, going to his house. Heck, she practically tripped into him at school on a daily basis.

“Hey, get that nervous look off your face.” Alya ordered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Everything is going to go perfectly according to plan.”

“Plan?” Marinette repeated. “You had a plan for this?”

“Okay, enough talk. Let’s get you out on the ice. You need to get a little used to it before the boys get here.” Alya said, avoiding Marinette’s question.

Before she could argue, Alya pushed her forward, out onto the rink. Marinette flailed her arms, barely managing to catch the side of the wall.

Ice skating. Out of everything she could have picked, Alya chose ice skating. Why not get together at the park? Or take a trip to the zoo? Why did she have to choose an activity that required balance and grace- two things Marinette didn’t have. If Alya wanted her and Felix together, the least she could have done was help Marinette look more dignified.

She hobbled around the ice rink, trying to make it to the exit before the boys got there. Alya was behind her, urging her on, so she couldn’t go backwards.

As soon as she was close enough, Marinette dove for the exit. Unfortunately, she learned too late that running on ice skates wasn’t the best idea. The blades on her skates tilted, and Marinette threw her arms up with a yelp as she surged forward.

She was only too grateful when a pair of arms wrapped around her to stop her fall.

“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose.” A man chuckled, drawing her eyes upwards.

“Felix! Hey. You guys are here. Right now.”

“Hey, Marinette.” Adrien greeted, giving her a wave. “It looks like we made it just in time.”

“Yeah, uh.. Thanks.” Marinette said awkwardly, pushing herself off of Felix.

Alya came up to them just then. “Hey, boys! I’m glad you could make it!”

She then sent Felix a mischievous smirk. “I see you two are already all over each other.”

Marinette choked, and Felix cleared his throat, both turning a bright red. They hadn’t even been here two minutes yet!

Adrien shared Alya’s smile, unbeknownst to Marinette, and pat Felix on the shoulder. “Let’s go put our skates on.”

“I think that’d be a good idea.” Felix replied, hastily retreating to the bench behind them. Adrien followed after him, leaving the girls alone.

Marinette shot Alya a glare. “Knock it off.”

Alya failed to hold back a wry grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m serious, Al. Felix isn’t a people person as it is. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable or he might not want to hang out with us anymore.”

“I see..” Alya nodded thoughtfully. “So you’re saying you do want to hang out with him?”

“Alya, focus!”

Her friend laughed. “Kidding, kidding..sort of. Anyway, I’ll be subtle.”

“Subtle, what? No! Just don’t do anything!” Marinette pleaded.

Alya laughed, as if this was all a game, and it only worried her more. How far was her friend willing to go to see whatever it was she wanted to see happen?

The boys returned a few minutes later, skates on.

“So.. How does this work?” Felix asked as they all hobbled back out onto the ice.

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. “Have you never seen an ice rink before?”

“I’ve watched a few competitions on tv.” Felix said, slightly defensive. “I’m a bookworm. Sue me.”

She snorted. “Well, this is my first time skating too. I’m not sure there are instructions for it. You just kind of.. Glide on the ice? I don’t know..”

Felix frowned and looked down at his skates. “Sounds easy enough..”

“Doesn’t it?” Alya cut in, leaning on one of Marinette’s shoulder. “As long as you have good balance, ice skating’s a piece of cake. Right, Mari?”

At the end of the sentence, Alya nudged her again, and, for the second time, Marinette found herself falling into Felix.

He grabbed onto her, but the ice underneath wasn’t as stable as the carpet was earlier. They both slipped from the momentum, and she heard a grunt escape him when his back hit the wall.

“Oh my gosh, are you two okay? I’m so sorry!” Alya cried, feigning concern as they fumbled to stand back up.

“I’m so sorry for this.” Marinette muttered.

“Is she always this pushy?” He mumbled back.

“Wait, I think Rose is calling me. I’ll be right back!” Alya excused, despite knowing no one had called out to her.

The brunette skated away, to Marinette’s relief.

Subtle, my behind.

“She means well I swear.” Marinette said apologetically as she balanced herself with the ice rink’s walls.

“What is she trying to do?” He asked, eyeing the brunette as she left.

“Uh..” How to answer this without making things awkward?

“Who knows? It’s Alya.”

He tilted his head in a nod. “True.”

They stood there for a moment, not quite sure what to do. Marinette would’ve started skating, but she honestly didn’t trust herself to not fall again. Felix didn’t seem confident either, if his death grip on the wall was any indication.

“Marinette?”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Hm?”

His gaze flicked from her to his feet. ��I haven’t done this before, and frankly, I’m not very good at it.”

“...Okay?” Where was he going with this?

“It goes without saying that you’re not skilled at this, either.”

Marinette pushed aside her agitation towards the comment in favor of reason. What he said wasn’t wrong.

“And?”

He caught her gaze again, and something akin to nervousness laced his tone as he said, “Let’s brace each other.”

Marinette frowned. “Brace each other?”

“Exactly.” Felix shifted on the ice. “We’d simply be holding onto each other to stay balanced.”

Her eyes widened, though she tried not to overreact. Holding onto each other how? Were they going to hold hands or just hold onto each other’s shoulders?

“Won’t you be uncomfortable?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Not if it’s you.”

Marinette flushed, which caused Felix to blush too.

“I-I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

“No, no, it’s..” She drew in a small breath to calm herself. “You said hold onto each other? Like this?”

Carefully, She slipped her hand into his, fighting down the butterflies in her stomach. They weren’t actually holding hands. Well- they were, but it didn’t mean anything. This was just two friends trying to help each other survive an afternoon of ice skating. No more, no less.

Felix squeezed her hand back, not helping her heart in any way. “Yes, that should work.”

“O-okay. Good.”

With one acting as a pillar for the other, they had the courage to push off of the wall. Marinette pulled on his hand to keep her steady, but in doing so, threw Felix off balance. He pulled on her as well, which ended up tugging Marinette against his shoulder.

Marinette yelped, snaking her other arm around Felix's to keep them from yanking each other around.

"I'm not sure this plan is working." She thought aloud, holding back a smile. They probably looked ridiculous to the other customers.

The soft fabric of Felix's coat brushed her cheek as his shoulders shook from his laugh. "Well, it's sort of working. We haven't fallen yet."

Marinette nodded in agreement. "True."

They kept going, and Marinette tried to ignore how close They were, or how her heart refused to keep calm. It’s like Alya said: as long as she doesn’t have any feelings for Felix, it shouldn’t be a problem.

So why was it a problem?

~~~~~~

Felix barely contained his grin as he loosened the laces on his ice skates. Not only had he spent most of last night with Marinette as Le Paon- the tea was delightful. They even played a few games of chess! -He also got to spend the morning ice skating with her. The faint scent of vanilla from her clinging to him still lingered on his coat after they left the rink, and he made a mental note to procrastinate cleaning his coat for as long as he could.

“You look like you had fun.” Adrien commented, sitting down next to him.

Felix forced a neutral expression. “Why wouldn’t I have fun?”

His brother snorted. “Um, because you’re you. Don’t act like Marinette holding onto you isn’t the only reason you’re happy.”

Felix snapped up and smacked Adrien in the shoulder.

“Shh! What are you thinking?” He hissed, glancing around the rink. Thankfully, Marinette was absorbed in her conversation with Alya.

“What if she heard you?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, right?” Adrien replied, an aggravating smirk tugging at his lips. “You said you didn’t love her. So what I say doesn’t matter.”

“No, but if Marinette heard you, she would be mislead. Save your antics for the ride home.” Felix said, slipping off his skates and reaching for his shoes.

“Man, you’re pretty deep in denial, huh?”

He resisted the urge to growl. Getting riled up would only “prove him right”. “I’m not in denial. I’m simply stating the facts. I do not love Marinette, nor does she love me and nothing will ever happen between us.”

“That’s exactly what someone in denial would say.”

“Adrien-”

“Hey, Agrestes!” Alya suddenly called, cutting their conversation short. Felix had never been happier getting interrupted.

The brunette walked over to them, with Marinette nervously following after her. “We’re thinking of going to the park. Do you guys want to come?”

Felix went to decline- they barely fit ice skating into their schedule as it was -when Adrien practically pushed him out of the way.

“We’d love to go!” His brother grinned.

Alya clasped her hands together. “Perfect! We’ll meet up outside.”

Felix pushed Adrien back as the girls walked away and glared at him. “What was that? Gorilla’s picking us up in five minutes for your shoot. We can’t go to the park.”

“Aw, come on, Fe. Don’t you want to spend more time with Marinette?” Adrien said lightheartedly.

“I don’t think you understand. We’re leaving. Whether I want to spend time with Marinette or not is irrelevant.” He replied curtly.

“So that’s a ‘yes’ then?”

Felix scoffed, but Adrien stood.

“I’ll send Gorilla a text to give us an extra half hour. It’ll be fine.” He remarked, waving his hand as if to wave off the subject.

Felix swiftly tied his black dress shoes and followed his brother outside to continue arguing. After today’s shoot, they were going to be prepped for a charity ball, and later that night, Adrien needed to try on the outfits for the next fashion show to get them adjusted. Telling Gorilla to “give them an extra thirty minutes” wasn’t going to work.

He stepped outside, where Adrien was gingerly talking with the girls, but before he could take his brother aside, Marinette called out to him.

“Felix! Are you sure you’re okay going to the park with us? You didn’t seem too excited about it earlier.” She asked, offering him a small, yet understanding smile.

Felix sighed. It was only too tempting to forget about their schedule and enjoy a day with Marinette.

“About the park-”

Screams cut his apology short, and the group looked up to see people fleeing the streets. An odd, blue substance was covering the streets, spreading onto the buildings and street lamps, but not the cars or civilians.

“I thought Ice skating was over.” Adrien quipped.

Felix rolled his eyes at the joke, but ignored it for the time being. If an akuma was out, that meant Chat Noir and Ladybug would be there too. He needed to find a place to transform.

“Oh! An akuma! I need to go get my phone!” Alya squealed, searching through her purse. “Ugh- I must have left in the lockers! Be right back.”

She darted inside the building, and Marinette started inching after her. “I should- uh -go check on her and make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

“We should all go in to take cover.” Felix advised, grabbing Adrien by the wrist so he couldn’t slip away.

They all ran inside, closing the door just before the frost hit. Within seconds, the building was layered in a thick sheet of ice. Adrien tried opening the door again out of curiosity, but to no avail. They were stuck. If that wasn’t bad enough, the temperature dropped as soon as the wave of ice passed them, reminding Felix of their walk-in freezer at the mansion.

“Go find Alya.” He said to Marinette, his breath coming out in puffs of white now. “I’ll search the ice rink for any extra coats or blankets.”

Marinette nodded and ran off, while Felix and Adrien separated to search the rink. Of course, once the others were out of sight, Felix stopped searching to transform. He felt bad abandoning Marinette and Adrien, but if he could get the miraculous, the akuma would be recalled, and they would be safe.

“Duusu, spread my feathers!”

Magic wrapped around him, and he found himself grateful for the feathers decorating his tail coat and gloves. They kept him warm and comfortable.

Carefully, Le Paon crept around the building, trying to find an exit. The doors were his first choice, but Adrien had proven earlier that that was no longer an option. There weren’t any windows either.

“What to do.. What to do..” He muttered to himself. Things were getting colder by the second. If he didn’t get out and retrieve the miraculous soon, Paris might freeze to death.

A gust of wind sent a shiver down his spine, and he turned to find the source. If there was a draft, then there was a hole somewhere. Maybe he could fit through it.

The draft led him to a collapsed hole in the wall of the Janitor’s closet. It was a bit random in Le Paon’s opinion, but whatever helped him escape. The ice probably weakened the building’s structure or something, and it caved in on itself.

Le Paon climbed through the hole, immediately regretting it as the wind chill hit him outside. He thought the temperature inside was bad, but this was numbing. The cold seeped into his very bones. Father was going to get an earful if he got sick.

Once Le Paon made it to the rooftops, he grit his teeth and started sprinting towards the direction the ice had come from. Hopefully, this akuma would have enough reason and control over his powers to take things down a notch. (And by that, he meant turn the heat up a good few notches.)

Le Paon found the akuma a few minutes later at the top of the Eiffel Tower, watching over the city with a chilling smile.

“So, who are you supposed to be?” He asked as he stopped next to them.

The akuma merely spared him a glance. “You may call me ‘Blizzard’.”

Le Paon clicked his tongue. “Blizzard? You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”

Blizzard looked at him fully then, a deep scowl wrinkling his hard features. “I didn’t choose it. Hawkmoth did.”

“Excuses, Excuses.”

Blizzard scoffed. “Are you the partner Hawkmoth told me about?”

He nodded. “You can call me ‘Le Paon’, and if you want my help, you’re going to have to turn up the heat.”

“Yeah.. no can do. My powers work best in the cold, and it helps slow the heroes down. You’re just going to have to suck it up, bird boy.”

Le Paon resisted the urge to snap at him. They needed to work together, after all, and Blizzard’s plan was a decent one. Ladybug and Chat Noir would be inconvenienced by the cold, and though Le Paon himself would be put at a disadvantage as well, at least Blizzard had the upper hand.

As if on queue, a yo-yo wrapped around the beam that Blizzard and Le Paon were standing on. Ladybug was seen swinging up the front of the Eiffel Tower, while Cat Noir was slowly making his way up the other side. This time, however, something was different about their costumes. Ladybug had a silver, hectagon pattern covering her suit, along with some crystal-like accessories and an ice crown. Cat Noir didn’t have the hectagon pattern, but he had the crystal-like accessories. On top of that, they both had ice skates.

..What?

“Th-they don’t look like they’re.. slowing down to m-me.” Le Paon commented, his teeth chattering at this point.

Blizzard tisked and shifted into a fighting stance. “Just shut up and be useful.”

Le Paon bit back a “That’s my line” and shifted into a fighting stance as well. Ladybug and Chat Noir were on them in an instant. Chat Noir used his staff to close the gap between them and aimed for Blizzard, while Ladybug drew her yo-yo back to attack Le Paon.

Both parties split up, Blizzard falling down the tower, and Le Paon opting to climb higher. As he neared the top, Le Paon noticed Blizzard using his right glove to create icicles and ramps along the tower’s edge. It was a nice strategy, but flawed. Chat Noir was following him easily as Blizzard made a clear pathway behind him.

Le Paon stopped at the top of the tower. Naturally, Ladybug did the same. With no where else to run, the two lunged for each other. Le Paon used his fan to try to cut her yo-yo and trap her up there, but the darn thing seemed to be indestructible. So, he tried the next best thing. When she threw her yo-yo at him again, Le Paon caught the end of it.

He smirked when her eyes widened in surprise. Before she could recover, he started circling her with the end of the yo-yo, wrapping it around her body to tie her up. Unfortunately, he underestimated her quick-thinking.

Ladybug threw herself backwards, effectively yanking the end of her yo-yo out of his hands. That’s all it took for her to get free. A simple flick of the wrist brought the yo-yo swinging back around her to her hand. She threw the yo-yo at him again, and he barely missed it as he flipped backwards into the air.

Le Paon’s feet landed on the railing, but the frost covering the tower didn’t hold him as well as he’d hoped it would. Le Paon felt his feet slip out from underneath him, and the next thing he knew, he was falling off of the Eiffel Tower.

Le Paon struggled in the air, trying to grab onto something- a hatch, a loose wire, anything. The wind rushed through his ears, so cold it pricked like needles across his skin. He tried to activate his hovering ability, but it only slowed his fall a bit, not enough to help. Blizzard was too preoccupied with Chat Noir. Hawkmoth was at the mansion.

The ground grew beneath him, and Le Paon started to panic. His miraculous protected him from most harm, but a fall like this wouldn’t be pretty. He needed to stop. How could he stop? What else could he do? What-

Something wrapped around his left ankle, and, without warning, he came to a jerking halt.

Le Paon sharply inhaled, fighting down the pain as he started to swing back and forth. Whatever he felt now was at least better than smashing into the pavement below.

He looked up to see Ladybug holding her yo-yo with a death grip and staring back down at him. Was it him or did she look..worried? Why would she look worried? On top of that, why would she save him? Weren’t they supposed to be enemies?

The worry faded before he could find an answer, and she started pulling back and forth on the yo-yo. Le Paon felt himself swaying more and more with each pull. He didn’t understand what she was doing until a particularly hard pull sent him soaring into the center of the Eiffel Tower, right in front of Blizzard.

There was a split second of shock between the two before they collided. Blizzard had been in the middle of freezing a path, causing his glove to cover them in ice when they crashed. Le Paon thrashed around as much as he could, but it was no use. They were frozen together.

“Unfreeze it.” Le Paon hissed.

“I can’t. That’s not how my power works.” Blizzard bit back.

Chat Noir was already standing next to them, a triumphant grin spreading across his lips.

“You’ve done it again, M’Lady.” He called to the spotted hero above.

Ladybug dropped down next to him, hooking her yo-yo to her side. “All in a day’s work, Kitty.”

“Now, how do we get the glove out of the ice?”

She pulled out a spotted ice pick and hammer- who knows when she had time to call those -and started chipping away at the ice. Blizzard tried to create more ice as a makeshift shield, but without mobility, his powers were useless. Ladybug plucked the glove off of his hand after a few minutes of picking and easily tore it in half. The butterfly came fluttering out, and she wasted no time cleansing it.

A teenage boy was left in the ice, shivering and confused.

“W-where am I?”

The heroes offered him a sympathetic smile.

“You were akumatized, but you’re safe now.” Ladybug said softly.

The boy seemed panicked at the news. “C-Can you get me o-out? It’s c-c-cold.”

Le Paon tensed as Ladybug cast the miraculous cure, readying himself. The ice melted away, and while Chat Noir caught the boy before he could fall, Le Paon made sure Ladybug didn’t grab him. He swung his fan at her, causing her to jump back. Once he started falling again, Le Paon used his hover ability to land on another platform below. With that, he darted towards the other side of the city to find a hiding place and detransform. Ladybug and Chat Noir may have won this fight, but this wasn’t the end. His Father would make sure of it.

~~~~~~

Marinette slipped back into the ice rink as quietly as possible. Hopefully the others hadn’t worried too much. She could only imagine what Felix and Alya did once they realized she wasn’t there. How was she going to explain that away?

She was lucky the air vents hadn’t been sealed up like the rest of the building. Otherwise, Chat Noir would have had to fight alone today. Those cookies she found were helpful, too, though Tikki still hadn’t fully explained where they came from. The note that was with the miniature box of treats was signed by a “Master”. Who could that be?

“He’ll reveal himself to you when the time is right.” Was all her kwami had said, only deepening her curiosity. How did this man know about the miraculous? Why couldn’t she meet him now? When would the ‘right time’ be?

“Marinette! There you are!”

Her thoughts were brought back to the present when Alya called out her name. She flashed a smile, but it faded when she saw Alya wasn’t alone.

“When did Nino get here?” She asked, noting how close they were and the fact that Alya’s arm was wrapped around Nino’s.

“He never left! Apparently, he forgot his headphones in the locker. When I came back to get my phone, we bumped into each other and, since I couldn’t find you guys, we started talking.” Alya explained.

“Oh.. That’s an interesting coincidence.”

“I know right!” Nino smiled. “Turns out, we actually have a lot in common.”

“Huh.. Well, I’m happy it worked out.” Marinette said, her smile reappearing. Maybe this meant Alya wouldn’t question her absence?

She should’ve known she wouldn’t be that lucky.

“Thanks, girl. Now, where were you off to? You and Felix were both gone you know.” A familiar spark came to Alya’s eyes. Marinette knew what she was implying.

She let out a nervous laugh. “R-really? That’s crazy. I mean, we definitely weren’t together, but it’s totally weird we were both gone.”

Alya hummed, obviously not believing a word she said, which was a bit ironic because, for once, Marinette wasn’t lying. She and Felix weren’t together during the attack, and it was weird that he disappeared. Where did he go? Actually, where was he now? She hadn’t seen Adrien or Felix since she got there.

“Wait, where are the boys?” She asked, leaning around Alya and Nino to somewhat look for them.

Alya playfully rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“No, seriously, I-”

“Yo, Nino! What are you doing here?” A voice suddenly piped up.

The trio turned to see Adrien making his way through the bleachers towards them.

“Yo, dude! I accidentally got stuck in the ice rink with you guys.” Nino greeted, separating from Alya to talk with Adrien. Alya appeared to be put off by the action, but didn’t say anything.

“Wow, really? Small world.” Adrien chuckled, bumping his fist with Nino’s once they got close enough.

Now all that’s left was..

“What’s all of the commotion about?”

Marinette nearly jumped out of her own skin when Felix spoke up behind her. When did he walk into the room? How did she not notice him before-hand?

“Nino was apparently in the rink with us.” Alya supplied. “Where were you, though?”

Felix hesitated. “Ah.. I was.. searching for blankets. I never found any, though.”

Alya only hummed again, sending Marinette a smirk.

Marinette just rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, Adrien spoke again.

“Are we still going to the park?”

Alya laughed. “Uh- duh. Of course we’re still going to the park.”

“If you guys want to.” Marinette added, glancing at Felix.

Felix sighed. “Actually, we have to-”

A car horn interrupted him, and Adrien groaned.

“We have to go to a photo shoot.” He finished apologetically.

Disappointment leaked into Marinette’s stomach at the fact that they couldn’t come, but she smiled anyway. “That’s okay. Maybe another time.”

Felix seemed to perk up at that. “Yes, perhaps. We’ll see you at school.”

Marinette nodded, storing the words in her heart as a small hope. He hadn’t exactly promised or anything, but the fact that he didn’t flat out refuse in the first place was enough for her.

“See you at school.”

~~~~~~

Hawkmoth threw his cane against the wall with a rageful cry. His akuma failed again, and he was no closer to getting the miraculous than when he started.

“This isn’t working!” He yelled to the empty dome. At this rate, Emily would never be cured!

“Perhaps it’s time to change partners.” Nathalie suggested from behind him. “Felix is only a boy, after all. Giving him the Peacock miraculous may have been more than he could handle.”

“No, no, Felix isn’t the problem. It’s Ladybug.” He scowled. “We need to find a weakness, something we can use against her.”

“Against Ladybug, sir?”

Hawkmoth nodded, a sinister smile crawling onto his lips.

“I think it’s time to change tactics.”

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#Le Paon AU #Felinette #Felix Agreste #Marinette

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