#anyways. Stares at you. nothing odd occurring here

[tera-starstorm]

what an astoundingly normal human child with nothing strange about her!

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[solar-wing]

⚣ Too Late 💙

⚣💙 A/N → request for @alexanderstarhero! Hope you enjoy it! Also, I apologize for my extended absence. I have a job, I'm starting a new school program, and business-related things keep me busy, but I'm still here guys! I promise! Not sure how I feel about this one. I feel like I could've done better but we desperately need some more Clark Kent x male reader though so here you go. Which, by the way, if you haven't checked out @nouearth, his Clark fics and literally everything else makes me melt and feel unholy things. Churches beware. ANYWAY, Hope everyone likes it! WARNINGS: Magical Male Reader | Angst & Fluff | Childhood Friends To Lovers | SFW |

⚣💙 Summary → You know, one would think moving to a completely different city in hopes of forgetting your past life and feelings would be enough. But fate is a sneaky little bastard that just loves to play with your feelings. Is it too late for a do-over?

⚣💙 Words → 12.4K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💙

⚣ ENJOY 💙

The city lights of Metropolis flickered through the windows of a small, cozy apartment, where the hum of traffic below provided a constant background noise. Y/N stood by the window, a glass of juice in hand, staring out at the skyline. Since moving to the city, he often found himself feeling nostalgic, with old memories of Smallville popping into his mind more frequently than he’d like. Most of those memories had a common thread.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he took a sip of his juice, the cool liquid doing little to ease the anxious tightness in his chest. Moving to Metropolis was supposed to be a fresh start—a way to leave behind his past and focus on building a better, normal life for himself, free from the constraints of small-town life.

Since he was a baby, Y/N had been gifted with magical abilities. How he got these powers was a mystery to both him and his parents; they could never find any trace of magical ability in their ancestry. With no idea where the powers came from, and no one to turn to for help, his parents did everything they could to hide their son’s abilities from the outside world. They tried their best to teach him control, but without expertise, they were flying blind.

Growing up, Y/N barely knew how to control or use his powers. You’d think in a small town like his, people would have noticed or called in the town priest, but that wasn’t the case. In Metropolis, when something strange happened—something that often happened to Y/N—people would give him odd looks, but then they’d move on with their day as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. In Smallville, though, everyone treated it as normal.

After the Kents arrived with their new kid, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, the town acted as if every strange occurrence was just part of everyday life. They quickly shut down anyone who dared to question it, and that extended to both Clark Kent and Y/N.

Small towns were usually known for everyone knowing everyone’s business. Gossip was the native language. But not in Smallville. Y/N couldn’t help but smile a little at the memory of how the line between the ordinary and the extraordinary seemed to blur there. Most places would have been up in arms if they noticed the strange occurrences that happened in Smallville. But in that little Kansas town, people had an uncanny ability to overlook the impossible, shrugging off the extraordinary as if it were just another quirk of life.

Take Clark Kent, for instance. Anyone could see that something was different about him. He was stronger, faster, and able to do things most grown men couldn’t even imagine, let alone a small farm boy. But the townsfolk never questioned it. They simply accepted that he could do things no one else could and moved on.

It was the same with Y/N. He might accidentally cause a book to float off a shelf or a light to flicker when he was upset, but no one in Smallville ever made a fuss, something his parents were very grateful for. There were whispers—there always are in small towns—but they never left closed doors. The people of Smallville had learned long ago to mind their own business, especially when it came to the Kents and Y/N.

Even more so when a bunch of guys in black suits, glasses, and SUVs showed up one week, probing around town and asking strange questions. It had been after one of the more noticeable incidents—a moment when Clark saved someone in a way that couldn’t be easily explained. If there was one thing you could count on from a small town, it was that they weren’t saying anything to those types of Feds or government officials.

The memory was still vivid in Y/N’s mind: the way the town closed ranks, the polite but firm way the locals deflected every question, sending agents on wild goose chases until they finally gave up. His parents had mentioned that it was nothing compared to when that strange meteor hit the Kent farm and a bunch of government agents and scientists showed up—the same week the Kents got a new kid named Clark.

It was as if the entire town had decided, collectively and without speaking a word, that whatever was going on with the Kents—and by extension, Y/N—was their business and no one else’s. The unspoken rule in Smallville was clear: if you saw something strange, you didn’t see it. You didn’t ask questions, and you certainly didn’t talk about it. It was a kind of willful ignorance, a way for the town to protect its own from prying eyes. And in some strange, twisted way, it worked.

Y/N often wondered how much of it was a conscious choice and how much was just the way Smallville was. It was as if the town itself had decided to shield them, to create a bubble where the extraordinary was just another part of everyday life.

But as comforting as that was, it was also suffocating. Because even in a town that turned a blind eye to the unusual, Y/N couldn’t escape the feeling that he was different, that there was something wrong with him. He couldn’t shake the fear that one day, the bubble would burst, and everyone would see him for what he really was—a freak, an outcast.

At least he had a friend.

Imagine the two kids in town who both had episodes of strange, inexplicable things happening to them or around them becoming friends. Completely ironic, like something straight out of a story. Unless...

...

Nah.

But in a place where the extraordinary was treated with a shrug, having someone like Clark as a friend made all the difference. It was as if fate—or whatever unseen force governed the universe—had decided that these two oddities should find each other. And find each other they did, in the most natural, unassuming way possible.

Clark and Y/N became fast friends, drawn together by their shared experiences of feeling different, even if neither of them fully understood why. They never talked about the strange things that happened to them, never discussed how Clark could lift bales of hay like they weighed nothing, or how Y/N could sometimes make things move with just a thought. It was an unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding that whatever was happening to them was theirs to carry, together.

In a town that turned a blind eye to the impossible, Clark was the one person who made Y/N feel like he wasn’t alone. There was a quiet comfort in their friendship, a sense of belonging that Y/N had never felt before. They were both outsiders in their own way, but together, they found a place where they could be themselves, where they didn’t have to pretend or hide.

But as they grew older, that comfort became a source of anxiety for Y/N. The more time he spent with Clark, the more he realized that his feelings for his friend were deeper than just friendship. He cared about Clark in a way that went beyond the bond they shared, and it terrified him. In a town that could overlook floating books and superhuman strength, there were still lines that couldn’t be crossed, and Y/N knew that his feelings for Clark were one of them.

He tried to suppress those feelings, to bury them deep inside where they couldn’t cause any harm. But the harder he tried, the more they grew, until it became impossible to ignore them. He started to pull away, putting distance between himself and Clark, hoping that space would make the feelings fade. It didn’t.

Plus, Y/N still didn’t understand the extent of his abilities, and he knew sometimes his powers would react to his emotions. He didn’t want to risk doing anything that could hurt Clark. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if something happened because of his inability to control his powers.

Yet, good old noble Clark, always perceptive and caring, noticed the change. He didn’t push or pry, but there was always that look in his eyes, a quiet concern that only made Y/N’s heart ache more. Clark didn’t know why Y/N was pulling away, but he never stopped trying to bridge the gap. He was always there with a smile, a warm word, or an invitation to hang out, never letting the distance between them grow too wide.

It was those small gestures that made it so hard for Y/N to keep his resolve. Every time he saw Clark, every time Clark reached out, Y/N was reminded of why he had fallen for him in the first place. Clark was kind, selfless, and endlessly patient—the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back without a second thought. How could Y/N not fall in love with someone like that?

But that love was exactly what made Y/N so afraid. The more he cared about Clark, the more he feared losing him, either because of his uncontrolled magic or because of the feelings he couldn’t keep buried forever. He knew that if he stayed in Smallville, if he stayed close to Clark, something would eventually slip. Maybe he’d accidentally reveal his powers, or maybe his feelings would come spilling out in a moment of weakness. Either way, Y/N was sure that it would end with Clark looking at him differently, seeing him as something strange, something other.

Thankfully, the age of adulthood and high school graduation came, and Y/N took that as his way out. His parents were as worried as ever about him moving to a college so far away, but he reassured them he’d be fine.

He decided on college in New York, thinking the change from small town to big city was exactly what he needed. At least there, it made sense for people to turn a blind eye to whatever strange things were going on around them.

But even throughout his years of undergrad, Y/N could never shake the memories of Smallville, and more specifically, he could never forget Clark. No matter how much distance he put between them, the memories of their friendship lingered, haunting him in the quiet moments when he was alone. He would often catch himself thinking about Clark—wondering what he was doing, if he was still in Smallville, if he had moved on with his life the way Y/N had tried to.

Y/N thought that maybe, over time, those feelings would fade, that he would move on and forget the boy who had once meant everything to him. But they never did. Even in the crowded, bustling city of New York, where life moved at a breakneck pace and there was always something new to distract him, Y/N found his thoughts drifting back to Clark.

He tried dating other people, hoping that maybe if he found someone else, someone who wasn’t Clark, it would help him move on. But it never worked. No one else could compare to the boy who had always been there for him, who had seen him at his worst and never judged him for it. Every relationship ended the same way, with Y/N feeling like he was chasing something he could never have, like he was trying to fill a void that only Clark could fill.

Then, after graduation, Y/N was offered a job in Metropolis. It was a great opportunity, the kind of offer he couldn’t turn down. It wasn’t too far from where he was already living, but he figured a new change of scenery couldn’t be too bad.

Plus, he wanted to check out the rumors he’d heard of some sort of superhero who had started making headlines in Metropolis. The stories seemed almost too wild to believe—a man with superhuman strength, speed, and the ability to fly, saving people and fighting crime in the heart of the city. It was the kind of thing that would have been dismissed as tabloid nonsense anywhere else, but Y/N knew better. If there was one thing Smallville had taught him, it was that the extraordinary often hid in plain sight.

So, with a mix of curiosity and the desire for a fresh start, Y/N packed his bags and moved to Metropolis. He found a small, cozy apartment in a quieter part of the city, close enough to the action but far enough to avoid the chaos. The job was great—challenging, fulfilling, and exactly what he needed to take his mind off things. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was still running, still trying to outrun the shadow of his past.

Despite his attempts to leave his old life behind, Y/N couldn’t completely ignore his powers. He had spent too long hiding them, too long fearing them, but deep down, he believed that if he had these abilities, he should use them for good. In Smallville, he had been careful, using his magic only when absolutely necessary, but here in Metropolis, he found himself with more opportunities to help in small, subtle ways.

He’d mend a broken bike chain with a whisper of an incantation or quietly heal a scraped knee when no one was looking. He’d use his magic to nudge a stray cat away from traffic or to coax a wilting plant back to life. He was always careful, always discreet, making sure that no one noticed the little miracles he performed. It was his way of giving back, of using the gifts he had been given to make the world around him just a little bit better.

But there were times when he couldn’t help but step in and do more.

One evening, he walked past a small, family-owned bookstore that he had become fond of. The owner, an elderly man who had run the shop for decades, was sitting behind the counter with a look of deep worry on his face. Over the weeks, Y/N had noticed the shelves becoming sparser, and the customers fewer. The man had confided in Y/N once, mentioning how the business was struggling, how the bills were piling up, and how he feared he might lose the store if things didn’t turn around soon.

Y/N couldn’t bear to see the man lose everything he had worked so hard to build. So, that night, under the cover of darkness, Y/N returned to the bookstore. He stood outside the shop, focusing his energy on the building, weaving a spell that would attract more customers and give the store a sense of warmth and welcoming. He whispered incantations for prosperity and good fortune, sending out waves of magic that would subtly influence the minds of those who passed by, drawing them in with an inexplicable urge to browse and buy.

Over the next few days, Y/N was delighted to see the shop bustling with customers. The owner’s smile returned, and the store was once again filled with the chatter of people and the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the corner. The shelves began to fill up again, and the old man even had to hire an assistant to help him manage the increasing business.

Another time, he found himself playing guardian angel when he was walking home from work one night and spotted a young woman on the opposite side of the street, her pace quickening as she noticed a group of men following her. Y/N’s heart raced, and he quickly assessed the situation. He couldn’t confront them directly—he wasn’t a superhero—but he could help in other ways.

A few thoughts and concentrated focus, and suddenly a series of events unfolded: a nearby street light flickered and went out, casting the area in shadow; a loud crash from behind pulled the men's attention away from her; a gentle breeze nudged her toward a more populated, well-lit area. With the streetlight out, it gave her natural cover long enough to slip out of sight and into the safety of a nearby diner, the sound of her heels muffled by Y/N’s magic.

Y/N watched from a distance, relieved when the woman was safe inside, her would-be attackers now lost and confused. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like that, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Recently, he visited a local hospital where a friend’s child was being treated. The doctors were worried; the illness wasn’t responding to treatment, and the prognosis was grim. Y/N spent hours by the child’s bedside, speaking softly to him, holding his hand. When no one was looking, he let his magic flow through him, just a touch, just enough to help the child’s body fight back.

The next morning, the doctors were stunned by the sudden improvement. They couldn’t explain it, chalked it up to a miracle or a sudden turn of fate, but Y/N knew better. He slipped away before anyone could question it, leaving behind only a whispered prayer of thanks for the child’s recovery.

Y/N never took credit for any of his acts. And while they weren’t grand, weren’t the stuff of legends, they were enough to give him a sense of purpose, a way to use his gifts without drawing too much attention. He was careful, always careful, to remain in the shadows, to let the world think these small miracles were just coincidences, nothing more.

But now, standing in his apartment, staring out at the city skyline, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like he was right back where he started. The memories of Smallville were stronger than ever, and the loneliness he had tried so hard to escape felt more suffocating in this big city than it ever had in the small town.

It had been years since he left, but the memories of that quiet town still lingered in his mind, especially the memories of Clark Kent. He just couldn’t figure out why they had suddenly become so strong. Maybe it was the time of year, or maybe it was because he had been thinking about how he used his magic to help people in Metropolis—something that Clark would surely approve of, even if he never knew about it.

Or maybe it was because, despite everything he had done to distance himself, Clark had always been there, a constant presence in his thoughts, no matter how much Y/N tried to move on.

He took another sip of his juice, the cool liquid doing little to ease the tightness in his chest. He hadn’t seen Clark in years, hadn’t heard from him since he left Smallville, but the feelings he had for his old friend hadn’t faded. If anything, they had only grown stronger, deepening with time and distance. And that was what scared him the most—how much he still cared, how much he still missed him.

Y/N set his glass down on the windowsill, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shake off the nostalgia. He had a new life now, a good life, and he couldn’t afford to dwell on the past. Clark was probably living his own life, happy and successful, just as Y/N was trying to do.

But the more he tried to push the memories away, the more they clung to him, like shadows that refused to disappear. He sighed, turning his gaze out the window, hoping that the familiar sight of the city would ground him, would remind him of the new path he had chosen.

The city lights twinkled in the distance, a sea of illumination against the darkened sky. Y/N’s eyes scanned the skyline absently, taking in the familiar sights he had grown accustomed to since moving to Metropolis. But something caught his eye, something unusual that made his breath catch in his throat.

High above the city, a figure streaked across the sky, moving with impossible speed and grace. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the red and blue blur—a sight that had become increasingly familiar to the citizens of Metropolis. It was Superman.

Y/N watched, mesmerized, as the figure soared through the night, his movements precise and powerful. But as he watched, a strange sensation began to creep over him, a feeling that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn’t just awe or admiration—though those feelings were there, too—it was something deeper, something unsettling.

There was something about Superman, something in the way he moved, in the way he seemed to command the air around him, that tugged at the edges of Y/N’s consciousness. It was as if some hidden part of him recognized the hero in the sky, even though he knew that was impossible. He had never met Superman, had never been anywhere near him. And yet…

Y/N pressed his hand against the cool glass of the window, his heart pounding in his chest. His magic, usually so controlled, began to stir, responding to the swirl of emotions inside him. The sensation was both familiar and alien, a strange mix of nostalgia and unease that made his chest tighten.

As he watched Superman disappear into the distance, Y/N couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had settled over him. It was as if the presence of the hero had awakened something inside him, something that had been dormant for years. And with that awakening came a sense of foreboding, a nagging feeling that his past was not as far behind him as he had hoped.

Y/N tore his gaze away from the window, trying to dispel the uneasy feeling that had taken root in his chest. But even as he turned away, the sense of familiarity lingered, haunting him like a ghost from a life he had tried so hard to leave behind.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but the image of Superman remained burned into his mind, along with the inexplicable sense that something—someone—was drawing him back into a world he thought he had escaped.

And deep down, Y/N knew that this was only the beginning.

The grand ballroom of the Metropolis City Hall buzzed with chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. The charity event his job was sponsoring was in full swing, a glamorous affair with the city’s elite mingling and donating to a worthy cause. Y/N stood near the edge of the room, awkwardly holding a glass of water and wondering how quickly he could make a polite escape.

This wasn’t exactly his scene. Networking? Sure. Small talk? Not so much. Especially with these tone-deaf, overly stiff airheads.  He glanced around, trying to locate the nearest exit, but the sea of people made it difficult. And just when he thought found a suitable path of escape, a waiter with a tray of hors d'oeuvres suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Crab cake?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Y/N mumbled, sidestepping the tray, only to nearly collide with a woman in a sequined dress who was clearly on a mission to get to the bar. He offered a quick apology and finally made it to a quiet corner, where he could breathe again.

As he scanned the room, his thoughts drifted back to last night and a certain caped superhero. His curiosity combined with the still overwhelming feelings of longing and nostalgia had the magic in him feeling antsy. And the last thing Y/N needed was to accidentally cause a chandelier to implode or a champagne glass to refill itself endlessly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself, not wanting to make a big scene considering he wanted to make a hasty and sneaky exit. As he opened his eyes, Y/N forced his thoughts away from Superman, away from the strange connection he’d felt the night before. He needed to focus on the present, on getting through this evening without incident.

Y/N sighed, taking a sip of his water. This was supposed to be a fresh start. The past was behind him, and he needed to keep it that way.

But fate, as it often does, had other plans. Little sneaky bastard.

Just as he was about to make a break for the exit, Y/N’s eyes caught sight of someone across the room, and his heart nearly stopped. There, standing by the dessert table with a bemused expression, was Clark Kent.

Of course, Clark would be standing around looking lost with his cute little confused expression. Even now as a grown man, Clark managed to keep his boyish and innocent demeanor. Y/N’s mouth went dry as his eyes took in the sight of the male—older, more polished, and just as big as ever.

Since they were little, Clark always stood out among the other kids for his build and height alone. And it looks like that didn't change with the way he towered over everyone in the room and how his broad shoulders filled out his suit perfectly, the fabric clinging just right in all the places that mattered. Y/N felt a familiar flutter in his chest, a mix of nostalgia and something more complicated that he’d been trying to ignore for years.

Clark, as if sensing someone’s gaze on him, looked up from the dessert table. His eyes, those same bright blue eyes that Y/N remembered so well, scanned the room briefly before landing directly on him. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he considered ducking behind the nearest potted plant.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Y/N could feel his pulse in his throat, and for a second, he entertained the idea of hiding behind the nearest potted plant.

But then Clark’s face lit up with a grin that could have powered the entire room, and he started making his way over, weaving through the crowd with the kind of determined politeness that only Clark could pull off.

Panic set in, and Y/N’s mind scrambled for a plan, but his feet were rooted to the spot, his body betraying him. All he could do was watch as Clark closed the distance between them, that familiar grin never leaving his face.

“Y/N!” Clark’s voice was as warm and friendly as Y/N remembered, and before he knew it, he was being pulled into a hug that was just as firm and comforting as it had always been.

Y/N stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected embrace. When Clark finally pulled back, still keeping a hand on Y/N’s shoulder as if afraid he might vanish, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the slight smudge of chocolate on Clark’s tie. It was such a Clark thing to have—always a little messy, always endearing.

“Clark,” Y/N managed to say, his voice coming out more breathless than he intended. “It’s been a while.”

Clark beamed at him, the smile reaching his eyes in that way that always made Y/N feel like everything was going to be okay. “Yeah, it really has,” Clark said, his tone filled with a warmth that made Y/N’s heart ache with memories of simpler times. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the Smallville backdrop.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, trying to keep things light despite the sudden rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “Yeah, I guess we’ve both changed a bit.”

Clark’s gaze lingered on Y/N’s face, a mix of curiosity and concern in his eyes. It was clear that Clark had questions, but to his credit, he didn’t push. Instead, he gave Y/N one of those easy, reassuring smiles that had always been able to calm him down. “I’m really glad to see you again. I’ve missed you, Y/N.”

There it was—the punch to the gut that Y/N had been dreading. He had missed Clark too, more than he wanted to admit. But standing here, face-to-face with him after all these years, all those old fears and feelings began to resurface. The fear of Clark discovering the truth about his powers, about his feelings. The fear of losing the one person who had always meant the most to him.

“I’ve missed you too,” Y/N said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It was the truth, but saying it out loud made the tightness in his chest even worse.

Clark’s smile softened, and for a brief moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room. Y/N could almost believe that they could pick up where they left off, that everything could go back to the way it was. But deep down, he knew it could never be that simple.

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed slightly, a familiar look of concern flickering across his face. “You okay? You seem a little… off.”

Y/N forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as strained as it felt. “I’m fine, just—uh—surprised, I guess. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, surprise!” Clark laughed with his usual shy manner that was somehow still charming for Y/N’s frayed nerves. “I’ve been working at the Daily Planet. Moved to Metropolis not too long ago. How about you? What brings you here?”

“Work,” Y/N answered quickly, trying to keep the conversation light. “Got a job offer I couldn’t turn down.”

Clark nodded, his eyes never leaving Y/N. It was as if he was trying to read him, to figure out what was going on beneath the surface. For a moment, Y/N was afraid that Clark could see right through him, could see the turmoil and conflict he was struggling with.

But then, the moment passed, and Clark was smiling again, his expression softening.

Y/N cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts away from the past and back to the present. "So, the Daily Planet, huh? That’s a pretty big deal," he said, trying to keep the conversation light.

Clark’s eyes lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! It’s been a dream come true. And the best part? I get to work with some amazing people—Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen. They’re right over there, actually," Clark added, his tone suddenly turning a bit more nervous. "You’ve got to meet them!"

Before Y/N could even process the idea, Clark grabbed his arm, leading him through the crowd with an urgency that caught Y/N off guard. He barely had time to adjust before they were standing in front of a petite woman with sharp eyes and a confident demeanor, who was mid-conversation with a young man enthusiastically fiddling with a vintage camera.

"Lois! Jimmy!" Clark called out, drawing their attention.

Lois turned first, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Y/N. Then her expression softened into a warm, welcoming smile. "Clark! Who’s this?"

Clark beamed, looking from Lois to Y/N with a hint of nervous energy. "This is Y/N. We grew up together in Smallville."

"Smallville?" Lois’s eyebrow arched with clear interest. "Now that’s a place with some stories, I bet."

Jimmy, now peering at Y/N through the lens of his camera, quickly snapped a picture before lowering it with an apologetic grin. "Sorry, couldn’t resist. It’s a habit."

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. "No worries. I’m used to it."

Lois leaned in, her curiosity clearly piqued. "So, Y/N, what was Clark like back in Smallville? I can only imagine."

Y/N glanced at Clark, who looked both hopeful and slightly anxious. "Clark and I were pretty much inseparable growing up," Y/N said with a smile, trying to keep the conversation light. "He was always the guy you could count on, the one who’d help you out of a jam and then offer you pie afterward."

Lois’s eyes twinkled with intrigue, clearly not ready to let the topic go. "Pie and jam, huh? Sounds like you two got into some interesting situations. Any fun stories you care to share?"

Y/N felt his heart rate pick up. He could sense the inquisitiveness behind Lois’s casual tone, the way she was gently probing for more. She was good—really good. "Oh, you know, small-town stuff," he said, forcing a chuckle. "Mostly just boring farm work and school."

Clark, sensing Y/N’s discomfort, quickly jumped in. "Yeah, nothing too exciting. Just your average childhood, right, Y/N?"

"Right," Y/N agreed, a bit too quickly. He could feel Lois’s eyes on him, studying him, and it made his magic stir uneasily. The last thing he wanted was for her to start asking more pointed questions that might lead her to the truth.

Lois didn’t miss a beat. "So, you two must have been really close, then. I bet you know all of Clark’s secrets," she said with a teasing smile, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in her voice.

Y/N’s stomach dropped. He forced another laugh, this one more strained. "Well, everyone’s got their secrets, right?"

Lois raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the subtle tension in Y/N’s voice. "True," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece together a puzzle. "But something tells me you’re not just any old friend from Smallville."

Clark, sensing that the conversation was veering into dangerous territory, let out a nervous laugh. "Lois, come on, don’t interrogate him on the first meeting!"

Jimmy, sensing the shift in tone, chimed in, grinning as he tried to lighten the mood. "Yeah, Lois, ease up! You don’t want to scare off Clark’s oldest friend."

Lois gave a soft laugh, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll back off… for now."

Y/N smiled, but there was a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t shake. Lois’s perceptiveness had always been one of her strengths, and it was clear she was picking up on more than he wanted to reveal.

"Seriously, though," Lois said, her tone softening as she gave Y/N a more genuine smile. "It’s good to meet you. Any friend of Clark’s is a friend of ours."

Y/N relaxed slightly, appreciating the warm reception despite his earlier nerves. "Thanks, Lois. I appreciate that."

As the conversation continued, Y/N found himself relaxing a bit more, though the earlier tension still lingered in the back of his mind. He knew he’d have to be careful around Lois—her curiosity and sharp instincts were not something to be underestimated.

Lois, ever the sharp-eyed reporter, leaned closer to Y/N. "So, what brings you to Metropolis? Work?"

"Yeah," Y/N nodded, "I got an offer I couldn’t turn down."

Lois nodded, impressed. "Well, welcome to the city. You know, we’re always looking for interesting people to feature in the Planet. Maybe we’ll run into each other more often."

"Maybe," Y/N said, feeling a bit more at ease. "It’s a small world after all."

Clark chuckled at that, his earlier nervousness fading as the conversation flowed more naturally. "I’m really glad we ran into each other, Y/N. We should definitely hang out more. I mean, if you’re not too busy with work."

Realistically, Y/N should have declined. He should have politely excused himself and gone home, putting an end to the whole thing. But when he looked at Clark, saw the hope and excitement in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say no.

All his nervous thoughts and reservations about what could happen if he allowed himself to get close to Clark again seemed to just fade to the back of his mind as he re-connected with him and got to know his two friends. A new familiar feeling also settled in place as well, but not so much nostalgia.

It was more of something he didn't even remember feeling. A sense of ease and comfort, his magic calm and feeling completely grounded. A feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time but something that wasn't new or unfamiliar, a very welcomed sensation and peace.

"I'd love to," Y/N said, his heart skipping a beat.

Clark's smile was brighter than the sun, and though Y/N knew he was in trouble just for that, emotions and impulse overtook his logic. Thus, he didn't really care.

As the night continued, Y/N found himself more at ease, the earlier tension gradually dissipating. Lois, ever the investigative reporter, kept throwing glances his way, but she seemed content for now, her curiosity temporarily satisfied. Jimmy, meanwhile, was snapping pictures of everything and everyone, his energy infectious.

Y/N had to admit, despite his initial apprehension, he was enjoying himself. The company was good, the conversation flowed easily, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was part of something. A small part of him wondered if this was what he had been missing—connection, camaraderie, a sense of belonging.

Clark leaned in closer, a warm smile on his face. "So, Y/N, how have you been? I mean, really been?"

Y/N paused, considering his answer. He could have brushed off the question, given a generic response about work being busy and life being hectic. But something about the way Clark asked, the genuine concern in his voice, made Y/N want to be honest.

"I’ve been… okay," Y/N said, the words coming out slower than he expected. "Moving to Metropolis has been a big change, but it’s good. I’m still finding my way, I guess."

Clark nodded, his expression softening with understanding. "I get that. Moving here was a big adjustment for me too. But you know, it helps when you’ve got friends around. People you can rely on."

Y/N smiled at that, a warmth spreading through him. "Yeah, it does."

Lois, sensing the shift in the conversation, jumped back in with her trademark curiosity. "So, Y/N, what exactly do you do for work? You mentioned an offer you couldn’t turn down."

Y/N hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. "I work in consulting," he said, keeping it vague. "It’s a bit of everything, really. I help businesses with strategy, operations, that sort of thing."

Lois’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not satisfied with the lack of detail, but she let it slide, for now. "That sounds interesting. Metropolis must be a great place for that kind of work."

"It is," Y/N replied, grateful she didn’t press further.

Jimmy, ever the enthusiastic one, suddenly popped up between them, holding out his camera. "Hey, how about a picture? You guys look great together!"

Y/N barely had time to react before Jimmy was positioning them for a shot, his camera clicking away. Clark chuckled, clearly used to Jimmy’s antics, while Lois struck a pose with practiced ease.

As they waited for the flash, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of surrealism wash over him. Here he was, reconnecting with an old friend, surrounded by new ones, in a city that was starting to feel less like a strange place and more like a potential home.

The camera flashed, capturing the moment, and Jimmy grinned as he checked the screen. "Perfect! This one’s definitely going in the album."

Lois nodded in agreement, a smile on her face. "Yeah, this is one for the books. You’re officially part of the crew now, Y/N."

Y/N laughed, the sound genuine and light. "Well, I guess there’s no turning back now."

Clark’s smile was warm, his eyes shining with something that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. "I’m really glad you’re here, Y/N. It feels like old times."

Y/N nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirl within him. "Yeah, it does."

As the evening drew on, the four of them continued to chat, the conversation flowing easily between light-hearted banter and more serious topics. Y/N felt a connection with Clark and his friends that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and for the first time since moving to Metropolis, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the moment.

But as the night wore on and the event began to wind down, Y/N couldn’t shake the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Lois’s earlier questions had been harmless enough, but he knew her type—persistent, sharp, and always on the lookout for a story. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down too much, especially with his magic always threatening to reveal itself.

Yet, despite the risks, Y/N found himself wanting to spend more time with Clark, to catch up on the years they’d missed, and maybe even find a way to make this new life in Metropolis work. It was a dangerous line to walk, but for tonight, he was willing to take that risk.

As they all said their goodbyes and made plans to meet up again soon, Y/N felt a sense of contentment settle over him. Maybe this fresh start in Metropolis wouldn’t be as complicated as he feared. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to balance the old and the new, to keep his secrets while building something real with the people who were quickly becoming more than just acquaintances.

And maybe, this time, since he was older and more aware and mature, he could keep his feelings for Clark in check.

Yeah, that hope didn't last long.

Y/N sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of his apartment, reflecting on how quickly things had spiraled out of control since reconnecting with Clark. It had only been a few weeks, but in that short time, his life had become a whirlwind of old emotions, new challenges, and unexpected complications.

He’d spent more time with Clark, Lois, and Jimmy than he had anticipated. There were coffee runs, after-work dinners, and late-night brainstorming sessions where Lois would excitedly discuss her latest scoop while Jimmy showed off his latest photos. Clark, ever the supportive friend, would listen intently, adding his own insights with that same gentle warmth that had always made Y/N feel at ease.

Lois and Jimmy were friendly and welcoming, but Y/N could never fully relax around them. He still had to always be on guard, constantly aware of the magic simmering just beneath the surface.

And despite the camaraderie, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. It wasn’t just that he was trying to reintegrate into Clark’s life; it was the constant need to keep his magic under control, especially around Lois and Jimmy. The two of them were sharp—Lois, with her inquisitive nature, and Jimmy, with his keen eye for detail. They’d pick up on any slip-up, any sign that Y/N wasn’t just an ordinary guy from Smallville.

And then there were the moments of crisis—because Metropolis was never short on those. It seemed like every time Y/N was with the trio, something would happen. A runaway bus, a building fire, some random new villain on the loose—something always required Superman’s intervention. And every single time, Clark would disappear with a flimsy excuse, only for Superman to show up moments later.

The first time it happened, Y/N had been at a food truck with Clark and Jimmy, enjoying a rare sunny afternoon. They were laughing about something silly Jimmy had said when suddenly, the sound of screeching tires and panicked screams filled the air. Without missing a beat, Clark had mumbled something about needing to make a quick call and bolted, leaving Y/N standing there confused with Lois and Jimmy. Moments later, Superman was on the scene, saving the day like clockwork.

Lois and Jimmy had immediately sprung into action, Jimmy snapping photos while Lois started interviewing witnesses. They had been weirdly calm about the whole thing, a lot of things actually when Y/N thought about it. It was like Smallville all over again, things that should cause people to react with caution and apprehension, but instead, they barely blinked an eye.

It didn’t help that every time Clark returned, he looked winded and disheveled, and Lois would give him a knowing glance that made Y/N’s stomach twist with unease.

Meanwhile, he'd also been using his magic discreetly in these various scenarios to help keep people safe and minimize destruction and casualties. But in the chaos, he’d nearly been caught by Lois, who had turned around just as Y/N was subtly redirecting a beam of wood away from a trapped child.

“Hey, how’d you do that?” she’d asked, her sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Y/N had stammered out a weak excuse, something about adrenaline and luck, but he could tell Lois wasn’t convinced. She’d given him that look—the one that said she wasn’t done with him yet.

And it wasn’t the last time, either. Every time something happened, Y/N found himself using his magic to help, and every time, he came dangerously close to being caught by Lois. She was perceptive, and it was clear she was starting to get suspicious. Her questions about his past, about his connection to Clark, were getting more pointed, and Y/N could feel the pressure mounting.

But there was another element to this that Y/N hadn’t anticipated—jealousy. The more time he spent with the group, the more he noticed how close Clark and Lois were. It wasn’t just their professional partnership; it was the way they interacted, the easy banter, the shared looks, the inside jokes. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way Clark’s eyes lit up whenever Lois was around, how he seemed more at ease with her than anyone else.

It irritated Y/N more than he wanted to admit. He knew it was irrational—Clark was allowed to have close friends, and Lois was obviously important to him. But every time he saw them together, it felt like a thorn in his side, a constant reminder of how complicated things had become. It didn’t help that Lois was so naturally curious, always asking questions about his and Clark’s past, digging into their history with a relentless enthusiasm that made Y/N squirm.

And then there were the quiet moments—those rare instances when it was just Y/N and Clark, away from the chaos of the city. They’d talk about everything and nothing, slipping into the easy rhythm of their past friendship. But every time, Y/N felt the old feelings bubbling up, stronger than ever.

Like the night they’d gone for a walk along the Metropolis River. The city lights reflected off the water, casting a soft glow over everything. Clark had been unusually quiet, his hands tucked into his pockets as they strolled. Y/N had felt the tension between them, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“I’m glad you’re here, Y/N,” Clark had said suddenly, breaking the silence. “It’s like… it feels right, having you around again.”

Y/N had smiled, but it hadn’t reached his eyes. He wanted to say something—anything—that would match the sincerity in Clark’s voice, but the words had caught in his throat. Instead, he’d just nodded, trying to ignore the way his heart raced every time Clark looked at him like that.

But every time they were together, every time Clark smiled at him or brushed against him accidentally, Y/N felt his resolve weakening. It was getting harder to pretend that everything was fine, that he didn’t still have feelings for Clark.

And as they spent more time together, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder—did Clark feel it too? There were moments, subtle ones, where Y/N thought he saw something in Clark’s eyes, a lingering gaze, a soft smile that seemed meant just for him. But then Clark would pull back, or Lois would step in, and Y/N was left questioning if it was all in his head.

But now, lying on his couch and staring at the ceiling, Y/N couldn’t ignore it anymore. The old feelings hadn’t just resurfaced—they were drowning him, pulling him under with a force he couldn’t fight.

It wasn’t just about Clark, though that was a huge part of it. It was the fear of what would happen if Clark—or worse, Lois and Jimmy—found out about his magic. They were all so caught up in their own world of secrets and dangers, and Y/N wasn’t sure if he could handle being part of it. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up the act much longer.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and saw a message from Clark: Hey, want to grab dinner with Lois and Jimmy? We’re thinking Thai.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before typing a quick reply: Sure, sounds good.

As he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking a tightrope, balancing between the life he had built for himself and the one he had left behind. And with every step, he was getting closer to falling off.

As Y/N walked to the restaurant, he kept his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to calm the unease that had settled in his chest. He needed to get a grip, to find a way to keep his feelings in check before they, and thus his magic spiraled out of control. The last thing he wanted was for Clark to notice—or worse, for Lois to start asking questions.

By the time he reached the restaurant, Y/N had managed to push his anxiety down, forcing a smile as he spotted Clark, Lois, and Jimmy waiting outside. Clark waved him over, his smile as bright as ever.

"Hey, glad you could make it," Clark greeted him with his usual warm and bright tone.

"Heh, wouldn't miss it," Y/N chuckled, trying to keep his voice casual.

As they ate, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the easy dynamic between Lois and Clark. There was a familiarity there, an unspoken understanding that made Y/N’s chest tighten with a mix of jealousy and longing. He wanted to be part of that, to be as close to Clark as Lois was.

But then Lois turned to him, her sharp eyes studying him with that same curiosity he’d noticed at the gala. “So, Y/N, what was Clark like back in Smallville? He never talks much about his hometown.”

Y/N felt his pulse quicken. He shot a quick glance at Clark, who was suddenly very interested in his pad Thai.

“Oh, you know,” Y/N began, trying to keep his tone light, “just your average small-town kid. We spent a lot of time getting into trouble and trying to keep out of it.”

Lois raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with the vague answer. “Really? I find that hard to believe. Clark’s practically the poster boy for responsibility.”

Y/N forced a laugh, trying to deflect Lois’s probing gaze. “Yeah, well, even poster boys have their moments. We were just kids, you know? Doing dumb stuff like exploring abandoned barns or sneaking out to the creek after dark. Nothing too wild.”

Lois leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing with that trademark inquisitiveness. “Come on, Y/N, you’re holding out on me. I want the juicy details. What kind of trouble did Clark get into?”

Y/N could feel the heat rising in his face, a mix of nerves, and the pressure of trying to avoid any slip-ups. “Honestly, it was mostly me dragging him into stuff. Clark was always the one keeping me out of serious trouble.”

Clark chuckled nervously, his eyes darting between Y/N and Lois. “Yeah, Y/N was always the adventurous one. I was just along for the ride.”

Jimmy, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood. “I don’t know, Lois. I think Clark’s just good at covering his tracks. Bet he’s got a whole secret rebellious side we don’t know about.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at Jimmy’s words, the irony of the statement not lost on him. If only they knew just how many secrets Clark was hiding—or how many he was keeping himself.

Lois, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. “I don’t doubt it,” she said, her eyes flicking back to Y/N with a knowing smile. “And I bet you’ve got some secrets of your own, Y/N. You seem like the type who’s good at keeping things under wraps.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for just a second before he forced it back into place. “Who doesn’t have a few secrets?” he replied, trying to keep his tone light and nonchalant.

Lois’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, and Y/N could practically feel her trying to piece together the puzzle she was sure he was hiding. He shifted uncomfortably, desperate to change the subject.

“Anyway,” Y/N said, his voice a bit too loud in his haste to redirect the conversation, “what about you guys? You’ve all been working together for a while now. Any crazy stories from the Daily Planet?”

Clark gave him a grateful smile, clearly relieved at the change in topic. “Oh, you know, it’s mostly just chasing down leads and trying to stay out of trouble ourselves.”

Lois smirked. “Mostly. There have been a few close calls, though. Like that time we were covering that gala and—”

But before she could continue, there was a sudden commotion outside the restaurant. The sound of screeching tires and shouting filled the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of something crashing into a building.

Clark’s expression immediately shifted to one of concern. “I’ll, uh, be right back,” he mumbled, already moving toward the door.

Moments later, Superman was on the scene, and Y/N found himself once again in the midst of a crisis, trying to discreetly use his magic to help those around him. He directed falling debris away from pedestrians, subtly reinforced a crumbling wall, and calmed panicked civilians—all while trying to stay out of Lois’s line of sight.

As Y/N moved through the chaos, he couldn’t help but keep one eye on Lois. She was already pulling out her phone, likely trying to reach out to sources or start documenting the scene for the Daily Planet. But more than once, Y/N caught her glancing his way, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to figure something out.

It didn’t help that every time Y/N used his magic, Lois seemed to notice something was off. Like when he subtly redirected a falling streetlight away from a group of bystanders, Lois had been nearby and had whipped around, her eyes narrowing as she spotted Y/N standing there, his hand half-raised.

“Where, how did you—” she started, but Y/N cut her off quickly.

“Uh, just lucky timing,” he said, flashing what he hoped was a convincing grin.

Lois didn’t look convinced, but before she could press further, another explosion rocked the area as Superman swooped across the sky in a fight with some new villain. Lois’s attention was immediately drawn away as she dashed off to get closer to the action, leaving Y/N with a brief moment of relief.

But it was short-lived. He could feel the weight of his secret bearing down on him, the fear that at any moment, Lois would start putting the pieces together. She was too perceptive, too determined to uncover the truth, and Y/N was running out of excuses.

Y/N’s heart pounded as he watched Lois dart away, her focus now on Superman’s battle overhead. The city block was in chaos—buildings crumbling, cars overturned, and terrified civilians running for cover. Y/N could feel the familiar tingle of his magic, urging him to act, but he hesitated. He was too exposed, too close to Lois and Jimmy, who were both still in the thick of things, trying to stay safe while getting their story.

But then he saw it—a mother and her young child, trapped beneath a fallen piece of debris, their terrified cries cutting through the noise. Without thinking, Y/N moved. He knew he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Darting through the chaos, he reached the trapped pair, his heart racing. The chunk of concrete pinning them was far too heavy for him to lift on his own, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He pretended to struggle with it for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one was watching too closely. Then, with a whispered incantation, he let his magic flow, lifting the debris just enough for the mother to pull her child to safety.

“Go! Get out of here!” Y/N urged them, and they didn’t need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and ran, not looking back.

But as Y/N released his grip on the concrete, allowing it to crash back to the ground, he felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He turned just in time to see Lois standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

“Y/N…” she started, her voice barely audible over the sounds of destruction around them. “How did you—”

Before she could finish, a loud crash interrupted her, drawing their attention to the ongoing battle above. Superman was locked in a fierce struggle with the villain, who was wielding some kind of energy weapon that was tearing through the city with reckless abandon.

Lois hesitated for a split second, torn between confronting Y/N and rushing to cover the story. The journalist in her won out, and she turned to run towards the action, but not before shooting Y/N one last look, a promise that this conversation wasn’t over.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, but there was no time to dwell on what Lois had seen. The battle was escalating, and the destruction was growing worse by the second. He knew he had to do more, had to use his magic more openly if he wanted to save lives. The fear of exposure warred with his instinct to help, but his desire to help won out.

As Y/N wove his way through the chaos, he could feel his magic surging within him, responding to his need to act. With each subtle spell, he could feel the pressure mounting, the risk of being discovered growing with every passing moment. But he couldn't stop, not when so many lives were at stake.

As Y/N moved through the chaos, helping people where he could, he lost himself in the urgency of the moment. He pulled a child out of harm's way, extinguished small fires with a flick of his wrist, and used his magic to steady a teetering scaffold that was threatening to collapse onto a group of bystanders. Every action was instinctual, his focus so intense that he didn’t even notice how close he was getting to the epicenter of the danger.

Meanwhile, Superman was engaged in a fierce battle with the villain, their clash sending shockwaves through the city. Clark’s attention was divided, trying to subdue the threat while keeping an eye on his friends below. But in the midst of the fight, he noticed Y/N inching dangerously close to the conflict.

“Y/N, get back!” Superman shouted, his voice strained with panic as he saw Y/N unwittingly step into the path of a collapsing billboard that had been dislodged during the battle.

Time seemed to slow as Clark realized he wouldn’t reach Y/N in time, especially with his opponent actively trying to block his way. His heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping him like a vice. But just as the massive billboard was about to crush him, Y/N’s instincts kicked in.

Without even thinking, Y/N threw up his hands, and a powerful force field erupted around him, deflecting the billboard away and sending it crashing harmlessly to the ground. The magic burst out of him like a tidal wave, raw and unfiltered, saving him in the nick of time.

The impact of what had just happened hit Y/N all at once. He stood there, breathless and trembling, staring at the spot where the billboard had fallen. His heart raced as he realized how close he’d come to being crushed—and how easily he had saved himself with powers.

Superman, who had seen the entire event unfold, hovered in the air, momentarily stunned. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Y/N had powers—real, undeniable powers. And in that instant, a dozen memories from their time together in Smallville flashed through his mind, moments that suddenly made sense in a new, startling way.

The villain took advantage of Superman’s distraction, launching one final attack. But Superman, fueled by a surge of determination, quickly regained focus. With a swift, powerful strike, he knocked the villain off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious and defeated.

The battle was over, but the tension in the air was far from dissipated.

Superman landed softly on the ground, his eyes never leaving Y/N. The adrenaline from the fight was still coursing through him, but now it was mixed with a cocktail of emotions—shock, confusion, and something deeper, something more personal.

Y/N looked up, locking eyes with Superman for the first time. The two of them stood there, surrounded by the remnants of the battle, but it felt as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

“Y/N,” Superman began, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He took a step forward, but before he could say more, Lois and Jimmy rushed over, their faces a mix of concern and relief.

Superman took a step toward Y/N, his mind racing with questions, but before he could say more, Lois and Jimmy rushed over, their faces a mix of concern and urgency.

"Superman," Lois called out, her voice edged with urgency as she glanced around. "We’re in the middle of the street. People are starting to notice."

Jimmy nodded, his camera hanging by his side as he scanned the area. “Yeah, maybe we should take this somewhere a little less… public.”

Superman blinked, realizing the gravity of the situation. There were indeed a few onlookers, phones out, capturing the aftermath of the battle. The last thing he needed was more attention, especially with Y/N’s secret now out in the open.

He turned to Y/N, his eyes filled with both concern and determination. “Y/N, we need to talk. But not here. Do you trust me?”

Y/N, still shaken from everything that had happened, hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I trust you.”

Superman gave him a small, reassuring smile before glancing back at Lois and Jimmy. “I’ll explain everything later, but right now, I need to get Y/N out of here.”

Lois gave a curt nod, understanding the need for discretion. “We’ll cover for you. Just… be careful.”

Jimmy shot Y/N a quick thumbs-up, though his expression was tinged with curiosity and concern. “We’ll handle the crowd. Go.”

With a final nod, Superman wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist, holding him securely. “Hold on tight.”

Before Y/N could fully process what was happening, they were airborne, the ground falling away as Superman lifted them into the sky. The wind rushed past them as they soared above the city, the chaos of the battle below quickly becoming a distant memory.

Y/N clung to Superman, his heart racing not just from the flight but from the whirlwind of emotions and revelations that had just unfolded. He had always admired Superman from afar, but now, being so close, knowing that this was Clark—it was almost too much to take in.

They flew in silence, the cityscape sprawling out beneath them, until finally, Superman began to descend, landing gently on the rooftop of the Daily Planet building. The iconic globe loomed above them, casting long shadows in the setting sun.

Superman set Y/N down carefully, stepping back to give him space. For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them.

Clark, still in his Superman suit but with the familiar warmth of his old friend in his eyes, took a step closer. “I know. It’s a lot to take in. For both of us.”

Y/N nodded, his mind racing with a thousand questions. “So, you're Superman?”

A faint blush along with his nervous smile appeared on his face, a glimpse of the boy Y/N had known. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

A moment of silence passed before Y/N spoke again, "I really don't get how people don't catch on faster. The only visible difference is the glasses," he said, gesturing to the frames on Clark's face.

Clark looked confused for a moment, "Wait, huh? Did you know?"

"Well, not for sure. But I had my suspicions. I mean, the glasses, the timing of your disappearances, the fact that you were never around whenever Superman showed up... it wasn't exactly hard to put the pieces together. But, I didn't know until I saw you up close. Until now, whenever you were Superman, I wasn't close enough to get a good look. Then, you were right in front of me, and well, it was like, 'Oh yeah, that makes complete sense,'" Y/N admitted, rambling a little.

"Oh," was all Clark could manage, a sheepish look on his face.

"Why did you never tell me?" Y/N asked, his voice soft.

Clark sighed, his expression conflicted. "I wanted to, believe me. But it's not exactly something I can just go around telling people. And after everything that happened back in Smallville, I didn't want to put you in any more danger. I guess, we were both keeping secrets."

Y/N paused for a moment, now realizing the irony of the situation before laughing under his breath, "Sneaky little bastard strikes again."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, just a little joke to myself," Y/N explained, before pausing and looking at his friend, taking in his entire superhero appearance, "Wow, looking at you now, and thinking back to everything, everything now makes so much sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you being able to stop cars without getting injured. Or people always calling your parents to ask for you when their tractor was broken down. And that time you and Suzy were playing in Old Man Ferris's field and he almost mowed her over with the shredder but you saved her and broke the shredder in the process. I always thought it was weird, but now, it's obvious," Y/N said, his tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"I mean, it could've just been weak metal," Clark tried to argue, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed his embarrassment.

"Clark, no offense, but anyone else verse that shredder would've been minced meat. And yet, one run-in with you and it had been totaled with no chance of repair. Which, did he ever get a new one?"

"Yeah, the town all chipped in to get him one while my parents got him insurance on it for a year as an apology."

"Hmm, you know for the amount of weird things that have gone on in that town between you and me alone, you'd think someone would've said something or freaked out," Y/N commented, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, Smallville is a weird place," Clark chuckled, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

"That it is," Y/N agreed, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

Clark cleared his throat while rubbing the back of his neck, "I guess things also make sense for you too. All those times that lights and power in school went out after you got angry, things disappearing and reappearing in random places, and that one time you got in an argument with a squirrel. Can you talk to animals with your powers?"

"Okay, first of all, we didn't have to bring that specific instance up. You remember everyone made fun of me for like a month after that happened. And either way, that squirrel had it coming," Y/N said, a slight pout on his face.

"It was a squirrel, Y/N."

"And it was a jerk!"

"How was it a jerk?"

"It kept throwing acorns at me and always running at me like it wanted to fight. I can't understand animals naturally unless there's a spell for it that I just haven't figured out, but they do seem to gravitate towards me for whatever reason. But, that squirrel had it out for me since freshman year and I was just trying to defend myself," Y/N argued, his voice taking on a slightly whiny tone.

"By arguing with it?"

"Well, yes," Y/N said, crossing his arms, "But, it was a very heated argument."

"If you say so," Clark laughed, his eyes bright with amusement.

Clark's laughter filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like they were back in Smallville, two friends joking around like they used to. But the reality of their situation quickly settled back in, and the weight of everything that had happened—everything that had been revealed—hung between them.

"So, magic," Clark said after a beat, his tone more serious. "I can't believe you were hiding that all these years."

Y/N shrugged, looking down at his feet. "It wasn't exactly something I could just go around telling people. Especially not in Smallville. I barely understood it myself, and my parents were terrified of what might happen if anyone found out. They were always worried that some government agency would swoop in and take me away if I ever slipped up."

Clark nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. My parents had similar fears about me. We were both trying to protect each other, in our own way."

"Yeah," Y/N agreed quietly. He glanced up at Clark, a hesitant smile on his face. "It's kind of ironic, isn't it? Both of us with these...abilities and we never knew about each other."

Clark smiled back, but there was something in his eyes—something that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. "I wish I had known," Clark said softly. "Maybe things would have been different."

"Maybe," Y/N echoed, the word hanging in the air between them.

A comfortable silence settled over them, the kind that only old friends could share. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the city. Y/N found himself getting lost in the moment, in the quiet presence of his friend, the tension of the past few weeks slowly ebbing away.

But then Clark spoke again, his voice filled with an emotion that Y/N couldn't quite place. "You know, I've always felt like there was something more between us. Even back then."

Y/N's breath caught in his throat. He looked at Clark, his eyes searching his friend's face for any sign that he might be joking, but all he saw was sincerity. "What do you mean?"

Clark hesitated as if trying to find the right words. "I mean... I've always cared about you, Y/N. More than just as a friend."

The confession hung in the air, and Y/N's heart pounded in his chest. He had dreamed of hearing those words for so long, but now that they were here, he didn't know how to respond. His feelings for Clark had been buried deep for years, hidden away to protect both himself and their friendship.

"Clark, I..." Y/N began, but his voice faltered. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I care about you too. A lot. But this—" He gestured to the city below them, to Superman’s suit, to everything around them. "This is complicated. Our lives are so different now."

Clark stepped closer, his expression earnest. "I know it’s complicated. But maybe we can figure it out together."

Y/N looked into Clark's eyes, seeing the hope and the warmth there, and for a moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could make this work. He thought about all the things they had been through, the secrets they had kept, the bond that had never really broken despite the years and the distance.

He smiled softly, his heart finally settling into a steady rhythm. "I'd like that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Clark's smile was brighter than the sunset behind him, and Y/N felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the fading sunlight. For the first time in a long while, things felt right. Complicated, yes, but right.

But before they could say anything more, the door to the rooftop burst open, and Lois and Jimmy came rushing in, both looking out of breath and a little frantic.

"Clark! Y/N!" Lois called out, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. "You guys okay? We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

"Yeah, we’re fine," Clark said, quickly stepping back from Y/N, though he couldn’t quite hide the smile on his face.

Jimmy glanced between the two of them, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, you guys really should be more careful. The paparazzi would have a field day if they caught Superman having a heart-to-heart with some random guy on a rooftop."

Lois rolled her eyes but nodded in agreement. "He's right. We should get off this rooftop before someone spots us."

Clark looked at Y/N, his expression a mix of reluctance and agreement. "Yeah, you're right." He turned back to Y/N, his voice softening. "We'll talk more later, okay?"

Y/N nodded, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness about what that conversation would bring. "Yeah, later."

With that, they all made their way back down to the city, where the chaos of the day had finally settled. But even as they stepped back into the world, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had shifted between them.

And for the first time, he was ready to see where it would lead.

☀️ | Clark Kent/Superman | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[paperultra]

the liminal space.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 1,575 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol use [A/N: written with the cooper!reader from mise en rose in mind. i don't know where in the timeline this occurs, though. lol.]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

Living in close quarters can really change how you see a person.

Roronoa Zoro, for instance, had always struck you as rather aloof, having traveled alone for some time before you joined him, and unused to physical affection. He never gave any indication that he was one to enjoy it, and he never sought it out from anyone. That certainly wasn’t odd. You respected his tendency towards personal space, subsequently believing that it extended to his sleeping habits as well.

So when you wake up, hardly able to breathe underneath the hulking mass of a snoring swordsman, you are more surprised than anything.

“Zoro,” you wheeze, patting his back with the hand that isn’t crushed between his chest and yours. Nothing happens, so you swat harder. “Zoro. You’re crushing me.”

His arms squeeze around you as he stirs, inhaling sharply next to your ear. You stop moving as he lifts his head and opens his eyes just wide enough to register you beneath him.

He pauses.

Good morning, sunshine is what you want to say in a cheeky tone. You want to prove that you’re unaffected by the warmth of his body pressing yours into the mattress, the sensation of his breath across your cheekbone and the way his gaze transitions from something bleary into something sharp.

The greeting refuses to leave your mouth. All you can do is blink.

The next thing you know, Zoro’s rolling off of you and out of bed with nary an apology, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

You hum distantly in response and stare up at the ceiling as he shuffles to the door. Once he closes it behind him, you reach up and fold your hands over your eyes, cheeks hot.

Great.

—

It all started because you and Zoro could only afford a single bed at the inn.

(You use the term “afford” loosely here. The truth of the matter is that you grossly underestimated how much a room would cost, and the owner of the one place willing to lend you a room for half the usual rate demanded physical labor to make up for the rest. Given that Zoro would be spending most of his time hunting down a bounty, the majority of the unpaid labor fell on your shoulders.)

(But you digress.)

The room is small and bare, which is fine, because you and Zoro don’t have much between the two of you anyway. The only problem is that there is only one bed. Zoro had expressed no qualms about sharing so long as you didn’t disturb his sleep, and you had readily agreed, not wanting either of you to sleep on the floor.

After the first morning, you’re not sure if that was a lapse of judgement on your part or not.

Zoro doesn’t mention it at all before he leaves for the day, and you don’t, either. However, when he comes back in the middle of the night and you’re already in bed, squinting and shielding yourself from the bright hallway light as he takes his slippers off and walks in, he sits on the carpet just a few feet away from your side.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he proceeds to lay down.

“Sleeping.”

He closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head. You frown.

“Why aren’t you sleeping up here?” No answer. You lift your head from your pillow, indignant. “Hey, don’t ignore me! I know you’re still awake.”

“I’ve had a long day,” he grumbles, “so I’d like some quiet so I can sleep. Thanks.”

You huff.

The thought that Zoro might actually be just as embarrassed flits briefly through your mind, but you extinguish it just as quickly. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy to be self-conscious about those kinds of things. A more likely reason is that he’s decided that he wants his own separate space after all and can’t be bothered to kick you off the bed.

So, you kick yourself off instead.

“What are you doing?” The phrase now comes from Zoro as you throw the covers off and grab your pillow, kneeling on the ground beside him. His eyes open and his brow furrows.

“Take the bed. I feel guilty.”

“I don’t want the bed.”

“Everybody wants the bed.” You lie down on the carpet and cross your arms over your chest, stubborn. “I’ve already slept in it. Now it’s your turn.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zoro says.

Neither of you budge.

The next morning, you decide that the first morning was in fact not a fluke, as you awake with your face smushed against his chest and the smell of steel in your nose once again. He’s not on top of you, at least, but the way he clutches you while you’re lying on your side, one ankle hooked over yours, is somehow ten times more mortifying. You wake him up in the midst of untangling yourself and pretend like nothing happened.

Who’s the idiot now? (The answer is both of you. Both of you are idiots.)

—

The third night, you and Zoro flop onto the hard mattress with twin groans, heads spinning and feeling overall miserable.

“That was the shittiest booze I’ve ever had,” Zoro slurs next to you, face down in his pillow.

“But you got a lead, right?” you mumble.

“Yeah …”

You had been there in the bar when he’d gotten that lead, but you can’t remember what it was for the life of you. Another inn? Another bar? Ugh, you’re never drinking there again.

“I’m cold.”

There are blankets on the bed. Unfortunately, getting underneath them would require a lot of moving, and you are physically incapable of exerting yourself that much right now.

You shiver and turn onto your side to curl up. You’ll fall asleep at some point, anyway.

Zoro murmurs your name.

“Hm,” you groan, eyes screwed shut.

He doesn’t say anything in reply. But you hear the mattress squeak, the bedsheets rustle as he shifts closer, and your breath catches when the small distance between you closes. He does not wrap his arms around you, no, but your knees touch, and the heat from his skin melds into yours. You hear his breathing slow to a crawl.

Through your drunken haze breaks through a sudden need to draw him into you, to tuck your face into his neck and keep it there forever. You want – you want. But you’re exhausted, and your head aches, so you find yourself slipping into a deep slumber instead.

He’s already gone when you wake up.

—

A suspiciously lumpy gunnysack in the corner of the room catches your eye once you enter, hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Eight million beri,” Zoro says from his seat on the bed. Cleaning supplies for his swords are strewn around him, and he sheathes the Wado Ichimonji as you close the door. “I ran into another bounty on the way back.”

“Eight mill –” You clear your throat. “Wow. That was pretty lucky.” Eight million beri. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get used to how much bounty hunters can make. (God, that would’ve been more than enough to pay for the room.) “We’re heading out to a marine base tomorrow morning, then?”

“That’s the plan.”

He puts away his supplies, setting them and his swords against the wall near his pillow before standing up to pull down the sheets on his side. You turn off the bedside lamp and do the same, crawling in with a sigh.

The two of you simply lie side-by-side until you decide to break the silence with your big mouth again.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask.

“No.” The plainness of Zoro’s tone is a small comfort, you suppose. “Why are you asking?”

“Well …” You already regret bringing this topic up as you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “I feel like I haven’t really done much. I mean, I help with navigating and searching crowds and stuff, and I’ve been getting better at fighting, but I can’t help you, you know?” You fiddle with your fingers. “You don’t actually need me.”

There’s a gap between you and Zoro that you’ll likely never be able to close. You had always known that, and so had Zoro; in fact, he had told you at the start that going with him was a bad idea, given your inexperience in bounty hunting and traveling in general. And although you’d like to think that your ability to read a map and fix things convinced him of your usefulness, there are times when you think Zoro regrets bringing you along. Like now.

Zoro grunts, turning to lay on his back. His shoulder nearly lands on your hands, and you draw them to yourself as you wait for his answer.

It is brief and straightforward.

“I’m not forcing you to go with me,” he says. “And if you were a burden, I would’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

It is brief and straightforward, and yet, there’s a strange lump in your throat. You swallow it and nod, even though he cannot see you do so.

Nothing more is said. However, as the night goes on, you reach out, and you find him, and Zoro finds you, and the space between your arms fills up with warmth and an unspoken promise. And you sleep very well.

[jmwdoesthings]

Snape's Search History - Part 2

Hello! Slightly shorter, but slowly crawling forward. I'm writing a book of my own which requires quite a lot of time and creative inspiration, so that's taking priority... anyway, enjoy!

Featuring: our favourite grumpy bat-boy and Minerva's I'm too old for this attitude.

Tags are at the bottom - if I've missed anyone, I do apologise.

***

Minerva McGonagall rapped sharply on the Potions classroom door and entered without waiting for a reply. She half expected something short of a calamity - perhaps the desks all scorched into remains beyond recognition, an infestation of some sort, chaos in the form of the furniture being stuck to the ceiling or anything else which would claim “round-way-wrong” - and Severus’ face contorted and twitching as he muttered dark things under his breath, but no. She was most mistaken.

Snape stood in the middle of his classroom, his arms folded, one hand propped beneath his chin as he stared blankly at his chalkboard, his face quite placid, even serene, as he stood deep in thought.

Minerva paused, feeling an odd pang of unrest in her chest at this strange change, for he was hardly in such a state and something must have been certainly very wrong. She followed the line his eyes made to the blackboard, saw nothing which could be the subject of such intense evaluation, so she merely looked back and forth between him and the wall a few times before clearing her throat.

His eyes flicked towards her, but the rest of his position remained stagnant.

Minerva didn’t say anything; neither did he. After a few moments, she looked past him, walked a few steps into the room, then turned around to look at the walls for any sort of unobvious differences that could have brought on this change of facade. Snape let out a dry chuckle. 

“Nothing has changed since you were last here, Minerva.”

She turned to look at him.

“Then I don’t understand.”

Snape nodded thoughtfully. 

“Me neither,” was the reply, before he marched up to his blackboard, turned on his heel, stood still, then began to evaluate the desks in the same position as before. This was enough for her to become slightly unnerved and her eyebrows to climb up to the highest ring on her forehead as she watched him. Still, the silence dragged on long before she formulated a question of any sort and that was only after the Potions Master got down on his knees and began to look under the desks as though he had previously misplaced a cork of a bottle, looking rather silly.

“What are you doing?” she said flatly, tilting her head to peruse him.

“Investigating,” he replied calmly from under the desk, looking up at the underbelly of the furniture.

“Investigating.” Minerva nodded, though she was everything but enlightened. “And what on could you be investigating under the desks, on the floor?”

Snape banged the back of his head on the desk-edge as he emerged from beneath it, cursed viciously, then this alien demeanour he had borrowed for a moment shattered and dissolved into his standard one. The dark scowl looked so normal back on its master’s face that Minerva’s chest loosened a little.

Snape drew out his wand. After a moment, in which more investigation and observance occurred, his scowl deepened and suddenly lunged and struck the front desk with it.

“Revellio.”

Nothing happened. Minerva watched him, po-faced. Snape repeated the gesture.

“Revellio!”

Not a peep. He growled, then pointed his wand at the ceiling.

“Revellio!” The wand was pointed at his blackboard. “Revellio!” The tip was directed at his desk, at the floor, at the back of the classroom, at the door of his store cupboard.

“Revellio! Revellio! REVELLIO-!”

“Severus, please,” McGonagall said, approaching him as he scowled and his eyes darted around the classroom. “This verges on nonsensical. There is nothing here.”

“That’s the problem!” Severus snarled, his knuckles white on the black of his wand. “This makes no sense whatsoever! Confounded brats… This is idiocy!”

“What is?” 

“This innocence… this consideration!” 

The last word was spat out like something vile. Minerva’s eyebrows dropped down and she looked completely exasperated.

“Consideration? Severus, what precisely is going on?”

“I don’t know!”

Minerva’s hands stiffened as she grew impatient. 

“Can you please calm yourself down and tell me what brought on this… this whole examination?” she said. “I would be very grateful. This hysteria is quite past what is expected of both of us. Put your wand away, Severus.”

Snape seemed to regain himself as she spoke. He straightened, breathed out a long sigh through his nostrils, arrested the fire snapping in his eyes, then slowly fed his wand back into his sleeve and drew his cloak tight about him. 

“Your pupils, Minerva,” he began in his low voice, looking much displeased, “have been behaving in a very strange manner today.”

McGonagall watched him, remembering the giggling trio she had passed on the corridor and their strange mood.

 “You mean Potter, Weasley, and Miss Granger?”

“Indeed,” he spat, then grimaced disdainfully at the front desk which had been occupied by the unwelcome trio a few moments before, before looking back up at her. “Well? Are you surprised?”

“No,” she replied immediately, glancing at the desk too, then paused. “Have they been causing trouble?”

Snape’s face stretched into a very dry smile.

“Trouble?” He scoffed, then grew solemn again. “Why, yes. Well, no. In fact… ah, confound and bebother those varmints-!”

Minerva had pursed her lips. “Severus-”

“Yes!” He clenched his fists and stormed towards his desk. “Yes, they have been causing trouble! They have undoubtedly been causing trouble, otherwise Potter wouldn’t have had an accursed aureole shining around his head for the entire lesson!”

At this, McGonagall frowned, but Snape wasn’t done.

“Weasley, too!” He fell into his chair then sat up, rigid with passion, his fingers digging into the wooden armrests. “Not a single word out of his mouth during the entire lesson! He usually doesn’t shut up, his mouth works like a watermill! And this time, silence!”

“One moment.” McGonagall was close to pinching the bridge of her nose. “You mean to say-”

“And Granger,” Snape cut her off, snapping, his fingernails making scratch-marks in the wooden armrests as his fists clenched. “I’ve never seen her so pleasant in the entire time she’s been here. Didn’t put her hand up once! Her head was down, she did the work without a word and not a bullet of the usual know-it-all piffle left her mouth!”

His form loosened and he fell backwards against the back-rest, his hand dangling over his face as he worked rest into his face muscles and the creases around his eyes with his fingers. McGonagall watched him with pursed lips, feeling it wouldn’t be wise to interject until he finished with his mental breakdown.

“And that’s not all,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “The homework they handed in today is twice the length I asked for. And I mean twice the length. The spaces between words and the size of their handwriting wasn’t different from their standard lettering.”

“I fail to understand why that calls to get so worked up,” Minerva said carefully. “Surely, you don’t find this irritating?”

“And it’s top standard,” the wrecked Potions Master continued, his voice almost breaking. “It was concise and intelligently written. Into the bargain, all three pieces of work were different. The pair of idiots clearly didn’t copy off Granger this time. It seems they have put effort into those rolls of parchment like never before. I dread to think what it is they have done to act in this manner.”

Minerva shook her head as she watched the black bat sprawled out on his wooden chair. He saw her scrutiny and growled.

“You weren’t here, Minerva - I have very good reason for suspecting nothing but trouble. Potter didn’t talk back to me once. He claimed blame, even if it was unjustified.”

At this, Minerva frowned. “Harry Potter?”

“What other Potter is there?”

Minerva, this time, did pinch the bridge of her nose and both adults stood there feeling quite shaken. The former regained herself first.

“Let me sum this up,” she said. “You are completely and utterly indisposed because Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were well-behaved for the entirety of your lesson.”

“I am completely and utterly indisposed,” Snape repeated with disdain and through clenched teeth, “because they have clearly done something, or are about to do something, which must have stirred enough remorse within their hollow little souls to not place a toe out of line for the entirety of my lesson. Not to mention this.”

He leaned forward and grasped something, then offered it to Minerva. She stepped forward and squinted at the object; it was an empty glass vial, with a square label which read: headache draught.

She glanced up at him as she took it in her fingers. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“This appeared upon my desk when my back was turned.”

“And you think they placed this on your desk?”

“No,” Snape said after some thought. “This is something far darker than both of us think.”

Minerva looked at him over the rim of her spectacles.

“This empty vial?” she said flatly.

“It was full when I first beheld it.”

“And what happened to its contents?”

“I poured it down the sink.”

Minerva paused.

“Why?”

Snape rubbed his face and stood up, looking fixated. “It was very cleverly disguised. It smelled exactly like what it claims to be.”

He began to pace. Minerva placed the sinister, empty vial back on his desk and folded her arms, looking down her nose at him as though he was an adolescent hissing about overblown drama which had happened upon the corridors and had tarnished his reputation into disrepair. Not that she hadn’t seen that before. 

“There can only be one explanation for this,” he finished, standing still. “It has to be.”

“Which is?”

He turned and met her eyes with his obstinate, dark gaze.

“Someone is trying to exact their vengeance upon me.”

Minerva said nothing, her face betrayed nothing.

“It wouldn’t be the first time it happened,” he muttered. “I’m not taking any risk. I don’t have a very tolerant stomach…”

Minerva began to shake her head. “Severus.”

“...headache draught indeed.” He scoffed. “The only question is: who? And why? I am beginning to doubt that Potter wasn’t involved in it, though perhaps he wasn’t acting of his own accord. Our favourite trio wouldn’t even know that they were under the Imperius curse-”

“Severus.”

He turned to her impatiently, then shut his mouth under the impact of her gaze.

“Has it not occurred to you,” Minerva began patiently, “that instead of poisoning or attempting to murder you, someone could be simply trying to help you out?”

Snape looked at her incredulously, then burst out laughing. It was his usual harsh, grating laugh, which was emitted more to mock than to express amusement. It bounced off the classroom walls like hailstone.

“Of course,” he chortled. “That would make sense. Let’s be nice to the irritable wretch of a teacher who resides solely in the dungeons of the castle.”

“I’m sorry you struggle to understand the concept of compassion,” Minerva said, rolling her eyes and moving towards the exit. “Perhaps you ought to take this as a sign, Severus, and with it this concept into consideration.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, then placed the base of his palms to his temples and moved to sit in his chair as he grimaced. “There is no such thing as compassion. If there is, it is very hard to find, and simply non-existent in these particular corridors, between these particular individuals.”

Minerva didn’t see the sense in trying to convince him otherwise. Instead, she simply looked at him pointedly as he grasped his head and shut his eyes to try and contain his headache. 

“Stop spearing me,” he muttered, sighing. “I’ve not forgotten what brats are capable of. I was one too. It’s certainly nothing but chaos and infidelity. I’m not stupid.”

“No. You are stubborn,” she replied, shaking her head, “and prone to jumping to very unfavourable conclusions. Now that you poured that draught down the drain, why don’t you make yourself another? Lessons resume in fifteen minutes.”

Snape groaned and muttered some dark words, followed by a very low: “I will manage.”

“As you like,” McGonagall replied in a tone which seemed to highlight her claim about how stubborn Snape was. “I will see you at lunch, Severus. Don’t get yourself too worked up, now.”

He didn’t answer; Minerva shut the door behind her, taking the rest of the noise and warmth of presence with her. 

Five minutes of silence and dwelling later, Severus Snape rubbed his eyes, opened them, then fixed them onto the glass vial with the ‘headache draught’ lettering arranged upon the label, apparently nothing but innocent.

“Help me,” he repeated absentmindedly, then snorted and leaned back in his chair. “Of course the intention was to help me. Because that is what we do when we have a spare moment. We all come together, sit down at a round table and discuss how to make somebody’s life less of a damned hellscape over a light cup of coffee.”

Snape’s rigid posture broke as the sneer ebbed off his face. His eyes flicked around at the walls of his empty classroom, then to the pale skin of his hands which hadn’t held another for over two decades. He thought of the bleak and empty days the future promised him, feeling something horrible, hard and gooey congealing in his chest. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

“Silence!” Snape commanded nobody in particular, feeling his voice begin to crack as it echoed around the classroom.

He put his face in his hands, pressing them to his facial features to keep them in stone, but they creased into something embarrassing and despairing anyway.

“Silence…” he repeated, but with his voice hoarse and thick. “Very well. Fine. Let it be so.”

He regained himself, then fixed his face into the window, making a sharp move to smear any stray tears away, then folded his hands tight and pressed them to his lips. Still, the red rimming his eyes, cheeks and nose gave him away, though his face was cold and disinterested as marble.

His voice was a mere whisper, though the boggart hiding under the sink heard it and obeyed:

“Let it be silent.”

***

Tags! I do appreciate all of your reviews and ops, I enjoy reading your excitement!

@overlord-of-fantasy @severus-snaps @slytherinmagic38 @enderdeservesbetter @acupnoodle @ace-aussie-asshole @halfbloodprince137 @seleneprince @memelovescaps @clingingtoskeletons @lilithofpenandbook @tumblingghosts @jade-eclipse-li @fluffyneondinosaur @lessdepressy @praline-elegy @captainsky-photori @likelightinglass @flyingflosser09

[bloody-peach]

Anything For a Friend Part 1: A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed (Hazbin Hotel: Alastor x F!Reader smut fic)

(gif made by me)

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Now Playing: Closer x Beautiful is Boring, Animal, Blood (please listen to these while reading this, you will not regret it)

Goodie bag: vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, cock rubbing, tentacles, mating season, monster sex, monster fucking, rough sex, cursing, creampie, wall sex, somewhat of a slow burn at first [let me know if i miss anything]

A/N: Okay, so before I continue, I feel the need to say something. I know Alastor is aroace. I know it, you know it, we all know it. In the show's canon, I completely respect that. I have a friend that's aroace, and I have a deep respect for them and the community. However, this story is outside of canon, where anything goes. Plus, in this, Alastor still doesn't normally feel sexual attraction towards anyone, except when he's in his rut. But he is not aromantic in this. You can say he's demi-romantic; there needs to be a very deep connection between him and the target of the affection in order for romance to occur, hence why it happens here due to him and Y/N being so close. So yeah, no disrespect is intended here. I just want to give the people what they want. Besides, I'm clearly not the only one who is guilty of putting Al in sexual situations. I'm just aware of the implications this could bring and tried to give it some respect to the character. So if you're offended by even the idea of Alastor being romantic or him having sex at all, feel free to skip this. I won't blame you one bit. Anyways, enjoy!

Taglist: @omniuravity @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered @neonvehk @moths-and-mantids

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It was the beginning of October. Something was going on at the hotel. Alastor was staying away from everyone, holing himself in his room. You knew this wasn’t like him. Today, when you first confronted him about his odd behavior, he pushed you away and ran to his room. He had a panicked look in his eyes, which was an expression you never saw from him before. That’s how you knew something was wrong. You asked around the hotel to find out what happened, but they just told you that they didn’t know and to just let him be. But you refused, you knew you had to help him somehow, regardless of what everyone else said. That night, you walked up to his door and knocked on it.

Alastor softly groaned, turning his head slightly to glare at the door. As he walked to the door and prepared his speech in his mind, he heard your voice. “Alastor...? It’s me, Y/N. Are you okay?” He opened the door and was surprised to see you standing there, a worried expression marring your normally cheerful features. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair before letting out a sigh as he tried to control himself. “Y/N...” He muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. Despite his efforts to push you away to keep you safe, here you were, like a loyal little puppy. He avoided eye contact and said, “I said I don’t want any company. Please, just go.”

You noticed how disheveled he looked, his suit in disarray and partially open, exposing the scar on his chest from his fight with Adam. His breathing was heavy, like he had done something strenuous inside his room. You focused on the task at hand, saying, “You’ve been avoiding everyone all day and been so distant towards me. You’ve never acted like that before. Did something happen?” Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he stared at you, his heart beating faster as he looked at you. He knew that he should maintain distance, but seeing you so concerned about him made it even harder to resist the primal urges inside him. With a deep breath, he tried to gather his thoughts and come up with an explanation that wouldn’t reveal what was really going on. “It’s nothing important,” he muttered, attempting to sound dismissive. But the worry in your eyes made him rethink his response. “Just a minor issue, really. Now please, go back to your room.” He took a step forward, trying to usher you away from his room. His tentacles were starting to emerge from his back, twitching slightly, antsy to just grab you and pull you in.

You look into his eyes and knew he was lying. “I know you’re lying, Alastor. Your eyes give away so much. Right now, they’re saying, ‘Help me’.” His gaze flickered briefly before returning to its normal coldness, masking the conflict within him. “No, really, I’m fine,” he lied, forcing a chuckle. “You shouldn’t worry about me.” However, despite his words, he couldn’t shake off the desire burning brightly inside him. With a pleading glance and then a defeated sigh, he reluctantly stepped aside, allowing you entrance into his room. “Come in. Please, sit down.” He pointed towards the antique couch in the corner, trying to distract himself with tidying up some papers strewn across his desk as you sat down. You noticed that his room was a total mess, things flung all over the floor, scratches on the walls and furniture. Even the couch you were sitting in had some claw marks embedded on it. As you looked around, he busied himself with picking up random items and placing them back neatly, hoping the movement would help calm his racing thoughts. But you noticed something. “Alastor...? You’re not okay. You’re shaking.”

Alastor froze mid-movement, his hands trembling slightly as he held onto a stack of papers. “Fuck...” He cursed under his breath, his eyes soon meeting yours. “I..I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to involve you in this. I promise that everything is under control.” He quickly set down the papers and attempted to regain his posture, fixing his suit and tying his bow tie nervously. “Perhaps we can chat in the morning when things have settled down?” He suggested, offering his signature smile. Deep down, he knew he needed help, but admitting weakness wasn’t easy for someone like him. For now, he could only hope that time would ease his torment. You got up and walked over to him, gently taking his hand and looking at him. You spoke in a concerned yet soothing voice, “Please...tell me what’s going on. I want to help you, Alastor. I don’t care what it is, I’ll help you no matter what.” Alastor hesitated for a moment, his mind battling between acceptance and denial. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh and gently gripped your hand, feeling a wave of warmth emanating from your touch. Despite his fear right now, Alastor found solace in your presence, knowing that you were willing to stand by him no matter what. Your unwavering support was both comforting and overwhelming; it reminded him how much he truly cared for you.

You and him were like two peas in a pod, the closest of friends. You two were so close, you were the only one permitted to touch him without any consequences. Even Rosie was surprised when she saw you two hug at one point. It was clear you both cared for each other deeply, but Alastor, being himself, was always one to deny it when others brought it up. But deep down, Alastor admired your compassion and putting others before yourself. He didn’t know why, it was something about you that drew him to you. If there was one person he could trust with his life, it was you.

“It...It’s my rut season again,” he confessed softly, averting his gaze from yours. “I’m usually able to handle this just fine, but...lately, I’ve been struggling to control myself, especially around you.” He gripped your hand tighter, his voice barely audible. “If I lose control, I know I’ll end up hurting you or worse - change into something...most unpleasant.” You smiled and cupped his cheek, turning his head to face you. “Is that what this was all about? Alastor, you had me worried sick.” Alastor looked at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and relief as he met your gentle gaze. Your reassuring words eased some of his anxiety, but the fear still lingered in the back of his mind. “Thank you for understanding. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said as he leaned into your touch. His heart pounded against his chest, the scent of your perfume wafting through the air. Though he appeared calmer, the tension in his body remained, a testament to the struggle he faced internally. You concern brought him comfort, but it also heightened his awareness of his inner turmoil.

In that moment, you made a decision. You looked him straight in the eye and said, “Alastor...if it really is that troublesome for you...I’ll help you through it.”

Alastor’s eyes shot wide and a small blush appeared on his cheeks, a look very unlike Alastor. He shook his head vigorously, pulling away slightly. “No, no, it’s fine. Really, I appreciate your offer, but--.” That’s when you hugged him before he could finish his sentence. Surprised yet pleased by your bold move, Alastor hesitated for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around you, returning the hug. The warmth of your body against his calmed him somewhat, and he leaned his head against yours, closing his eyes. You spoke gently, “Alastor...I care about you. Deeper than just friends. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you through anything. Please...let me help you here.”

Normally, he would be repulsed at the idea of having sex. He never felt any sexual attraction to anyone, not even when he was a human. But even asexuals have their bodily urges, whether they want to or not. And since he became a demon, these urges became stronger, much stronger. He had thought about coming to you for this, but he was afraid of chasing you away. He cared for you as deeply as you did for him, and he didn’t want to ruin that. Finding a friend like you in Hell is like finding a diamond in a vast desert, and he certainly wasn’t going to go and throw that away. But seeing you being so supportive and seeing your want to help him, he started to second guess his choices. Maybe it was okay to let you help him. It was just a friend wanting to help another one out with something they were dealing with, and they were pretty close already. Plus, this could help him deal with the month much easier if there was someone to help him release the constant urges, and it was a way for them to make their bond stronger than anything.

“Alright, Y/N,” he murmured softly, his voice breaking slightly. “If that’s what you truly want, then I’ll accept your help.” In that instant, he felt a sudden surge of strength coursing through him, as if some invisible weight had lifted off from his shoulders. “Thank you...thank you,” he repeated, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. You smiled and wiped a tear away from his eye before you leaned in and kissed him softly and tenderly. Alastor’s lips parted involuntarily at your touch, his tongue tentatively seeking entry into your mouth. The taste of your lips against his own sent waves of pleasure coursing through his veins, making it difficult for him to think straight. However, he forced himself to pull away after a brief moment. “I...I can’t...I..I...We’re in public...” You were confused for a moment until you realized that the door was left wide open, anyone could walk by and see the current scene. You walked over and closed the door, locking it. You turned back to Alastor and said, “Now we’re in private.” Alastor blinked for a moment and then he let a low growl escape him, his eyes gleaming dangerously as he walked towards you. “Private or not..We need to focus on the conversation first.” Despite his words, he couldn’t ignore the animalistic urge gnawing at him, demanding release. You were a bit confused. “What conversation is there to have? Boundaries?” Alastor chuckled softly, tilting his head. “I suppose there is that, isn’t there?” Fed up by his attempts at avoiding the inevitable, you decided to lay it on him. You looked him in the eye and said, “I’ll just give it to you straight, since it’s easier that way. I’m open for making this friendship deeper. I’m willing to give myself to you if it’ll help you though this rut. I’m not worried about you hurting me, I can handle a lot more than you think. All I want to do is to help you, and there’s only one way to do it. I don’t know how you feel about it, but that’s how I feel.”

Alastor stared at you, his eyes widened and his heart pounding in his chest as he processed your words. This revelation was more than what he expected, but despite his confusion and apprehension, Alastor couldn’t deny the swelling desire within him. Slowly, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle yet firm. “Y/N...” He breathed out your name, his voice laced with emotion. “You’re offering yourself...to help me..? Are you sure about this?” His eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of doubt or hesitation. The thought of having you so close was almost too much to bear, but he knew he had to be careful not to push you beyond your limits. You nodded, with zero hesitation. “I am. I’m more sure of this than anything,” you said as you cupped his cheek.

Alastor’s breath hitched at your determination, his eyes never leaving yours. Your touch sent electric shocks throughout his body, making it impossible to resist the urge any longer. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue delving deeply into your mouth. You kissed him back deeply, wrapping your arms around him, softly moaning in his mouth. His tentacles stirred restlessly, eager for more than just physical contact. But he focused on the present, savoring the taste of your lips and the feel of your body pressed against his own. In this moment, all other worries seemed trivial compared to the connection you both shared. Alastor groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down your back to grip your hips firmly as he pinned you to the wall. The sensation of your body against his, coupled with the sound of your moans, drove him wild. Breaking the kiss, he said softly yet seductively, “God, you taste divine...” His voice was raged, his eyes half-closed in lust. “Let’s...let’s get you undressed, shall we?”

With that, he began unbuttoning your shirt, his movements hurried yet precise, his mind fixated solely on satisfying his primal desires. He pulled open your shirt and the tentacles remove it along with your bra. You moaned softly as you felt the tentacles brush along your skin. Alastor’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of your bare breasts, his breath catching in his throat. With deft precision, two of his tentacles wrapped around each of your breasts, gently pinching and stroking your nipples simultaneously. Hearing your moans made his smile widen and his eyes close half-way. “How beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The rest of this tentacles danced around you, exploring every inch of exposed skin, their movements slow and deliberate. Despite his best efforts, as he watched the tentacles remove the rest of your clothes, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was more than just a conquest - it felt like something sacred, something meaningful. Maybe it was.

You moaned as the tentacles wrap around you, they felt so warm against your skin. Alastor’s eyes roamed greedily over your naked form, drinking in every curve and contour of your body. His cock throbbed in his pants, straining against the fabric, begging for release. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “Just perfect.” Without further ado, he took his jacket and shirt off and then pushed his pants down, freeing his massive member from its confines. It stood erect and ready, dripping with pre-cum, as he went up to you. He leaned so his lips were to your ear and purred, “Tell me, my lovely Y/N. Do you want this? Do you want me to claim you fully?” His tentacles continued to explore your body, teasingly brushing against your sensitive spots, driving you wild. You looked at him, your eyes and voice full of desire, “Yeah..I..I do..” You then reached out and stroked his cock while licking his neck. Alastor hissed at your touch, his entire body tensing in response. You stroked him gently, your hand warm and soft, sending waves of pleasure cascading through him. He looked at you, his eyes glowing red. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.” He grasped your waist, pulling you closer, aligning his erection to your pussy. “Are you ready for this?” He asked, his voice heavy with desire. “This is going to be rough, my dear. I can’t promise to hold back completely.” He paused, waiting for your answer, knowing full well that despite your willingness, you deserved to make an informed decision. You cupped his cheek again and smiled as you nodded. You spoke in a voice full of need and desperation, “Please...put it in...” You didn’t have to tell him twice.

His hips bucked forward, pushing his length inside you with one swift motion, causing him to groan in pleasure. The sound of your moan was muffled against his neck as he buried himself to the hilt, his member stretching you wide. His tentacles wrapped around you tightly, supporting your weight as he started moving rhythmically, thrusting in and out of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning at each thrust. Each powerful thrust send waves of pleasure coursing through the both of you, growing your arousals. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he lost control of himself. “Oh sweet Satan, you’re tight!” He growled, his voice hoarse with lust. “You feel amazing, so fucking good...” His pace quickened, becoming faster and harder, matching the intensity of your mutual desire. You couldn’t help but let out your moans, “Ohh fuck...so good..!” Seeing your eyes roll back in pure ecstasy and hearing your words spurred him on. His thrusts grew frantic, his hips slamming against yours relentlessly. “That’s it, take it,” he panted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Take everything I have.” The room echoed with the sounds of your passion, filled with gasps and moans. His tentacles brushed against your skin delicately, adding another layer of stimulation to the already intense experience.

As he kept thrusting, you saw him start to change. He let out a animalistic growl as his transformation accelerated, his body shifting under the influence of his primal urges. His antlers grew much larger, their points almost scraping the ceiling, while his muscles bulged with power. His eyes changed, the sclera turning black and his irises glowing red, drool dripping from his mouth that showed his sharp teeth. “Fuck, Y/N...” His voice was deep and guttural now, his full demon form now on display. “You’re mine, aren’t you? Mine to possess and devour?” Each thrust became more violent, his movements brutal yet tender, driven by an insatiable hunger only you could satiate. His tentacles pulsed erratically, eager to join in the frenzy, but bode their time to let Alastor be the star of the show. You moaned even louder, losing your mind over the pleasure. “Ahh..A..Alastor...! Y..Yes..! I’m yours..! I..I belong to you...!” Alastor’s eyes glowed crimson, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and agony. “Yes!” He roared, his voice echoing through the room. “You’re mine, Y/N! My sweet, sweet Y/N!” With a final thrust, he came inside you, his seed spilling out in hot waves, causing you to cum so hard, your mind was gone. His final few thrusts caused a second orgasm to rock your body. His body shook violently and once he left his high, he slowly transformed back to his normal form.

He grabbed you and collapsed on the bed with you in his arms, panting heavily. He pulled you close, gently grabbing your chin, and whispering, “You’re mine, forever and always.” His tentacles finally joined the fray, caressing your skin gently, soothing the ache left behind by your passion. You held him, your hands gently rubbing his back. Once you looked at him, you saw that he was grinning mischievously. You were wondering why until you felt the tentacles grab you, wrapping around you. “You know I couldn’t hold them back forever.” Each tentacle danced across your skin, exploring every inch of your body, sending shivers down your spine. They slid into you and into your ass, mimicking his previous thrusts, stretching you wide and filling you up, going deeper than he ever could. You felt one tentacle slip over to your lips and when you let out a moan, it slipped into your mouth, going deep down your throat. You couldn’t help but suck on the appendage invading your mouth and filling your stomach with its essence. Despite the fullness, you couldn’t help but moan at the sensations, your body still craving more. “You’re such a precious little thing, darling,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “So sweet, so perfect.” His tentacles continued their rhythmic dance, keeping you on the edge of pleasure. Despite his exhaustion, his eyes gleamed with desire, promising many more nights like this to come.

“You thought it was just one time, sweetheart? Come on now, you know better than that. Oh, this is just the beginning, my dear. We’re in for one wild night...”

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[akoyaxs]

Hi! Could you do a Ao’nung x Sully Reader where Ao’nung gets heat stroke or something and kind of brushes it off and is stubborn about it (cause he doesn’t really seem like the kind to ask for help-) but Reader takes care of him anyways. Thank you!!

✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!metkayina!tsakarem reader (betrothed but not in love YET)

✮ Tags: oneshot, injury, FLUFF

✮ Word Count: 1.8k

Sweet Anon, I hope you enjoy this story 💗

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You knew something was wrong when Aonung didn’t have that stupid cocky grin always plastered to his face, no taunting gleam in those bright eyes, no entitled comments rolling from his mouth like it was his birthright (which in some ways it was, but you’d never admit that).

He had stumbled into the healing marui you occupied when helping Ronal out as Tsakarem, completely oblivious to you seated on the floor, crushing some herbs in the cool shade from the entrance. You frowned first, fully intending on asking him what he was doing bothering you right now when he knows full well his mother isn’t in here, before it occurs to you that he mustn’t know you’re in here either.

Usually, he spots you with that piercing gaze reserved only for you, just so he can come over to make some snarky comment or boast about his latest accomplishment you hardly pay attention to. Which makes it extremely odd he hadn’t noticed you in your pretty obvious spot on the floor, staring at him with confused annoyance as he rifles carelessly through the boxes and storage of herbs you had just organised.

“Can I help you,” you ask with a sigh. You were well used to Aonung’s entitled take on life, but this was a whole new level of brazen cockiness to storm into your healing marui and make a complete mess.

But to your surprise, Aonung flinches back, apparently actually not having realised you were right in front of him, face twisted in a slight grimace, which he tries to hide with a scowl.

“Yes, actually,” he grunts, teeth grinding slightly as he straightens up. You notice the muscles in his neck tighten as he winces again. “Where is all your stupid healing shit?”

“In this marui..?” you point out, getting increasingly confused, and now slightly unnerved. “You need to be more specific. What do you need help w-”

“I don’t need help,” Aonung says tensely through gritted teeth, and your frown deepens. “Just- where is all your stuff?”

He gives an irritated flick of his hand as he turns towards you, accidentally knocking over a box of herbs you collected this morning, all of them spilling and mingling out of their neat selections onto the woven floor.

This is how it usually was with Aonung. Since the two of you became betrothed, you had tried to make reason with him, but by this point you had resigned yourself to the fact that your future mate was a complete and utter skxawng. Trying your best to fight down the pained, annoyed shout you were longing to berate him with, you take a deep breath and lightly tug at his arm.

“Sit, Aonung,” you sigh, leading him to the floor. When he impatiently tries to tug himself free, you tighten your grip and give him a stern look.

“Do you know who I-”

“Yes I am very aware who you are Aonung,” you roll your eyes, pushing down on his head to try and get him to sit, to no avail given his ridiculous size. “But this is my marui where I heal, so no matter who your parents are or if you’re going to lead in the future, I won’t be tolerating bumbling skxawngs with anger issues breaking my stuff.”

Aonung huffs in disbelief and you’re sure he’s about to make some comment that one day you’ll share as mates, blah blah blah, but finally to your surprise, he obliges and sits cross-legged on your woven mat for your patients, and you sigh with relief.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you say, patting his head like a good little boy and kneeling in front of him. “Now what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, not meeting your gaze and scowling.

“Right,” you raise your brows. “So I guess I’ll just let you sulk on my floor then.”

“Perfect, I don’t need you bothering your pretty little he- HEY!”

You suck in a sharp gasp, ignoring Aonung’s indignance that you distracted him to try and discern the issue, and his ears flatten back against his head. Half of his side, stretching painfully from his waist and up along his ribcage is scraped with the unmistakable barb of the outer-reef coral, and there’s a deep bite mark in the flesh of his left arm. Instantly, your gaze flicks up to Aonung, to find him already watching your face closely.

“You went hunting outside the reef alone? Again?”

“Eywa,” Aonung says sullenly. “I’m not a little boy, I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly not,” you whisper, eyes raking once more over the scrapes. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t know you were in here,” Aonung hisses, teeth gritted once more. “If I knew you’d be here and bothering me, I never would have come. I can just as easily leave-”

“No!” you say quickly, grabbing his arm to keep him still. “I’m sorry. Just let me help you.”

Aonung blinks, the words he’d been about to utter dying on his tongue at your offer, before his gaze flicks down to his arm held in your gentle, smaller hands. Instantly, for fear of being yelled at for touching the precious prince, your fingers loosen, and your hand drops away, face flushing.

“I just mean,” you correct, clearing your throat and cursing the blush on your cheeks, “that it wouldn’t be right of me to let you leave like this, particularly with you being… who you are. Just… please stay still Aonung.”

To your surprise, he blinks back, still looking a little disorientated which you quickly write off as a side effect of his injury. With a small sigh of relief and a shy, encouraging smile, you stand up and gather some herbs and ointments, mashing them in a large round shell before kneeling back in front of him.

“This may sting a little,” you say gently, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder to get a good look at his injuries. All he returns is a curt nod, muscles tense under your fingers as your face peers around his body.

It’s a tedious process, wiping and dabbing the scrapes with a cool damp cloth, tentatively smearing the paste over them before blowing lightly on it. Despite all your determined efforts to be overwhelmingly gentle – you are weary of the fit he might throw if you accidentally hurt him – Aonung doesn’t complain or wince or hardly even bat an eye, and you’re ever grateful for it.

However, it is a tense ordeal. Every light brush of your fingers against his warm muscled body makes his jaw clench. Every infinitesimal flex of your hand on his shoulder as you lean and shift to treat him makes the muscles in his neck strain somewhat, as though he’s fighting the urge to break away from you. Every cool breath of yours fanning across his skin has his eyes narrowing and widening in a laboured almost-panic.

You’re almost scared to speak (though you don’t know what you would say), terrified to break this strained, stretched silence, but also very aware of every movement, noise, and flinch in said quiet. You settle on finally speaking; at least that way you aren’t flinching every time you accidentally brush against him.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly. “Is this not-”

“It’s fine,” Aonung says tersely, cutting you off with blunt coldness, and you feel yourself wincing inwardly at how stupid you sound right now.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath, aspirating the t and rolling your eyes. You duck your head back down and continue in your work, praying to Eywa he doesn’t notice the flush of your cheeks as you heal him.

Finally, his side is finished, and you take his arm in your hands to study it. It must be an akula bite, given the sheer terrifying size of it, and as you slowly dab the injury, Aonung finally cracks, letting a tiny wince and an almost silent hiss escape from his stony façade.

“Sorry,” you mumble, but Aonung just shakes his head, grits his teeth, and you continue.

It’s obvious this wound is deep, excruciating even, but Aonung stares straight ahead throughout your dabbing and smearing and blowing until you can finally wrap a bandage around it and clear your stuff away. You pour him a cup of soothing tea as he waits somewhat patiently for you to address him, maybe even dismiss him. His newfound obedience is strange, and you find yourself smiling at the sight of him sitting cross-legged and grouchy like a little boy who scraped his knee.

“You should stop hunting alone outside the reef,” you say quietly, back turned to him as you rinse out the paste and blood sodden cloth. “I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Aonung is silent for a moment and you highly suspect he’s rolling his eyes or maybe even preparing himself for yet another entitled monologue on his great status and disregard for authority and yada yada yada, but strangely, you feel him shift behind you with an amused, “Yes ma’am.”

“I’m serious,” you huff, chucking the towel down and turning to glare at him. The amused look on his face slides off at the evident concern on your face, and you sigh. “You have to stop getting injured, Aonung.”

He blinks in surprise, before reaching out to tug you closer. He’s strong enough – even with his injury – to pull you alone, but you find yourself obliging and coming to sit beside him.

“Well, I’m lucky to have you to fix me up,” he comments, smirking slightly and tucking your hair back.

“Not if you keep acting like an absolute skxawng every time I try and help you,” you counter, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you still, letting Aonung’s hand tucking away your hair fall gently to stroke your cheek fondly.

“I’m sorry syulang,” he whispers, a small furrow forming between his brows. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I wasn’t,” you lie. “You were bothering me.”

Aonung laughs lightly, but as his face trails nearer to yours, you still don’t pull away.

“Is that so?” he asks, face inches from yours. You don’t answer. It’s only when his lips are practically breaths away from brushing against your own when you pull back and frown at him.

“Heal first skxawng,” you grin at his offended, shocked expression. “Then we’ll see what happens.”

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༊ Taglist:

@hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re@yootvi @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @vminlvxr @elegantfankidsoul

😘

[pablitogavii]

Her Best friend

Summary: Pablo is her best friend..until he startled doing some interesting things...;)

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Reader

Warnings: smutty end ;)

You were family friends with Gavi and Aurora since you three were little kids. Aurora being older always bossed you and Pablo around so you kind of became closer to the younger Gavira sibling throughout the years.

It was clear you were no longer kids when you stopped having sleep overs in the same bed or 'play fights' where you would end up on top of him and vice versa.

It stopped when you got your first boyfriend in high school of whom Pablo didn't really approve and was definitely right since the asshole cheated on you in less than a month.

It was a strange relationship anyways...you couldn't really give yourself completely (you know what I mean) and that kept him impatient and somewhat angry with you.

You first thought it was your fear of losing it so soon but then you realized it was your intuition telling you he is not the one you want to give your innocence to...he's not the one you love.

Realization that you had a crush on your best friend didn't really change much because you always believed he didn't share those same feelings..that is until he started to do interesting things recently.

For example, last time y'all went out was on some dinner event where all footballers brought their girlfriends (aka wags) and Pablo invited you as his best friend cause he didn't want to go alone.

You assumed it was fine and got all dolled up in one of your favorite dresses and some high heels. Since your break up, you haven't exactly had a chance to go out looking this nice.

"You look beautiful, enana" he said making you blush and smile while moving closer ruffling his fluffy brown hair.

"You're not bad yourself, Gavira" you chuckled while he whined about you messing his "perfect hair" per usual but you knew he secretly loved it.

"Y/N! Tu eres tan hermosa!" Pedri walked towards you with his big smile and you smiled back nodding your head before giving him a quick hug.

"Where is Francesca, hermano?" Pablo asked referring to Pedri's date meanwhile moving his hand to touch the back on your thigh like it was the most naturally occurring thing in the world (gif).

It was like he wanted Pedri to see it...like he was marking his territory but why?

"She'll be here soon. I'll see you guys inside!" Pedri said quickly before leaving and you turned towards Pablo whose eyes were glued to his phone screen.

You had every intention of asking him why he did that but you chickened out the moment your eyes met remembering how good it felt to have his fingers on your skin.

Another night, he invited you to his house for a movie night. It wasn't an odd thing for you two to watch movies together, often times leading to you sleeping in his bed while he goes to the guest room.

It was during that movie that Pablo started to give you gentle scratches on your leg and you didn't really mind trying your best to stay focused on the movie.

After a few minutes his hand started to move more inward finishing almost inside your pajama shorts a few times. It was useless trying to focus on the movie but stealing a glance from him, you saw that he appears completely unfazed..like he isn't doing anything "interesting" at all right now.

"Pabloooo" you whine and he finally moved his eyes from the TV screen looking down at you with raised busy eyebrows.

"Qué? You don't like the move?" he asks staring in your eyes while still continuing with his little ministrations. Was he really clueless about what he was doing!? No freaking way!

"Um..no..I..you've been touching me a lot lately?" you say feeling your cheeks heat up and his hand stop moving half of his fingers underneath your pajama shorts.

"So?" he asked like your question was dumb and you looked down at his hand rested between your legs which was such a turn on in that moment.

"Nothing..but..um..you've touched me more than my boyfriend and you are my best friend..and I kinda.." you couldn't finish the sentence since he started moving his hand more tracing circles on your clothed clit.

"like it...?" he whispered while you bit your bottom lip trying to suppress a moan knowing that his family is right down stairs.

"do you like it when I touch you nena?" Pablo moved so that he could whisper into your ear and you closed your thighs around his hand trapping it there.

"did anyone ever touch you, princesa?" Pablo added more pressure against your clothed clit and you let a small whine leave your lips while you shook your head making your best friend smirk and pull himself above you.

"aww my poor princesa...so touch starved...maybe I can change that?" Pablo leaned down and you felt nervous all of the sudden..was this really happening or is it another wet dream?

"wait! we..are..friends" you mumble not yourself believing in those words and he knew that the moment he saw your eyes.

"shh..nena..i want to be your boyfriend finally..." Pablo said and you felt your heart skip a beat as his lips crashed on your and he deepened the kiss pulling you down and resting comfortably between your thighs.

"if you want me to stop..." Pablo said after pulling away wanting to make sure you are comfortable with everything that he was doing.

"touch me Pablo.." you couldn't pretend anymore letting a moan slip your lips the moment you pulled him down and kissed his lips again...guess he's not your best friend anymore ;)

[mother-above]

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 2

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 2/?

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: will get suggestive, 18+, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

The sound of the early birds chirping outside of your balcony was driving you insane. You tried to muffle the noise with a pillow, but your body was wound up, you couldn’t ignore anything. Your fingers and toes felt like they were buzzing, the entirety of your body thrumming with energy. Standing up to stretch, you felt like you could run for miles without ever getting tired. It was odd feeling like this again, this phenomenon you were experiencing was because you were reigning in your powers and hiding it from your guests. You had taken off your sapphires when you went to sleep but placing them back on your neck only relieved you of a fraction of your pent-up energy.

You clenched your hands as a surge of power went through your body and sent it into overdrive. There are many ways to expel this energy, the most effective relievers were using your magic, forms of exercise, or sex but you didn’t have much choice with the latter. You have a rule to never hook up with anyone in court because there were strings involved. You preferably slept with males who lived in faraway villages or other courts because there was little chance of a relationship. Only sex and nothing more. Unfortunately, the only viable males in the vicinity were Rhysand and Azriel. Rhysand wouldn’t be the first High Lord you slept with but despite the flirting, you were sure he wouldn’t want to anyway. He was stupidly in love with the newly turned Fae. The next option was Azriel, but you quickly dismissed the attractive-winged Illyrian. He was too handsome, too dangerous to even think about sleeping with him.

That leaves you with exercise. Normally at this time, you’d go flying but since that wasn’t an option, you opted to go for a run. Donned in leggings and a simple top, you set off for an early morning run. It was still dark, but your Fae eyes adjusted almost immediately as you went up and down the bridges and along the gardens. You kept running and only when you were drenched in sweat did you slow down and realize that the sun was finally starting to rise. Stopping for a break, you walked over to one of the sunstone bridges that overlooked the garden, it also happened to be a spot with a good view of the sunrise. Breathing the crisp morning scent, you see movement in the corner of your eye.  

Azriel was flying high in the air, his wings going through the clouds. At first, you thought he was spying again, but then it slowly occurred to you that he was watching the sunrise too. Before you had any time to think, you heard yourself call out to him. At first, you thought he didn’t hear but then he was diving down in your direction. With a loud thud, Azriel landed in front of you, his large wings stretched out before folding them neatly behind his back. You looked at him in awe, never seeing Illyrian wings in action. They were so different from your feathered ones.

“Good morning,” he said, dipping his head. His hair was windswept, and his skin flushed from the cool morning air.

He was so tall and close to you that you didn’t even realize you were staring at him until your braided updo hit your back. You stepped back and straightened yourself out, feeling self-conscious the shadowsinger was seeing you in such informal clothes.

“Good morning,” you said with a melodious voice. Thankfully, none of the awkwardness of last night had drifted to this morning. “You’re technically here for vacation, why are you up so early?”

He shrugged, “I couldn’t sleep. How about you? The Palace staff haven’t even woken up yet.”

“I always wake up for sunrise, it’s my favorite part of the day. I love looking at all the colors, every day is different from the last.”

Azriel snorted, “So your favorite part of the day is Dawn? How predictable.”

“What’s your favorite part of the day?” you said defensively. “I’m willing to bet 20 gold marks that it’s midnight.”

You laughed at your joke and Azriel’s lips quirked up, the sound reminded him of chiming bells.

“Actually,” he said as he leaned his forearms against the railing. “My favorite part of the day is sunrise too. When I was younger, I used to fear the dark, so I loved it when the sun rose. I’ve learned to love and live in the shadows… but the sunrise will still be my favorite.”

His voice was soft and deep, and you peered up as if you were looking at him for the first time. He was beautiful, much more handsome than Rhysand in your opinion. Every feature of his was classically handsome, his eyes, nose, and lips were perfect. What irritatingly made you swoon wasn’t just his looks but also his stature and demeanor. Azriel was tall and everything about him screamed predator, maybe it made you odd or sick, but you found that attractive. You and Thesan shared a discreet look yesterday when Azriel leaned across you to pick up a basket of bread. Your eyes had snapped to look at his strong arms and you knew Thesan saw it too. It took all of Callon’s self-control not to roll his eyes in front of the guests. Azriel truly was muscular, his clothes slightly tight around the shoulders and thighs. He was wearing black formal clothes but this time, you noticed the blue jewels that gleamed on each wrist. Azriel stood near enough that you drew yourself closer to look at the stones. You almost did a double take, they looked exactly like the sapphires that were glamoured on your neck.

“What are these jewels that you wear on your hands?” you asked.

“They’re called Siphons. Illyrians have this type of raw power, it’s hard to control so we store them in these jewels called Siphons,” said Azriel.  “In battle, we can use and redirect that power to make shields, armor, and weapons.”

“What happens when you don’t wear one?”

“The magic is unrefined, it’s hard to control and can be potentially dangerous.”

Azriel watched you look intently at the Siphons, your brows drawn together. He cursed himself for not wearing gloves, he wanted to snatch his hands away and hide the scars. The only thing stopping him was the sight of the angry jagged lines on your face. They were proudly shown even though you could have easily glamoured them.

“Aren’t you scared?” his was voice quiet. Most people avoided Azriel. If the shadows didn’t keep others away, it was the sight of the obsidian-hilted dagger that drove them off. “Illyrians don’t have the best reputation; they can be cruel.”

Your brows furrowed further as you met his gaze, you’ve heard of how backward Illyrian society was, especially to women. For some reason, you couldn’t imagine the male in front of you acting like that. He was dangerous but were you scared of him? His stature and demeanor should have made you run for the hills, but his eyes were warm now that you were really looking at him.

“I’m not scared of you, Azriel. It’s going to take more than that to spook me.” That statement was true, he was physically stronger than you in every way possible. What he doesn’t know was that hidden power within you. With one swipe of your hand, you could bring the Illyrian down on his knees, hell, you could probably do the same to his High Lord.

He doesn’t respond at first, you and Azriel stood side by side as you looked at the multicolored sky.

“You should be scared of me,” said Azriel softly. He was so quiet you weren’t sure if you were meant to hear that.

The two of you returned to admiring the sky, the dark blue slowly fading and making way for the pinks and oranges. The sun was about to peek through the mountaintops, and you can’t help but feel jealous when you see fellow Peregryns in the distance watching the sunrise from the sky.

“One time, Callon flew me up for the sunrise,” you lied. “It was breathtaking, I probably think about that experience once a day.”

Azriel’s lips curved into a smile. “Do you want to see it from the sky? I can carry you if you want.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “So you can drop me from thousands of feet in the air? No thanks, i’ll pass.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Why would I do that and ruin thousands of years of allyship? Do you want to see the sunrise from the air or not?”

He extended his arms for you and with a sheepish smile, you placed a hand on his shoulder as he swiftly hooked his arms under your back and knees. He tightened his hold and shot up into the sky with a boom. You screamed in glee and Azriel couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face when he met your gaze. It was a strange feeling to put all your trust in the spymaster as he flew.

Once he was at the desired altitude, Azriel leveled off and kept his wings on a steady beat to stay in place. While you marveled at the sun slowly peeking behind the mountains, Azriel was hit by the most intoxicating scent. Morning dew, lilac, and a hint of sweat had wafted off you and it overpowered his senses, and he didn’t mind it one bit.

With great focus, Azriel took his eyes off you and trained them to the east. Dawn Court undoubtedly had the best sunrise he had ever seen but it was hard to focus when you were pressed against him. He realized the light grip around his shoulders was peculiar. He thought you must’ve taken more flights with the Peregryns if you weren’t that scared to be in the air. Even if you seemed relaxed, he holds you tighter to his chest for security. It was at that moment when you realized how intimate this felt, and you immediately became aware of everything. The brush of his neck on your bare arm, the sight of black tattoos that peeked from the collar of his shirt, and his scent.

Gods. He smells good, like night-chilled mist and cedar trees.

You couldn’t help but inhale the rich scent, it was only when you smelled yourself mixed with him when you felt a flutter from your stomach. You froze, this was too intimate, and you wanted nothing more than to fly away from him.

“Azriel, can you we go back down?” you said, your voice tight.

Without a question, Azriel starts flying down, his brows furrowed noticing your rigid body. Landing softly on the bridge, he gently set you down and you practically flung yourself away from him.

“Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?” said Azriel, his eyes wide and scared he had done something wrong. Growing up in the Illyrian camps made Azriel well aware of the signs of a woman who does not want to be touched. Your stiffness under his hold made his anxiety spike, if he had made you uncomfortable, he did not intend it. Azriel would sooner take a dagger to the chest than force himself onto another person.

You shook your head. “No, you did nothing wrong. We were up high, and it just took me by surprise and I uh—realized I have to go do something for Thesan,” you stuttered. “I’ll see you later.”

Cringing at how awkward you were, you briskly walked back to the Palace. You hoped the shadowsinger didn’t look too much into it. It was you who was averse to the sudden closeness, feeling the intimacy that you hated.

***

Azriel walked into the guest suite and saw Rhysand and Feyre sitting in the breakfast nook with food on the table. They noticed his slightly frazzled demeanor and they looked at each other with their brows raised. Rhysand asked him what was wrong, but he just waved Rhys off and dug into the food. The High Lord sighed; his brother would eventually tell him when he was ready. Casting a silencing charm in the room, Rhys nods at Feyre.

“Did your shadows find something yesterday?” asked Feyre.

The spymaster shook his head. “I was scouting for that power signature we felt but Y/n caught me last night.”

Rhysand stilled, his fork hovering by his mouth. “She caught you? How the hell did she do that?”

“I have no idea, either way, I haven’t felt a single surge of that power, I know it’s still here, it’s barely there but I can feel it linger in the air. The last time I felt its strength was a few days ago and now it’s barely there,” reported Azriel. “Have any of you felt it?”

Rhysand and Feyre nodded. The only noticeable power signature they felt was from Thesan but that was expected and everyone else felt normal. During the Palace tour, Feyre tried to detect anything regarding the book, but she came up with nothing.

“Thesan is hiding something. They all are but I just haven’t figured out what it might be,” said Azriel. “Did anyone ask about the Golden Warrior? My spies have heard nothing new about him.”   

Rhysand chews on his bottom lip, annoyed at how elusive this court was being. “I asked him about the Golden Warrior, and he told that he doesn’t know the Warrior’s identity. They don’t even know what he looks like, he wears a helmet all the time. He said he tried finding out, but the warrior is elusive, apparently not even his Captain can pinpoint his identity,” said Rhysand. “Normally, Thesan wouldn’t tolerate this mysterious faerie but because he has helped Y/n take care of his court, Thesan will grant him anonymity. I tried looking through their minds, but I was met with walls of steel.”

“What’s the plan then? We can’t spend too much time here when we know that part of the Book of Breathings resides in the Summer Court,” said Feyre. “I need to visit the other cities, maybe that power we felt can be found there.”

“Thesan and Y/n had gone through trouble to protect the Palace and nearby villages. I don’t think we’ll find what we’re looking for in a faraway city. We’ll stay for one more day and make sure we scour every inch of the estate,” ordered Rhys.

After breakfast, the Night Court guests were to meet with you, Thesan, Callon, and other trusted faeries in your court in the war room that adjoined your office. You wore flowing cotton pants with a sleeveless and backless top that showed off your strong arms and back. The hair that you usually kept in an updo was let down, cascading, and framing your lovely face. Thesan and Callon who walked in holding hands were the first to arrive, both males kissed you on the cheek as a greeting. You stepped back from your desk and offered Thesan to sit on your office chair but declined, he wanted you to be more active in your role today.

When Night Court arrived, you immediately launched into a discussion about treaties and laws that have to do with Dawn and Night Court. Almost 50 years of being Under the Mountain meant many things were forgotten. You could feel Azriel’s eyes on you the entire time, when they arrived you had barely acknowledged the spymaster in fear you would think about him holding you. When he walked into the room, chilled mist and cedar trees hit you like a wall of bricks. There was an annoying little flutter in your gut when you scented him, and it made your stomach turn. It meant that you were attracted to him and that was always a path you carefully treaded on. You only have flings, no romantic relationships, and the latter terrifies you.

Whenever Thesan and Rhysand took control of the conversation, you busied yourself by fussing around the large table-top map of Prythian or pouring yourself and the guests’ glasses of water. You could feel it when Azriel looked at you, the faint whispers of his shadows were a big indicator, but you never once cast a glance at the handsome spymaster. When Azriel spoke and pointed out problems along the borderlands, you never met his eye. He could tell you were avoiding him so when it was lunchtime, he stayed by the door as you tidied the papers.

 “This morning—did I do something wrong?” said Azriel.

You looked up to see his hands in his pockets and his shadows drifting low on the ground.

“No, you did nothing wrong. I was just a little taken aback by how high up we were,” you lied. “Callon’s never flown me to that altitude before.”

Azriel sighed in relief, “Oh, okay. I thought I did something to—you know, make you uncomfortable.”

“You were nothing but respectable,” you said reassuringly. “I was the one who freaked out a little, you did nothing wrong.”

   Except he did do something wrong, you say to yourself. He was tall, freakishly handsome, had tattoos, and smelled like heaven. It was all his fault.  

“Thank you, by the way,” you said as you finished filing away the documents. “Thanks for flying me up for sunrise.”

He blinked and then nodded. Your moods were confusing, one second you were avoiding him and in the next second, you were thanking him. You brushed past Azriel as you made your way to the dining room, making it a point to hold your breath so you wouldn’t smell him.

Lunch went by smoothly, no one was keen to bring up politics since that’s all you’d been doing for the past 3 and a half hours. Rhysand reminisced about the time Thesan became High Lord three centuries ago, you weren’t born yet so you listened in delight. You knew your cousin was young when he became High Lord, but you never knew he was only 53 years old when your uncle died. It was strange to hear Rhysand tease Thesan about his naivety, to you, your cousin had always been steadfast and strong. Your parent’s died when you were a teenager, so he was always the strict guardian. Now that you were 130 years old, he was more like your best friend but there was still that certain respect you had for him, High Lord or not.

You were supposed to join the group to visit the nearby villages but that was before one of the guards walked in and handed you and Thesan a note. There were conflicts between two nobles near the border of Dawn and Day that needed attending. Since Thesan was hosting Rhysand, it was up to the second-in-command to deal with the conflict. You were to take two Peregryn Warriors with you, friends named Wyla and Bersk. Since you weren’t sure how long this would take, you say a brief goodbye to your Night Court guests. Thesan wished you well while Feyre waved as you and the Peregryns winnowed away.

The entire day felt like it dragged on forever. You were tired of hearing the lords bicker about who had ownership of a factory and warehouse. They had finally agreed to claim equal ownership but neither one of them thought profits should be split evenly. One Lord’s argument was he supplied the metals needed while the other Lord had more tinkerers from their land. Wyla and Bersk had to hold back each lord on various occasions as you sat there and pressed your hands on your temple to relieve the tension. After suffering a headache and drafting new arrangements, it was already dark when you finally had them sign and agree to a new contract.

It was past dinner when you winnowed back to the castle, you had just sat down to eat dinner one of the housekeepers left out for you to find when you heard whispers. You looked around for the shadows, but they weren’t in the kitchen, so you stood up and followed the noise. Your footsteps were feather light and barely detectable; an ability granted to you for being half Peregryn. The whispers of the shadows and a male and female were now apparent, with a hand on your concealed dagger, you turned the corner to see Feyre and Azriel struggling to open the door to a private library.

You cleared your throat and the whispers stopped; the two-night court members slowly turned, terrified they were caught. They were met with the cold hard stare of Dawn Court's second-in-command, your friendly demeanor once again switched to show the hardened warrior that kept her court relatively untouched.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Your voice was sharp, Feyre flinched as it cut through the darkness. “Tell me the truth or else you can kiss Dawn Court’s allegiance goodbye.”

Feyre swallowed as she looked at Azriel with wide eyes.

“We’re looking for a powerful ancient book, something that has knowledge on the Cauldron,” said Azriel, smoothly lying. His voice was steady but inside he was panicking. Along with his shadows and Feyre’s glamouring, they should’ve been invisible. “We’re not looking for any trouble, we just desperately need to find this book.”

You glared at them as you stepped closer to the door. “We don’t have anything like that,” you placed a glowing hand on the dark oak door. It magically unlatched and swung open to reveal a large room filled with your personal book collection along with ancient tomes that were older than the Palace itself. “I’d rather have you see for yourself before Thesan or Callon catch you sneaking around the castle.”

Azriel and Feyre gaped at you, shocked that you had opened the door for them. They dipped their chins in thanks before briskly walking in afraid you’d rescind your permission. Crossing your arms and stiffly standing against a wall, you watched them scan the books. Feyre was even holding her hands up as if to sense for something with her magic. She kept looking back at you scared that they had fucked up with the Dawn Court. After about 15 minutes of searching, she and Azriel reconvened by a bookshelf. You heard them say that they haven’t found anything, you also heard Azriel tell Feyre to go ahead and that he wanted to talk to you.

Feyre stopped by and dipped her head in apology. “I am truly sorry. We are sorry. We came into your home and violated your trust. Please believe us when we say this is for the good of our Courts, for Prythian.”

You raised a brow and gave her a silent nod, a wordless confirmation that you wouldn’t say anything to Thesan-- yet. She hurriedly walked away only to look back at Azriel who stood anxiously in the place she left him, his shadows swarming. The whispers were droning, and they only stopped when you got up and started walking toward him. Azriel went rigid when he saw your clenched jaw, he was going to have to tell you something or risk you and Thesan’s wrath. He had no idea if he could trust you, but his hands were tied.

“Azriel, what the hell is going on? I need to know now,” your voice was laced with fury. His shadows stirred as they heard your tone, they knew to be wary.

The spymaster had no choice, so he conceded. “I was sworn to secrecy, I can’t just reveal what I know.”

You scoffed, “I’m open-minded and I can keep a secret. If I was neither, I would’ve kicked out of your Court the moment I found you spying on me.”

Azriel groaned because you were right. He was surprised that you didn’t do that in the first place. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I can.”

To make a point that you were going to sit and listen to his story, you plopped onto a couch and motioned for him to do the same. Azriel looked at you warily, there it was again. That switch from a terrifying female to the friendly courtier that invited him to sit on the plush cushions. You had even conjured a plate of food onto the coffee table, he realized it was the leftovers from dinner. Biting into the braised beef, you looked at him expectedly.

The shadowsinger rubbed his temples as he prayed to the Mother that he was doing the right thing. “Once Amarantha’s curse was lifted, my spies and Rhysand felt this colossal surge of power. We searched and discovered that it was coming from Dawn Court, we thought it was connected to the book we were searching for. That’s why we came to visit.”

You feigned confusion, they were not supposed to detect your power at all. “What in the Cauldron is this book you’re looking for? And the power surge? I haven’t felt anything like that until Thesan winnowed in from Under the Mountain.”

“For some reason, we can barely feel that power signature, it feels weak right now.” He sighed, “I can’t tell you about the book— but you’ll find out in due time. Just keep your eyes and ears open for anything happening in Prythian.”

You waited for him to say more but he just coolly looked at you while waiting for your response.

“That’s all you’re going say? Keep your eyes and ears open?” you said exasperatedly. “That’s all I’ve been doing for the past forty-nine years!”

Azriel leaned his arms against his thighs. “And? You’re Thesan’s second, I’m sure you’ve been monitoring everything with your spies. What have you noticed so far?”

That familiar feeling of uncertainty fills your chest, it was nice to know you weren’t the only one sensing impending doom. “Prythian isn’t out of the woods yet,” you murmured. “I’m guessing this has to do with Hybern.”

All the shadowsinger could do was nod, and before he could accidentally spill more of Night Court’s secrets, he disappears into his shadows and winnows away. You sat there blinking at the spot where he once sat, the damn male left without your dismissal. Conjuring a glass of amber liquid, you knocked it back and settled into the pillows. All your life you were taught to dampen your power and conceal it, your glamour should have been enough but apparently not. Thesan must have helped with your power and continued to glamour you in the decades he was gone. He must have forgotten or thought you no longer needed help. Azriel said it was weak, so they still felt it.

You touched the invisible siphons you wore around your neck and felt your blood run cold. Three jewels weren’t enough, you were going to need more to help contain your magic. A shudder runs down your spine, you were more powerful than you thought and that terrified you.

***

Late in the morning, Rhysand and his courtiers announced they would take their leave after breakfast. As they thanked you and Thesan for your hospitality, Rhysand and Thesan braced each other’s forearms to signify their alliance. They do the same to you because you are second in command. Feyre is awkward from last night’s encounter and doesn’t know what to do until you reach for her hand and squeezed it. You told her she has a friend in Dawn Court, and she smiled and said the same. Azriel said goodbye last, your grasp on his arm was quick but it didn’t stop your eyes from sweeping down his arm to his strong scarred hands. Even Azriel took this moment to study your features, he didn’t know when he’d see you again, so he took in all your beauty. He had already stepped away from you and stood in line waiting for Rhysand to winnow them away, but his hazel eyes were still trained on you. He saw how the wind blew through your hair, the movement reminding him of the wisps of his shadows. You might just be the most intriguing female Azriel has ever met.

[vagabond-umlaut]

HIIII KIT <333333 you said you were okay w selfship asks so!!!!! here i am :33

first of all >:3 i’m a sucker for the falls first/falls harder dynamic, so!!! in your selfships, who fell first and who fell harder?? 🎤🎤 or did you both fall at the same time??? i need to knowwww!!! 

anddddd i also . love & adore….. sun/moon pairings……… 👉👈 so i’d love to know where your selfships fall on that scale too!!! :3 i get sun vibes from you but i could see moon too…. super curious to hear abt this one hehe

anyway!!!! ily kit <3333 i hope sukugo r treating you nicely!!!!! feral cat men smh…

AAAHHH ARIIi, TYTYTY FOR SENDING ME THESE QUESTIONS! I SERIOUSLY LOVE ANSWERING ASKS ON MY SELFSHIPS SM— i'm hugging u so very tightly rn *mwah mwah mwah* @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat

who fell first? who fell harder?

kitoru

honestly speaking, the lore of my ship w satoru changes w the seasons 🤭🤭 but acc to the information i hv as of summer 2024, i'm the one who fell first. and 'toru is the one who fell harder. i fell for him a very long time ago— back when i was in my mid teens and he was in his early twenties. but nothing romantic happened then– wtv hints i gave him either went over his head or he intentionally side-stepped them. and i js stopped giving him hints after one or two failed attempts, js staying happy with staring at him from afar, or yk, relishing wtv moments i used to get him as being one of his acquaintances... [he used to see me as a 'friend'. i nvr thought he cld see me as a 'friend', haha] but yk, when we grew up, i crossed quite some distance into my twenties and he too entered his late twenties— this is when the tectonic plates of our relationship slowly started shifting. i cld feel it, but i did not want to hope once again js to get heart-broken a second time— satoru, however, felt the shift like an earthquake. it's like, one moment he was thinking of me like he wld think of a friend, but then smthng happened, and he was like, "oh. this isn't how i think of shoko or nanami. oh. oh."— and well, let's js say, satoru was not rly in the mood for dating... he was more like, "omggg, ily! i'll take care of u! i'll make sure u hv a happy life! why don't we get married engaged, hm?" [i love my men a bit yandere 😂]

kitkuna

i think, mr. darcy's words fit sukuna and my dynamics the best 😄— “i was in the middle before i knew that i had begun.” we did not hv a very normal start to our relationship. sukuna js abducted me from my family and made me his queen. and i js became his queen and began to live in his temple or palace or fort or wtv. and yeah, we js started living together the way two ppl married as if for tax benefits start living together under the same roof. tht is it... except, tht doesn't stay tht is it for long. usually, i wld be content w some yummy food, interesting books, and nice comfy clothes— but over time, i began to notice i was feeling stuff other than js content. over time, this heavy feeling inside my chest began to grow lighter and i began to feel freer— and i realised, it was because of this freedom i was experiencing here. smthng i nvr got to experience when i was w my family— that place was rly good, yeah. i was treated rly well. but i felt more like ' a bird inside a golden cage' there. this observation changed my perception of sukuna from a housemate to smthng more amiable, perhaps smthng more affectionate, and i tried to get closer to him, inch by inch— actually millimetre by millimetre, 'cause i love to test the waters 1st then dip my toe into it— and then one fine day, when i wake up from an afternoon nap and i find sukuna sitting at the table, totally immersed in scrolls of poetry... an odd thing happens in my chest— which occurs again at dinner a few nights later... when i notice him eating as messily as ever— smthng which repeats when i catch him napping one day, akin a big cat lounging in the shade— a phenomenon which starts to happen multiple times a day very very soon... needless to say, i quickly diagnose it as a case of falling in love w my hubby 😌😌 as for sukuna... i don't rly think he feels love... he kidnapped me 'cause he was lwk intrigued by me. [idk why] he married me 'cause he grew highkey intrigued by me. [i still hv no idea why 😭😭] and he gave me space, never tried to be bad or scary to me 'cause he gave me some amt of respect as his wife, his queen [i nvr went to his court tho. i preferred drinking fruit juice and reading a good book in the shade of a tree] [were u able to guess i'm lazyyy] but then, one day, few weeks after i was able to extricate myself from my jumbled emotions and reach a definitive diagnosis— i found him snoozing under the same tree i take rest under, w a very amateurish book titled 'how do you know you are in love'— and i actually got rooted to the spot. and sukuna, heaven knows how, woke up while i was busy gaping at him. and he made an embarrassed face and dashed away— uraume later confirmed, their lord was feeling an odd thing in their chest; esp the last few weeks— roughly the same time as when i first encountered my symptom. later tht night, when i started subtly teasing him, calling us soulmates, he js put a blanket over my head to shut me up, but did not kill me— guess he loves me, huh 🤭🤭

who is the sun? who is the moon?

be it kitoru or kitkuna, i think i'm the moon, babes 😇😇 tho not a full moon. i'm more of a waxing crescent, methinks... 'cause i feel like i'm bright, but not bright enuf to light someone's path thru a forest at night... i js hv the potential, heh [i'm defo not the sun, babes 😅😅 i can be a lil grumpy and mean tbh, hahaha] satoru and sukuna, on the other hand... i think they are the sun in our dynamics. they can be both the comforting sun of chilly winter mornings, when i need them to be here for me, to hug me, to kiss me, to love me— and the scorching sun of a summer noon, ready to burn anyhting and everything which dares to bother me... [i love satoru and sukuna being a little crazy in their love for me 🥰🥰]

they're treating me pretty well so far, babes 🥰🥰🥰 and fr fr— feral cat men make me go insaneeee 😂😂😂

now i too wanna know ur answers to these same asks for ur selfships, my loveee 🤗🤗🤗 [no pressure tho!! only if u wanna ❤️❤️]

[hoodoo12]

If you’re taking requests, can I get a jealous, angsty but happy ending fic with (f)reader x Beetlejuice? Love your content 🖤

Xoxo

You are too kind, thank you!

Here is a lil something with a jealous Beetlejuice but it all works out in the end.

“I’m not jealous.”

You didn’t reply, so he tried again.

“I’m not jealous!”

You didn’t even look over at him. You heard him sigh in exasperation.

“I’m not jealous!”

Third time was the charm. You spun around on him so quickly he actually took a step back in surprise.

“You are jealous,” you contradicted with emphasis. You didn’t try to control your anger. “I was working on a project-–you know I’ve been working on this!-–and we had to get the final part of the presentation complete and it was just easier to do that with less distractions–-”

“Less distractions?” Beetlejuice interrupted, with a snort of a laugh that was unmistakenly meant to showcase his disbelief. “Less distractions?!”

“Yes!” you shouted back. “Less distractions than in a coffee house, less distractions than here, obviously–-”

“So you thought the perfect place to go was that guy’s house? Up in his bedroom?!”

“That’s where his computer is!”

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, panting from the rush of adrenaline due to the rage. Well, he didn’t need to pant but he did anyway, and a tiny, malicious part of your brain wondered if he was mocking you.

After a moment of fury continuing to electrify the air, Beetlejuice continued, “You were sitting on his bed,” as if that was the coup de grâce of his point, and there would be no way you could counter it.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Yes. And since you were obviously spying on me, you saw there was no other chair in the room, he was sitting at his computer facing away from me, there were papers spread all over the damn place, and I was wearing leggings with a hole in the knee and a sweatshirt that was so big I looked like I was playing dress up!”

He scowled but didn’t immediately retaliate, which meant he had seen all that.

“Beetlejuice–-”

He gave a wordless warning snarl at the use of his full name. You didn’t care; you specifically chose to use it to make him actually listen to you.

“–-there was nothing going on,” you continued. “There is nothing going on! I’m not interested in him, we just have to work together! I can’t believe you’re making this into something bigger than it is–-”

“Babes, that doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you,” Beetlejuice interrupted, but more quietly.

The change in tone caught you attention and you took a breath instead of immediately continuing with your tirade.

Beetlejuice gave you a smile that was an odd combination of sad and resigned. “I know how guy’s think, babe. Invited to his house? To his room? Maybe at first he didn’t have anything but work on his mind, but when you agreed to go up there, the thought that maybe he’d be getting some action definitely occurred to him.

“Trust me. I know. I’ve been that guy.”

You opened your mouth. Then shut it again. You hadn’t thought of that possibility.

That odd, sad smile hadn’t left his face. “Guys don’t care what you’re wearing, baby. They’re thinking of what’s underneath, and how they can get to it.”

Another moment of silence passed between you, but it was much less tension-filled than the first.

“Beej …” you started, then stopped again to try and line your thoughts up coherently.

He waited, this time.

You started again. “Beej, you shouldn’t be jealous of him. I’m not interested in him at all. I’m sorry that it looked bad, me going over there and going into his room, but I didn’t have any thoughts about anything but work. If he did, I can’t control that. And if he had tried something … inappropriate, I wasn’t going to scream, “no” or “stop”! I would have screamed your name, because I know you’d be there.”

Beetlejuice’s expression softened, just a bit.

“I mean, you’d have been there, in the flesh, instead of just making him think his house was haunted or I was possessed or something,” you teased lightly.

“You trust me that much, babe?” he asked, in the same quiet voice.

Your answer was an immediate, “Yes!”

Now it was his turn to mull things over.

You took a step closer. This time he didn’t step back, so you took his hand and put it on the waistband of the aforementioned ratty leggings. Looking up at him, you said,

“How could you ever think that I would want to be with someone else?”

He frowned a little. “Because he’s alive.”

You laughed in his face. “So what? He’s not you.”

His expression didn’t change, although it did soften the tiniest amount.

“And you know what?” you asked, with a hint of tease in your voice. “That thing you mentioned, about guys not caring what a girl is wearing? I know you don’t care what’s on the outside, but–-”

Here you paused and looked down, directing him non-verbally to follow your gaze. Without dislodging his hand from your hip, you tucked your thumb under your elastic waistband and pulled it out away from your body to show the panties you were wearing underneath.

They were black and white striped.

“–-I put these on this morning, thinking specifically of you. I was hoping you’d get to see them tonight.”

You let that hang between the two of you for a moment.

“Babe-–” Beetlejuice groaned, and his grip tightened. He pulled you forward against him and began lowering his head to yours.

Awkwardly you pulled back a bit. “No more jealousy?” you asked.

“Not of that guy,” he agreed, and twisted his head to kiss your neck.

You squealed at the tickle, and hugged him back.

fin!

[characteroulette]

A study on prosecutors -- (previous) (next)

Achtung, baby! It's time to talk about Klavier Gavin.

So, I've all ready delved into Klavier a few times, but hopefully I can lay out all my cards efficiently right here. I think the way he's presented to us is really interesting because it is, initially, so hard to get a bead on this man. Is he just here to laugh at us? Is he really here for the truth and nothing more? What is up with him??

The answer is pretty simple: he's doing the best he can under the weight of everything that's been laid over him.

We're introduced to Klavier in a quick but really impactful manner; he looks almost exactly like Kristoph, our former boss whom we just put away for murder. He says his iconic, "I'm used to being stared at by the ladies, but this is the first time I've felt this way with a man" (unhinged of him, really) and then helps us onto the crime scene before disappearing without so much as an explanation. "Ask the wind; I'll be riding on it!" indeed, sir. And here's where I admit something rather embarrassing; I totally glossed over this as a kid. It never occurred to me that this was such a wild thing to say to someone before dipping. Maybe I was as distracted as Apollo by the fact that this man looked too much like Kristoph? Maybe I was just immediately distracted by Ema and the crime scene? I can't remember! All I know is that this line being iconic is only something I figured out later because it never really registered to me.

But anyway, the impression we're left with is that he's definitely some flavour of involved. We just don't know how until the start of the trial.

Klavier starts the trial off with a bang. Music, showboating, this man's got it all! It almost seems like he's putting on a show rather than doing his actual job up until he calls his first witness. Apollo being fed up immediately with him is then replaced by the realisation that oh, he actually can do his job. And well, too. More questions about him surface; why hasn't he been in a trial for seven years? Why are his remarks towards us laced in such bitterness after that greeting we got from him? Why hasn't he even brought up his brother once??

It's intrigue which draws you in. It's intrigue and the desire to find out what the heck his deal is.

Perhaps it's because he gets to watch us and Apollo fumble our way through our first two objections that his tone shifts. Or maybe it's because Trucy decides to hold herself for ransom to buy some time; either way, Klavier starts to suddenly have way more fun in the second half of the day's trial. It's a shift in the atmosphere you can feel, even as we all devolve into absurdity. (He also just lets Trucy get away with that. In a single move, in a single day, he proves himself so different than any other prosecutor we've ever faced before. We're still wary of him, prosecutors are meant to be our opposition, but he's handily disproved any of our initial misgivings about him. He's far more accommodating than he should rightly be. And yet that bitterness he held stays at the forefront of our minds; there's something not quite right here.)

Of course, as the investigation picks back up, we learn what it is we were missing this whole time: Klavier was the prosecutor what got Phoenix disbarred. The one who was working that case and proved Phoenix used forged evidence, even. It puts some of his actions into perspective. It certainly explains that bitterness, considering he still never even mentions his brother. But it places us into an even more confusing position. Are we supposed to like this guy? Is he pulling the wool over our eyes and playing a long con? What is it this guy wants??

Running into him again and him throwing yet another flirt our way doesn't help answer anything. He's far too willing to be nice to us when we're meant to be at odds. He's nice, even; not just civil, but nice.

The second trial day helps cement his character: what Klavier wants, first and foremost, is to uncover the truth. (It makes sense, of course, once we learn the context. After that disaster of a first trial, in which he was too young and reckless and still didn't really win, of course the truth would become a priority for him. He couldn't get close to it the first time around. He's gotta make up for those past seven years of running.)

He pushes you towards this truth, even willing to lead you to it by the hand. It makes you wonder if you should be trusting him at all. He's the prosecutor, he's your opponent. You're meant to fight him, not work together so immediately. There has to be something more here; he's a prosecutor, he got Phoenix disbarred, his brother was a murderer.

But, no. Klavier proves himself an ally before the second case is even done.

Klavier proves himself terribly strange as he then provides us tickets to his concert and makes us pay for them.

Case 3 is usually where we get a deeper look into the prosecution's character and here is no exception. Klavier's general air of ease and showboating reveals itself to be a carefully constructed act, one not entirely false but one not entirely truthful, either. His meltdown at his concert going awry speaks of the perfectionism he's endured, of his own sense of pride. He's stressed out and his pretty little mask slips a bit, but it only helps you and Apollo rest easier because this man isn't as perfect as he tries to present himself as. It's the type of slip that makes you realise he's more human than rock star god or whatever.

He is also ridiculously loyal, a trait that gets tested continuously from here on out.

Of course he doesn't want to believe anyone in his band could have done the murder. But his refusal to acknowledge what Apollo witnessed from a dying man still stings. It's still baffling how he can argue with a straight face that Machi managed to perform this crime, although that's less an issue with him and more an issue in this case. His near belligerence in believing Apollo is understandable, as is Apollo's own eagerness to solve this case going wrong as he accidentally throws more suspicion onto his client. This time, it's not a hand to hold Klavier offers us, it's a curt smile and the incorrect truth.

When Daryan is implicated, we get to see even more of that mask slip.

Speaking with Klavier in his office is such an interesting scene. So many things are happening here, from seeing him actively annoyed at the agents at the other end of his call to this small show of trust of sharing details of this case. It struck me even then that he called himself a "scourge prosecutor"; why would he consider himself like that? All he's done so far is get a man disbarred for using forged evidence and help us towards the truth in the previous case. What sorts of regrets has he been ruminating on to call himself that? He's done nothing but work on his band over the past seven years. (He's done nothing but run these past seven years.) I'm not entirely sure when I started actually liking Klavier. Even now, I'm not really sure I even do like him. What I can say, though, is this conversation with him in his office definitely made me sympathise with him and find him annoying in equal measures. He boasts a big game of wanting the ladies to notice him, of treating each of his guitars like they're his lovers, yet he calls himself a scourge and is running desperately away from something. There's something so deeply complicated in him that I can't help but offer him my understanding.

The second day of the trial, things go pretty wrong pretty quick. Klavier knows that we can't convict Daryan of this crime without some decisive piece of evidence. He only offers his hand to us at the last minute, wanting to believe in his friend until the bitter end. It's right here that you realise why it is he hasn't brought up his brother once so far; he can't face what it is his brother's done yet. There's some sort of proof missing that he needs before he can face this terrible truth.

Perhaps he was right to call himself a scourge. Somehow, it doesn't make you trust him any less.

But we need answers. And the final case is willing to give them.

It seems, at first, completely unrelated to the bigger picture. Of course it would. Phoenix has been a goddamn enigma this whole game. But as the trial goes on, you and Klavier both start to suspect that this is related to something big. That there's a darkness lurking beneath this case and its name isn't easy to speak. When Vera takes the stand and stares at Klavier like she's somehow haunted by a ghost of him, the pieces should click into place right there. They don't, because this game is great at leading you to isane conclusions that you brush off because no that's crazy they wouldn't do that, but they really should.

It's right here, though, in which Klavier really cracks and lays all that pent up bitterness upon you; this girl and her father were the ones who forged evidence for Phoenix Wright.

Smash cut to that fateful trial seven years ago.

Young Klavier is such an interesting snapshot. He's arrogant and full of drive, but woefully lacking in experience. His head's on the right track, you can see some of the foundations for the prosecutor you've gotten to know over the past few trials, but he's so much more reckless. He's charging ahead without putting much thought behind his actions and getting absolutely schooled by Phoenix. (Side note, **this** is my favourite Phoenix ever. He's so confident and sure of himself!! He's capable and doing well on his own!! He's the natural evolution to his seasoned attorney after the original trilogy. He's still a pretty goofy and prone to panicking, but god, I wish they'd taken cues from this version of him instead of his original trilogy self. This is the Phoenix I always knew he would grow into being and we'll never get him outside of this one case. An absolute travesty.)

Unfortunately, his absolute loyalty is still there. And we'll soon find out it's his ultimate downfall.

There's something so sinister about the way Klavier traps us in a corner. The way he forces our hand into presenting that diary page. And then he near preens as he goes on to prove that it's been forged. He's so damn proud of himself for being able to catch this, for having that tip off in his back off. There's a reason why I always write him as having gleefully ruined Phoenix; it really does come off that way.

We the players know it's a mistake. It's not right. And Klavier, though loathe to admit it, knows deep down that there was something off about it, too.

Finally, finally, he has to confront his brother. He has to put that loyalty on the line and break himself to pieces watching his brother abuse that connection they share.

It really is a break, too. Apollo's line of pulling the darkness from Klavier, of helping Klavier out of that pain, of then shouting for Klavier not to give in to his brother's manipulations, I really felt all of it. Klavier is struggling against his loyalty, against what he wants to believe and what he knows has to be the truth. He doesn't get to lead us to the truth this time, but he does get to throw in his own words and confront his brother on what happened.

(Another sticking point for me; why did Kristoph want to absolutely destroy Klavier in his first ever trial? Klavier says he became a prosecutor because it was supposed to be the both of them, finding the truth and working together. It was supposed to be the both of them being brothers, doing good. But to have that forgery, Kristoph had to have asked for it well in advance. Kristoph had to have planned to crush his brother well before he was suddenly fired and replaced by Phoenix. It's so telling that Klavier was willing to do anything, to believe his brother until the end, when Kristoph wanted to crush him from the start. At least, as far as my interpretation of what this could mean goes.)

His speech at the end, of how Kristoph made the law about himself and absolutely lost his way, is great. Good catharsis moment for him that goes unaddressed and unexplored forevermore. I feel it's also undercut a bit by Apollo not having anything to say, but it's still really good. It may have taken a while to fully unpack what the heck he's about, but I can confidently say that Klavier is one hell of a character. His complications, his contradictions, the faces he puts on for us and then takes off; all of it gives him a very special place in my heart. I may want to punt him into the moon sometimes, but I do really love just how fascinating of a write he is.

Now if only he would stop jerking me around and be a more courteous muse...

[paddedlittleparadise]

Solar Eclipse Info, 2024

Hey, over the last few weeks I've seen a lot of curiosity about the upcoming solar eclipse. Here's a quick roundup of some common questions and answers that might help!

1. Da fuk is a solar eclipse, anyway?

The Moon goes in front of the Sun. Because they look about the same size from Earth - a very cool coincidence! - when they line up just right the entire disk of the Sun gets covered up, making it a total eclipse. On April 8, 2024, this only happens in a narrow band of North America: a thin ribbon stretching from Mexico to Canada, traced out by the Moon's shadow.

In most places, the Moon will be a bit too high or too low to cover the Sun right; here folks will only get to see a partial eclipse. Partial eclipses are kinda cool, but nothing like a total eclipse.

2. Hey – If the Sun is covered, won’t it get dark?

Yes and no. The Sun is stupidly bright, so even when most of it's covered, daylight doesn't look super different. Even during the last fifteen minutes or so before it's 100% covered, the light only gradually begins to dim. It's only once the Sun is entirely covered – what we call "totality" – that it really gets dark. (Not dark like midnight, but about as dark as twilight.) Also, because the Moon's shadow is constantly moving, this bit of darkness only lasts a few minutes, depending on where exactly you are.

3. Why are people telling me to wear eclipse glasses? Is it some stupid cash grab? Or are eclipses weirdly dangerous?

Eclipses themselves are not dangerous. The Sun is, though – because like I said, it's stupidly bright! The reason why scientists warn people about hurting their eyes during an eclipse is because that’s basically the only time millions of people will try staring directly into a giant dazzling ball of gas.

So YES - anytime even a tiny bit of the Sun is visible, use eclipse glasses or some other verified, proper filter to save your poor retinas. They’re the only ones you have! Only if and when the Sun is COMPLETELY covered should you take a look without a filter.

NOTE: Filters are even more necessary if you're using binoculars or a telescope! These things work by collecting and concentrating light, so when pointed at the Sun without a filter, the beam of light coming out of the eyepieces can literally melt holes through plastic. I've seen it myself. So please… use a dang filter, okay?

4. Da heck is that white stuff around the sun in the pictures? Do I need glasses to look at THAT?

That's the corona – the Sun's searingly hot outer atmosphere. Because the Sun is stupidly bright (besides being a deadly laser) the corona is usually invisible to us. So, yep – total solar eclipses are the only time you and I ordinarily get to see it!

And nope, the corona is pretty dim and totally safe to look at without glasses. Just DON'T get so focused staring at it that you forget to put your eclipse glasses back on when totality ends!

5. How rare are these things, anyway? And why?

As it moves through the sky, the Moon circles past the Sun literally every 29.5 days – it's just that usually it's too high or low to cover even a bit of it. Globally, solar eclipses do happen pretty frequently: about every 18 months on average. But because the Earth is a big place, they might occur anywhere: the south Pacific, Africa, even Antarctica. On top of that, the odds that you specifically will be somewhere in that thin band of totality is pretty darn rare. As far as North America goes, the last total solar eclipse was nearly seven years ago, in 2017. For the next one in North America? You'll have to wait until 2045.

6. Why are people so excited?

As someone who got to experience totality in 2017 (that's my own pic above), it's tough to explain. Many people, even folks who aren't particularly spiritual, have likened totality to a religious experience. There's something chillingly cool about standing still and feeling the sun slowly dim as the Moon's shadow sweeps toward you. It's a cosmic motion as inexorable as fate, and no one – not you, not the pope, not even Bruce Willis – can stop it.

Once totality hits, the temperature typically drops a few degrees. Wind sometimes picks up or dies down because of the temperature drop. Birds and other animals freak the heck out. The brighter stars come out, midday be damned. All around the horizon glows a 360-degree "sunset"… while overhead it's like the Sun has died and left us puny humanoids staring up open-mouthed at its ghostly shell.

THAT's why totality is a big deal. And why I, along with literally millions of others, will try my level best to go see it. All the while hoping like heck that it's not cloudy.

–––

To read a more in-depth and super-useful guide, check out NASA's official site. Great American Eclipse also has a lot of sweet resources and maps. And feel free to reply with any other questions!

[lostinthewalls]

ONESHOT #1

Mynx's Dilemma

Summary: A borrower and their friend go out on a mission. An accident occurs which leads to quite an odd series of events.

Word count: 1,519

TW: Panic attack, slight gore

STORY UNDER THE CUT

“Haven’t gone out in a while, huh?” The overly-cheerful voice called from the next room. Mynx looked up with a sigh, standing up and stretching their legs just as their unwanted roommate, an outtie-turned-innie borrower named Bramble walked into the room.

“Yes, yes. I know that. But are you sure it’s safe to go borrowing with the ah- new human around here? They seem aggressive…” Mynx fretted, tugging on their newly-crafted borrower bag, wrapping their rope up into a ring.

Bramble scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the matchbox table, “I’m sure it’s fine, M! It’s just a new human moving in. Plus, there’s boxes galore that we can hide behind, anyway.”

Bramble was always the overly-confident one. Of course. Mynx heaved a sigh, but forced a nod and smile, tying their hair up with a piece of string. They snatched their patchwork jacket from the fishhook in the wall and swung it over their shoulders as Bramble began getting himself ready as well.

Mynx wouldn’t call the two of them friends. They were far from it. The only reason Bramble was even here in the first place was because of an…accident he never spoke about. It was easier if he didn’t speak about it anyway, though. One, because Mynx didn’t exactly care, and two, whenever they did rack up the courage to ask about it, Bramble’s mood would suddenly turn sour and the man would sulk into another room.

Besides that, however, they were on equal terms. After all, the code said to take in and welcome any stragglers with open arms. They had the same enemy, after all, didn’t they? Mynx shook their head with a sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose and kneeling to search in a lower drawer.

“Say- speaking of the new human here- ever wonder what happened to the old one?” Bramble perked up, boosting himself up to sit on the matchbox, kicking his feet absently,

“I don’t know. Died, or something. He was old…” Mynx replied, barely focusing. They put their hands on their knees and shoved themselves up, zipping up their bag, “But that doesn’t matter. Get ready. Your the one who wanted to do this.”

“Right, right.” Bramble thankfully slid off the table and skittered into the other room, rounding the corner with nothing more than a wave. Mynx was glad he was gone for now. It gave them time to think.

About what? They didn’t know. They stretched one final time, their tail swaying on the ground like a feather duster behind them. They kept staring into space until finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bramble finally showed back up ready to go.

“Well? Are you going to stand there sulking all day or are we going to get going??” Bramble called. Mynx did a double take and found him halfway out the door. They ran to catch up, shutting the door just as the two crossed the threshold into the walls. 

Bramble obviously took the lead, ever-confident as he was, while Mynx stayed back and took in the ‘amusing’ scenery. It wasn’t much. Just scaffolding, nails, the usual. They trailed their hand along the wall as Bramble led the way, both of their lamps lighting the path forwards.

They kept walking for a while before something caught on their hand. They winced, stopping suddenly as a sharp scent of blood filled the small corrider. Bramble turned, looking puzzled himself.

“What the hell?” Mynx mumbled, bringing their hand close to their face and squinting. Bramble walked over and held up his lamp, providing a decent amount of light. They both cringed when they saw it.

A fresh, rather deep cut on Mynx’s palm. It trickled blood down the borrower’s wrist, staining the sleeve of their jacket. It was blood mixed with something…else. 

Something strange. A black, gooey substance, a lot like tar, actually. Mynx had heard of what tar was. They knew it could be dangerous but- they’d worry about it later.

“Yeesh…thats a pretty nasty cut, M..” Bramble mumbled, already grabbing some scraps of gauze from his backpack.

“No- no, Bram, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” Mynx huffed, but took the gauze anyways and wrapped their hand up, “It’s probably nothing, anyway.”

Bramble wisel didn’t say anything and continued on. Mynx followed after him, although oddly a tad lethargic since the cut made them feel…odd. Like their limbs were locked up or something. That wasn’t good at all.

They shook the feeling off as just plain old exhaustion- as it always was- and eventually, the two emerged from the walls and into a livingroom, where unpacked boxes lined every single open wall.

There was a TV left on the ground, along with a punching bag set up in a corner near the entrance to another room. Mynx and Bramble exchanged cautious looks before starting their mission.

“Don’t do anything risky this time, Bram- it’s not- not worth it.” Mynx was alarmed at how hard it was to speak all of a sudden, but thankfully, Bramble gave a nod and helped them jump across a pile of blankets left on the floor. They stumbled a bit, their tail straightening like a ruler as they struggled to stay on their feet.

“Should be saying the same to you, M. What’s with this whole act all of a sudden? Your not being dramatic, are you?”

Mynx could only shake their head with a small groan. The whole room was spinning but- they couldn’t go back. They had a job to do, after all. Both them and Bramble.

There was walking in the next room and Bramble paused. Mynx however, did not. They kept walking…they couldn’t stop now. The throbbing in their legs would certainly grow worse if they did. Their vision began darkening along the edges. They shoved through it. This couldn’t be happening. It was just some stupid cut, right!?

Right. They kept going even when the muffled voice of Bramble called for them to stop. They keot going even when they stumbled and fell to their knees. They kept going even when that strange, black tar substance eagerly snaked up their arm and caressed their cheek. Why did they feel like they were stretching?

“MYNX-” The final shout of Bramble finally got through to them just as their head slammed against something hard. They looked up, startled. The…ceiling fan!? What?

They stumbled backwards, trying to determine what was happening. They looked around. Everything was..smaller. Too small. They cringed and crashed into the punching bag in the corner of the room.

“BRAMBLE!? WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” They cried desperately, their voice gargled from panic. This- they felt horrid. They felt…human. This…this was a dream. They had to wake up any minute now, right!?

They crashed to their knees, clawing desprately at the carpet with nails that had turned into pitch-black claws. Blood pulsed in their ears as they heard someone moving in the next room. They felt behind them, reaching behind to pin their lashing tail against the ground, using their other hand to claw at their face, struggling to get the substance off.

“BRAMBLE!!” They screamed again. No response. They looked up as a stranger burst into the room.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE!?” A woman screeched. She had balled fists and an angry expression as she stormed in, grabbing Mynx by the collar faster than they could react and slamming the suddenly much taller borrower into the wall. They winced at the contact, eyes going wide with instinctive fear.

“I- I UHM- ER-” Mynx stumbled for a response as the short, burly woman took in their appearance and took a step back, releasing them as they coughed, sucking in some much needed air.

“Actually- what the hell are you?” She scowled, standing in front of them with a scrutinizing gaze. They reached up to their face again, pulling at the substance which had now hardened. It peeled off easily, like dried glue, and fell in deep, ashen piles on the carpet.

“I- please ma’am I don’t intend you any harm it’s just- I never expected this to happen-” Mynx managed. Clearly talking to a human can’t be that hardnow that he was a few heads taller than her, right?

“Riiight. Like breaking and entering wasn’t ‘intentional’.” She scoffed, watching as the stranger continued to pull off that odd black stuff covering them.

Eventually, it was mostly off after a while of sitting in awkward silence. They breathed a heavy sigh of relief, suddenlt falling backwards, being caught before they could hit the ground.

They glanced up drowsily to be met with Bramble, then stared up at the ceiling fan that was once again, far above their head. They felt faint, now, staring at the human woman who was now quite literally looming over them both.

The womans expression shifted from anger, to confusion, to utter shock like a carasoul before managing a response that didn’t make her sound like a phsycopath.

“I’ll ah- I’ll ask this again, I guess. What the hell are you. Both of you.”

—————

ENDING NOTES: sizeshifting curse my beloved....Mynx is having quite a TIME TODAY. FYI there WILL be another part. And yes this totally serves as a intro peice to my new oc(Mynx I love you such a goober).

But anyway I BEG YOU to ignore the wonderous plot holes and lore gaps. Not much DIRECT G/T interaction in this part, oopsie. But more will come!! (Bramble will be fighting for his life now that his roomie is like a monster now)

[writing-from-an-unknown-world]

Collar (Villain x Hero)

Seven doesn’t put trackers on many people. Mostly at the odd times a villain has the power to regenerate themselves she’ll place a small metal disc at the top of their skull to lightly annoy them until the next time they visit. Dusky is a different story, Seven sows the trackers in her jackets, thick clothes, boots. They respond to body heat, and the light scent of perfume hanging on her neck. She won’t have them on all the time, only when she needs a little fun or needs to see where her biggest rival is. Currently, however, there is something different about tonight.

Tapping her finger on the arm of her chair, she stares unblinkingly at the blue dot that hasn’t moved for twenty minutes. That and she’s in an alley way, there is nothing comfortable but cold, hard, stone. Had her villain organization laid her off and now she’s lying on pavement? Is she cornered in a standoff with some other goons? Did someone else kill her before she did? Each image displayed in near perfect detail as little bits of sweat accumulated on her fingers.

She shouldn’t go outside. Nothing major was happening, and she shouldn’t risk using her powers if something were to occur. The hero society could figure that she went looking for a villain irresponsibly and punish her. But that dot won’t stop blinking, and if there was a body there, maybe she would get paid extra for finding it. She leaves the light on at her apartment just in case, running off with a bulky cashmere coat that hides her stupidly vibrant yellow costume.

All she can see is the pitch black of the alley way standing on top of the building above. There are no visible signs of life down there. But the blinking light is certain that she is in this location. Seven slowly climbs down in to the darkness, hoping that a light is still shinning down there. As her feet land from brick to pavement, a finger switches on the flashlight she grabbed in her utility pocket.

The small light illuminates the gap between the records store and the convince store. Beside the conveniences store’s walls an over sized garbage bin, stinking of bathroom waste and rotting food. On the records store side there isn’t much. Just a few milkcrates in various colours stacked next to a rusty door. Her flash light moves left to right searching even underneath a pebble. The light touches a red rock, then another red rock, the a bunch of red rocks that lead to a splatter of red a shade darker the. The brick wall.

Her dazed hands nearly glaze the red brick wall. But her hand is too afraid to touch. She checks to see if the tracker is still blinking, if she still warm, if she’s is still breathing, if she’s still alive-

“Hey what are you doing here?” A soft voice whispers “ I thought they only called you for special missions.”

“There was a staff shortage” it fell out her mouth easy, “and they gotta let me have some fun y’know? It be so boring if I got nothing to do all night.” A smirk grew on her lips as she recovered for her worry. She leaned against the blood splatter, no longer worrying whose it was, the city has always covered in it anyway.

“ So they put you on night patrol?” Her breath became fog when she talked. Although the city was approaching spring, winter hadn’t let go of its claws yet. As she spoke the fog floated upwards and disappeared just as gracefully as the words from her tongue. She’d never tell dusky to her face, but her voice glitters like the sound of a music box

“Yes, night patrol,” she grabs a lollipop from one of her coat pockets and begins licking it, tilting to her left shoulder the so her hand can twirl her blond hair stuck into a pony tail. “People like you are always doing some kind of dirty work” she can’t help but smile when the lollipop returns to her mouth, seeing the growing irritation boil in dusky. Oddly, she didn’t get up to smack her silly, which is usually what she would do after Seven had said something like that. She still sits kneeling against the wall, holding a scarf between her chest and legs.

“Well I’m not working right now, so I’m not a criminal right now.” Her grip tightened around the scarf.

“ Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what’s there right?” She pointed downward “that could be a firearm,” her hand rushed towards the scarf, but Dusky catches it with both her hands. “Drugs?” Two fingers of hers push forward to poke the scarf with a light tap. Instead of feeling the cool metal of a gun, or a hefty package of drugs, instead it’s the outline of a a body, fluffy, warm.

The mass meows

“It’s not drugs.” Dusky whispers with a slight chuckle.

The kitten unfurls itself from the scarf. The fur is more like wisps of cotton glued on to his skin. It’s as small as a mouse, Its bones peek out from its skin, the eyes are huge compared to the rest of him. Bold and blue, similar to hers but just a bit duller.

“ I found him behind this trash can, and he looked so cold so I stayed here with him.” She pats the top of his head with gentle fingers and a cute baby voice. Seven kneels beside them, putting a little bit of distance between them and dusky. It continues meowing and purring in duskys lap. When he’s content with her, he leeps into Sevens lap. She goes completely stiff, but when his pleading cry out for more pats, she timidly pets him. “Have you ever pet a cat?” Dusky voice leans against Seven’s neck, making her shudder.

“ I’m not an animal person, the only animals I pay attention to are the ones on the streets. She hastily adds the last part to avoid sounding lame, knowing that sounded a bit lame for saying anything at all.

“It’s okay, I think he likes you enough to ignore that” the kitten purrs as Seven continues cautiously places her hand around his body.

They move to the back of the buildings to avoid being seen by anyone else and sit for a while. Remaining calm and having small bits of conversation every once and while. Then water drips from the sky, first only a few then a whole waterfall.

“I didn’t know it was going to rain tonight” Dusky holds her hand out to catch the falling rain in her hands. “I better take him back home before he get cold”

Seven stands and reaches one hand to the sky. Slowly, her hand elongate away from her body and reach for the sky. The longer it becomes, the more the flesh of her hand becomes metal. Her fingers grow away from her sides and all five bend into a dome shape. Her fingers transform into metal, between her now metal fingers nylon fabric appears. Starting from around her elbow, her right hand has completely transformed into an umbrella.

“ Body manipulation, that’s quite rare from you”

“ it’s not asked of me a lot, otherwise I’d be called eight.”

“Well then eight” Dusky stands up, the ends of her night-sky blue-dyed hair flow from her shoulders to back. She carries the cat within her scarf again. “You have to take me and Clover to the bus station to night.”

“You named him?”

“Yeah” she said with a fair amount of certainty “I name all my weapons, what makes you think I wouldn’t name my cat?” Seven sighed as the obviousness of the situation pulled away her shock.

“I don’t think the organization you’re working at will allow him.”

“ that place needs me more then it wants to admit.” Her eyebrows crunch together in

Preemptive rage, “It can pry my pet away if it wants to see its sharpshooter miss every shot.” Seven nods in agreement as she scratches Clovers neck.

“You thinking of a collar to put on him? You should pick dark blue, it would go well with his eyes. Dusky holds Clover closer to her face.

“I was thinking maybe more of a yellow actually, it would make her stand out.” She pauses, pushing her lips in to a pout as she thinks, “ maybe green.”

“Why green” she smiles,

“It’s my favourite colour”

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

for @deafmangoes i was your secret writer!!! @fallenlondonficswap

1,331 words, General. Warning: this does start sad! Hurt/Comfort kinda. Rubberies, Helicon House

“-walking around with the faces of b____y squid I tell you! Look, there’s one now!” The Tentacled Neophyte did her very best to ignore the pointing and the staring of the Surface traveller, but it wasn’t easy. She had only completed the journey up from Flute Street a week prior and thus far London had been everything but welcoming. She’d been harassed and harangued, shunned and shut-out, and worse. And everything was so loud! She missed the quiet of her home, and the warm, soothing feeling of being reshaped in an amber pool.  Oh, amber. That’s right, that was why, as much as she longed to return, she couldn’t. Not yet. When things were really bad, she worried she wouldn’t ever. Sudden commotion came along to interrupt the Neophyte’s spiral of anxiety. Oh dear, it seems like the surface visitor was stirring up a ruckus. Oh my, it was about her, wasn’t it? Ohhh, this was going to end poorly if she stayed here any longer. She inched away slowly at first, gaining speed once she was no longer in the center of the growing crowd. Was there anywhere for her to hide? She swiveled and twisted around, not bothering to hide her ‘contorting’ as she’d heard it called. No, no, no, the only place she could possibly squeeze into was a little cafe. But she had never been in there before, and had no idea how hostile it was to Rubberies. They might kick her out, they could humiliate her and refuse her service, they could – oh dear, the crowd had gotten much closer. She opened the door as little as possible, and slid inside. A few people glanced up, but quickly looked back away, content with their own business. She maneuvered shyly to the most well-hidden table and took a seat. She rubbed her tentacles together, trying to soothe her nerves. It wasn’t working. She was so distracted that the waiter had to cough to get her attention.  “Have you decided what you want?” He gestured to the menu in front of her, which she had only just noticed. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways though, for there were no pictures, and she couldn’t read. The Neophyte wurbled hesitantly as she plopped a tentacle down to one line of ink, and then plopped it down to a different line. She was very hungry, and worse, thirsty. The waiter nodded, took the menu, and left, presumably to give someone her order. As she waited for her order, a scene outside the windows made all three of her hearts begin to race. The crowd had seen her. Before she could begin her escape, however, something odd occurred. The crowd parted, collectively looked down, and then, after a minute, dispersed. Even more unexpectedly, someone entered the cafe to many greetings, and began to move towards her.

Humans had hinged and jerky movements, nothing like the fluid motion of her kin. This one didn’t walk, however, instead rolling in a chair. They had curly hair, a strange mask, and a letter in their lap. They stopped right at her table, “Ah, there you are, dear! I’ve been trying to find you all morning! Here.” They grabbed the letter from their lap and passed it over with a multicolor gloved hand. “From those in charge of the House! And an extra little gift from me.” They winked. The Neophyte was nervous to accept a strange letter from a strange Londoner. She was just about to express that when she saw the amber pendant around their neck. A friend? Not an enemy at least. “Well, I must be off, dear! Need to go check on my partner. Have fun, Ma’am!” They spun around to wheel away, then paused. “Oh, and that crowd shouldn’t bother you further.” And like that, they were gone.

The waiter had finally returned. It seemed she had gotten lucky, and managed to order both a drink and some food! She burbled thanks to the waiter, and set in to try the food. She picked up the tea to dip her tasting tendrils in. Ouch! She recoiled in shock and pain. Hot! Far too hot, and not nearly salted enough. Perhaps the food would be better? Nervously, she lifted a forkful of mystery mushroom to her tendrils, which delivered it to a hidden beak. Her tendrils tangled themselves into unhappy knots. No, this food was not better. She took the letter, left some unremarkable amber, and took her leave. — Smoke and smog dissolved as the scenery shifted outside her window. The letter contained visual instructions on where to go, and a shining gold ticket that the ticket-taker seemed surprised to see. Still, he punched the ticket.

The ride was not fast. This gave the Devil in the row next to hers plenty of time to make a big show of wrinkling his nose, sneering, gagging, and eventually getting up in a huff to go sit in a different area, far from her. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t been chosen. Saltwater tears ran rivulets down her face, Still, perhaps there was hope yet? The letter seemed promising. — She had gotten off at the first stop as instructed. The house was not far from that. She found a queue of oddly dressed humans, and joined the back of the line. Her tendrils twitched. Soon enough though, she was at the front of the line, face-to-face with a clay man. “You got an invite, luv?” She held up the letter with trembling tentacles. He leaned forward to inspect it, then gave her a nod. “That’ll do. Entry is free for Rubberies. No companions?” She shook her head sadly. “Alright, then. Have a nice night, Miss.” She entered through the doors. Ah! What a lovely scene! The first thing she noticed was the scent. The bright lemony scent of a conglomeration of Rubberies permeated through the air and her pores. The second detail was how much quieter it was. Still louder than the Neophyte preferred, but the noise was easier to tolerate. Less harsh and jarring, more ebbing and flowing. Not waves crashing upon the shore, but an eddy in the water, bubbling away. There were humans, yes, but no one cast her a harsh glance or word. Oh, no Devils to snark and spit. And most wondrous of all, there were so many other Rubberies! In fact, there was one coming towards her now! <Hello, friend. Hungry?>

<Yes, very!> she replied. <Follow me.> Her new friend held her by the arm and lead her through crowds and doors, until they arrived at a dining room. It wiggled its face tendrils in excitement as they picked out a free table. Her evening companion passed over a menu, and she was relieved immediately. There was large, detailed artwork of what everything was, and how the drinks tasted. When the waiter (also Rubbery) came by, she selected a soup that had many kinds of seafood. For her drink, she chose a clam and kelp tea. The waiter nodded, took the other’s order, and left. 

—

The tea arrived first. When she dipped her tendrils into the tea, the cool temperature soothed the burn from earlier. It was lovely, perfectly cooled, and salted just right. Her companion had also ordered a drink, and it seemed to be having fun with its own drink. — The Neophyte was positively wurbling with excitement as the food arrived. It had been over a week since she had any food with Rubbery digestion in mind. The Boneless Extrovert gurgled in laughter at the speed of how fast she ate!

<Maybe you should slow down. Don’t want to beak anything off!> <Oh, maybe. So hungry, got too excited!> <First week out of Flute Street, yes?> <Yes. I miss it.> <Agreed. But the House is nice. We take care of each other here, when we can.> <I guess there’s good parts too.> <After this, I can show the Amber rooms?> Her eyes glistened. <That would be nice.>