#casually dropped it with that old man grumble

[secret-smut-sideblog]

hey. I just noticed this mural in blackwalls quarters at skyhold

like that's them. actually. I'm going to throw up

[devilmademewriteit]

Dark but Just a Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: your dad’s associate and friend, joel miller, finally tires of your constant teasing

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mention of reader having long-ish hair; alcohol consumption & drunkenness; pet names (sweetheart, angel, baby); dubcon (intoxication, power imbalance); age gap.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka that’s bestfren

word count: 3.7k

no use of y/n in this fic.

Click to read part 2: Pretty When You Cry

Click to read part 3: Let Me Love You Like a Woman

ahhhh this is my first time writing for joel so any and all feedback is super appreciated. i was slightly inspired by the amazing dbf!joel drabbles that @anchoeritic writes (seriously, if you enjoy this fic, go read them). as always, my requests are open !!

—

THEN,

It started out so innocently.

Your dad often helped Tess and Joel smuggle contraband in and out of the QZ, sometimes by keeping the right people quiet, other times by offering the pair a place to lay low at. You got accustomed to the sight of them passed out on the floor, the glow of the sunrise illuminating only their sleeping faces, or else a murmuring trio of hushed voices in the middle of the night.

Soon, however, you began to notice the way Joel’s eyes seemed to trail on you, often catching his hardened gaze in yours. Still, he rarely spoke to you and when he did, he mostly just grunted a “hullo” or asked if your father was around.

But you suspected that he noticed you.

Especially when your old clothes got too tight, hugging your skin and leaving little to the imagination. You observed his breath hitching the very first time he saw you in a skirt.

So, naturally, you played into it. You started sneaking downstairs in the morning wearing only a t-shirt and your underwear, feigning innocence at the way (you imagined) he tried, hard, not to look at your ass as you sauntered back up to your room.

Sometimes, you bumped into him on the streets of the QZ. You’d loop your arm around his broad bicep, wide-eyed, gazing up at him through your eyelashes and asking why he hadn’t dropped by to say hello recently. Causing him to tense beneath your hands always felt electrifying; the restraint in his grumbled “soon” always felt like a victory.

When it was dark out and he, Tess, and your dad shared a drink together on the dusty-old-living-room-couch, you made sure to lock eyes with him, taking in the danger lurking in them. He’d look away, leaning back casually and adjusting his jeans.

But—it was always innocent.

It was a game you played with yourself; one you weren’t even sure he was in on. Life in the QZ got dull, and there were only so many good-looking men your age that your dad’s work allowed you to see.

Sometimes, when business was good, your old man got his hands on an extra shipment of liquor, inviting all of his favourite bandits in the Zone and throwing a “party” in one of the run-down, less monitored buildings. You did yourself up as best as you knew how to, shared a flask with your friends and flirted with young smugglers.

It was seedy, but it was fun.

Joel was always there, usually asking around for parts or looking to cut deals. Usually, he drank and stayed out of your way.

Once, however, after being extremely irresponsible with your consumption, you found yourself alone with Andy, a young FEDRA guard (working for your side, of course), slurring your words and stumbling on your feet. He was good-looking in a boyish way and handsy to high heavens. You vaguely remembered his insistence on taking you back to his place and the feel of his wet lips against yours. You clearly remembered hearing a gruff, “Get off,”—Joel’s baritone echo taking you both by surprise. Andy’s head swung to find Miller’s looming form in the doorway; he immediately tore his hands from your body and scampered off. You were alone with Joel, his expression a mask of rage and contempt tinged with—could it have been—jealousy?

After that, it was all bits and pieces of blurred images and sounds. Big hands pulled you into strong arms; your feet were lifted from the ground. You retained flashes of drunken faces smiling and jeering at you as you were carried away from the festivities—then it was dilapidated hallways, the jangling of keys fumbling with a lock, and finally, the ceiling above your bed as Joel gently set you down. Even now, you could clearly picture the way his eyes traveled along your exposed skin as he stood, arms crossed, at the edge of the bed.

Sitting up, fixing your drunken, playful eyes to look deeply into his, you slurred, “Got a bit jealous?”

He said nothing. He only held your gaze and crossed his arms, the muscles beneath flexing and relaxing in rhythm with the motion.

“C’mon Joel,” you teased him, “so serious, all the time. I was fine.”

Now that had an effect.

He growled, “one more minute with that asshole…” and shook his head, his words trailing off as he fought the urge to take your bait. “Just go to sleep. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He turned, heading towards the door. Perhaps the excess liquor made you reckless or Andy’s kisses left you wanting—either way, you needed to push the limits with Joel. You needed him to stay, to turn around and play your game.

“I could thank you now, if you want.”

He stopped in his tracks, his head slowly turning to the side. Your blood burned in your veins, both from the alcohol and from the tension pulsing between you and him in that darkened room. He paused for a moment and it felt like a lifetime—laid on the bed, watching his shoulders move with every breath he took. He flexed a hand, something he often did when he was around you.

Finally, he spoke.

“Go to sleep.”

And with that, he shut off the light and left the room, closing the door behind him.

So, you decided it was probably all in your head. Maybe the looks and the tension and the teasing were just part of a one-sided game you played with yourself. Still, you couldn’t help thinking about the strain in his voice when he ordered you to bed or the anger that went beyond disdain and contempt at the sight of Andy’s hands exploring your body. You regularly reminisced about the events of that night, most often without meaning to. Most often alone, between the hours of one and three AM, sneaking a guilty hand down between your thighs.

That was the last time Joel had interacted with you.

At least before tonight.

—

NOW,

Joel stands between Tess and a seedy looking short guy you’ve never seen before, clearly not paying attention to whatever the two of them are hashing out. Tensions are low, which makes Joel look comically out of place. He lifts a silver flask to his lips.

The chatter of people talking and laughing fills the narrow, dusty space—from somewhere down the hall, you hear your father’s booming laugh. You’re finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on whatever your peers are gushing on about. The warmth in your stomach and the buzz under your skin from whatever liquor finds its way into your cup brings you back to the last time you’d seen Joel at one of these get-togethers.

“Can’t believe Miller comes to these things,” one such peer—a bandit in training, your good friend Emma—remarks. “Weird seeing him… well, not relaxed but… not stressed.”

You laugh. “I know, right. When he’s passed out, I don’t even recognize him. Looks completely different without his signature scowl.”

She turns away from him, focusing her attention instead on you. “Right,” she says, “I forgot him and your dad…” She trails off, her expression changing as her interests do, as well.

Emma suddenly smirks at you. “Does he sleep naked?” she asks, mischievous. This piques the interest of the others paying attention to your conversation, who subsequently tune in to hear your answer.

You smile, shaking your head. “No,” you respond, keeping your voice low. “Fully clothed—with his gun in hand.”

Emma’s eyes settle back on Joel as her smile fades. The other delinquents go back to their respective conversations. “Such a shame,” she says, wistfully. “I’d bet a month’s rations that his dick is huge.”

You giggle at that and she passes you the flask. You take a big swig, heat blooming across your tongue as the whiskey burns down your throat.

He catches you staring—his eyes darken when he notices the drink in your hand. Smiling innocuously at him, you wave your fingers in an extremely girlish greeting gesture. He raises his thick eyebrows, unimpressed.

A familiar figure interrupts your silent conversation.

“Hey,” Andy says, his voice unsure and subdued.

“Hey.”

He looks rumpled and flushed, as though recent weeks had not been kind to him. Andy’s not-brown-not-blonde hair hangs limp around his crown, mirroring the defeated air his stature gives off. Despite the near foot he has on you, he seems ironically small.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Look,” he tries, awkwardly stuffing his fingers in his pockets, “I’m sorry about last time. I was really drunk and I don’t really remember what I said, but I know it wasn’t cool.”

You scoff. “I don’t really think it was so much what you said, Andy,” you respond playfully. After all, you know he meant no harm. Drunk people get horny, and you had both been very drunk. “Don’t worry about it. No hard feelings,” you add.

That’s when, from over Andy’s shoulder, you catch a glimpse of Joel’s expression. Pure disapproval. Cold, ruthless contempt burns in his eyes.

“At least not from me.”

Andy turns around slowly, following your eye-line. By the time he clues in to who you’re referring to, Joel’s already looked away, turning his attention to the still-ongoing conversation between Tess and the stranger.

“Right,” Andy says, wincing. “He’s been giving me a hard time on the streets.”

“Don’t sweat over Miller,” Emma interjects casually. “He gives everyone a hard time.”

Once again, you find yourself distracted from the conversation, focussing on a different man in the room. Why should he get to decide when you get to be wild? What business does he have protecting you from other guys? After all, Joel Miller is not your father.

It frustrates you that he keeps pretending not to notice your stare. It frustrates you that he keeps his head ducked, feigning interest in the deal being made beside him. Taking in his size, the salt-and-pepper of his hair, and the fierce angle of his jaw, you steal another swig from the flask, wiping the excess off your lips.

It emboldens you.

Leaning up on your tippy-toes, you muster up your most sensual tone, whispering softly in Andy’s ear: “Let me make it up to you.”

You pull back to catch his look of disbelief, his pouty pink lips parting slightly as he struggles to locate his words. Grabbing his hand in yours, you nod your head to the right, wordlessly encouraging him to take you down the hall. He obeys without a sound.

You quickly shove the flask back into Emma’s hand.

“Save some for after,” you plead, and she shakes her head, tossing you an exaggerated eye-roll.

You lock eyes with Joel momentarily before you’re pulled down the hall, satisfaction leaking from your gaze—you’re not quite sure why. You break away, ignoring the non-verbal warning in his stare.

Who cares what he thinks, anyways?

You wind up in a run-down, dim-lit room, empty save for an old desk. Andy pins you against the wall as soon as the door creaks to a close behind you, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy, tipsy kiss. His hands travel south to grab your ass and you respond by wrapping your arms around his neck. Things heat up—his clumsy fingers brush the fabric over your breasts and you dig your hip into the bulge beneath his denim.

It’s not that you want Andy. Frankly? It could be anyone. None of the boys you hang out with really interest you beyond being potential partners for youthful experimentation—which is exactly what Andy is to you. In all likelihood, that’s not what you are to him.

Oh well. Those are morning thoughts.

Andy’s hands snake under your shirt, the pads of his fingertips creeping up to your breasts.

The door slams open.

Andy basically leaps off of you, a horrified expression settling on his features as he registers the identity of the intruder—as history repeats itself.

“Out,” Joel orders through gritted teeth, holding the door open for the boy to walk through. Andy practically sprints free—without risking a goodbye, without uttering a “sir, yes sir.”

You sigh once you and Joel are alone, adjusting your clothing and casually leaning back against the wall.

“Okay, Joel,” you say, exasperation coating your words. “What’s this all about.”

Wordlessly, he closes the door and locks the handle. His movements are slow, precise, and calculated—butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He approaches you, leaning one hand against the wall behind your head and using a pair of thick, callused fingers to tilt your head up. He smells like sandalwood and hard liquor; he smells like a man. Electricity crackles throughout your entire being.

The touch of his hand on your face drains every last drop of your boldness.

“I think,” he grumbles out, his voice low, gravelly, dangerous, “You know exactly what this is about.”

You swallow, focussing all your energy on holding his severe gaze. Between your thighs, your nerves begin to pulse, responding to his proximity with enthusiasm.

“No, I really don’t,” you respond, mustering up some confidence from god-knows-where to render your tone convincing.

He scowls. “S’lil’ game you’re playin’,” he mutters softly, coolly. “Comin’ downstairs half-naked, clingin’ onto me in public when you know I can’t do anything…”

He shakes his head, his grip on your jaw tensing slightly.

This time, when he speaks, his tone is hoarse. “What are you tryin’ to get out of it?”

A smile creeps onto your face at the anguish in his voice.

So you hadn’t imagined it. Joel had been in on it from the start.

You look up at him with big, sultry eyes, taunting him. There’s no point in avoiding the truth anymore—you want joel. And you’ve never really been the type to not go for what you want.

In this moment, you’re willing to risk anything to have Joel do something, anything to you.

Wicked innocence drips off your every word as you purr, “Whatever you’ve been dying to give me, Joel.”

You watch your answer take effect. A vein in his jaw twitches—lust floods his eyes.

In a flash, you’re facing the wall with both hands pinned above your head by one much larger, much stronger hand. Joel’s weight presses against you, pinning you in place.

“That right, angel?” Joel challenges under his breath as his other hand explores your chest, grabbing roughly at your breasts. “Want me to show you what I’ve had in mind?”

His hand travels towards your underwear, sliding down your front in a tantalizing motion; you moan before his fingers even brush your most sensitive spot.

“I do, Joel,” you moan, desperate for his touch. The feel of his chest against your spine is intoxicating, your mind goes blank at the sensation of his cock pressed against your ass.

Joel’s index and middle fingers find your clit, rubbing torturous circles around the throbbing bud. His thumb presses into your skin, anchoring his hand in place.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he groans. “Wonder what your dad’d say if he knew his lil’ girl was soakin’ wet for this cock.”

He slips a finger inside you, curling it up, making your mouth gape open in a silent ah and your eyebrows crease together. “You think of me when you’re touchin’ this pretty pussy?” Gasping and struggling against his hold, you nod enthusiastically, overwhelmed by the feel of him inside you.

“Please,” you whisper, wanting more, more, more.

“Manners,” he growls, tightening his grasp on your wrists. “Please, Joel,” he corrects, pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, his palm flattened and working against your swollen clit.

“Please-please, Joel,” you gasp out, throwing your head back against the crook of his shoulder. He leans forward, laying a soft kiss in the delicate nook of your neck. Then, he’s releasing you, pulling his fingers out and taking a step back.

He gestures to the desk.

“Facedown, sweetheart.”

You obey, stumbling over to it and laying your chest against the cold wood. It stings and you shiver.

Joel fumbles with his belt and then he’s behind you, unzipping his fly and pulling his length out. With your cheek laid against the desk, you get a perfect view of him towering over you, a dark God, holding his cock in his hand.

Emma had been right.

“You gotta be quiet,” he warns, before flipping up your skirt. He groans at the sight of your ass, roughly grabbing one cheek and squeezing it—hard.

“I will be,” you whine, desperate to take him in.

He chuckles, pulling down your dripping panties, letting them fall to your ankles. His tip runs between your folds, teasing your clit in tormenting strokes. You whine and moan, “Joel-s’good,” responding to every brush of his tip.

“You’re needy,” he says, gruffly.

He pushes his cock deep into your cunt, settling every inch of himself inside you.

“I like needy.”

You gasp at the sting and the pleasure and the fullness, unable to control yourself. Joel is huge—your walls wrap tightly around him as he pulls out near-completely before snapping his hips against your ass, filling you up to the brim again. You cry out as he holds your arms in place, setting a rhythm, grabbing you just as roughly as he fucks you.

“Joel,” you moan loudly before a large hand slaps over your lips.

“Shut up,” he growls.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you give yourself to him entirely, cravenly grinding against his hips.

“Look at you, fuckin’ yourself on my cock,” he taunts. “Takin’ it so good, pretty girl.”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes through the room, dirty and filthy and hot.

Joel’s fingers muffle your moans of abandonment, every “fuck,” “yes,” and “thank you,” coming out simply as “mmm.”

“This what you fuckin’ wanted?” he asks gruffly, leaning a hand next to your head and bending forward to loom over you. “Gettin’ fucked by a man twice your age?”

The angle allows him to push even more of his length inside you, causing you to squirm pathetically against his hips. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he adds, “That right, pretty girl?”

You nod eagerly, your eyes growing heavy, filling with abandon.

He looses a hollow laugh. “Needy lil’ thing,” he breathes, tangling his fingers in your hair. “With a needy lil’ pussy.”

Freeing your mouth, he throws his head back, straightening out and bringing both hands to your circle your waist. Now, he fucks you fast and brutally, his breath coming heavy and hard. With every stroke, Joel’s tip grazes your inner most sensitive spot, causing sheer ecstasy to radiate throughout your core.

“Come inside me, Joel,” you beg. “Come in me—please.”

Joel groans sinfully. “Can’t do that, sweetheart.”

Fluttering waves ripple from your cunt down your legs, threatening to take you over the edge.

“Joel,” you half-sob, “I’m gonna-”

He slows down, thrusting into you in great, harsh strokes, well-versed in the art of bringing a woman to climax. You cry out as your orgasm tears through you, unable to form words or thoughts or anything beyond “Joel,” “Ohmygod,” and “yes-yes-yes.”

“S’it baby,” he coaxes. “Come aaalll over my cock.”

Your walls clench around him, your pussy just as desperate as you are to keep him tucked inside you.

He exhales shakily, grabbing fistfuls of your ass in his hands.

“Fuck it,” he groans, thrusting faster inside you. “M’gonna fill you up.” Your eyes are still rolled to the back of your head, your hands desperately searching for something to grasp onto. His cock swells inside you, tensing up between your walls as his seed spills out between them—he comes with an “oh fuck” and a final, brutal stroke.

You lie still for a moment, listening to the sound of your ragged breathing harmonizing with Joel’s. He runs a massive hand along your arm, his touch suddenly delicate, revering.

“You’d better fuckin’ pray I can find the pill for you tomorrow,” he says finally, his husky voice both amazed and amused.

Lifting your chest off the table, you slowly flip around, perching on the edge to face him as he reorganizes his clothes, pulling his boxers up and tugging at his fly. He looks so handsome between your knees, with his hair slightly disheveled and his shirt all rumpled.

“Get extra,” you coo, your breath still uneven, your thoughts still bungled. You run a slight hand devotedly down his plaid shirt, marvelling at the pleasure the proximity brings you.

He laughs low, shaking his head. “S’was a one-time deal, angel,” he says with a smile. He finishes doing up his belt and leans both his hands on the table, his nose just centimeters away from your own. “Can’t be caught fuckin’ my associates’ daughters—bad for business,” he adds, pulling your underwear back up your thighs. You adjust yourself and pout at him, playfully.

“You didn’t like it?” you ask, pretend-innocence soaking your tone.

He smiles softly. “I liked it too much,” he responds. “S’why it can’t happen again.”

You raise your eyebrows defiantly. “Well, I’m not gonna make it easy on you, Miller.”

He slowly straightens up, offering you a hand as you scoot off the desk. Your legs feel shaky, but his hold anchors you in place.

“M’countin’ on that.”

With that said, he gestures for you to leave the room, following closely behind you. He opens the door and you peer into the hallway, making note of its emptiness before stepping out. Joel exits soon after, taking off in the opposite direction. You catch him looking back at you, a dazed, hungry look still lingering on his expression.

It makes you smile.

Later that night, you find Emma and Joel finds Tess. You’re back to your side of the divide and he’s back to his.

It’s as though nothing ever happened.

“Hey, check it out,” Emma remarks. “Miller actually looks, like, chilled-out,” she slurs loudly.

You smile knowingly, nodding in agreement.

“‘Guess he found a way to blow off steam.”

She gives you a quick, faded nod before becoming absorbed in something else. It doesn’t bother you. You’re also absorbed in something else: lost in thought, consumed by the lingering echoes and traces of Joel’s skin on yours.

When you catch his eye from across the room, you can tell that his thoughts are haunted by the very same thing.

This was no longer an innocent game.

It was a dirty secret.

—

Read part 2: Pretty When You Cry

Read part 3: Let Me Love You Like a Woman (Let Me Hold You Like a Baby)

[littlemiss-yeehaw]

You're Gonna Be Quiet

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: It's just an undercover mission, anyone could be married for one night - even you two.

Warnings: profanity, flirting, yucky old men, suggestive content (?), possessive Bucky <3

MINORS PLS DNI

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: y'all.... im not an author. im an artist, not an author, so PLS go into this with that knowledge. but I have been convinced, no, coerced into posting this little funsy by @ellemj

she threatened to withhold vacation pictures from me as if I didn't draw her bucky barnes dick earlier today and I'll be damned

anyways,, please enjoy and manage your expectations :,)

“Okay, rumor has it the target, Mr. Beaumont, has a thing for married women,” Sam says casually as he holds a ring between his thumb and forefinger, “so for this mission, you get to be Mrs. Barnes.”

He tosses the ring in your direction and you catch it with a sour expression. You slip the rock on your finger and admire it, your scowl slipping just a moment as you watch how it catches the sun. That is until you see Bucky with an equally foul look on his face. Suddenly, your frown reappears.

“Sam, I feel like there is certainly someone better suited for this than me,” you grumble as you put your hand down and look back up at him, “I mean, aren’t these undercover missions more of a Natasha thing?”

Sam rolls his eyes before turning to face you, a hand on his hip. You were in for a scolding. “Natasha has her own mission. So today, you get to be Mrs. Hart. And you,” he turns to Bucky with a smug expression, “will be Mr. Hart. Any questions? No? Good, you two lovebirds go get your outfits on.”

You turn quickly, but not quick enough to miss the death stare Bucky shoots Sam. This one seems even more lethal than his typical one.

~~~

The ride to the gala is silent. Bucky is always silent, but this silence seems more… suffocating. You fiddle with the ring on your finger before glancing over at him. “Are you planning to even look at me before we get there? I mean, we’re supposed to be a marri-”

“You’re supposed to be a woman in an unhappy marriage who's looking to fuck a billionaire,” he says bluntly, not even turning towards you, “I’m just making sure that you look plenty unhappy.”

He would never admit out loud that the real reason he won’t spare you a second glance is because the first glimpse of you dolled up sent almost all the blood in his rational mind straight to his cock. He needs to preserve what little sense he has left.

~~~

You get out of the car with a huff. Just as Bucky intended, you look unhappy and thoroughly irritated. You pull the hem of your little black dress down in an attempt to recover some of your dignity, but all Bucky notices is how the little tug causes your breasts to be even more apparent. Yep, there went the rest of the blood.  

He sighs and grabs your hand before plastering a fake smile onto his lips. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

You sigh and forget anymore yanking on your dress, looking up at him with a grim expression. “Let's,” you mutter under your breath before letting him lead you into the gala. 

As expected, the event is extravagant and no doubt costly. You feel out of place, and you can’t help the way you move a little further into your ‘husband’s side. You let a breath of air past your lips as you look around the room for your target. Nowhere to be seen, you nearly move further into the room before Bucky squeezes your hand gently and nods to his left. You’re quick to ignore the flutter of butterflies that his touch sends shooting through you and casually look where he’s pointed. Surely enough, at the bar, sits a piggish man nursing a flute of champagne. Your eyes find Buckys and you shoot him a look before you drop his hand and make your way over.

You take a seat a few bar stools down from the man, making sure to fail at getting the bartender's attention. “Sir? Sir, could I-” You drop your hand with a sigh, feigning a disheartened expression.

“Sir, this lady would like a drink,” like a mouse in a trap, Mr. Beaumont waves him down for you and orders you a drink, “you look like you’d drink something fruity, a little thing like you. Maybe a sex on the beach?”

You wish you’d missed the way his lips pulled up in a foul grin and the way his eyebrow raised ever so slightly, and you really wish you hadn’t seen his greedy eyes rake over your body. Nonetheless, a soft laugh and a bat of your lashes grace him instead of the scowl that wants to pull at your lips.

“I’ve never had one before,” you say with a saccharine smile, “maybe we could share.”

You notice how his eyes nearly bug out of his head and then slowly trail to your hand. He slides his fingers, not dissimilar to link sausages, down to your left hand where he trails a thumb over your ring. “Are you sure your husband wouldn’t mind,” he asks with that same vile grin, moving his hand to rest on your knee.

“Not particularly, but I’m sure I don’t care,” you whisper teasingly, leaning forward and showing off your tits that practically beg to fall from your dress. ‘Hook, line, and sinker’ you think as the man runs a heavy hand up the side of your leg and his eyes trail down your neck to your cleavage.

Trembling anger washes over Bucky as he watches the man practically feel you up in the middle of the bar. The beads of perspiration running down the target's neck and the way he keeps nervously licking his lips give Bucky all the indication he needs to know this man thinks you’re his. Then Bucky turns to look at you. You. You’re just letting the man have his way, no, you’re encouraging it. Yes, it’s the mission. And, no, Bucky has no reason to feel such vile hatred for the target in any sense other than the professional one. But for some reason, he finds himself wanting to dismember any part of the man that graces your body where he hasn’t yet.

Yet?

Yet.

~~~

“Who’s this, darling?”

You bristle as you feel a breath of air pass your ear before the deep timbre of Bucky's voice even registers in your mind. You whip around to look at him, an expression of anger and bewilderment replacing the flirtatious grin you were just donning. You look back to the target, trying to mask your surprise.

“Honey,” you manage to say through gritted teeth, “I didn’t even see you come over.”

You pull your hands from the target's grasp, nearly cringing at the moist feeling left behind on your skin. You feel Bucky’s firm hold replace Mr. Beaumont’s slimy touch, and your body reacts all too positively. You lean back hardly at all, but it’s enough to feel his chest rigid against you. Was he standing too close or were you too eager? There was no way to be sure, but one thing you could be sure of was the fact that neither of you shied from the contact.

“Hmm,” he hummed lowly, a disapproving air oozing from the short sound, “when you never brought our drinks over, I got curious as to where you’d disappeared to.”

His eyes shift from the side of your face to the man across from you, who grows increasingly uneasy at the sight of your tall and broad ‘husband’. Bucky leans down close, so close that his lips brush against the curve of your ear and you hope he can’t hear your blood rushing in your head.

“I’ll ask again, who is this?”

You’re not sure if it's what he says, or the way he says it, but his words send a wave of arousal through your body. Suddenly, the too-tiny dress feels too hot and you’ve nearly forgotten his question. That is until he quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head expectantly. You clear your throat and look back to a flustered target, presumably intimidated by your colleague.

“This,” you reply before turning back to the sweaty man, “is Mr. Beaumont. He owns a software company and..”

You turn to the target, a ditsy smile on your lips as you try to recover your role, “what else did you do? I forget.”

He laughs nervously, shifting on his bar stool to make himself appear taller. Still pitiful in comparison to the man currently staring daggers at him over your shoulder. “I develop software and coding for various companies and organizations to use where they deem fit.”

Another low hum sounds from Bucky’s throat as he lifts his head from your ear, he meets Mr. Beaumont's eyes and sighs.

“Very impressive, Mr. B,” he says condescendingly. You frown, peeking over at him. What is he doing? This was not a part of the plan, “so you must be a smart man?”

The man in question smiles smugly and nods. “I’d think so, yes.”

“Well then, pray tell, why have you been feeling up my wife,” he asks coolly, Bucky’s turn to look smug. You, on the other hand, whip around to stare at him with an irate expression. He looks down at you with a matching frown, hardly able to mask his irritation, “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll handle you later.”

You’d like to think you were subtle in your shock, in the way his words leave you flustered. You had no idea Bucky could smell the wave of arousal that flooded your panties, or that he could hear the beat of your heart like a snare drum. Neither of you even noticed the target’s pitiful stuttering, too caught up in the most sexually charged staring contest ever.

~~~

“What the fuck, Barnes,” you hiss quietly, walking ahead of him to the car with steam practically flooding out of your ears, “I mean, what the actual fuck!”

You don’t wait for him to catch up before you get into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind you. You didn’t care for appearances, your mission having been sabotaged by your own partner. What appearances did you have left to keep up?

He gets into the driver's seat a few moments later, pulling his gloves off with a sigh before running his flesh hand over his face.

“Are you done?”

“No,” you snap, turning to face him, “I’m not. You have the audacity to call me reckless, but you go and pull a stunt like that? I had it under control.” Your cheeks are red with irritation and your hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, but he’s too caught up with thinking what else would have you looking so flushed.

“If you’d just shut up and listen-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I was getting the intel,” you’re practically ranting now, “and you just had to swoop in. And for what? To be all macho? To fluster me?”

The scowl on his lips that once matched yours turns into a scoff, and you narrow your eyes at him. Why are you looking at his lips? And why can’t you pull your gaze away from them? “What? What now,” you ask with a huff.

“You really need to learn when to stop talking,” he mutters, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he tries to wipe the smug smile from his face, “y’know that?”

You’re startled by his words, the flush on your cheeks no longer caused by his irritating actions but by his shocking words. Your eyes travel over him shamelessly, ready to jeopardize everything just to get rid of the tension that has lingered and grown exponentially over the course of the evening.

“Then why don’t you shut me up,” you ask softly, your tone opposite to the defiant one you’d held only moments ago. Judging by the minuscule way his eyes widen and the way his lips part around a sharp inhale, you’d be safe to guess he’d beat you to the idea.

You aren’t sure who moved forward first, or even if you’d moved at all. All you can be sure of is the feeling of Bucky Barnes kissing you like he’d never have the privilege again. 

Your lips move feverishly against his own, the car filled with quiet pants and sloppy smacking. His hands tangle in your hair and he tugs you away from him, his expression turning stern when you whine petulantly. “Did you know you were a fucking brat tonight,” he asks lowly, his stare hard. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache between them.

“I was not,” you rebut, your brows furrowing and your lips turning down in a pout. He didn’t like that.

“You were,” he chides coolly, releasing his grip on your hair and sighing, “especially after we walked back to the car. You never even let me explain why I stopped you.”

You would like to focus on his words, but you’re too worried about the way his metal fingers nimbly undo the buckle of his belt. Silence sweeps over the car, the only sound being your shaky breath and the clank of metal on metal.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he continues, “I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen. Quietly.” You’re salivating as he tugs the zipper of his dress pants down, allowing the tent in his boxers some much-needed reprieve. “You know why you’re gonna be quiet?”

“Why,” you ask in a breathless whisper, only just now meeting his eyes again. 

“Because your mouth is gonna be full."

[ultravioletrayz]

Hi Hi! First time I'm doing this!- I just usually read fictional male characters x Reader (because I'm a simp)- Maybeeee Miguel walks on f! Reader changing or something- I HAVE NO IDEAS I'M SORRY 😭

-🪻(the emoji is to know it's me ^^ btw you can call me trin!)

AHHH TRIN THIS IS SO CUTE!! I don’t have a lot of motivation to write a full fic rn, but here’s my thoughts on the matter at hand.

Pairing: miguel o’hara x curvy!f!reader

Warnings: 18+, suggestive content, mentions of male masturbation, body descriptions, miguel being awkward, no actual smut

Summary: miguel walks in on you changing. that’s it. that’s the summary.

A/N: teehee 🤭

So, let’s just say you’re a Spider-Person. You and Miguel have to stay overnight at the Society to do surveillance on a potential interdimensional threat.

Miguel’s fine to just chill in his suit, because it’s just a fucking hologram and my man is butt naked underneath.

But your costume isn’t as comfortable, so you excuse yourself and walk off to your quarters to change into a spare set of casual clothes you keep around for times like this.

You’re taking your sweet ass time, partially because getting out of your skin tight suit is equivalent to running a marathon, but also because you’re not in a rush to get back to work.

Miguel is not a patient guy. Once you’ve been gone for an obscene amount of time, he sighs frustratedly and goes to find you.

Your door isn’t locked, because there’s barely anyone left at HQ, and you assumed Miguel would just be in his office. WRONG

Miguel sees that your door isn’t locked, and barges in, calling out your name and grumbling about how long it’s taking you to change. His sharp red eyes widen and his jaw drops when he sees you.

Tits spilling out of an old bra that’s too small for you, mismatched panties clinging to the shape of your hips, pants pulled halfway up your plump thighs.

Miguel stares at you like he’s taking a fucking mental snapshot of your half-naked body to jerk off to later. You’re staring at him with an absolutely mortified expression on your face.

“Miguel?! Get out!” You shout, trying to snap Miguel out of his horny trance as you attempt to cover your boobs and midsection with your arms, failing miserably. His gaze wasn’t offending you, but it was making you nervous.

Miguel blinks and scoffs at your yelling, but his tan, chiseled face is flushed with embarrassment. He shrugs his shoulders and glares at you as he takes a step back.

“Hay un candado por una razón, idiota.” Miguel grumbles, blaming you for the awkward interaction as well as the throbbing hard-on in his suit. (There’s a lock for a reason, idiot)

Definitely has to excuse himself a few times once you return to his office in your casual clothes. He sits in the bathroom, whimpering and grunting as he fucks his fist to the thought of him bending you over the bed in your quarters and filling you up in that very moment.

But he’s a pathetic little bitch and is left to alleviate his arousal in shame, because he doesn’t want to risk ruining your friendship.

Maybe next time…

Sorry this is so late and short, I might incorporate this in a longer fic at some point to do the concept justice.

[kittenintheden]

Where were you, when I was new?

AO3 Version Here bonus gift art by tavplum!!

Even the masters have to start somewhere.

Rating: E Word Count: 5.6k Content: 18+, Virgin Astarion, Pre-Canon Astarion, Law Student Astarion, Young Astarion, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Intercourse, Gender-Neutral Partner (3rd Person), Unnamed Partner (3rd Person)

Astarion Ancunín is twenty years old, a law student, and a virgin. At least, he is for the time being.

It’s not as if he doesn’t know he’s an exceptionally good-looking young man, not as if no one’s ever asked before. Not as if he’s completely inexperienced. He adores kissing. Flushes with pleasure when someone plays with his long, elegant ears. Participates in a little hand stuff here and there. He even received head and gave it back, once, at some party.

Really, it’s simply that he’s had other things to do – other lessons to learn, other books to study, other concerns about his future position – and no one ever seemed worth sharing himself with fully. At least, not the first time. What can he say? He has standards.

It’s neither here nor there, to be honest, because he’s deep in his notes from a recent lecture when a friend puts a hand on his shoulder and draws his attention away. He grumbles, annoyed at being yanked out of his zone.

“What, arthehole?” he says from between his teeth because he doesn’t want to drop the pair of gold-rimmed glasses that dangle from his mouth by one temple. He never did quite outgrow his oral fixation.

His friend tilts their chin toward the large double doors that offer entry to their university’s library, which is where they’re currently holed up. “Look sharp,” the friend says. “The mock trial team from Neverwinter just walked in.”

Astarion sits up and shifts his gaze to the group of unfamiliar students following behind an enthusiastic prefect who seems to be giving them the full tour of the Grand College of Baldur's Gate. They certainly look like standard Neverwinter fare – wizard-chic robes, scrutinizing stares, Northern city attitude. He leans his cheek on his hand, lazily sizing up the competition.

There’s one that stands out and he quirks his mouth up as he observes. This student is smiling brightly, slowly spinning in place to take in the shelves around them with wonder. Their clothing is simpler than the others, more street-friendly than cosmopolitan.

“Huh,” he says to himself.

“I think we can take them no problem,” his friend says. “But what do you say about running a bit of an insurance policy? Some friendly distraction, if you will.”

Astarion glances their way. “I’m listening.”

The friend points to someone toward the front of the line. “I’ll take that one. You know I’m a sucker for tieflings with blue… everything.”

He laughs. “Have at. I think…” He folds his glasses and slips them into his pocket, training his eyes on the student who stuck out to him before. “... I’ll deal with that one.”

“Good man,” says the friend, holding up a hand for him to clasp.

***

Some time later, Astarion leans casually against a support beam in the university’s canteen with his supper in hand, waiting. It isn’t long until the Neverwinter students begin to filter in and he quickly spies his target.

They’re taking in the room and the people around them, eyes soft and gentle as a cow’s. Elven, like him, he thinks. They look over their shoulder and happen to catch his eye for a scant moment. He tilts his head and they give a polite smile before stepping forward in the queue.

Astarion examines his nails closely during the several minutes it takes the group to retrieve their food and find seats. As the elf walks along the line of chairs, he makes his move.

Before they even notice his approach, he steps just in front of them and then startles as they knock into him.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” they say, mercifully righting their tray before anything spills. “I didn’t see you.”

“No, no,” Astarion says, smiling bashfully. “My fault entirely. I didn’t look to see where I was going. I’m terrible that way. Please, join me?”

He pulls out the nearest chair and gestures for them to sit. They blink at him, wide-eyed, then lean around to look for their friends, then back at him in slight confusion.

“Ah, sorry, that’s presumptuous, I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s fine,” they say, their face brightening with another grin. “We’re supposed to be here to meet other students, anyway, so. Yeah. Yes, I’d be happy to join you.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion says, pushing the chair in under them as they take his offered seat. Behind their back, he casts a look over at his friend across the way. They waggle their eyebrows at him and go back to chatting up their blue tiefling. Astarion smirks.

He schools his features back to neutral as he takes his own seat, giving the Neverwinter student a tight smile, playing the part of the nervy introvert superbly. Right on cue, his glasses slip down his nose a bit and he adjusts them back into place.

“Do you actually need those?” his guest says, their cheek already full of food.

Astarion’s smile drops for a second before he snatches it back and gives a laugh. “What?”

They chew and swallow their bite before pointing at his face. “The spectacles. I was just wondering if they were for show or…” They pause and their eyes go even wider than usual. “I apologize, that’s really rude of me, forget I said anything.”

His surprised laugh is genuine this time. “You know what? I don’t actually need them.” To illustrate his point, he removes them, folds them, and puts them in his jacket pocket. He leans in like he’s about to tell them a secret and quietly says, “Honestly, I just think they make me look smart.”

Immediately, they burst out laughing and he joins them. The conversation flows smoothly, after that.

“What are you doing all the way down at the Gate?” Astarion asks, placing a forkful of his own food in his mouth to chew as they answer. He now knows their name, their year, that they adore snow foxes, and that they are indeed visiting from Neverwinter.

They pick off a piece of their roll, then another. “I’m here with the mock trial group. You know that one? We playact cases like you’d find in the courts. We’re here for a competition with the Gate’s team.”

“Really?” Astarion says, the picture of innocence as he leans in closer, fascinated. “Like theater? I didn’t even know we had one of those.”

“Oh, yes, it’s a lot of fun.” They’re animatedly waving their forgotten roll around as they speak. It’s cute. “We each take the side of either the prosecution or the defense and we sort of, you know, duke it out.”

Astarion giggles. “Maybe I should come watch this thing. Which side are you on?”

“Defense,” they say with a wink. “And we’ve got a killer case.”

“Is that so?” Astarion’s grin spreads wide over his face. “I’d love to hear more.”

***

It had been quite the productive evening. His companion spilled the details of nearly everything that mattered, from their witness list to the evidence they hoped to sneak in last-minute with a legal loophole. Astarion flirted up a storm, keeping them talking. And talk they did, punctuated with laughter and light touches and a general aura of friendship .

Astarion grimaces as he organizes his notes for the trial. It should begin in an hour and he’s been hiding out in the nearby lecture hall that serves as the makeshift judge’s chambers. If he’s really, truly honest with himself… he feels awful. His opponent had been sweet, friendly, and genuinely enjoyable to be around, if a little… south of brilliant. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize he actually kind of liked them. Would maybe consider flirting with them for real, even.

If only they hadn’t been so naively trusting . That was their own fault, wasn’t it?

He swallows the sour taste in his mouth.

Around then, his friend swaggers into the room with a blooming bruise on their neck and a sleepy smile. They flop down in the seat beside him.

“Good night?” Astarion asks, cocking an eyebrow at them.

“Blue everywhere,” they say as if they’re doped up. “Everywhere, Ancunín.”

Astarion chuckles and shakes his head. “But did you learn anything useful?”

His friend doesn’t answer and Astarion clears his throat to prompt them. They focus back in on him and say, “Erm, we were supposed to be learning something? I proposed running distraction.”

“Oh for the gods’ sake.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “No matter. I got all the details from my date, anyway.” He taps his notes against the desk to straighten them and slips them into his satchel.

“You mean their team captain?” his friend says.

Astarion freezes with his hand on the latch of his satchel. Turns his head slowly to gawk at his teammate. “Their. What?”

The friend shrugs. “Guess I did learn one thing, after all. My companion said you were sitting with their team captain. Thought it was a pretty bold choice.” They wink at him. “Good for you.”

“Shit,” Astarion whispers.

His friend frowns, but before they can ask, he’s up and pulling open the door that leads to their mock chambers. The Neverwinter team is already well underway on their setup. He storms down the center aisle and sure enough, there’s his dining companion, looking polished to a fine shine with their hair properly styled and robes of deep blue setting off their elven complexion.

They turn just in time to catch him glaring at them with his jaw clenched.

“Glad you could make it,” they say with a much slyer smile than they wore last night.

Astarion has never been so simultaneously angry and infuriatingly attracted to someone in his life.

***

The first trial of their three-day competition is, naturally, a complete bust for Team Baldur’s Gate. Astarion is completely off his game and operating off of a strategy that proves totally useless. The Neverwinter team absolutely trounces them.

He got played. He got played and he’s furious about it.

Worse, he’s impressed by it. Gross.

Afterward, they come up to him to offer a genuine, friendly handshake. Astarion reluctantly accepts it.

“I’d apologize,” they say. “But honestly, I let you take the lead completely. You didn’t have to listen to a single word out of my mouth.”

Astarion sniffs. “Yes, well. Congratulations. You won.” He leans into their space ever so slightly. “This time.”

They laugh and it sounds almost the same as it did the night before. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“You don’t have to rub it- wait, what?” Astarion says.

They shrug. “Secret’s out now, I guess, so I don’t see any reason for us to pretend that we didn’t enjoy one another’s company.” When Astarion doesn’t immediately respond, they put a hand on their hip and smirk at him. “At least, I enjoyed yours.”

“Well, I…” Astarion huffs and looks askance, then back at them. “I don’t even know which parts of you are real , so. I can’t say.”

The elf reaches out a finger and taps him right on the center of his chest. “You’re the one who saw someone from one of the top universities in the realm and assumed I must be some foolish bumpkin who’ll spill their guts to the first pretty face that comes along because I smile too much. I’m the one who should be concerned, I think.”

“Ugh, okay, fair,” he says, tossing his head. Then he smirks back. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Come on,” they say with a laugh and a tilt of their head toward the exit. “Let’s get that drink.”

***

Hours later, Astarion stands in front of the tiny vanity in his dorm, turning his face to examine his reflection. His cheeks are flushed from a second and then a third drink, his curls looking a bit flat at the end of the day. He pulls back his lips to examine his teeth, making sure the wine didn’t stain them. Fine. He looks fine.

He huffs at his reflection. Normally, his confidence in his appearance is, one might say, inflated . Tonight, he’s feeling unusually self-conscious about it. He pokes at the moles under his eye and grimaces.

It had been a marvelous time. True to their word, his fellow captain had bought him the first cup of cheap wine. He’d pitched in for their second round, and they’d each decided on a third. After agreeing that tonight would involve absolutely no discussion of the next day’s case, they simply let the conversation take them where it would, and took them it did. 

It was… easy. Instinctive. He told them all about leaving his terribly boring hometown behind for the call of Baldur’s Gate, determined to polish himself to a high shine and enjoy everything the city life had to offer. They told him that Neverwinter was a beautiful, sparkling metropolis, but woefully lacking in people who weren’t head-and-shoulders up their own arse.

Astarion fidgets with the wooden comb and brush laid out on his vanity, smiling. Wine loosened their tongues a bit more and they’d given into the compulsion to openly flirt with one another, and it had been… good. Very good. It’s been some time since he’s felt genuinely interested in spending an evening with someone this way. If anything, he thanks his dates for the delightful makeout session and goes on his merry way.

He runs his fingers along his bottom lip, remembering being partway into that third cup and snatched up with the overwhelming desire to kiss them. The air around them felt heated and heady, their laughs going lower in pitch as the night wore on, their eyes half-lidded when they looked at him.

He’d wanted to. He’d wanted to so badly. More than he could ever remember wanting to kiss anyone. And he’d let his nerves get the better of him.

They’d bid their goodnights, he’d come back here, and now he was flopping down onto his too-hard single bed with a huff, covering his face with his hands. He sighs and drags them over his skin, looking at his wall covered in parchment, his reminders and notes to himself everywhere, a few tickets to events he wanted to remember pinned here and there.

He reaches out and taps the flyer advertising the mock trial competition, feeling a slow grin spread over his face. They’d bested him today, but tomorrow… tomorrow’s another story.

***

The look on their face when Astarion delivers his final arguments to the judges is delicious. He’s back in the game, fully and completely, using every bit of performative flair to make sure all eyes stay on him. When he wraps it up, he pays them a smug glance and they’re looking at him with lips slightly parted.

Better yet, they’re blushing .

He positively beams.

Baldur’s Gate comes out victorious, leaving the teams one-and-one. Tomorrow will decide the competition.

Tonight, they all go out together to play.

The Neverwinter team is desperately competitive and worth every bit of the name they’ve made for themselves on the university circuit, but they also love to party. The two groups find a rager of a soiree happening at the winter house of one of the Upper City students. There’s dancing, and drinking, and no small number of heated exchanges.

Astarion doesn’t waste the opportunity to rub elbows with anyone notable – he has long-term goals, after all – but most of his attention is devoted to spending as much time as possible with his new Neverwinter friend.

They share a dance or two on the trellised patio, purple and white wisteria hanging down all around them and perfuming the air. Nothing salacious… at least, not at first. That second dance ends up a bit close, with their hand on his chest and his just the tiniest bit too low on their hip for propriety.

In the twilight, they look into his face, their own expression open and affectionate, and it hits Astarion again – that overwhelming desire to kiss them. His heartbeat quickens, fluttering his pulse up along the side of his neck, and his breath catches. Heat swirls through him from the place their hand sits on his chest.

This is ridiculous. He’s never had a problem kissing anyone else before.

He’s never wanted to kiss anyone like this before, though. This thing between them… it’s chemical. Magical.

The music drifts away and they drift apart.

He does not kiss them.

***

Day three of the competition dawns and it’s the fiercest one yet. Every member of each team is out to win and they bring their very best to the table. The professors and other staff acting as the competition's judges watch the back and forth with raised eyebrows, thoroughly impressed by their students’ passion.

And no passion is so intense as the passion between the two team captains, who pace around one another like a pair of territorial wolves, seeking any weakness at all. They stand on either side of a long table, making their cases back and forth. Occasionally they address the judge, but clearly this is a battle between the two of them.

“The evidence is crystal clear,” the Neverwinter captain states, eyes narrowed. “This man is corrupt, feeding information to the highest bidder with complete disregard for any life ruined in the process. It is unconscionable, and the court must see justice through.”

Astarion slams his hands down on the table for effect and leans closer, eyes on them. “The evidence reveals he feared for his life, for the lives of his family. He performed these misdeeds under duress. The true culprit is not in this courtroom. And that…” He pauses for effect, letting the tension stretch. “... is why I move for a mistrial.”

There’s a bark of laughter behind him from his teammate and the room goes nearly to shambles under the sudden upswing in feverish whispering. Astarion grins.

Astarion stands his ground.

Astarion wins his requested mistrial .

In the end, the final judging declares Baldur’s Gate the winner of the day, but Neverwinter the overall mock trial champions – decided by a single point.

The entire mock chambers breathes a collective sigh of relief for the end of a battle well fought and new friends made. Astarion’s teammates are swarming him, slapping his back and praising his performance. He’s grinning ear to ear and looks up just in time to see the Neverwinter captain come barrelling through the crowd to catch him in a hug. He gasps and instinctively wraps his arms around them in return.

After a solid squeeze, they stand back and put their hands on his shoulders. They’re flushed with the fight, with the win. Their eyes shine a bit in the light.

“Well done,” they say, beaming. “You were incredible.”

Astarion gulps and manages to pull on a smile. “Congratulations on your win.”

“You’ll be at the party tonight?” they ask, looking between his eyes.

“Of course,” Astarion says. “I'll see you later.”

***

And he doesn’t miss it.

Astarion stands in the mock chambers again some time later, the air far less tense and much more celebratory. The teams and their judges and staff mingle amid the catered trays of sandwiches and pitchers of cheap wine. He looks around with two cups in hand, seeking out his new friend. Friend. Friend?

When he spots them, he simply can’t stop the smile pulling at his mouth. He wants so badly to be cool tonight and they make it so hard.

He takes a breath and approaches them. They turn from the person they’re currently chatting with and light up when they spot him. Their companion looks at Astarion and takes their leave with raised eyebrows, clearly aware that their conversation is now over.

Astarion clears his throat and offers a cup. They accept it.

“It’s really very bad,” Astarion says with a scoff. “But it’s something.” He takes a sip.

They continue to smile coyly at him as they bring their own cup to their mouth.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Astarion says, looking into his cup so he doesn’t have to see their face.

There’s a pause, and then softly, they say, “Yes. Late morning. We’re hoping to make it back to Neverwinter before the snows start on the road.”

Astarion takes another drink of his wine and sets it down before he looks back at them. “That’s unfortunate,” he says with a soft, sad laugh. “Because I’ve rather liked the time we’ve spent together.” He pauses and swallows. “I’ve rather liked you .”

They tilt their head, wine held aloft in one hand, and let their smile widen.

When they don’t respond, Astarion says, “That is, you’re very clever to be around. Fun. Fun to be around? I like to be around you because you’re just…” He looks around desperately like he’s going to find help for this. “... incredible.”

They turn and set their cup down on a nearby bench.

Astarion rambles on, “I only thought maybe you might be, I don’t know, interested in letting me show you what else I’m capable of.” High-pitched laugh. “Outside the courtroom.” Clears his throat and blinks rapidly. “If you want.”

With a giggle, they grab him by the lapels and pull him in, pressing their mouth fully to his in a kiss that makes him immediately swoon, his legs going a touch weak as he leans against them for support. The chatter around them goes muffled in his mind as they both adjust for a better fit and he feels his ears flush pink to the very tips.

When the kiss breaks, Astarion can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his fingertips, in his lips, in his… oh, that’s going to be an issue very soon.

They catch his eye and say, “You want to get out of here?”

He’s never nodded his head “yes” so quickly in his life.

***

They don’t make it anywhere close to the dorms.

Now that the seal’s been broken, Astarion simply can’t keep his hands off of them. They escape into the hall together and run a few steps down the way when he crashes into them, wrapping his arms around them from behind until he gets them to turn so he can kiss them again, both hands on either side of their head as they stumble.

They run a ways, kiss a ways, run a ways, and so on until Astarion yanks them down a side hallway behind the library, looking from door to door. When he finds one he likes, he gives their hand a tug and they use the momentum to slam against him until his back hits the door. The pair of them laugh deliriously as they kiss again, tongues testing and discovering, but then they break from his mouth to kiss toward his ear.

The moment they suck on the lobe, his cock goes fully and painfully hard, hips bucking out as he whines into the air beside them.

“No, no, not there,” he says in a breathy whisper. “Not unless you want to call it a very early evening.”

They bury their face in the side of his neck, giggling, and he scrambles his hand around behind him until he finds the doorknob and they both go tumbling inside.

Astarion collapses onto the floor with his companion on top and doesn’t even think before he kicks the door shut with one foot and reaches up to bring their face back to his for another kiss. This time, he uses a thumb to stroke along the length of their own elven ear and then groan into his mouth, grinding down hard against him.

Oh gods, this is happening.

He wants this to happen.

On impulse, he reaches down their bodies until his hand's between his companion’s legs, gently cupping them there, and they sit upright, head thrown back in the very low magical lantern light of this filing room, and rock themselves against it. He does his best to give them the friction they’re seeking.

A minute or so later, they tilt their head forward and meet his eyes, their eyes stormy and lustful. They take his hands and pull them both back to standing, backing him up until he slams up against the side of the nearest filing shelf. Fingers fumble with the buttons of his doublet and he tries to help, getting them undone enough that they can reach their hands inside and scrape their nails over his ribs through his undershirt. Astarion’s chest arches forward, goosebumps prickling over his skin as he makes contented noises through their kiss.

Then they kiss down his neck, giving him a little nip near the collarbone that makes him squeak, which he attempts to cover with a purr. They keep going until they kneel on the floor and work at the lacings of his trousers. His tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, and he’s about to say that they don’t have to do-

But then their mouth is on his freed cock and he throws his head back, swooning into the overwhelming sensation of wet heat surrounding him. He’s done this before, and it was fine, but it wasn’t like this . Maybe it’s because he’s so attracted to them? Maybe it’s because they’re doing… that thing… with their tongue…

He whines and pulls in a deep breath, trying to keep his wits about him, because he highly suspects that one-sided head is not how they want the night to end. Before he reaches a dangerous place, he puts his hand on their head and gently slows them. They pull off of him and look up with a smile, their eyes the exact mix of mischief and sexiness that caught him in the first place.

No one’s ever made him feel like this. Not once.

This one, though. They’ve wound their way around the very core of him.

Astarion gulps and says, quiet and shy, “I haven’t done this before.”

Their eyes go a little wider. “Really?” they say, sincere. “You?”

He laughs. “I mean, I’ve done what we just did, but I haven’t… done what I think we’re about to do.”

They give his cock one more long lick that makes him sway a bit before they stand back up and kiss him. He melts into it. He likes them so very, very much. It hurts that they’re leaving, but this is right. He knows it is. These past few days and nights feeling them take root in him… they’ve all been leading to this.

“Well, then, I’m honored,” they say, and they sound like they mean it. “If we’re about to do what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, yes, please,” he says, kissing them again.

They each separate and disrobe, their clothing building a haphazard pile between them. Soon enough, they swipe the old files off the nearest table and his playmate faces it, bidding him closer with a smile over their shoulder, almost exactly the same as the first one they ever paid him in the canteen only a few nights ago.

Astarion takes his cock in his hand, still spit-slick, and puts his other hand on their hip. They lean over the tabletop, palms flat on the surface, and spread their legs for him. His breath stutters, his legs go weak beneath him. He can’t quite believe he’s here.

Beneath him, they shift their weight so they can put their hand over his. He’s shaking, just a little.

“We can stop if you want to,” they say, their words reedy with need but sincere beneath it.

“No,” Astarion says. Licks his lower lip. “I want to do this with you.”

They give a light laugh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He nods, then realizes they can’t see him. “Okay. Okay.”

His fingers move from their hip to the middle of their back and he draws the pads of his fingers down over their spine. They shiver under the touch and Astarion swallows hard. His fingers trace all the way to where their arse begins to curve. He shudders in a breath and brings two fingers to his mouth to suck, then reaches between their legs to touch them there, apply pressure, rub small circles.

They arch and hum beneath his ministrations.

Astarion holds his breath and pushes his fingers inside them, losing his footing just a bit as he feels their heat, the pulse of them around his fingers. When he has his wits back, he moves his fingers in and out, pumping slow, listening to their breath beneath him for cues on what he might be doing right or wrong. He turns his fingers a bit, mapping their body, and they give a shuddering sigh.

Their insides grow warmer to the touch. Are they supposed to do that?

“More,” they huff. “You can do more now.”

“Right,” Astarion says, withdrawing his fingers and moving in closer, his arousal pulsing with anticipation. It feels like crossing into a new world, going somewhere that will well and truly mark him an adult. And he’s ready.

His cock rests at their entrance and with one more breath he guides himself inside with his hand. There’s a brief resistance, a pleasant pressure against the head of him, and then he’s half inside. His hips instinctively give a second thrust and then he’s fully sheathed.

He gasps and curls forward into their body just as they arch into his. Astarion’s arm wraps around their waist and he holds them tight.

“Okay?” they gasp again, their legs quivering.

“You feel…” he pants, pressing his forehead to the space between their shoulder blades. “Gods, you feel so good.”

They laugh and reach a hand behind them to tangle in the hair at the side of his head. “You too. You feel good, too.”

Astarion huffs out his breath and tries to place a sloppy kiss to their back, but it’s so hard when this feeling is coursing through him and his thoughts are going haywire because everything is different, now. He’s different, now.

He draws his hips back and rolls them forward again.

They sigh with it, signaling their approval.

So he does it again. And again. And again.

Together they build a rhythm. Every once in a while, they help Astarion angle himself this way or that, teaching him how to make a partner feel, make them shudder, make them moan. He finds a spot near the front of them that makes them squirm and he files that knowledge away. They take his hand and guide him round to their front and show him what to do, how they like to be touched.

He’s a fast learner. Always has been.

Astarion pants as he attempts to commit every second of this experience to memory: being buried deep inside, feeling the shudder and movement of his partner, the way they flush and bloom, the unbearably sexy sounds that float from their throat to his ears. Most of all, he wants to remember how this feels , how much he enjoys the person he’s sharing this with. His heart thuds in his chest, his ears flush with arousal and affection, and he is so happy to be exactly here, in this moment.

The pair of them grow slick with sweat against one another in the unventilated room, their cries stifled and sultry. The minds are willing, but the bodies are young and eager. The passion building between them swells, shivering, laser-focused on the place where they meet.

Their rhythm goes chaotic and Astarion only barely holds on long enough for his partner to fall over the edge before he goes tumbling after.

For a scant moment, the world goes paler than he’s ever seen it.

Then they’re both whimpering through the other side of their peak, movements gradually slowing to stillness.

After they’ve had an awkward disentanglement and a more awkward cleanup, they look into one another’s faces, and then they’re kissing again, touching again, losing themselves again. What youth lacks in experience, it makes up in vigor.

They do it once more, face to face this time. Slower, longer. Astarion learns what it’s like to soul kiss someone while making love to them. He likes it. Very much.

Some time later, Astarion leans against the table and stares down at his doublet while he does up the buttons. Beneath his lashes, he peeks up and sees them looking at him, their mouth titled up in a sweet smile. They’re already fully dressed.

“What?” Astarion says airily. His cheeks are warm and he’s positive he’s rosy pink with a blush.

“You are so pretty,” they say. “And funny, and clever. You’ve been lovely company.”

Astarion raises his eyebrows and looks askance, unable to stop grinning. “Yes, well. You’re delightful, as well, and you certainly gave me a night to remember. Thanks, for that.”

It goes unspoken between them, the knowledge that this is the last and only night. They’re young, they’re dedicated to their studies. There won’t be time for lovesick letters and pining, nice as it might be. No. Best that they keep this memory contained in crystal, sparkling.

His opponent, his friend, his lover walks closer and puts a finger under his chin and Astarion allows them to tilt his face so he’s looking at them. Then they lean in and give him a tender kiss.

When they break away, they stay close and look him in the eye. “What you gave me was a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Astarion smiles. “Nor I.”

With one last kiss, they say their goodbyes. “Goodnight, Astarion,” they say. “I do hope we meet again, one of these days.”

“Me too,” he says, watching their retreat. “Goodnight, Tav.”

[safination]

Partners in Death…and Life

Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself

| Part 1: Radio's Not Dead |Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should be Trusted| Masterlist | ao3 Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason.

Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Hello, I’m back :D This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got busy. Anyway, thank you for all the likes so far. It motivated me to really finish this chapter. Also once again, I have everything planned out, it really is just a matter of writing it down. *Updated 28/02/2024 Just added some stuff that I thought made sense*

Flick…

Flick…

Flick…

Lights flicker above you with a slight buzz. You drape an arm over your eyes when the gleam of the bulb blind you.

The hardwood floors chill your skin, but it’s the sensation of casual loose clothing on your back that warrants your exhale in peace. Just a second. You just need a moment on these hard and chilling floors to ground you… just… one … single … moment to…

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

A stray feather pricks into your arm. The vane tickles, but the barb digs your skin. You’ve called this body ‘yours’ far longer than your human one, yet the feathers that grow on your skin still astound you. You twirl it around your fingers, and wave it in the air like a wand—it’s a proper animalistic feather.

Your nose scrunches into a hard scowl, and you jump up, stomping into the kitchen toward that untouched coffee mug on your counter. Grabbing it, you splash the contents down the sink, letting it flush down the drain.

The sponge is rough against your hands as you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub a̵̯͒n̴̤͝d̶̫͌ ̶͚̇y̶̤̎o̷͔̓u̶̢͐ ̸̓͜s̵̪͗c̸͎͂r̷̀ͅṳ̴̎b̸͖̀ ầ̷̩̯͍̙̳̍͗͘ń̵̰̞̰̕d̴͇̻̮̫̝̓̎̈́ ̶̡̬̬̮̺͗͒́̌͑y̴̙̘̻͇̿̉̐͆ǫ̷͉̟̍̅̑̏ŭ̸̖͓ͅ ̴̛̝͇̭̥̌́́̂s̸̠̑̽̏́c̷̥̺̃̾̊r̶̲̯̈́̈̄͆͊u̵̼̝͕̼̇̍̈́͘b̶͍͖͖̐̾͝.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You rinse the mug, slamming the cupboard door shut when you drop it next to your own clean one. Fingers run through your feather-hair…hair-feather, or your ‘whatever that grows on your scalp’. Some questions you’ve stopped asking.

An audible grumble… well, uhhhhh…. grumbles from where your stomach is placed in this body, and you munch on your lips to keep the inhumane screech from erupting into the kitchen and breaking all kinds of glassware and little knickknacks that Alastor filled your home with.

(These days, the old trinkets collect dust on your shelves. There haven’t been any new ones in years.)

Chopping Hell’s equivalent of carrots calms you. (It’s honestly the use of some type of razor-sharp object that calms you. You’d prefer a different razor-sharp object, but a sharp knife is a sharp knife, no matter the size.) You chop until there’s enough food to make a proper and decent meal that your stomach will accept.

You crash on the couch, dinner secured on a plate, and flip the television switch. Light flashes into the room when you do.

Ad about some impish business—Not interested.

‘Yeah, I fucked your sister, So what?’ — Boring.

Cooking Venison with Vox— Lame.

Settling on the lifestyle network, you munch on your food. Some poor slimy creature flashes across the screen, and it's her home that will be remodeled because of…something. You’re not sure what that something was. You don’t care enough to find out.

The sounds from the television swap with the silence of your living-room as you take each bite. It’s one of the sadder habits you’ve picked up since purchasing this noisy picture box.

Your eyes wander to that half-filled coat rack, while your ears listen in on the show and that woman did not just say that pink would go with brown. Only your singular coat drapes on the hinge, when this particular design was made to hold two.

A commercial plays for some-thing called the Hazbin Hotel.

Your eyes are stitched to the screen until the final note of the song plays, and a different advertisement takes its spot. You take a sip of your drink.  Just ą̷̖̯͈͂ ̷̡̧͚̤̩͎̙͇̞͓̟͈̤̝͉͉͉̘̉͐̓́̆́̇̍̐̿̈̄͜͜͜͝͝s̶̨̢̛̥̣̻̱̰̬̩̹̥̞̟̳̝͔͓͙̗̗͕̟͇̆̉̿į̴̡̢̠͇̱̤͔̙͎͕͛̑̓̒̀̔͆̓͂̃̚͘͘͠ṗ̶̡̢̨̳͙̦̮͍͓̻͎̲̪̲͕͛̔̐́̐̈́̒̒̉̎͛̆̈́̈́̉̔̑̃̕ͅ.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You blink, and you find your keys locking your front door.  Already, your legs are trekking down the garden stones. A flower snarls at you as the gate locks with a click.

Another blink.

 Huh…you’re on the bus.

The sign says it’s headed into the city. Living on the outskirts has always been beneficial for you. Not today, though. Today, the one-hour commute makes your feathers bristle.

You read the barely eligible address scribbled on the note, and pat your hair, smoothing the flared feathers sticking out. It seems…

Hmmmmm.

It seems you did not think this through. H-how…How are you going to get to the hotel?

Tagatha calls you a fossil for using one of those flippy telephones. You considered purchasing those fancy telephones with the lights and screens, and loud robotic voices telling you where to turn left, but learning to use a flip-phone brought enough stress for two lifetimes. You’ll happily stay a fossil.

Turns out, you don’t even need the address.

The Hazbin Hotel sticks out. It’s a humongous building with its name written across what you call the sky in blinding neon lights. Your vision zooms in, and you see that the hotel rests on a giant hill at the other edge of the city. Three large neon-lit arrows point to a crudely attached radio tower. Below it, a wooden ship hangs to the side. Circus light bulbs flicker with electricity.

The Hazbin Hotel is an eyesore – it’s exactly what Alastor prefers.

You reach the dinged-up metal gate on the bottom of the hill and reset your hand on the rusted latch. Trekking through the city took a lot, and you were already here. So, why are your legs frozen to the cement? Why does your heartbeat thump in your ears?

“Excuuussseeeee me.”

A snake towers over you. It’s your first time seeing such a slithery specimen as large as him. His hat rests on his hold, and it blinks at you. His hair … or was that skin … puffs out with two red sets of red eyes.

“Can I help you?” you say, warily. Sinners are in hell for a reason.

“Yessssh,” he says, his tongue slithering out. His flaps stick out, all four eyes staring right into your own. “I’d like to be a guessst at this hotel!”

You glance at the eye-sore that’s called a hotel. “I don’t work here.”

His flaps droop. The snake takes a deep breath, and slides the gate open, slithering in with determination in his … er… snake body.

You follow in silence.

The snake matches your pace. “Will you be a guest at this establishment as well?” he asks you. “Or were you given the same sssssuper secret mission?” Just like before, his tongue slithers out—what a funny little odd man.

Bangs grab your attention. When you focus your vision, you see an inky shadow servant striking a nail into broken wood. “Not at all,” you say slowly. “I’m just here to visit someone.”

His flaps open, and three pairs of eyes and a hat meet yours. “I am the great Sir Pentious!” he says with a proud hand on his puffed-up chest. “Inventor. Architect of destruction. Villain extraordinaire!”

You give him your name “….Doctor.”

“It is only the coward who attacks a battler of health.” His flaps droop as he sinks into himself. “You cannot be my rival, I’m afraid.”

“I guess that makes you brave,” you say, humming. The decorations for the hotel are rather dull. Drawn on the middle of the hill, a giant pentagram is etched on the ground. The flowers dwindle on the cliff edge, and do little to combat the grayness surrounding you. “What a shame to hear—I rather love good rivalries.”

The eyes on Sir Pentious’ hat brighten at the same time his own do as well. “Ssssso do I!”

One of the inky shadow servants waves at you.

You wave back.

Light streams from the glass doors. You blink a few times, adjusting to the sudden change of brightness. Circus-themed stained glass decorate the front entrance. One of the less tacky – but still tacky – designs of this hotel.

Sir Pentious taps the glass with the tips of his finger, clinking with each tap, and his eyes water in excitement. His nose crinkles when he takes a deep breath. You weren’t aware he even owned a nose. Sir Pentious fiddles with the flap of his hat, and bangs on the door.

Your smile strains after a minute of banging.

A young lady with long, white hair creaks the door open. You recognize her from the commercial.

Sir Pentious’ flap open and close with each word as he says, “Why, hello, my dear –”

A punch to the face is his reply.

“Oh dear!” you screech. Sir Pentious drops to the ground, and you kneel next to him, a steady hand on his slimy shoulders. “Have you no manners?”

This insolent girl points her spear and stomps a foot on Sir Pentious. She snarls, and her glare hardens.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sir Pentious’ tongue slithers out as he holds a peace-sign. “I come in peacccccceeeee”

“What are you doing here?” Her spear inches closer.

“Vaggies,” another voice calls out. A blonde with a red pantsuit and a bowtie pokes her head, eyes in a squint. O-oh! You know this lady from the commercial. The Princess of Hell … Cady … Char …Charlie Morningstar! “What’s the problem?” Charlie’s eyes widen when she spots you and Sir Pentious, an honest smile drawn on her face. “Oh, hello again! And hello to you as well!”

“Can you please tell this insolent girl to get her food off this gentleman,” you spit, tilting your nose into the air. Your feathers sharpen when you bristle. “And your weapon away from my face.”

Vaggie takes her foot off Sir Pentious. She holds the spear close, but it’s away from your face.

Sir Pentious straightens into a stand, and the group prattles on.

No one bothers to help you. A huff escapes, and you brush the dirt off your skirt. Absolutely no manners. Insolent and ill-mannered.  Would Alastor stay in such a place?

You’ve never laid an eye on someone as unique as this Vaggie. Her hair patterns are similar to wings. It’s almost unheard of to see such a prominent ‘x’. Her flared eyelashes resemble a bird. It strikes you silly. Almost everyone in hell resembles a human body with animal characteristics hidden somewhere. This insolent girl doesn’t appear to have any of that – only miniscule feathers made to appear native to Hell.

“Absolutely!” Charlie exclaims to who you think is Angel Dust. (The porn-star, not the drug. Obviously.) Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile on his face. There’s a squeak every time he bobs his head. That hat of his looks nervous.  “This place is about second chances and who deserves one more than this…slithery…slippery…special little man.” Charlie takes a peek at you. “Oh, and this feathery…sheddy… and round-eyed woman.”

You do not shed.

You smile at Charlie, and give her your name, “…and I expect it to be used.”

Angel Dust whips to Vaggie. “Aren’t you supposed to protect this place?” he says and turns to you. “How are we even sure we can trust this lady – no offense, toots.”

“None taken,” you say, dryly.

Charlie’s eyes water when she turns to Vaggie, who easily relents with a sigh.

You’re thrust through the apple and circus-themed doors, squinting at the chandelier. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the design—it reminds you of those old rolled films. Charlie leads you and Sir Pentious further down the hall, all but pushing you in. Vaggie and Angel Dust lag a few steps behind.

Charlie waves her arms to go into an enthusiastic point. “So…this is our bar,” she says. Husk drops his drink, a scowl on his face, “and the bartender. This is the curtain, and this is the new wall after Sir Pentious broke the last one. And this is—”

Vaggie calms her down.

The bar clashes with the red wallpaper of the hotel. It’s almost as if someone just dropped it there, and etched it to the very wall. The wood is firm underneath your touch and feels exactly like what wood should feel.

You turn towards the bar and take your seat. Husk focuses on his drink. “Hello,” you say with a gentle voice that should not be mistaken for kindness. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Husk chokes and splatter out his drink, but you only smile at him. He coughs and his ears droop low. “Uh…yes,” he starts. “Good to see you as well.”

“There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

 “Good.”

You run your finger across the skeleton wrapped around the bar post. A memory tickles your brain. This is one of the many specimens you owned. It took one whole month to strip the muscle off its tight hold on the bones, and another month just to clean, bleach, and wire together. The heads above the bar sign were a gift to you, and the skeletons were your gift back.

The neural spine pokes your finger as you tap each one. “I see you’ve set up shop here.”

Husk scowls, taking another swig of his drink. “Not much of a choice.”

“And tell me,” you start, “how long have you been here?”

Husk doesn’t answer you.

Charlie calls your name, and waves you over. “Over here,” she says pointing to where Niffty plays with some kind of one-eyes cat, “we have our maid—Niffty!”

Niffty hops on Sir Pentious. “The bad boy is back!” she exclaims, pulling him closer, eyes wide and shaking. A bead of sweat drops from Sir Pentious’ hat. “Never leave me again.”

“We’re about 80% sure she’s harmless….” Charlie prattles on.

“Hello, Niffty.” You smile at her.

She jumps off Sir Pentious, landing with a small ‘humph’, and strides to you with her pointy short legs. She calls out your name.

You squat, meeting her eye. “It’s great to see you again—Is Alastor forcing you here?”

Her eyes shine with an innocent type of glee. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She claps her hands. “I get to chase all the bugs here.” Nifftly leans closer to you, giggling. “Can I be strapped to your table again? I love it when you slice me open.”

 “Maybe next ti—”

Charlie grabs your arm, hauling you forward. “Oh! Uh, Alastor! Our gracious facility manager! You've met our newest guest Sir Pentious…hehe…,” she tells him. Charlie keeps pulling you, only stopping when you stand before a grand staircase. “These two will be our special wonderful guests!”

Alastor does little to show you what he feels, there’s just that same empty grin.

He bought a new coat, you note. This new one has white streaks on the new collar and less stripes. Guess some things were more important than others.

You slip out of Charlie’s tight grasp. “I think you’re mistaken, my dear,” you say. “I’m not a guest— just a visitor.”

You hold your husband’s gaze and greet him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“It’s good to see you,” you say, a smile drawn on your lips. “How are you doing on this wonderful morning?”

Alastor turns to you, drops an item into his grocery basket, and blinks. “I am amazing!” he says. He grabs your hand with his gloved ones and shakes it. His hands are warmer than you expect them to be. “Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite the pleasure.”

You chuckle at him. “Yes, I’m aware of who you are.”

“Oh, how lovely!” He waves his fingers. “ are you on of my many fans?” His smile strains, and there, you see it, on the corner of his cheek. His nose flares and his smile takes the appearance of a snarl. Maybe it was the other way around.

“A bit,” you admit, adjusting your hold on the basket. “How are your stitches, Sir?”

His eyes widen—brown eyes, you note. “The good doctor!”

“I think you mean the good nurse.”

“Oh yes, yes,” he hums and inches the basket away from your gaze. “I’ve been taking my medicine, and replacing my dressing every three days, just like you said.”

“Good—that’s great to hear. No more accidents?”

“None!” He laughs. “And if one does happen, I’ll be sure to present you with an injury that is only hours old.”

A giggle slips through your lips. “That’s even better to hear,” you say. You clear your throat, tightening the hold on your basket. “I’d hate to take even more of your time. I’ll let you go on with your day.”

A firm grip on the basket handles keeps your feet planted on the glossy floor of the general store. “Not so fast, my dear. I think you still owe me,” he says. Your teeth bare into what you hope is a polite smile. “You promised to show me your marvelous embroidery the next time we meet! You’re not the type of lady to go back on your word now, are you?

“You sure do know how to put such ladies into a tight spot.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light. “I assure you; I don’t mean to. I tend to get very excited about art

“Well, with you holding my integrity hostage, and the addition of such lovely enthusiasm, I find myself having trouble refusing.” You reach into your purse and pull out a clean handkerchief. “Sadly, I wasn’t expecting the general storm to be an art gallery, so this will have to do.”

And there it is again, that same breathy and light laughter. “They really do have everything in here

Alastor takes your handkerchief with steady enthusiasm, studying each stitch carefully. It’s one of your simpler designs—tiny flower bouquets scattered across the fabric. Your eyes are drawn to the contents of his basket: rope, strong acids, latex gloves, rolls of plastic wrap, and other such interesting items.

“You have such beautiful handiwork.”

“You can keep it if you wish,” you tell him. “I have thousands back home, and I’m always weak to such flattering compliments— a real boost to my ego.”

“Splendid!” Alastor slips the handkerchief into his coat. “I love receiving gifts from fans.”

You smile at him to hide your frown. You are not some fan-girl. “Of course.”

Alastor is following you.

The conversation ended several beats of silence ago, but he trails behind your every step. You skip the aisle where they sell produce, stop to grab some eggs, ask the butcher for 50g of chicken liver, and smile back when he smiles back. You sigh and lead Alastor to the end of the general store, and into an aisle.

You snatch a glass bottle of chemicals off the shelf—they really do have everything here. “Going for a hunt soon?” you ask, and read the label.

His smile brightens as he says, “Why yes! There was this wonderful prey that I spotted the other day, and I’m just dying to have his head hanging on my wall.”

You offer him the bottle. “You have a lovely coat. It would be a shame for it to be ruined by stains,” you say. “This always does the trick when dealing with the redder parts of my job.”

He takes the bottle from you.

“Take this as well,” you say and reach into your basket. “It’s the last bottle of 12% hydrogen peroxide in this store, but you need it more than I do. A ratio of fifty-fifty of this and a bit of hair developer in a bucket of water should brighten up your bones. Just let it soak for a day. Oh…and just in case, those two chemicals are safe to mix. You should avoid doing so, but an accident wouldn’t hurt you.”

Alastor offers his basket, and you drop the bottle along with the other hazardous substances. “You sound certain.”

“That is because I am.”

Fate has granted you a humorous shopping companion, and you decide to stop fighting it. Alastor follows you to the bread aisle.

You point to the top shelf. “Can you…?”

He drops the bread into your basket, and stares at you with what you think is curious tenacity.

“My father works as a butcher,” you say, sighing. “He prides himself on catching the venison he sells. We don’t believe in wasting a precious body, so we use it until there is nothing left to give. He came back from his own hunt and wanted to add another antler to his display

Alastor hums. “Won’t you need these then?”

“There’s still a bit leftover sitting in his workshop. I just came to get an extra bottle.”

Alastor continues to follow.  “Do you often aid your father in his work?”

“Not as frequent as when I was a teen, but I still aid him when I have the time to do so,” you say. “It’s how I got to be so normal around a knife —the sharp ones are the best, they cut right through the skin, and with enough force, the bones as well. I keep a little collection of bones at home.”

“Such interesting hobbies you have.”

You pick up two coffee bags and hum. “Thank you.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him and reach out to straighten it. Alastor jerks away and spins to reach into the shelf behind you. “I rather detest owing favors, and you have done me two,” he says, offering you an entirely different brand of coffee beans. “I suggest you try this one. It’s flavors are far richer.”

You offer your basket and Alastor drops it right in.

You eye his basket once more. “Will that be all you’re purchasing?”

He nods, smiling at you.

You smile back.

Well, isn’t this just lovely? Well-dressed gentlemen really are your favorite.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie whips her head, mouth wide as she stares at you and then at Alastor. Angel Dust has an arm on his hips, his brows furrowed and mouth quirked to the side an awkward but rather cute frown. Sir Pentious’ hat squints at you with what you assume is confusion—you can’t really tell. Sir Pentious’s tongue sticks out of his bewildered and crooked frown. “Oh! How nice,” Charlie says after a beat. “So, you two know each other?”

“Partners,” you say

“Friends,” Alastor says

Your smile strains as you say, “To be called a friend by the Radio Demon is quite the honor.” Alastor wipes his monocle with a proud puff.

Angel Dust whistles, leaning on the railing with the first set of arms crossed, and the second propped on his hip. “Didn’t think Freak would be the type to have friends.”

“Neither did I!” You say with a loud laugh. “Well, that’s what I am – a f̵̼̎r̴͔̃i̶̦̍e̶͕͠ṋ̸̀d̶͚̋.” You smoothen your puffed-up feathers. “Apologies.”

More introductions are done. Charlie insists on giving Sir Pentious his first lesson on apology. It goes about as well as you think.

Charlie winces a bit “….Ooooookay,” she says and inhales to plaster a huge smile. “Why don’t we… uh… take a look at the kitchen!”

Angel Dust takes one look at Charlie’s enthusiasm, winces, and says he’s getting a drink.

Charlie’s death grip on Sir Pentious stays firm as you trudge to the kitchen. She stalls at every painting to explain its history, and introduces every crack on the wall, showing it off with an enthusiastic glee. Even the water-stained wallpaper gets its own special moment during the tour. (Where is that ill-mannered girl when you need her?)

You lag a few steps behind. “Alastor…”, you say as a greeting.

Alastor matches your pace, using his microphone as a cane. With the very tip of his fingers, he plucks a stray feather off your hair with a coy smile that reaches from ear to ear. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering how I’ve been fairing these last few years,” he says, spinning that microphone of his and waving his hand like some kind of street performer.

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yes, I know I’ve been absent for some time,” he starts. “It’s nothing serious; I assure you. It’s nothing I cannot handle as well.”

 “My goodness, and here I thought you were occupied at work.” Your teeth flash when you smile. “But in any case, it’s quite… kind… of you to soothe what little worry this friend might have for you.” Alastor and his microphone laugh at you, but you hum with satisfaction when his eyes narrow into a glare.

Charlie and Sir Pentious wave their hands, calling you from across the hall, and you hasten your steps.

The kitchen intimidates you. So many large and metallic machines. You’re sure it would be a living hell should you ever need to operate such an unorthodox set of appliances.

Copper-red tables fill the space, and similar colored cabinets stick to the wall. Such peculiar stoves they have in this establishment. There seems to be no space for the gas tank, nor a gas burner, just some flat glass with weird markings. You prefer the appliances stashed at your home.

“This…,” Charlie starts, winding her arms to a point, “…is the kitchen!”

Sir Pentious’ flaps extend, his arms rocking with excitement. “Such lovely metallic inventions.” He slithers to counter with a dip that appears to mimic some kind of skin. There’s some type of yellow liquid. “This bubbly torture deviccceeee is my favorite.”

“Uhhhhhh…I love that you love the kitchen appliance,” she says with an honestly gentle smile. “But that’s actually an oil fryer.” Charlie crosses her arm into a big ‘x’. “But no torturing is done here, no siree.”

“What a peculiar shape for an oil fryer to be,” you say, taking a look. Alastor glances over your shoulder to take a peek as well. “And there’s so much metal around—did you run out of paint, perhaps?”

Charlie frowns, her shoulder dropping low. “I’d love to add different colors to the machine, but Vaggie says it would take up too much money and time.”

Her frown lasts a second before she’s smiling again.

 “Oh oh oh! You should take a look around. See if there’s anything you might want to add.” Charlie drags you towards one of the cabinets at the back. “We each have a shelf dedicated to our own snacks, but I always love to leave cookies on the communal snack pantry.”

Charlie prattles on, introducing each section of the cabinet. You watch Alastor warily when he shows his teeth. He wiggles his fingers across the air, reaching towards the shelf where Charlie just mentioned Vaggie storing her personal snacks. You slam the cabinet door before he reaches them.

Soft static fills the kitchen air.

“Go on,” Charlie urges. “Take a look around – I know some species of Sinners have specific dietary needs.” She props a hand on her chin. “Like Angel! He can’t seem to be able to have any milk—I wonder why? But he just keeps drinking it anyway for some reason.”

Does the Princess of Hell not know what Lactose Intolerance is? Maybe because she’s never lived as a human. It’s quite humorous, you suppose. A hell-born trying to guide a human, with little to no insight about humanity. Could this be the reason why she’s so naively optimistic?

Sir Pentious’ smile widens, and so does his flap. “You’re… giving…me permission to poke around?”

“Er…yes?”

You open a random cabinet door, and huh…

On the shelf, towards the back, you have the same set of spices in your own kitchen. One of the bottles here has its label stained and fraying at the edges. Another bottle is nearing empty, and the corner of the cap has been chipped off. There was a time, when your own set of spices was stained with oil, and its label frayed because of the constant picking to the edges.

Yesterday, you threw out a set of unopened bottles of spices, its seal still clinging to the caps and brimming with unused flavor, and replaced it with the same set of sealed spices. It’s a waste of your money to keep throwing out something that you never use, but…but…you find it in your grocery basket every single time.

Alastor closes the cabinet with a gentle click.

Your smile fades, and he holds your gaze.

“You are shedding all over my kitchen floors.” Alastor presents you with a bundle of your feathers bunched up on his palm. His grin mocks you.

You turn away, heading where Charlie and Sir Pentious converse. You do not shed.

Alastor pops out of your shadow, towering over you as he inches closer. “Long day?” he says with a hum, that smile still on his face. “You don’t usually start molting until the mid-summer.”

“Oh yes,” you say with a hum, that frown still on your face. “This day has been quite long. How very generous of you to check up on this friend of yours.”

He holds the feathers he’s collected, examining them with a careful eye. “With this rate, you’ll be able to gift a whole pillow.”

Your frown deepens. “Lovely,” you murmur. “I’ll make sure to do so.”

Alastor twirls his microphone and lands it with a soft thunk. He studies you for a second. “Rosie’s last husband got eaten by a shark,” he says. “Not even a loan shark—just a proper dead shark. She swore vengeance on the creature for taking a bite before she had a chance to.”

“What?” you say, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Is that what happened to him? She would be so vague about it when I ask.”

Alastor draws a line along his face, mimicking a smile with his fingers. “Much better, indeed.”

Charlie insists on showing the view from the top of the Hotel. Her arms cross around your own as she chatters about everyone and everything. It’s refreshing to meet a soul as honest as hers.

The elevator ride is painfully slow. The music strains your ears, and this battered metal death box jerks with every floor.

Sir Pentious and his hat scowl at the ‘absolutely inferior ssssmmelting of this handle, Charlie’ and ‘this piss poor wiring. The endsss are not aligned to the proper sssssafety guidelineeeesss’ or something.

Charlie listens in on every word, nodding to indicate that she hears each and everyone. It makes you smile. Alastor picks at your stray feathers with the tip of his fingers, preening the areas you have difficulty reaching.

Moments too late, the elevator doors open with that heavenly ding.

“The view up here is helltastically a-mazing!” Charlie informs the group. “Alastor, you often hide up here or inside the radio tower. It’s really good, right?”

Alastor switches his hold on the microphone, swinging to catch it. “Quite helltastic indeed!” he says. “ I get to see the whole city underneath my very feet.”

Sir Pentious nods. “I, too, would love to sssseee the city underneath me!”

Alastor swings a door open, gesturing for the group to enter like a gentleman.  Charlie whispers an audible ‘awww’ at the sight and saunters right in. Sir Pentious follows along, slithering behind her.

He shuts the door when you take a step forward, separating you from Charlie and Sir Pentious.

There’s still that never ending smile on his lips as Alastor strides to the other end of the hallway, playing with his microphone. You follow behind in silence. Alastor opens a different door, and this time, you step through.

Alastor closes the door, leaving you and him together, alone, on this flimsy balcony. He beams at you, taking a step forward—

You slap him.

Radio static glitches from his microphone. There, on the corner of his cheek, you see the strain in his smile. His eyes harden into a glare, his nostrils flare, and his smile takes on the appearance of a snarl.

The air around you starts to gray with static. Symbols carve themselves into the space.

You slap him again, staring down at him.

“Is that all you came to do?” Alastor says to you with a low snarl, but the symbols dissolve and his antlers shrink.

You turn towards the view, propping a hand on your chin. “Such harsh words for a friend,” you say with a sarcastic smile. “It’s a wonder why you don’t have more with such a dazzling personality. At any rate, it’ll be impossible to find yourself a wife.”

His eyes twitch, and Alastor strikes the ground with his microphone. “Well, consider it an honor,” he says, inching closer, mimicking your smile. “Not many can say such words to me, much less be able to strike my flesh

“Maybe they should—someone certainly has to.”

Alastor still has a smile—he always has a smile. You watch as his eyes morph into radio dials, and the absolute audacity of that man to look at you like that.

Your feathers sharpen and crack at the sight. “D̷̝̈́o̷̞͊n̷̟̂'̷̗̏ť̵͔ ̴̱̀f̷̳̓u̴͍̓c̷̛͕ḳ̵͝ ̴̲̽w̸̞̑í̵̞t̴̼̐ḥ̷͝ ̵̫͌m̸̻̔e̸̡͘!— you never have, so don’t start. Don’t test me—not today, my deerest,” you say, hissing at him. 

“What is it that you want, exactly?” he says, glancing down at you. “Unless you are a child, I expect you to use your words.”

“You know I’m not just some friend — you do not allow yourself to make such connections. We’re partners,” you tell him, and you don’t know why you remind him when he should already know. Was it in fear that he forgot? “But you left without as much as a word.”

“Was it that I left? Or was it that I left you?” Alastor says with casualty as if to show you such dismissal, and oh…yes, your husband can be a cruel man, indeed. Time and sweet smiles made you forget.

You rub your hands on your face, taking one deep breath. “I want what I deserve—an explanation,” you say. “That’s all I need as your wife.”

It’s his silence that makes you turn away. 

“I see…” Your face falls. “Perhaps, it was a mistake to seek you out. A fool’s errand.”

You study the sinners below. The whole city really can be seen from underneath your very feet. (You ignore the trembling of your fists. You’re a doctor, for fucks sake. Your hands don’t tremble…at least, they never have before.) 

Hesitant, but gentle touches pick at your feathers. Alastor preens you with warm hands. “You are not a fool, my love,” he says. “I would not be yours if such were the case.”

You harden your heart for you cannot let this man see the cracks. “This is not what I wish to hear,” you say, voice steady.

Alastor does not answer you.

“Will you just stay silent every time?”

“Yes.”

Finally, you meet his gaze. You hold it as much as he holds yours. “ There is not a thing in this world that you do not do without reason,” you say slowly. “However,  I’m not sure if your silence is because you cannot or if it’s because you will not explain yourself to me. Which is it?”

There is nothing on his face that you can read, just a small steady smile that tells you nothing. “I will not.”

“I know you, my deerest, and I know that you’ve never once led me astray.” Your grip on the railing tightens painfully. This day has been long. “Then all I need is your word that you will return to me with that smile of yours when you’ve accomplished what you need to do.”

Alastor smiles at you, twirling his microphone. “We can even shake on it.”

You shake your head. “This is not a deal,” you say. “This is your wife demanding that you do so.”

“Then it shall be done,” Alastor says, inching close enough for his warmth to spread.  He turns to you and pokes his cheeks to indicate a smile. "You look much more radiant with one."

You bare your teeth at him, giving a dry smile. “Much better?”

“Indeed.”

You study the sinners below once more, but this time your hands stay steady next to Alastor’s own. Well, Charlie was correct, the view is helltastic. The entertainment district blinds you, but only for a second. And when you sharpen your vision, you can faintly make out acid clouds forming on the outskirts of the city. You should have grabbed an umbrella on your way out.

“I heard you on the radio today,” you say.

He glances at you, his smile widening ever so slightly with smugness. “And you came all this way for me?”

“Well, that is what good friends do for each other.”

Alastor points his nose to the air with a huff.

“I only jest, my deerest,” you say, chuckling at him. “ I came all the way here to see if I’ve been widowed a second time, or just dumped like a common rag.”

“Is that so?”Alastor hums with dissatisfaction. “I’m sure you mentioned something about not noticing such a long disappearance.”

You hold his gaze, inching your hand to cup his cheek. You stop inches above his skin, and your palm hovers enough for Alastor to feel the warmness you hold on your hands. “Don’t pout, my deer,” you tell him, softly, oh so very soft as you caress the air. “Of course, I noticed your absence.” 

You clap your hands together with the brightest and most innocent smile you can muster.

“But if I told you that, my deerest,” you start, “I feared that big head of yours would implode if I fed your ego.”

Alastor laughs, and his real voice bleeds in as he does. “That humor of yours has been my most wonderful companion all these years.”

You smile with satisfaction. “My, my, you make such fine compliments.”

His smile relaxes. “I do, indeed!”

“Just as you say that my humor makes a fine companion,” you say as you laugh, bright and heavy, “that smile of yours has been mine.”

A knock breaks the moment.

The door swings open, slow and hesitant. Charlie pokes her head, and her hair droops to the sideways. Behind her, Sir Pentious waves at you. You wave back.

“Oooooooohhhh….yikes,” Charlie says, shrinking deeper into the door. “Am I interrupting? I could just go an—”

“Not at all my dear,” you say. “Come right in. You have such a lovely view, and things like this are better when shared.”

Charlie swings the door wider, sauntering right in, and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “You could live here as well!” she says. Behind her, Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. “We accept everyone.”

You flicker your gaze to Alastor. “I already have a home,” you find yourself saying. “And this place is far too close to the city. So much honking and blasting aren’t good for my ears.”

Charlie pouts, but she doesn’t press you.

The view is better when shared. Charlie points at every detail and explains everything you see. The sky darkens to a red, and too soon, it’s time to leave.

There’s a warm, but firm, hand resting on your back when you walk out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator. Alastor keeps his hands steady, even when you reach the common room.

Vaggie is the first to greet your group—well, it’s more appropriate to say she greets Charlie, and you just happen to be there. There’s a bag by her feet. “I was able to find the costumes you need for the exercise,” she says. “Even the giant lollipop is here.”

Charlie squeals. “Thank you thank you thank you!” Her excited gaze filters to you. “I have this wonderful game in mind, and then we could fo a bit of some of that good ol’ roleplay.” Angel Dust quirks a smile from the couch. “You should totally sta—”

“I’m afraid not,” Alastor says, drumming his fingers on his microphone. “I think it’s time for our visitor to head home. She’s had quite a long day.”

“Oh, of course. No worries!” Charlie says, giving you a bright smile—a real genuine and honest smile. “Feel free to come by anytime. The Hazbin Hotel’s doors will always be open should you change your mind.”

Vaggie scratches her face. “Before you go, I want to apologize for this afternoon,” she says. “It wasn’t right of me to be so hostile—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, my dear. I understand,” you say quickly, ignoring the static behind you. “You were protecting something you cared about. I find great value in those who do.”

Vaggie smiles, and maybe she’s not too bad after all. “Thank you.”

From the couch, Angel Dust props his legs and waves at you. “And you’re welcome to open these doors any day.”

Alastor leads you to the door. You wave back at Niffty and Sir Pentious, whose eyes water as he frowns. Alastor’s hand stays firm as you trudge down the hill, past the rusted gate, into the city, and to the correct bust stop.

“You sure know how to find the most interesting groups of people, my deer,” you say. “Charlie and that hotel of hers are wonderful.”

Alastor adjusts his monocle. “Well, you know me. I see potential, and I follow it wherever it leads.”

“Should I be worried?” you say, chuckling. “The last time you saw potential, it ended with us married.”

“Not at all, my love.”

“You should continue to stay at the hotel,” you find yourself saying. “There’s just something about it—I think you’ll pick up quite a lot from your time there.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him, and reach out to straighten it. Alastor inches closer. The fabric is smooth underneath your touch. There’s stray lint on the shoulder of his coat, and you brush that away. You grab the lapes and adjust its fit, smoothing the fabric beneath your fingers.

“Much better?” he asks.

“Indeed,” you say, softly.

“I will see you soon,” he says, and you hear the unspoken promise and question hidden beneath his words.

“Good.”

Alastor tilts your chin with the tips of fingers. (And oh…oh. His gloves are off, and his hands are warmer than ever) He presses his lips on your cheek.

That blasted bus arrives too soon. You step inside, but turn to your husband and say, “Next time, when you disappear for several years, I expect to be informed and not just left with a vague note,” you say with a huff. “And when you return, I also expect to be the first to be informed.”

“Of course.”

“See to it that you keep your word.”

The bus door closes, and you take your seat. You smile to yourself and lean back on the crusty bus fabric. Patting your pocket, you take out a single gold band, slipping it on your finger.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

That habit of recklessness in moments of excitement was something your father hoped you’d grow out of. Thinking things through never really was one of your many strengths when such an exhilarating opportunity presents itself.

You scold yourself for not double-checking for gloves. Measure twice, cut one, and all that. But no matter, you’ll push through as always, clawing and digging to unearth the treasure left behind.

Your scalpel fits into your palms. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You sigh, breathy and exhilarated, and begin.

‘First, do no harm’

But this…this does not harm a single living being.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should Be Trusted| If you guys know who Octavia and Stolas are, that's what I imagine when I think about the reader's hair. Also, maybe some of you noticed, but I'm very relaxed when it comes to formatting my writing. Its why I use quite a lot of ellipses and em dashes and utilize italics and spaces. But the one thing I was very strict about was not to use the word, "miss". So there are no "You miss..." and "I miss..." But the words are there and spoken beneath actions and thoughts, hidden and unspoken, but known. My inbox is always open because I'd like to know what your favorite unspoken "I miss you" is/are. I have my own favorite ones as well.

[maple-the-awesome]

The Chain Meets His Baby || 2/2

Part 1 ||

Pairing: Twilight, Warrior, Legend, Sky x Reader

Requested by @kieradumpzz081927: I hope your request are open(or if ur free for requests), so i saw ur LU oneshots about the one that is called ' He becames a dad ' or smth. So, why not that he would introduce his kid(s) to the chain? That ones going to be interesting Warning: Some mature jokes here and there. Nothing major, but gotta give the new dad a little hell, right? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Zelda Masterlist 🤍Fandom Masterlist

Six minutes and twenty seconds. That's how long you were able to relax before a series of knocks ruined your peace. Predictably, the sound is enough to echo throughout your small home followed by shrilling cries from the once silent cradle mere feet from your bedside. 

You could almost cry yourself, although you're able to hold in your frustrations thanks to the smoothing pat your husband gives your head before sighing heavily himself and sitting up from bed. All the two of you wanted was one second of sleep - one second to collapse in bed next to each other and rest your eyes which feel as if they haven't shut in weeks, but apparently, that's too much to ask of this universe.

After giving a quick kiss to your cheek (and smirking at your annoyed grumbling), Twilight slides off the bed and makes his way to the cradle. There, he skillfully sweeps the wiggling newborn into his arms, cooing the distressed baby loving as they make their way to the front door. Seeing as this precious child has only existed for a mere week, it can't really be too much of a surprise that your home has become a hotspot for visitors. Between the village children excitedly wanting to see their newest member and their parents stopping by to offer meals, advice, and all-around support, it seems your door is almost always open these days (not you truly mind one bit), although as it would turn out, your current company doesn't fall into the excepted categories. 

"What are you guys doing here?" Twilight suddenly doesn't feel so tired anymore once setting eyes upon the familiar group. They're all here - all eight of the heroes of courage; his treasured friends. This is, what, the third time his world has somehow crossed with theirs? This is really becoming a common pattern, isn't it, and for a split moment, Twilight feels a strike of fear at the thought of this being the start of yet another long, tiresome journey. Now!? He couldn't possibly leave now! What kind of partner and father would that make him? You need him here. He promised he'd be home for you, and for -

"- There's no danger, so don't fret. We've already investigated everything before coming here," Time, who must've read Twilight's worried expression, promptly explains things while failing to fall victim to the same jaw-dropped silence that strikes every other hero in the group as they all stare in astonishment at Twilight - or more accurately, the bothered baby huffing in his arms.

Instead of mocking surprise, Time’s eye casually drops to acknowledge the little one, his lips lifting into a pleasant smile, “...And this must be the famous pup I’ve heard so much about?”

“Wait, you knew?!” Sky gasps, everyone’s shocked attention snapping to the Old Man. He pays them no mind, too focused on his main priority of being the first to hold his great-great-something grandson who Twilight eagerly passes over.

“Ah!” The Rancher’s once worried expression changes like a switch, flashing away into an all-too excited grin. As has been common lately, having new company around immediately sparkles a rambling spiel fueled by his flooding avidity (which has impressively failed to die down even with the exhaustion of early fatherhood), “I was gonna send letters to y’all - it just slipped my mind. These past few days have been a bit chaotic while getting all adjusted. Yep, this one’s mine - lil’ Lupin. He’s officially four days old, born at 10:14 in the morning at a healthy 7.6 pounds -”

“- You’re gonna have to write all that down for any of us to remember it,” Wild rolls his eyes, although it’s in good spirit as he peeks at the tiny baby with a small smile. It doesn’t take the other boys long to notice that, like Time, their Champion doesn’t seem too surprised by this situation either, looking at the newborn with only a little bit more interest than he would a cute puppy.

“I take it you knew, too, then?” Four quizzes.

“He kept hinting towards it at first until I finally gave in and asked. I didn’t know when to expect them to be here, though.”

“It’s been nine months since then,” Twilight points out teasingly, causing Wild to huff and throw his hands up in the air defensively. 

“How should I know how long they take to bake! Besides, judging by the way you practically sent me a whole novel about how excited you were, I figured it was only going to be a matter of weeks, maybe a few months by that point. How in Hylia’s name did you stand to be like that for nine?”

“I barely did! It was hell having to be that patience, anyone here could tell you…but Lupin’s here now and definitely worth the wait, I’d say,” Twilight sighs dramatically, looking lovingly at his son who by now has settled peacefully in the comfort of Time’s arms, no longer squirming and fussing. To be fair, his ancestor does have quite a bit of practice juggling twins at this point. One is nothing.

“He’s a beautiful baby, that’s for sure,” Time chuckles, at last taking his eyes away from his newest family member, “You did good, cub.” 

Twilight preens at his mentor’s compliment, “Isn’t he? I’ve been around other babies before, but having one of my very own…It just hits different, ya’ know? …I actually wouldn’t mind a couple more -”

“- Don’t push your luck, mister,” On cue, you appear from around the corner, tiredly rubbing your eyes yet managing a smile to greet the rest of the Chain, "You weren't the one who had to go through nine months of heartburn followed by hours of torture.”

“- Eventually. I wouldn't mind a couple more ‘eventually’,” Twilight clarifies, quick to hook his arm around your waist and pull you against himself the second you’re close enough, “Besides, you handled it like a queen.”

You roll your eyes while resting your head against his shoulder, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere different.”

“That’s not what you said nine months ago~” Twilight smirks, pressing a kiss to your forehead only to earn himself a swat against the head.

Warrior originally elected to ignore the heavy knocking at his front door which threatened his peaceful morning's silence. Whatever this kingdom demands of him, they can simply add it to his tab. He's comfortable in bed where it's warm and you're snuggled in his arms, looking as beautiful as ever with a mess of bedhead and matching dark circles under your eyes. Best of all? Your son has achieved a new record of sleeping for three straight hours - THREE! 

Now, Warrior is relatively used to less-than-ideal sleep schedules as a hero and captain, so having a newborn around hasn't quite hit him with the same force as it might a typical man, but that doesn't mean either of you are going to be ungrateful towards this new parenting milestone. No, you were planning on taking full advantage of it actually, wanting nothing more than to spend a lazy morning in bed until your little monster inevitably awakes...however, it seems the universe always has other plans.

The knocking only grows more frequent and loud, drawing a groan from your fiancé who finally relents. Pushing himself out of bed, he reluctantly answers the door without much effort put into hiding his annoyed expression - that is until it naturally snaps into one of mild shock and excitement at the sight of his visitors. Instead of it being someone from the Castle or military, he's pleasantly surprised to find his old traveling companions, the other heroes of courage.

"What are you all doing here?" He suddenly doesn't feel so tired anymore, in fact he’s stricken with more life and a bright smile while gazing over the group to count each familiar face. Yep, they're all here - all eight of them. It's been so long! Well, maybe not that long. It hasn't even been a full year yet since visiting Twilight's family together, but that's still plenty of time to miss old friends.

"Well, some of us have been talking lately and we thought, why not put some time aside from our busy lives to have a little get together - just us heroes, for old times’ sake!” Wild announces enthusiastically, practically inviting himself inside, not that Warrior stops him or any of the others for that matter.

“It could be a little tradition of ours. Once a year, type of thing,” Sky explains more professionally, although he isn’t any less excited than the Champion. 

"A nice boy's trip to save you from the misses," Legend rephrases, elbowing the Captain’s side with a wink while passing by.

Warrior will admit: it is an intriguing proposal - getting away from the stresses of a hero to spend quality time with brothers who understand your woes. If only the Chain had visited a few months earlier, he’d be willing to entertain such a trip, but alas, he must give them a sympathetic smile instead, “As much fun as that sounds, I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you. At least not this time around.”

Immediately, the group’s uplifted smiles drop into disappointed frowns emphasized by a chorus of dejected groans. 

"You knights and all your fancy work kissing the royal family’s ass," Legend huffs, and Warrior was just about to bite back on that comment with a jab of his own, however their conversation is suddenly interrupted. 

A piercing cry catches the entire Chain off guard, many of the boys looking around wildly for the possible threat while others - namely Time and Twilight - are jolted by that familiar protective instinct they know all too well of from their own home lives.

“Actually, there’s another reason,” Warrior doesn’t hide his amusement towards everyone’s reactions nor does he hide his tired sigh once realizing his free trial of peace-and-quiet has ended. 

He doesn’t even make it to the doorway before you appear, already rocking the baby gently in your arms. It takes some fussing from both of you to smooth his tears, calming him down just long enough for Warrior to turn back to his friends while proudly gesturing to the newborn in your arms, “Well, allow us to introduce our son, Einar.”

From there, it takes mere seconds for the Chain to snap out of it and instantly crowd you both, each fighting to get a good look at this ‘son’ in question.

“Since when did you guys have a kid?!” Hyrule awes.

“He’s so little…He can’t be that old, right?” Sky gasps.

“Only a few weeks, I reckon,” Time observes calmly from the back, tall enough to simply gaze over the sea of shoulders and heads. 

“Hey, move out of the way! I can’t see! I wanna see, too!” Wind whines, shrugging to push his way through the barrier of bodies.

Twilight, steps back from the chaos to throw a playful smirk Warrior’s way, “Here I thought you were waiting for kids.”

“Us too,” You roll your eyes.

“Life happens,” Your partner merely shrugs, not even attempting to act ashamed of himself as he accepts responsibility of holding Einar while you excuse yourself to prepare a bottle once he starts whimpering again, “But we wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

“Geeze, you’re all getting old on us,” Legend mocks, eyeing Warrior, Time, and Twilight, “Not even three years ago, the Old Man was the only one of us in a committed relationship, now all three of you are suddenly tied down with children!”

“Don’t go sounding too jealous, Vet. I’m sure you’ll have your turn someday,” Warrior smirks, resulting in the other hero sticking out his tongue in disgust.

“As if. Me? A dad? You sure the world should be subjected to that?”

“Right. You might actually be doing everyone a favor by not reproducing.”

“Oh fuck off -”

“- Shh! Not in front of the baby!”

“I, for one, wouldn’t mind being a dad one day. It seems like a lot of fun,” Sky, coos, letting little Einar play with his finger, “If you ever need a babysitter, just let me know.”

"Careful. We might end up taking you up on that offer with how little we've been sleeping lately."

"Get accustomed to it, my friend, because it doesn't go away anytime soon," Time advises with a pat to the back, failing to hide the mirth filtering his voice as the new father sighs exasperatedly.

Legend isn’t usually the type to delight himself with hosting guests, nor is he much of an initiator when it comes to any sort of social interaction, so suffice to say, the Chain was rather thrown to have received unprompted invites to visit his world and home. Why the sudden open door? He gave no explanation, leaving all of the boys guessing, although Time has a few notable theories swirling in mind.

It all goes back to months ago when Legend had unexpectedly appeared at Lon Lon Ranch, claiming to have simply ‘been in the area’, yet Time knew better than to believe that. An experienced man like himself immediately took notice of his friend’s frazzled and irritable mood, such a state of dishevelment hinting towards one thing: problems at home - problems likely relating to you, to be exact, seeing as your boyfriend was swift to avoid any mention of your name when prompted.

Realizing that prying would be ineffective against someone so notorious for his emotional barriers, Time had allowed Legend to stay with him and his family without question. He, of course, kept a close eye on the young man, trying to deduce the situation the best he could from all those frustrated grumbles while working chores and pitiful sighs as the two sat together on the back porch after dinner. 

It was then that Legend had taken the moment to ask Time a rather odd question that had admittedly hung in the Old Man’s head for days afterwards along with a curious conclusion as to the true reason behind his sudden visit, however nothing more was said that night beyond some wisely woven words soaked in hidden meaning.

By morning, the veteran hero was visibly relaxed when quietly expressing his plans to return home to you. Clearly, whatever troubles that once plagued his mind had been resolved following a day of reflection and a goodnight’s sleep, so Time felt confident sending Legend back on his way with a wish of luck and an offer to return whenever needed.

Perhaps that incident and this friendly invite are unrelated, after all, it’s been months between the two, although Time can’t help but wonder, the memory of Legend’s question being of particular interest as the Chain approaches their destination. 

Some of the boys share their concerns along the way, a bit unsettled by the thought of Legend wanting to see them. Warrior even suggests the possibility of their friend having gone through a bad break-up, insisting there’s logic behind his guess since losing you would be the Vet’s lowest point, the extreme heartache being enough for him to abandon all stubbornness and reach out to the Chain for moral support. Arguments deemed his theory outlandish, however when Legend opens his front door to greet them, the boys begin to worry Warrior might indeed be a good prophet…

“It took you all long enough,” He huffs, his voice worn and scratchy which really sends home his obvious lack of sleep when paired with his unkempt appearance; heavy bags under his eyes and shaggy hair that stands up on all ends, “Come in, come in…”

‘Oh Hylia!’ The Chain thinks, sorrow for their friend already sinking into their bones as they illy prepare themselves for a story of true despair. Yes, Legend can be difficult and stubborn at times, and maybe you had your reasons, but surely he couldn’t have messed up bad enough to warrant you leaving him! Hasn’t the poor guy already been through enough?

“...Hey man, you doing alright?” Warrior was just about to rip the bandage off, his hand placed supportively upon his friend’s shoulder which earned him a sleepy look that falls sort of its intended glare, however before he can get any reply -

“- BABY!” Wind’s gasp pierces ears and makes several of the others leap in their skin. Indeed, if following the youngest hero’s excited point, it'll lead to where you stand in the doorway with an amused (that be it tired) chuckle…So, you didn’t leave after all? You’re still here, looking as rough as your partner which is probably excusable since in your arms is, in fact, a new baby.

“Hello everyone. I’m glad you could all make it.”

“...Oh thank Hylia you didn’t leave him!”

“What -?” Legend raises an eyebrow at Warrior’s dramatic sigh, yet he doesn’t get much of a chance to be offended. No one would notice anyway, their attention having swiftly abandoned their dear old friend in exchange for you and the baby you introduce.

“His name is Liron,” You note, earning a chorus of awes as the sweet little bundle scrunches his tiny face in displeasure towards the disruption to his peaceful sleep; already, he looks so much like his dad.

“So this is why you invited us over, huh?” Hyrule glances back over the sea of shoulders to send Legend an amused smile, “We thought something bad might’ve happened!”

“We wanted it to be a surprise…” The Vet sighs, unable to stay mad at the group’s energy, after all they have every right to be amazed. His son is pretty damn beautiful. 

“Well, I’ll be darn. You gotta kid now,” Twilight smirks, even going as far as to elbow Legend’s side which, as always, packs more strength than probably intended, “And after all that hell you gave us!”

“Yeah, yeah, karma's a bitch. Laugh it up - HEY! Wash your hands first!” Legend’s focus is immediately diverted from rubbing his sore ribs to pointing an accusing finger at Wild who’s stopped mid-reach from taking the baby you pass towards him.

"I did!" The Champion gasps in offense.

“Not here you didn’t. Do it again! Sinks in the kitchen!”

Wild grumbles, forced to forfeit his turn in holding the baby. A glare is all it takes for Hyrule to follow him shamefully as well, allowing Time to be the first to actually hold the little one since his hands successfully pass cleanliness approval. Nevertheless, despite his spotless palms and seasoned experience as a father himself, the older hero must put up with Legend's paranoid hovering which isn't too unlike a hawk's, ready to snatch back his baby at a second's notice if deeming the situation to be too ‘unsafe’. Fortunately, Time's nice enough not to mention this behavior beyond a silent smirk.

“...What went through your head when you realized you were going to be a dad?”

Now Legend’s question - as random as it had seemed those many months ago - makes complete sense. The timid whisper that spoke it, the nervous avoidance of any eye contact, and that deep, thoughtful frown while listening to Time’s honest answer - all signs that pointed towards a worried father-to-be desperate for direction as he fought to keep his own insecurities and fears at bay.

At least Time can finally rest easy knowing their past conversation did some good for his friend. The young man may be fidgeting while impatiently watching his new child be passed around the group for each to see, your gently hand upon his shoulder only doing so much to relax his anxieties. You’re also both beyond tired, fitting to Time’s warning that parenthood is by far the most difficult journey one can ever take, yet there’s a switch of softness that overtakes Legend’s expression the second your son begins to mumble his disapproval, apparently fed up with all this attention that he’s receiving. 

In an instant, Legend’s there, stealing back the small infant and clumsily doing his best to smooth such sharp cries. Yes, it’s difficult and nerve wracking to become a parent, especially for the first time, but to see all of your efforts throughout the years take form into such a beautiful and amazing being of pure innocence…that’s the most rewarding adventure yet, something Legend’s clearly already beginning to realize himself. 

Sky's been practically bursting at the seams all day - well, all week, to be more accurate - but today is especially special since you’re both expecting a visit from some of his closest friends, the other heroes of courage who haven’t been by Skyloft in far too long.

Seeing as their reunion has been so long overdue, it should be no surprise that your dear husband has been bubbling with eager anticipation all morning (long before the sun had even risen thanks to your shared lack of a proper sleep schedule). While he does genuinely miss his old traveling companions, a majority of his restlessness comes from wanting to share some exciting news about a recent ‘development’ in your lives, one he’s had to hold himself back from spoiling in their routine letters (which are shared far more often than in-person visits).

Before you can even process the knock at your front door, Sky is already darting across the room to answer it, matching the delighted smile worn by all the other boys. He eagerly ushers them inside, his impatience finally spilling over by this point, something he can’t help. As already mentioned, he’s been waiting for this moment for quite a while - and has dreamed about for far longer than a simple ‘while’. 

You can only chuckle at how quickly you’re swarmed by curious eyes, the other heroes not hesitating to stand and kneel around your chair just to catch a glimpse of the tiny bundle you cradle. To say it took them off guard would be the understatement of a century. It completely knocked them off their feet to realize what you're holding and what Sky’s excitement has been all about!

It’s a baby - a tiny newborn with puffy cheeks and itty-bitty hands balled into fists! She doesn’t even look real, or perhaps this whole situation itself just doesn’t feel real. In the Chain’s defense, it’s been years since Sky and you announced your intentions of starting a family of your own. Unfortunately, your struggles in achieving this goal became no secret, and your friends had begun to slowly lose hope with you. They truly worried the day might never come which explains their complete awe now. 

“Her name’s Azure,” You tell them, wiping away the tears that bubble in the corners of your eyes. Curse these hormones! Your daughter is already a few days old yet you still cry each time you see another’s reaction to her. Can you be blamed? It only solidifies the reality that this is, in fact, your baby. Sky and you are officially parents!

“Congratulations, man!” Warrior throws an arm over your husband’s shoulder and pulls him close into a side hug, “You’ve earned it!”

Sky shares his laughter with a shake of his head, his eyes immediately drifting to yours, “My wife deserves most of the credit. She’s the one who endured all those long and tiresome months to get little Azure here.”

“And you took amazing care of us both throughout every second,” You point out just as quickly with a gentle smile, “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner to go through this with.”

“Now we’ll have to start planning some playdates with all our kids. Let ‘em tire each other out,” Twilight points out, giving Sky’s other side a nudge with his elbow.

“Maybe being around Azure will get Hope to stop asking for a sibling for a while,” Hyrule sighs exhaustively. 

“Yeah, no, that has the exact opposite effect. Trust me,” Legend huffs with crossed arms.

Wind’s hand pops out from somewhere in the back of the crowd, only seen as he eagerly tries to jump up and down to gain attention, “Oh-Oh, Tetra and I can babysit if you ever need it!”

“I didn’t think she even liked kids?”

“She ‘likes’ kids, she just doesn’t like being ‘around’ them,” Wind rolls his eyes at Legend’s comment as if the reason isn’t obvious, “But she said she’s been wanting to get better with them to practice the whole ‘being a nice princess’ thing -”

“- All of that can come later,” Time swiftly interrupts the wandering conversation, “I’m sure as new parents, these two would appreciate rest above all else for now. There’ll be plenty of time for playdates later down the line.”

“We’ll definitely set some up once Azure is old enough,” Sky chuckles in agreement before kneeling by your side to help fix the blanket around your sleeping daughter. Although there’s quite a bit of time until then, the idea of finally being able to participate in such arrangements is exciting to you both. No more standing on the sidelines feeling out of place with your hearts’ yearning. You’ll finally be able to share the joy all of your friends feel.

“You both look like happy parents. Congratulations,” You preen at Time’s compliment, looking to each other through tears in your eyes which then drop to Azure who snuggles closer to you, blissfully unaware of the effect she already has on your hearts as she merely enjoys the comfort of your loving embrace. Your most special treasure, indeed…

[koiiiji]

part 2 for this

author’s note ; i like dynamics with Goo and his secret friends, so it’s gonna be few more parts!

tw ; none, maybe fluff

working for Goo Kim had its perks. money and old friendship were a major ones, but the real fun came from the influence you wielded over his friends. dangerous, powerful men and all were under strict orders to cater to your whims — Goo valued your intel too much to let anyone else mess with you.

Lee Taesung had learned this the hard way when he spent an entire afternoon trailing you around a mall, carrying your shopping bags like some kind of personal valet. his discomfort reached its peak when you dragged him into a lingerie store, enjoying every moment of his mortification as he stood there, visibly uncomfortable, holding up delicate lace with the expression of a man who would rather be anywhere else.

now, it was Cheon Taejin’s turn.

Taejin, unlike Taesung, had a proud, almost regal demeanor. where Taesung would grumble and sulk, Taejin held his tongue, though you could always see the tension simmering beneath the surface.

“where to, boss?” Taejin asked with just enough sarcasm to let you know he didn’t appreciate the nickname as he opened the door of the sleek black car.

“nail salon, Taejin,” you replied, sliding into the backseat with a smirk. “my appointment is in fifteen minutes, so let’s not waste any time.”

he said nothing, just slid into the driver’s seat and pulled into traffic. you watched the world blur by outside the window, your fingers drumming lightly on your thigh as you planned your next move.

while parking the car in the parking lot, Taejin got out of the car, holding the door for you, he casually asked if you would stay long there.

“oh, i might be a while — there’s a new color i want to try.”

“right,” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear. “wouldn’t want to ruin your day.”

you took your time in the salon, chatting with the manicurist as she worked, enjoying latest tea about that one girl drama, who also visits your manicurist. when you finally emerged, nails gleaming a perfect shade of crimson, Taejin was leaning against the car, clutching a cigarette between his teeth.

the nail salon visit was followed by a trip to the hair salon, a boutique, and finally, after you had squeezed every last drop of patience from Taejin, a drive to Goo Kim’s office.

Taejin’s knuckles were practically bone-white as he parked the car, clearly holding onto the last shreds of his composure. before he could say anything, you pushed the car door open and stepped out, casting a quick glance over your shoulder.

“you know, Taejin,” you mused, your voice laced with mock concern, “you’ve been awfully quiet today. i hope you’re not mad at me for taking you on this little adventure.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied through gritted teeth, his expression remaining stoic despite the irritation brewing beneath the surface.

“good to hear,” you said sweetly. “now, let’s not keep Goo waiting. i’ve got something new for him.”

you made your way into the building, Taejin trailing a few steps behind. as you entered the lobby of Goo’s expansive office, you spotted Samuel leaning casually against the wall, his gaze sliding to you the moment you walked in.

“Samuel!” you called out, rushing toward him with open arms. Samuel barely had time to react before you were embracing him. “oh, you’ve done something different,” he said, glancing at your freshly manicured nails, his voice smooth and practiced. “new color? it suits you.”

You pulled back slightly, grinning up at him. “oh thank you, Samuel!! i knew someone would notice. i’ve been dragging poor Taejin around all day, but he didn’t say a word, can you imagine?!!!”

Samuel chuckled, casting a sidelong glance at Taejin, who had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. “ah, Taejin. so focused on the job, aren’t you?”

“i’m not paid to notice nail polish,” Taejin muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall.

you turned to him, a playful glint in your eyes. “maybe you should be, Taejin. it’s the little things that make the difference. girls like a guy who pays attention to the details.”

Samuel smirked, clearly enjoying the exchange as much as you were. “she’s right, you know. attention to detail is key, even outside of work.”

Taejin sighed, rolling his eyes slightly but otherwise refusing to take the bait. “noted. i’ll make sure to compliment your next manicure. just give me a heads up beforehand so i can practice my delivery.”

you laughed, patting Taejin on the arm as you moved past him. “i knew there was a soft spot in there somewhere. you’re learning, Cheon. soon you’ll be a gentleman yet.”

Samuel followed behind you, still chuckling as you all made your way toward Goo’s office. as you approached the door, you threw one last glance over your shoulder at Taejin, who was still following dutifully behind.

“don’t worry, Taejin. i’ll make sure Goo knows just how valuable you’ve been today,” you said with a wink.

“i’m sure you will,” he replied, his voice resigned yet still carrying that ever-present edge of pride.

working for Goo Kim certainly had its perks. and as long as his friends were willing to play along, you intended to enjoy every single one of them. after all, it wasn’t every day you got to boss around some of the most feared men in the city.

and if they didn’t like it? well, that was just too bad.

[captain039]

Couch time

Logan (Wolverine) x mutant!reader x Wade (Deadpool)

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, comfort

It’s a little too quiet in the apartment, Blind Al has gone on a well needed vacation at a lovely olds people get away home you rented for her, the woman didn’t even say thank you, packed one bag and left within half an hour. You don’t blame her, living with Wade was hell, living with Wade and Logan was also hell, living with Wade, Logan and you was just downright cruel that even Satan himself would not be here. You stare at the ceiling, in your towel having just gotten out of the shower. Neither of the boys were home doing god knows what, but you’re thankful for the silence, apart from the ceiling fan squeaking every time it moves. You flick it off with a wave of a hand and sigh, hands resting behind your head again. You go off on a day dream not hearing the door open till a loud gasp rings out and something drops to the floor. You frown screaming when you see Wade and Logan in the apartment doorway, you slam your door shut with your powers and calm your heart down.

“It’s ok Babe! Honestly, I didn’t see anything!” Wade giggles afterwards like some evil mastermind that tells you he did see something. Not that the towel didn’t cover the important bits, but laying their with it just covering your boobs and hitting your upper thigh was more skin than you’ve shown either man, any man for that matter. You grumble hover your clothes to you before getting dressed and going on your phone, not daring to open the door. You stay in your room out of embarrassment and pettiness to Wades constant nagging till it goes surprisingly quiet again and a small knock comes.

“He’s gone Bub” Logan calls out and you shiver a bit. Damn him, damn them both actually, and their stupid masks. No you didn’t have a mask kink. Well that’s what you tell everyone else. You peek out seeing Logan sitting back down on the couch, newspaper in hand and a mug which is probably filled with whiskey. You sit down on the couch wishing Wade would buy a bigger one seeing as all three of you cannot fit on it, and the other chairs are uncomfortable. You lift your hand, open the freezer from your spot on the couch, open the cupboard hover a glass and pour yourself some juice before floating it over to you. You glance feeling eyes on you seeing Logan staring with a small smile before he goes back to reading his newspaper. You flush press your thighs a little tighter together and sip your juice. Wades back quickly and he grins when he sees you making you throw a book at his face with your telepathy. He groans and you glance to Logan who smirks but continues to read. You smile to yourself before you turn on the TV. Wade forces himself between the two of you, Logan swears and you grumble getting comfortable again. Wades arm goes behind your back casually, his other behind Logan. It’s roughly dinner time now and neither three of you want to get up.

“Take away?” You ask.

“Fuck yes” Wade says and you look to your room and hover your phone to you.

“So cool” Wade giggles and you roll your eyes ordering some take away.

After dinner you’re all watching some crappy horror movie the channel chose, you’re leaning heavily against Wade without realising and apologise when you catch yourself doing it a few times. He just smirks at you and you shrug it off before you rest against him again and frown as his arms goes around your shoulder, while his fingers draw lazy patterns on your arm. It feels nice and you find yourself lying more on him and your eyes getting heavy. You try to stay awake but you lean against Wades chest and fall asleep surprisingly easily.

Wade smirks when he feels you lean against him before you sleep and his heart picks up. He looks to Logan who looks seething with jealousy and it makes him smirk. Logan is either choosing to ignore his arm around his shoulders or is waiting till you’re asleep a little while longer to slice it off. Only he doesn’t and Wade finds himself tired too, what more perfect pillow than a human/Wolverine heater. Wade shuffles a bit making sure not to wake you, you stir a bit and he freezes before you relax. Wade leans against Logan pushing his luck with a small smirk as he tilts his body to rest his back against Logan’s shoulder/chest area while tugging you closer. You go willingly even with your mumbled sleep talk you lay on his chest fully as he lays against Logan.

“See this is nice” he whispers teasingly and Logan grunts in warning.

“Oh come on as if you’re-“ Wades stunned to silence for the first time as Logan’s arm he’s leaning on goes over his chest and over your back, holding you both to him.

“I’ll slice your fucking tongue out if you don’t stop talking” Logan growls and Wade shivers in response before nodding enthusiastically. Logan rubs your arm gently and Wade grins at the content look on your face.

[mousy-nona]

Headcanon that someone asks Alastor for his body count and this confused man replies with some insane number because he thinks they're talking *literal bodies* and doesn't know why everyone is so shocked

“Three.”

“Three?” Angel Dust gaped, looking like he might pass out and die for the second time from sheer shock. Charlie buried her face in her hands, but she couldn’t hide the blush that spread to the very tips of her ears. Vaggie rubbed her back. 

“It’s not that bad,” she soothed. 

“Speak for yourself, Feathers,” Angel Dust spluttered. “Haven’t you been alive, like, hundreds of years? What the hell have you been doing with your life?” 

“Helping people, obviously,” Vaggie snapped. “Maybe you should try it sometime.” 

“Hey!” So fast almost no one caught it, he cast a nervous glance at Husk. “If you’re so much better than us mere mortals, why don’t you share your body count with the class?”

Vaggie raised her chin, her eyes flashing. “Two.” 

Angel Dust choked, wobbled, and flopped dramatically back onto the couch, fanning himself like an overwrought Southern belle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you two were running a convent here!” 

“It’s your turn to share, numbnuts,” Vaggie sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“‘Fraid I can’t count that high, doll,” he grinned. “Lost track a couple years ago. Husk, your turn!” He sounded far too casual, as if he was very eager to hear the answer and was trying to pretend to figure out what the regular amount of eager would be. 

Husk grumbled and set his glass down on the counter. “Fifty?” He shrugged. “Sixty? Somewhere around there.” 

“Finally! A decent number. See, ladies, it’s not that hard once you put your mind to it,” Angel Dust sighed. “Niffty, you go.” 

The tiny reincarnation of chaos giggled, practically vibrating as she licked the tip of the knife in her hand. “Bugs?”

“No, Niff. Your body count.”

She scratched her head, looking adorably confused. “Silly spider! Bad boys can be bugs too.” 

“What–? Actually, you know what, nevermind. It was my fault for asking you in the first place. Okay, who’s left…” He brightened when he spotted Lucifer lounging by the fireplace. “Aha! The Big Daddy himself has gotta have some interesting answers.”

Lucifer chuckled, his chest swelling with pride. “Well, I might have slowed down in my old age, but before Lilith and I started our little family I was quite a killer with the ladies.” He thought for a bit, tapping his chin as he counted. Carry the one, times three… He finally gave up. “Maybe two hundred?” 

“A-ha! Is that it?” Alastor grinned. “And you call yourself the king of hell?”

Everyone gaped. Alastor had almost thrown someone out of the top floor window for accidentally brushing up against his hand. He’d once burned a coat after Lucifer had grabbed it. He only willingly touched others to A) show dominance or B) play mind games (this option he reserved almost exclusively for Lucifer).

In short, he was the absolute last person anyone had expected to participate in this game. 

Angel Dust looked like someone had just told him Christmas had come early. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the strawberry pimp himself! Don’t keep us in suspense. What’s your body count?” 

Alastor thought for a second. “Four thousand and five-six.” 

Six jaws simultaneously dropped to the ground. Lucifer felt the insane urge to fly into his circus dimension and scream until his lungs gave out. A strange green beast clawed at his stomach, and he pressed his hand against it, trying to tame it before he did something truly stupid. 

“Four…thousand?” Angel Dust stuttered. “But…you’ve only been alive for a hundred years?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been busy, I suppose.” 

That was the last straw. Lucifer stormed out of the room. He didn’t think he’d be able to control himself if he stayed. So Alastor’s fine with just anyone? What the Hell am I then, chopped liver? He stopped in the main hall, taking deep breaths in through his nose, then out through his mouth, just like Charlie had taught them during her “How to: Anger Management” seminar. 

“What’s all the fuss about?”

A familiar static ripped through the air. Lucifer scowled. 

“I don’t really want to talk to you right now.” 

“How interesting! I don’t want to talk to you ever, but unfortunately it’s out of both of our hands.” Alastor pretended to inspect his nails. Lucifer knew he was pretending, because he couldn’t see them through his gloves. “Charlie threw me out and told me not to return until I’d checked in on you.” 

Charlie did? Lucifer shivered, pointedly trying not to think about what that meant, and what she might know about his Super Secret, Definitely Not Pathetic crush. “Great. You’ve checked in on me. You can go now.” 

Alastor cocked his head, peering at him curiously. “I must say, I’m rather surprised by your reaction to my confession. Is it really so surprising? I’ve never made a secret of my favorite pastimes.” 

Lucifer gaped. “This is literally the first time I’ve heard you talk about this.”

Alastor frowned. Lucifer frowned. They both frowned at each other. 

“Have you gone senile? I ate a man in front of you yesterday,” Alastor asked, looking at Lucifer as if he’d lost his mind. 

“What does eating a man have anything to do with it?” Lucifer asked, the same expression mirrored on his face. “You just said your body count was –” 

Realization hit him like a freight train. Alastor had been born during the turn of the century. He’d struggled with modern day slang before, like vibes and cap and bet – and body count, it seemed. 

“Are you…are you talking about how many people you’ve killed?” Lucifer gasped, barely managing to get the words out in between laughs. 

“Yes?” Alastor wrinkled his nose. “Why is that so funny?” 

Lucifer thought his sides might tear from how hard he was laughing. “Nothing,” he wheezed. “Nothing at all.” 

Then he immediately started scheming ways to get Alastor's actual body count.

[ryomensgirlfriend]

FATEFUL WISH

CHAPTER ONE

Sukuna x fem reader ! jujutsukaisen

summary: In a realm where the line between hatred and intrigue blurred, a woman with a fiery mind found herself serving the King of Curses. She despised him—no, he repulsed her. Yet, despite her disdain, she couldn't deny the spark of intrigue that flickered within her whenever she was near him.

content: true form! - explicit content - violence and mention of blood - sukuna in his own warning - size difference - manipulation -touch without consent - 18+ warning later on in the fic - fingering - degradation - etc. i’ll add more later

7.1k words

"She's returned!" Laughter erupted from the men as you entered, a dead boar slung over your shoulder.

You strode into the booze store and casually dropped the boar onto the floor, its blood splattering across the tiles.

The elderly men erupted in applause and praise, some even finding it amusing that a young woman like you could accomplish such a feat.

"Tch, brat, you've stained my floor!" Your old man, Wasuke, grumbled as he approached from behind the counter.

"Well, I've proven you and these old bastards right, so give me the money," you demanded, your arms crossed.

Wasuke, with a stern expression, grabbed your ear, causing you to wince in pain.

You had been under Wasuke's care since you were seven, with no parents and no memory of them. You had once been a slave, sold on the market, but you managed to escape and stumbled upon Wasuke, who took you in, in exchange for your labor in his store

Despite his constant scolding and frequent outbursts of anger, it was clear that Wasuke's parenting style was not that of a loving and caring guardian. He was sometimes annoying to be around, always nagging and perpetually difficult to handle.

Your feelings towards him were mixed, to say the least. There was a deep-seated resentment, yet buried beneath that animosity was a genuine, albeit reluctant, sense of care.

Twelve long years had passed living with him, during which he had imparted his martial arts expertise to you, since he had been an ex-martial arts trainer for sorcerers.

He may have been a respected and well-known figure to others, but to you, he was no different from the other elderly customers who frequented the store.

You had been raised predominantly among men your whole life, with the exception of Saiko who was Wasuke's niece.

Saiko was a welcome relief from the monotony of the store and the grumbling old men who populated it.

She would often drop by to lend a helping hand and whisk you away to festivals whenever she could.

It was clear that she pitied you for having to endure the company of those old men and sympathized with your situation.

Saiko didn't mince words when it came to her disapproval of how her uncle raised you, often lamenting the fact that he had brought you up more like a man than a woman.

In the village, everyone admired your physical beauty—your well-figured body and an enticing face that drew the eyes of every man.

However, your scars and personality was a stark contrast to your physical allure.

You had a penchant for sake, a penchant for cursing, and a strong inclination to engage in arm wrestling competitions.

Your reputation for recklessness, wild behavior, and a brazenly loud mouth made you less appealing to the young men in the village.

Working in the store as a woman came with its fair share of challenges. The men would often subject you to sexist and misogynistic comments, leading to heated confrontations where you would try to fight them.

Wasuke, your old man, would step in, of course, restraining you and delivering a stern scolding before piling on extra labor as punishment.

Earlier that morning, the old men had pestered you with their skepticism, claiming that no woman could be strong enough to even catch, let alone kill, a rabbit.

You saw it as a challenge and promptly made a bet with the old men before heading into the forest, eventually leading to your current situation.

Wasuke's scolding voice snapped you back to reality. "You'll scrub the floor till midnight, you hear me!" he admonished, finally releasing his grip on your ear and letting out a disgruntled huff.

The men in the store chuckled among themselves as they watched the scene unfold. You couldn't help but hiss in frustration, kicking the boar that lay on the floor. After all this, you were still determined to get your money- rightfully so.

Your steely gaze locked onto the old man who had made the bet with you. You approached his table and slammed your hand down, a threatening tone in your voice as you demanded, "My money."

The old man cleared his throat, reluctantly handing you a few bucks. "That's all I have, brat" he grumbled. You rolled your eyes at his excuse but took the money nonetheless. At least you had managed to claim your victory and get some cash in hand.

The day dragged on as you diligently followed Wasuke's orders, scrubbing the floor with water and soap, hoping to remove every trace of blood from the wooden surface.

Wasuke observed your efforts from a distance, idly slicing an apple and taking bites between sips of tea.

He had taken care of the boar, hanging it up to dry for future use.

In his eyes, you were akin to an obedient dog, but you understood that you owed him for all that he had provided. He might have treated you unfairly, but in the end he was still your father figure.

After hours of scrubbing, you finally completed the task. Feeling exhausted, you stepped outside and splashed the blood-soaked water onto the grass.

Gazing down at your battered hands, a sigh escapes your lips. Scars crisscross your body, souvenirs from hunts and clashes with swords.

It's yet another aspect that repels men—a body adorned with marks they find unappealing. Yet, you're indifferent.

Their shallow judgments hold no sway over you. You have no intention of settling down with any of those weak idiotic men.

None of the men in your village ever held your interest. They were mere chatterers, lacking prowess in combat and charisma. Merely wealthy, they fancied themselves as climbing the social ladder through coin alone—a pitiable notion.

Love itself was a foreign concept to you.

Your standards were far higher. You sought a partner of formidable power, capable of crushing enemies effortlessly, yet being kind and gentle. That was true attraction to you.

Oh how you wished for a strong powerful man.

"Y/n!" Saiko's voice rang out from a distance, pulling your attention away from your thoughts. You turned towards the sound and spotted Saiko standing there with her two friends and a man who was accompanying them.

You waved and quickly made your way over to them, feeling the disapproving glances from the two other girls who clearly had their own opinions about your unconventional behavior.

They had never really liked you- probably due to the fact of your man-like attitude which they found impudent and distasteful.

"Hey, Saiko," you greeted her with your usual poker face.

Saiko flashed you a grin. "Do you want to come with us to the Haiko festival?" The Haiko festival was an annual celebration of spring, symbolizing growth and happiness.

The man accompanying them, Haru, cast an odd and annoying gaze your way. Haru's behavior was always revolting to you.

He seemed to alternate between lusting after you and showing annoyance, yet he would disregard you in front of others and toss mean comments in your direction.

Haru couldn't resist making a snide remark about the apron you were wearing, stained with boar blood. "I hope she's not coming dressed like that," he remarked, his hand crossed over his kimono.

You brushed off Saiko's invitation and replied, "It's fine, I've got other things to do." Before throwing a veiled threat that hung in the air, unfinished, as you held your tongue for the moment.

Before Saiko could insist you had ran back to the store. You threw your apron to the ground before walking inside the store.

As the sun began to set and customers slowly trickled out of the store, you decided to grab a broom and clean the floor.

Wasuke, on the other hand, was comfortably seated with the other men, enjoying their sake. The desire to join them and escape the mundane tasks of cleaning and serving customers gnawed at you.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, you put your broom aside and marched over to their table. "Old man, I'm done," you declared sternly, a frown etched across your face.

Wasuke glanced up at you, setting his sake aside. "Good work, you can go," he replied, a hint in his words that implied you could attend the festival, which you had no interest in going to.

"I'm not going, let me join you!" You boldly pushed your old man to the side and took a seat, grabbing a sake.

The other men chuckled at your audacious move, while Wasuke came dangerously close to throwing his drink at you, but he managed to restrain himself.

"You impudent brat, can't you see this is old men's business?" he scolded you, to which you responded with an eye roll. "I've grown up with you old men, doesn't change anything," you retorted.

Wasuke sighed, then a mischievous idea crossed his mind—an idea good enough to keep you occupied for a while.

"Oh right, you have one last task for the day, brat," Wasuke began, a sly grin forming on his lips. The other men, sensing his plan, grinned as well.

"What is it?" you asked.

"Go to Hanako's house and bring back five pack of flour. We'll need it," he said, chuckling at the thought of your impending encounter with Hanako.

"Are you joking?! That woman moves like a sloth! It'll be daytime before I come back!" you protested, rising from your seat.

"It's an order," Wasuke chuckled, taking another sip of sake. In frustration, you threw your sake on the ground, shattering the cup into pieces. "Have fun cleaning that, you bald-headed, old, wrinkly bastard," you hissed before storming out of the store.

Wasuke grumbled at the mess you had left behind. "That brat," he muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.

Walking to Hanako's house was always an exasperating experience. You harbored a deep-seated resentment towards that woman.

Her short-term memory issues were maddening, and she moved with the speed of a snail. At times, you had to resist the urge to give her a gentle push just to keep her moving.

Hanako's house was tucked deep inside the forest, and she lived a solitary life. Few people visited her, mostly when they needed flour, which she produced miraculously despite her sluggish pace.

After reaching her door, you knocked impatiently, knowing it would take her an agonizingly long time to answer.

Your prediction was spot on; it took her nearly two minutes for her to finally open the door.

"Y/n...!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with a warm smile upon seeing you.

"Yeah, greetings, I need flour," you blurted out quickly, eager to get this errand over with.

After a good ten seconds, she replied with a confused, "What?" That's when you remembered she also had poor hearing.

Fed up, you shouted, "I NEED FLOUR!"

"Oh... Yes!... Of course!" she responded, turning away to fetch the flour.

Fed up with her slow pace, you decided to take matters into your own hands. "You know what, don't move. Just tell me where the flour is, old woman," you hissed, walking inside her house without waiting for her permission.

"Oh... uhm... yes! Of course! It's... over there!" she replied painfully slowly, causing your frustration to skyrocket. You scanned her house, trying to decipher her vague instructions.

Let's just say it took about a painstaking twenty minutes before you finally located the flour and another five minutes trying to hand the money over to her.

Once you were done dealing with her, you let out a sigh of relief. If you had left it up to her to fetch the flour, you feared it would have taken about ten hours.

"Thank you, goodbye," you told the lady as you finally left her house, heading back to the village, grateful to be free of the ordeal.

However the walk back wasn't as exciting as you would have wanted it to be.

The smell of smoke hit you, causing your heart to race with unease.

Smoke? You thought to yourself, growing increasingly anxious. It wasn't just a hint of smoke; it was a thick plume, billowing up into the sky.

Panic coursed through your veins as you sprinted through the forest toward the village, each step heavier than the last.

There was no way... it couldn't possibly be...

Arriving at the village, you were met with a nightmarish scene. Blood and severed limbs were scattered everywhere, houses engulfed in flames, and not a living soul in sight.

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach as you ran towards the store as fast as your legs could carry you.

As you entered the store, you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. An old man's decapitated head lay on the ground, separated from its body.

You navigated through the gruesome scene, stepping over lifeless bodies.

But then.....

The sight that met your eyes was beyond horrifying. Wasuke's head hung lifelessly on the wall, detached from his body.

His lifeless form lay sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a nightmarish tableau of blood and death. The putrid stench of decay and brutal violence hung heavy in the air, and you could hardly believe what you were witnessing.

The overwhelming horror of the scene left you on the brink of vomiting, the world spinning around you. Everything you had known was gone, your home was reduced to ruins.

This life you had built had been stolen from you, and a raging storm of emotions threatened to consume you. You wanted to cry, to scream out in agony, but there were no tears left in your eyes.

All that remained was an all-encompassing hatred and a burning, uncontrollable rage.

Just as you were about to reach for your katana, a palpable presence materialized behind you.

Whirling around with lightning speed, you found yourself face-to-face with a monk, their short white hair stark against their skin, a crimson line adorning their hair. Their piercing pink-violet eyes bore into you, accompanied by three imposing figures clad in black kimonos.

"Hmm, pretty face, she'll suffice," the monk remarked.

Before you could react, the men advanced toward you, prompting panic to surge through you.

With swift reflexes, you grasped your katana, assuming a defensive stance. Who were these interlopers, and what were their intentions?

The monk sighed wearily before suddenly appearing beside you in a blur of movement. In an instant, their hand connected with your neck, plunging you into a deep slumber.

You're not sure how long you've been passed out for. When you regained consciousness, your surroundings were engulfed in pitch darkness, the unsettling sound of chains rattling pierced the silence.

Attempting to rise, your efforts were thwarted by the unyielding grip of the restraints binding your hands and legs.

Reality crashed upon you with chilling clarity—it wasn't a mere nightmare.

This was real.

Panic surged anew as muffled cries beside you reached your ears, echoing the fear that gripped your heart.

Abruptly, the door creaked open, entering an elderly woman flanked by guards bearing torches. In the flickering light, the full scope of your predicament became apparent.

Alongside you, we're twenty other girls shackled in the same grim fashion.

"Take them to the washing hall," the lady commanded, her voice cutting through the air.

With a sense of mounting dread, the guards seized the chains, dragging you and the others along in their wake. Struggling against the iron grip of your captors proved futile, as they propelled you forward with relentless force.

Confusion swirled with a seething undercurrent of anger. If only you could break free and unleash retribution upon these contemptible oppressors.

As you were forcefully seated down in the washing room, rage surged within you, boiling over as you struggled against the chains that bound you. "Who are you?! I'll kill you!" you spat.

"Silence," the guard retorted, yanking harshly on the chains, stifling your protests.

Suddenly, the monk who had plunged you earlier strode into the room.

Their presence commanded attention as they surveyed the captive girls before focusing on the first one.

With a grip as firm as steel, the monk seized the girl's face, scrutinizing her with an unsettling intensity.

Then, without preamble, they ordered her to strip, inspecting her body with a cold detachment.

Your stomach churned with disgust as the monk told the girl to spread her legs. The girl's cries fell on deaf ears as the guards forcibly complied, violating her privacy.

In a chilling display, the monk stood aside, allowing the women to carry out the invasive examination before delivering their verdict.

"She's pure," the lady declared, her tone devoid of any empathy or remorse.

What followed was a degrading examination, each girl subjected to the same invasive scrutiny.

Anger seethed within you, a blazing inferno fueled by indignation and a fierce determination to break free from these vile captors.

And in the end, the monk approached you, their hand gripping your face as your scowl conveyed defiance and unwavering resolve.

The sudden impact of a slap against your cheek jolted you, momentarily stunning you into silence.

"You, a mere weakling, dare to look at me like that?" the voice intoned, calm yet seething with disdain.

The monk hated being regarded with such contempt by humans they deemed unworthy of life.

Your unwavering stare only fueled their irritation—a scoff escaping their lips, recognizing the defiance mirrored in your gaze, a trait they had seen in their master, the strongest sorcerer alive.

But what right did you, a mere village girl, have to challenge them? You knew nothing of life beyond the confines of your humble existence, nothing of the harsh realities of the world.

"Pathetic. Strip her," they commanded, their voice dripping with disdain. While the other girls had fought against their fate, you remained frozen, your eyes locked onto the monk with a mixture of hatred and disdain.

Scars adorned your body, evoking a grimace of disgust from the lady overseeing the proceedings.

However, before the guards could carry out the degrading task of spreading your legs, the monk intervened.

"No need. Her body is already vulgar to look at . The king would be repulsed by the sight. Put her in the servants' section," they declared with finality.

With a nod of acquiescence, the monk left, ushering away the selected girls to the concubine chambers, leaving you and a handful of others behind.

"Let's go," the lady demanded, but you refused, "Curse you," you seethed, your words met with another harsh slap across your cheek.

"You won't survive for long if you continue behaving like this, young girl," the lady warned as she seized your arm, attempting to compel you to stand.

Jerking your arm away forcefully, you retreated several steps. "Touch me again and I'll kill you, I swear!" you growled, tears threatening to form in your eyes.

The lady scoffed, her demeanor condescending. "Do you know where you are, child? You are in the King of curses kingdom. You are forever enslaved to serve him for the rest of your life," she explained matter-of-factly.

"I do not care, let me out!" you groaned, frustration and anger coursing through your veins.

You couldn't give less of a fuck for the identity or power of this formidable presence; all that mattered was escaping this wretched place by any means necessary.

"Fine, if you want it the hard way," the lady conceded, turning to address the remaining guards. "Lock her in the dungeons for a week, give her no food. Water every two days," she commanded, her tone resolute.

The guards bowed obediently before seizing you once more, dragging you back to the depths from whence you came.

Despite your screams and resistance, hurling insults and curses in a futile attempt to assert your will, your feeble frame stood no chance against the overwhelming strength of the two burly men.

You despised this powerlessness, loathing every soul in this accursed place.

The pitch-black room swallowed you whole as the heavy doors slammed shut, leaving you utterly alone.

Desperation fueled your cries as you screamed, shouted, and pounded on the unyielding barrier, but your efforts fell on deaf ears.

Determined to find an escape, you traced the walls with trembling hands, seeking any hint of a window or exit, but all you found were small, mocking holes that offered no solace.

Exhaustion gnawed at your bones with each passing day, draining your energy until even the will to scream ebbed away.

The torment of receiving water every two days did little to assuage the relentless ache in your stomach, and tears, once foreign to your eyes, now streamed down your dirt-streaked cheeks.

Your once-familiar life in the village had been obliterated by these unknown aggressors, thrusting you into a realm of darkness and despair.

What did the king want with you? Death would have been more preferable than whatever the fuck this was.

Finally, the agonizing week drew to a close, marked by the creaking of the door as it swung open, casting a harsh light that made your eyes recoil. "Hopefully you've learned your lesson," the lady's voice pierced the silence as she stepped into the room.

Exhausted and depleted, you offered no resistance as the guards lifted you from the cold ground, their grip firm yet strangely gentle.

Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, your eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden brightness. It felt as though an eternity had passed since you last saw the light of day.

As you were escorted down the corridor, you caught glimpses of other girls clad in pristine white kimonos, their movements purposeful as they tended to their tasks.

But you remained silent, your mind consumed by questions without answers.

You found yourself in a large room, lined with futons on the floor, and several girls sitting quietly. As the lady entered, the girls rose, bowing in deference. The guards dropped you to the ground before exiting the room.

"Kira, bring her the white kimono," the lady commanded. Kira nodded and quickly retrieved a white kimono before hurrying over to you.

The lady turned to you, grasping your chin firmly. "Listen closely to me now," she began, her voice stern.

"From this moment forward, you will attend to duties such as cleaning every corner of the palace. You are not permitted to enter the royal section of the palace. It is imperative that you comply, otherwise, you will meet a swift and merciless death. These young palace maidens will provide further explanation. Do you understand?" With her grip released, your gaze remained fixed on the floor, offering no response.

"Assist the girl in cleaning herself," the lady ordered curtly before leaving the room, her presence leaving an unsettling atmosphere in its wake.

The girls rushed towards you, concern etched on their faces. "Hey, are you okay?" Kira asked, her voice laced with genuine worry.

You glanced at her momentarily, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

With their help, you made your way to the washing hall, cleansing yourself thoroughly before returning to your servant room.

They offered you a simple porridge and a cup of water, a meager sustenance that barely filled the void within you.

Days passed, each one filled with new revelations about your surroundings. You learned about the hierarchical structure of the servant maids, where skill and efficiency determined your rank.

The better you were at your tasks, the higher you would ascend in status, earning privileges such as access to the royal section and even occasional leave from the palace for errands.

As a low-ranking servant, you found yourself confined to the deepest corners of the palace, tasked with menial and backbreaking labor.

It infuriated you to be treated worse than an animal.

Yet, you heeded the woman's words, holding your tongue and following orders to avoid repercussions.

Defiance came with consequences; the head chief maids held the power to lower your ranking and administer punishment as they saw fit.

The servants girls didn't seem to like you anyway. They viewed you with suspicion and disdain, deeming you strange and vulgar due to your unconventional mannerisms.

It was true; you had grown up surrounded by men, adapting their rough and direct way of speaking.

But their opinions mattered little to you. You were very determined to escape this gilded prison, to reclaim your freedom and carve out a destiny of your own making.

As you scrubbed the floor, enduring the insults hurled at you by the other servants, a simmering anger brewed within you.

If only you could unleash your anger and beat the shit out of them. But you knew better than to jeopardize your reputation in this palace. Climbing the ranks was your only ticket out of this misery.

Amidst the labor, you often overheard whispers among the servants, tales of a man known as the "King of Curses."

His reputation preceded him, with stories of his malevolent deeds spreading far and wide. It was said that he roamed the earth, leaving a trail of destruction and evil in his wake.

The recent rumor circulating among the servants was that he had seized the throne by beheading the former king of Japan, claiming power with an iron grip.

They spoke of his cruelty, how mercy was a foreign concept to him, and how those who dared to cross him met a fate worse than death. It was this very man who had sentenced you to this life of servitude.

"Did you hear? One of the concubines was killed today," a maid whispered, though her words carried clearly to your ears.

"Poor soul, she must have angered the king," another servant whispered in response.

You turned to them with a scowl, your contempt for the man known as the king evident in your tone. "Or perhaps she chose death over enduring another moment in the presence of that vulgar man," you retorted, your words dripping with venom.

The servants' eyes widened in shock, but they quickly returned to their tasks, choosing to ignore your words.

Speaking ill of his highness was utterly forbidden and a sin, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. After all, it was he who had condemned you to this life in the first place.

As long as the head maids didn't hear you, you were willing to risk the consequences to voice your disdain for the man who held sway over your fate.

Suddenly, the head maid rushed into the hall, her voice urgent. "You three," she addressed you and the other servants with a sense of urgency in her tone. You looked up, your frown deepening as you awaited her words.

"Hurry to the royal section," she instructed, her words rushed and frantic. "Eleven servants have just been killed. Go clean, hurry, hurry!" With that, she turned and dashed off, leaving you and the others to digest the shocking news.

Eleven servants dead? The gravity of the situation hung heavy in the air, but instead of fear, you felt a surge of excitement.

Perhaps if you demonstrated your efficiency in the royal section, you could earn favor and rise in rank. With a sense of purpose, you quickly rose to your feet, the other girls following suit, and hurried after the head maid.

As you made your way to the royal section, you couldn't help but notice the panic spreading through the palace. Other maids rushed past you, adding to the sense of urgency in the air.

After a tense ten minutes, you finally arrived. The grandeur of the surroundings was undeniable, a stark contrast to the mundane halls where you usually toiled.

However, any sense of awe was quickly replaced by amusement as your eyes landed on the severed bodies and limbs littering the ground.

It was clear that someone had incurred the wrath of the king, and the consequences had been dire.

Without hesitation, you set to work, cleaning up the bloodstains as guards removed the grisly remnants of the tragedy.

Though your kimono stained with each swipe of the cloth, you worked diligently, hoping that your efforts would not go unnoticed amidst the chaos and carnage.

As the other girls trembled at the sight of blood, their fear palpable in the air, you remained composed.

Blood was a familiar sight to you, a residue of your past life filled with fighting and hunting. It didn't scare you; it was just simply disgusting.

"Y/n, can you take that section over there?" one of the girls approached you, her voice trembling with fear. You raised a skeptical brow in response.

"Where?" you questioned.

"U-uhm, it's close to the king's chamber. P-please, I'll do anything, I'm scared!" she pleaded, dropping to her knees in a display of desperation.

You scoffed at her pathetic display, finding her submission over something so trivial to be contemptible. Nevertheless, maybe this could be your chance to get a peek of him.

Was this Ryomen Sukuna truly the fearsome figure they spoke of, or just an old grumpy man?

"Move," you commanded, pushing her aside without a second thought.

She mumbled a series of "thank yous" as you made your way to the designated area. It took you mere minutes to arrive at the hall, which was eerily empty save for a few splatters of blood on the ground.

Your gaze settled on the grand golden doors in the center of the hall, and you couldn't help but wonder if that's where the elusive king resided.

With a huff of annoyance, you dropped to your knees, determined to complete the task assigned to you, regardless of the potential dangers that lay beyond those imposing doors.

As you scrubbed, growing weary of the monotonous task, a sense of exhaustion washed over you.

Your days seemed to blend together in an endless cycle of scrubbing and servitude, and you were growing increasingly tired of it all.

With a disdainful sigh, you tossed the sponge aside, feeling the weight of frustration settle on your shoulders.

Just as you were about to rise from your kneeling position, the grand doors before you swung open with a resounding creak, and a piercing cry echoed through the hall.

"M-my lord!" a feminine voice shrieked in terror.

A shiver raced down your spine as an overwhelming aura of malevolence enveloped the area, suffocating you with its intensity.

Instinctively, you fell to your knees, pressing your forehead against the cold floor as if seeking refuge from the sinister presence that now filled the room.

The so-called king emerged from the chamber, dragging the woman by her hair as he descended down the hall.

With each step he took, the air grew heavier, the darkness of his presence weighing down upon you like a suffocating blanket.

Uncontrollably, your fingertips began to tremble, the sheer malevolence emanating from him rendering you powerless in its wake.

You could hear the woman's pleas as he passed by, her cries for mercy falling on deaf ears. The unsettling aura clung to you like a thick fog, leaving you paralyzed with fear.

As the king and the woman disappeared from view, the oppressive atmosphere slowly began to dissipate, releasing you from its suffocating grip.

With a sense of panic rising within you, you hastily rose to your feet, your mind reeling with questions and dread.

Who was that man? What manner of darkness lurked within him? In that moment, you couldn't help but wish that you had never set foot in this place.

As you swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes remained fixed on the golden doors that beckoned you with an irresistible allure.

Despite the fear and uncertainty gnawing at your insides, curiosity stirred within you, driving you to take a step closer.

Retreating would have been the wisest course of action, but wisdom had never been your strong suit.

With a resolve, you stood up and made your way toward the kings chamber, casting a cautious glance over your shoulder to ensure that no one was watching.

Surely, he wouldn't return, would he?

With trepidation, you crossed the threshold, stepping into the grandiose room that befitted a king.

Your eyes widened in awe as you took in the opulence surrounding you.

In the center of the room stood a magnificent king-sized bed, on the side by a cushioned seat piled high with books and scrolls on one side, and a grand window offering a breathtaking view of the city on the other.

Approaching the window, you gazed out at the sprawling cityscape below, your eyes wide with wonder at the sight unfolding before you.

It was the first time you had seen the world from such a height, and the view took your breath away.

Your attention was drawn to a pile of scrolls lying on the ground nearby, their elegant kanji script catching your eye.

Carefully, you picked one up, feeling a sense of reverence for the knowledge contained within its pages. With trembling hands, you unfurled the scroll.

As shouts echoed through the halls, panic surged within you, prompting you to abandon the scroll and flee from the king's chamber.

With hurried steps, you made your way back down the hall, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to escape the impending chaos.

"Y/n! Where have you been?!" The head maid's reproachful tone seized your attention, her grip latching onto your arm and yanking you backward.

You yanked your arm away, irritation simmering beneath the surface. You refused to be controlled, even by someone of higher rank.

"I was attending to my duties," you retorted, your words tinged with annoyance as the head maid seized your arm once more, her forceful tug propelling you forward.

Resentment bubbled within you as you were herded back to the lowly halls of the palace.

Being ordered around like a mere dog grated against your pride, and with each step, your patience wore thinner.

Retreating alongside your fellow servants to the humble quarters nestled within the recesses of the palace, you bristled at the head maid's admonishments.

"Wandering without permission and insolence towards your superior? Your status will be relegated to those tending the stables," she hissed, hurling you into your chamber.

How dare they treat you with such disrespect?

You were not just a servant; you were far greater, far stronger than any of them could ever imagine.

And as the anger within you reached its boiling point, you knew that you would not remain subservient for much longer.

It was only a matter of time before the volcano of your rage erupted, engulfing everything in its path.

As the door slammed shut behind you, a primal scream of frustration tore from your throat, punctuating the air as you swept a nearby vase to the ground, shattering it into fragments.

The startled gasps of the other servants echoed in the chamber.

"What are you staring at?" your voice lashed out, hurling the broken pieces towards them. They recoiled, unnerved by your sudden outburst.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. How could you ever reclaim your standing in the hierarchy?

The king's incompetence, the insufferable maids and servants—all of them conspired to aggravate you to no end.

Biting your nails between your teeth, you sank onto your futon, ruminating furiously. There had to be another path forward, a different strategy to get the hell out of here.

A day had passed and the command to relocate your belongings to join the other lowly servants outside only served to stoke the flames of your rage.

There seemed to be no escape from this oppressive existence, and a sense of defiant fury burned within you.

Driven to the brink by the fuck of it all, you lashed out, hurling a vase at the head maid with a primal scream of frustration. "Try me, you old hag," you seethed, pulling out a knife you had grabbed from the servants' kitchen.

Gasps and screams echoed around you as the other girls recoiled in horror, scrambling away from the unfolding scene. "Call the guards!" the head maid shrieked, her voice tinged with panic.

With a roll of your eyes, you launched yourself towards the head maid, the knife slicing through the air as you mercilessly slashed open her throat.

Blood spurted forth in a grisly fountain as she collapsed to her knees, gasping for air in her final moments.

Disgust twisted your features as you continued your assault, stabbing her repeatedly until her lifeless body lay at your feet.

With a scoff of contempt, you stepped over her corpse, fully resigned to the fact that you were prepared to fight until your last breath in this infuriating palace, regardless of the consequences.

Their biggest mistake was taking you in.

The chaos erupted in the palace as screams and cries echoed through the halls.

The other servants scrambled away in fear as you stood amidst the carnage, your chest heaving with anger.

Blood stained your hands, a grim reminder of the violence that had just happened.

With a cold resolve, you moved forward, knowing that there was no turning back now. The guards would soon arrive, but you were prepared to face whatever consequences awaited you.

As the sounds of approaching footsteps grew louder, you squared your shoulders and braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation. Whatever awaited you, you were prepared to face it head-on.

As more head maids rushed onto the scene, you continued your ruthless onslaught, efficiently dispatching them with chilling efficiency.

The sensation of taking lives, once foreign and repugnant, now stirred a twisted excitement within you—a dark thrill of wielding power and dominance.

But your newfound sense of empowerment was short-lived, shattered as swiftly as the lives you had taken, when black-clothed men swarmed around you, their presence signaling the arrival of the guards.

Overpowered and outnumbered, you found yourself shoved to the ground, the knife torn from your grasp over a cacophony of groans and angry protests.

Blood stained your once pristine kimono, a grim realization to the violence that had happened, while streaks of crimson marred your face.

Great, they were going to lock you up and torture you again, huh?

Uraume ascended the grand staircase, their steps measured and purposeful as they approached the throne where Sukuna reclined in regal splendor.

With a deferential bow, they took their place beside the king's seat, awaiting Sukuna's command.

"The troops that have formed are in the west, it appears," Uraume informed.

Sukuna huffed, his posture relaxed as he leaned back in his seat, his gaze piercing the empty room.

"Shall I go and execute each one of them?" Uraume inquired, their voice gentle and serene, betraying the bloodthirsty nature that lay beneath.

"No need," Sukuna replied curtly.

Uraume sensed the dark intentions swirling within the king's mind, a prelude to the violence and carnage that would inevitably follow.

Sukuna had always reveled in the act of taking lives, finding satisfaction and pleasure in the chaos he wrought upon the world.

Just yesterday, the insolent servants had met their demise for not following the orders right. Their lives snuffed out without mercy or remorse at Sukuna's command.

He cared little for the value of human life, for in his eyes, the world existed solely to serve his whims and desires.

Uraume knew all too well the horrors that Sukuna was capable of unleashing on the world. There was no shred of remorse in his actions, only a sense of twisted satisfaction and contentment.

Chaos and destruction followed in his wake, leaving nothing but devastation in his path.

Sukuna was indeed a force to be reckoned with, a harbinger of terror and despair in a world trembling beneath his unfathomable power.

As Uraume was about to broach the subject of Kenjaku's arrival, the head lady burst into the throne room, her body bending in a deep bow until her forehead touched the ground.

Sukuna's gaze hardened at the unexpected intrusion, his irritation palpable.

Descending the grand stairs with a scowl etched upon they features, Uraume addressed the trembling servant. "Your presence is rather unwelcoming. Do you know no better than to request an audience first?" they admonished, their voice laced with disdain.

The head lady swallowed hard, her fear evident as she pleaded for forgiveness. "Apologize for my impudence, I deserve death, please grant it," she implored, her voice trembling with trepidation.

Uraume sighed heavily before pressing for an explanation. "What is it that has you in such a rush?"

"T-the village girl you took in two weeks ago has caused havoc in the central hall," the head lady stammered, her words rushed and panicked.

Uraume's brow furrowed in consternation as the head lady provided more details. "The defiant one with scars all over her body. She has killed three head servants early this morning," she explained, her voice quivering with fear.

"Instruct the guards to kill her—" Uraume began, only to be interrupted by Sukuna's authoritative voice resonating through the room.

"Bring her to me," Sukuna commanded, his tone brooking no argument as his fingers idly tapped against the arm of his throne.

With a respectful bow, Uraume acquiesced, stepping aside to allow the king's decree to be carried out.

"My apologies, bring her here," Uraume instructed the head maiden.

Their foremost duty was to serve the king's will, and speaking without due consideration had been a lapse in their judgment that they now regretted.

As the head lady hurriedly departed the throne room, instructions were swiftly carried out, and soon you found yourself being dragged from the dungeons, your body protesting with every groan as you struggled against the iron grip of the guards.

Your once pristine white kimono was now stained with blood, and your hair was out of order, a testament to the violence you had endured and the defiance that still burned within you.

"Free me now!" you roared, your voice reverberating with raw fury as you fought against your captors, but their hold remained unyielding as they ushered you towards the throne room where your fate awaited.

As the doors swung open, that same palpable aura of dread washed over you, signaling the presence of the man responsible for your plight.

It was terryfing and dark.

Fear rose within you as you were pushed to the ground, your head forced to bow before the imposing figure seated upon the throne.

All around, eyes watched you with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, their gazes weighing heavy upon you.

You heard the echo of heavy footsteps descending the grand staircase, sending a shiver down your spine as anticipation mingled with fear.

As the guards stepped aside while your arms was still tied behind your back, you dared to lift your head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of two feet standing before you.

Suddenly his hand gripped the roots of your hair, a hiss escaping your lips, as your head was forcibly lifted.

Through the strands obscuring your vision, you finally saw the king's face. His crimson eyes bore into yours, framed by elegant black lines that accentuated his sharp features.

His nose and jawline were sculpted with precision, and his pink locks stood out against the darkness of the throne room.

"What is your name," his voice rang out, more command than query, sending shivers down your spine. It was darker and raspier than you had anticipated, instilling a primal fear within you.

"Y-y/n," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Sukuna's lips curled into a sinister grin as he tilted his head, his red eyes gleaming with malice. "The smell of your fear is sweet. Perhaps I'll have some fun with you, fierce eyes," he declared, his words dripping with wicked amusement.

Terror and curiosity warred within you as you stared into his menacing gaze, feeling as though you were being consumed by his presence.

The realization dawned upon you that everything you had once known to be reality was about to change. How many times would a foolish girl like yourself find herself at the mercy of the strongest man alive?

After all, wasn't that what you had wished for?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Invulnerable Poison Apple.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. This is his home, his roots, and he will cherish them always.

No matter how he may change.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

The Harveston roads stretch out for what seems like forever. Dirt paths uninterrupted by the hustle and bustle of modern life.

It's just Epel and his beloved blastcycle set at a breakneck pace. Green grass below... Mother Nature has pushed through the melting snow at last, sounding the call of spring.

The crate secured to back of his bike is always lighter on the trip home than on the trip to the closest city. With the latest load dropped off, he’s free to fly back.

He loves this feeling—the rush of adrenaline, the wind weaving through his hair. It’s a taste of home, a slice of heaven he can get nowhere else.

Up ahead, his family’s farm comes into view. The outline of their orchard, flush with the buds of new life, is a familiar sight. What's new are the crops whose heads sprout up over the treetops: a giant peach, a pumpkin large enough to be a carriage, and more—all the result of magical modification.

He grins, revving up his engine and pushing forward. Faster, faster.

Then he breaks, skidding to a halt before their wooden front porch. The engine dies, leaving only the erratic pounding of his heart in the smoke and dust.

“I’m home!!” Epel announces, dismounting. He removes his helmet and places it on his blastcycle's seat. Wisps of lilac cling to his forehead, his fair skin colored with the blush of exhilaration.

Similar heads of hair—members of the Felmier family, dressed in casual clothes and fruit-picking gloves—dot the orchard. They meet his eyes and wave.

He counts them: his mom and his dad, his aunt and uncle. His cousin is too young to get their hands down and dirty yet, so they're inside with their grandparents.

So why is there one extra body amid the apple trees? One person, hunched over on a ladder, a shaking arm outstretched to pluck the fruit.

Not her. Please, not her.

Epel immediately bolts into the fields.

The tree leaves shudder and shift, branches swaying, as if they, too, are loved ones welcoming him back. The air is sweet and uplifting, like the faintest taste of a fizzy drink.

"Meemaw? Meemaw…!!" Epel hollers, racing over to her.

She finally has a grip on the apple, gives it a firm twist, and frees it from its branch. For one frightening moment, she wobbles, threatening to topple from high up. Epel arrives just in time, grabbing onto her ladder to steady it.

He heaves a sigh.

"I told ya to try ‘n not overexert yourself…!” Epel scolds her. His hometown’s dialect slips out, smooth as butter and natural sounding to their ears. “You’re gettin’ to that age where doing physical labor ain’t the easiest. At least leave the heavy liftin’ to me ‘n the others!”

“These apples aren’t goin’ to pick themselves!!” Marja grumbles. “Would you rather trade jobs and let me be the one to run deliveries? You wanna be the one to let this old lady on the loose?”

He bites his lower lip. “No, but… I can take some of yer tasks to lighten yer workload. Please, let me.”

His grandma slowly climbs down the ladder. (Epel observes her dissent carefully and maintains his grip on her stairway.) She’s delicate, with rounded, soft features—but he knows she is anything but demure, especially upset.

When Marja lands next to him, he notices her height right away. He had always been just a bit taller than her—“My growin’ little man,” she’d say, giving him a pat on the head—but his grandma seems to have shrunken in the wash.

Marja prods him in the chest, and though she has more strength than one might give her credit for, his muscles are taut and hold their ground. He’s taller, stronger.

The same physique as a Savanaclaw student.

“Don’t get cocky with me just because you’ve hit a growth spurt ‘n yer transferrin’ to a rough ‘b tough new dorm! I’m a Felmier too.” She shoves the freshly picked apple at her grandson’s face. “Ya fell from our family tree, so you ain’t the only one who’s hardy ‘round here. Don’t worry about me so much!”

“I can’t help it, meemaw,” Epel protests. “We’re gettin’ busier and busier and it’s hard to keep up with the pace.”

“Business is boomin’. I don’t see what you’re yappin’ about!”

“Last thing I want’s for you to be shipped off to the nearest hospital cuz you hurt yourself on our produce.”

“Hush now!! I’lll be fine,” she insists with a broad smile. “I’ve got you and everyone else to count on, so I know I’m in good hands.”

Marja drops the apple into a waiting wicker basket at her feet. It lands atop a pile like a ruby laid in the center of a crown. She bends over and picks up her haul with a grunt and starts waddling towards their house.

Epel remains by her side, matching her walk with a few long strides. He may as well be helping her cross the street, but he stays at a considerable distance. Enough to be polite, but still close enough to swoop in if she takes an unceremonious fall.

“‘Sides, I work cuz I want to, not that I have to,” Marja tuts, clambering up the porch steps. Epel offers her his muscular arm, but she refuses it.

“Gotta keep these weary bones active! And… gotta do my best to support ya where I can.”

“You’ve always done that for us, meemaw.”

All that and more.

She laughs. “Yer not the little boy that needs a scoldin’ for whooping the older kids’ tuchuses anymore. Yer a man now, Epel—but even men ain’t islands. Doesn’t matter how many fights ya win by yerself, ‘s nice to have people to fall back on.”

The front door swings open. Marja shuffles inside, followed by her grandson.

“I understand what yer sayin’. Really, I do. Still, nothin’s gonna stop me from givin’ ya lip. ‘S in our blood,” Epel jokes, knocking at his temples. “Stubbornness runs in the family. I must get it from you.”

“You’re gettin’ real cheeky with me today,” Marja chuckles, setting her basket down on a counter. “I know, how about a good ol’ apple pie with all the fixings? That oughta fill yer belly and fix up yer sass.”

Epel responds with a toothy grin. “Nothin’ hits the spot like your home cooking, meemaw.”

Her eyes twinkle warmly. “Darn right.”

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 18

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 5041

The two of you are irresponsible. Things end up fine, anyways.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Dragons: Defenders of Berk, Race To Fireworm Island, unedited, part one

<Previous - Next>

“Yak dung, if ye brew’t ri’gh, yae can-”

You stared out at sea, legs stood apart, fur boots planted firmly against the wooden deck, fists on your hips and smelt the sea, which was a lot less fishy and foul than it had been by the docks, where stall owners tended to drop their fish guts.

Listening to the other two sailors talk was kind of boring. Apparently Yaks weren’t native to this part of the world. They were a far off import from a long time ago, which explained why Gobber and the other Vikings treated them like they were the ultimate cure-all.

“Aye, how abou’ we talk about something besides yak dung, you old frigate? I ‘prom I can’ ‘nit bear one more momen’ of- of-” The younger man spoke, voice tinged with a bit of roboticism and a definite note of disinterest. 

The last you checked, he was quite gruffly doing his best to untangle the knotted fronts of an old, frayed net, probably rife with holes.

Everyone was a warrior, few got to be nothing besides that.

Berk’s close knit community kept anyone from really falling into poverty unless they sucked or were new, but the few fishermen here on Berk that were unlucky enough to end up poor tended to have heavier accents than everyone else, spending most of their pay on their dying ships, in contrast to some of the other boats, with hardy shiphands and large decorated, painted sides.

This one, the one you were on, was old and small but incredibly hardy, though it felt like it might sink down in still waters. As you heard, it did surprisingly well during a storm.

Family boats died hard, it seemed. And he was very insistent that that boat ran in his family.

It took a while for you to ascertain the knowledge that here, you were actually supposed to poop on a poop deck, not that you wanted to. It was more like you’d been shown how they did it which was very similar to just leaning their butt over the side railing and roughing it in front of everyone.

You did not enjoy that show.

You didn’t think anyone here was there for that boat trip. You found that very good.

You were at sea with two other sailors, an old man, large but frail as his boat, and a younger middle aged man who had very little interest in anything but the nets.

The sea was oddly still though still windy as you felt through your very casual tunic and trousers. You figured it would be a waste to wear more.

A thick pouch attached to your hip bounced against your waist as the ship rocked. 

Today, you were a fisherman’s hired helping hand. It was a while since you’d helped on a ship. It was usually the poorer ones who couldn’t afford anyone hardier who pulled you up.

You were slightly pleased with it, though, as you raked across the sky with your eyes. Lunch was cheaper when you were part of the team catching it.

In the sky, you spotted the few birds brave enough to squeak and squeal and flip with dragons lurking around the clouds.

With a burst of enthusiasm, you waved up at them as they dotted the sky.

There were a few groups, not all clear enough for you to make out any more than a dot. And a little further back… There were what looked like the Riders.

You could make out the bright blur form of Stormfly and Astrid’s blonde head of hair on top. Behind her is who you thought were the twins.

You wondered where they were off to.

You eep-ed as a dot separated from the flock.

As the dot grew larger on the horizon, as you recognized the dark, swooping wings of the Night Fury and as it came closer, you realized, of course, that it was Hiccup and Toothless.

“Alr’gh, lass, You grab one end of the net and I’ll-” The old fisherman grumbled from behind, before cutting himself off, “By jove, what’s he want from ‘ere?”

His long, gray beard and ponytail shifted with the wind, and bald spot, which you presumed was caused prematurely a long time ago, half marred by a barely noticeable burn scar, slightly reflected the glare of the sun.

“Speak not of the Romans here, ol’ man,” The younger fisherman grumbled as you glanced back, his unevenly chopped, short brown hair blowing wildly as he limped and dragging his feet up behind him.

The old fishermen’s thin, threadbare brown fur tunic bollywood in the wind. It was patchy, something most Vikings on Berk could relate to but none would be bothered by besides the poorer, without the coin or resources to procure a new bit of fabric to replace.

Your own clothes were thin and not enough during the best of times.

You turned back up to the sky, nearly startled to see how far both Hiccup and Toothless had traveled in such little time, then backed up as they got nearer and nearer, quickly moving to compensate as they pul;led right up to the side.

The ship rocked dangerously as Toothless landed against the side, this fishing boat being a bit smaller than was typical, also positioned dangerously close to a set of rocks just barely peeking out of the water.

“Oi!” The old fisherman shouted angrily, as a spray of water rained down on them from above, just barely missing you, “Watch it, you-!”

“You watch i’, yae old man,” The brown haired fisherman said abruptly, scowling and fixing his accent and twisting his torso, sort of lanky but not nearly enough to be ousted from viking hood, dropping his net and coming over to cover the old man’s mouth, “Tha’s the Chief’s son.”

You winced, imagining his fishy breath over your own fingers, holding some pity for him though he didn’t look like he wanted or needed it.

Hiccup laughed awkwardly and winced, peering back at the rocks as Toothless sniffed around disinterestedly. 

“We go’ no fish for ye, beast!” The old man yowled raspily, throwing off the younger man’s hand and shaking his fist.

Hiccup looked at the fisherman with a slight grimace though he didn’t say anything.

You blew a puff of air out into the ether, looking to the side and inhaling a new, fresh breath and feeling the lungs in your chest expand as you did.

These kinds of spats were not something you had a particular interest in.

Hiccup neither, it seemed.

“Hi?” He asked awkwardly, turning his attention away from them and looking down at you from where he was seated on Toothless, whose claws were digging into the railing, which you were sure was going to give the old fisherman an ulcer later.

“Hello,” You responded. You supposed that by now you should be feeling at least a little bit of Deja Vu but you really did not at all, “Where are you off to?”

“So, ah, how’s…?” Hiccup asked awkwardly, “Is now a bad time?”

You both stared back at the older fisherman who was now squabbling with the brown haired guy, who was busy holding him back, his arms hooked under the back of the old fisherman’s.

“It’s been… fine,” You said, “He’s kind of crazy, I think. Don’t mind it much.”

“Right…”

You heard a loud sniff as what must’ve been Toothless knocked over a small barrel on the other end of the ship, causing some weird-smelling liquid to spill over onto the deck.

“Shouldn’t they be doing better, with all the dragons nearby? You know…” Hiccup gentured down towards the head of his dragon, sniffing at a few closed baskets by the side of the boat, “...Fish?”

“No, ah,” You hummed, nodding to the dingy floorboards and the frayed everything; this vessel wasn’t even painted, a great deal smaller than the other ships, “There’s more fish now because of the dragons doing less hunting, which means an easier catch, food has to cost less in order to feed more and to sell and because most people can probably catch their own fish, and also this boat is kind of…” 

You cleared your throat, shaking off the remnants of the fisherman’s accent, lingering along the edges of your voice.

You didn’t pick up on the whole thing until very, very recently but on the regular, you spoke in a way that was more formal than the rest of Berk.Of course, you knew you had an accent, but often you found that as you spent more time with the villagers, in an effort to be more polite, you tried to adapt the accents of the people you were speaking to in order to mask your own foreign one.

  It helped, some.

“Right,” Hiccup said again, “We’re- we’re looking for Fireworms. The others and I. I should probably…”

“For Snotlout?” You asked.

You looked back and then up towards Hiccup again. They usually managed just fine without you, and it was an awfully calm day.

Would you leave them behind? 

To be fair, if you stayed, you were sure to get an earful. So you didn’t feel bad about it at all.

“How did you know?” Hiccup asked. 

You squinted. 

Hiccup was positioned just so that the sun glared down from around him, which was a bit painful to your eyes.

“Well…” You started.

There wasn’t much the Riders did that had anything to do with the Jorgensons when Snotlout wasn’t involved and the ‘Louts had been particularly grabby recently. What wasn’t for them?

They took the island very seriously and themselves even more so as the ‘protectors of the island.’

From your interactions with the rest of the Jorgenson house and, more importantly, the head, you knew Spitelout was very rough on Snotlout.  

Depending on the Jorgenson, they were either sort of wasteful or wasteless to an unreasonable degree, throwing things out before they could be fixed and using old, broken tools even after it became incredibly dangerous to do so, but they were also very rich compared to some of the other families on Berk so it didn’t really matter. 

They had to have the best of everything in people and things, or something like that. Which usually left only crumbs for the rest of everybody.

You’d heard some of the women by the square complaining as you scoured over their crumbs and dry pickings.

You didn’t mind it. Berk was pretty first-come first-serve, anyways.

Until it came to dragons.

Everyone on Berk stuck to the typical types of dragons whenever they were forced to find a mount, not because they preferred it that way, though it wasn’t something you found to cause any dissent in particular. 

“Gut feeling,” You shrugged, going with the easy explanation, “Do you need any help?”

It was difficult to find any type outside of a Dragon Training course, of course, those being a roster of the most common native dragons. The other kinds were a bit harder to stumble across. Any of the ‘exotic’ types of dragon mounts were something to be proud of, and proud of them they were, the few Vikings who had the time and resources to expend. 

There were a few squabbles about it but nothing too major. Most Vikings were still a little dragon shy anyhow. The whole argument was kind of silly.

Having a dragon was about more than the type of dragon, anyways.

 It didn’t matter much to you, a person without a dragon. 

There was a fisherman who was quite proud of his exotic dragon- a Scauldron. He’d picked it up a little bit after the incident with the purple flowers.

It helped a lot with fishing.

“Well… Are you busy?” Hiccup asked, albeit a tad unsurely.

“Not particularly,” You said, staring back at the old fisherman, also a bit unsure. 

Adventuring with Hiccup would make it easier to avoid the old fisherman, who, now that you thought about it, was a bit off and who you imagined was very close to blowing his top.

“Really?” Hiccup asked, looking a little guilty, eyes darting back towards the fishermen behind you.

He pointed a shaking hand towards you, spluttering messily as the brown haired Viking guy scrambled for some of the ropes along one of the poles along the back end of the ship, still not letting go of his arm.

“Yeah,” You said, beaming as Hiccup scooted forward, urging Toothless to turn around with his foot, causing the boat to rock a bit and you to back up, adjusting to the dragon as he swung wide.

Hiccup made a sheepish smile and offered you the space behind him on his saddle, though he kept his eyes on the fisherman behind.

You pretended you saw nothing. You thought the scene they were making resembled something out of the world’s blandest comedy show, or an old cartoon. 

He paid pennies, anyway.

“Someone should be by with a Scauldron in case you need help,” You called back, “I heard the rainbow big ship was out today.”

“Not tha’ barrel! The other! Can’t you see the difference?” The old fisherman made a rude gesture and shouted as Toothless took the initiative to do a bit more exploring.

He shook free enough to grab something thick, dark and viscous from a wooden tankard to the side and throw it towards Toothless.

Hiccup shifted awkwardly as he responded, “I don't see the difference…?” 

You yelped and jumped back and scrambled up on Toothless behind him as the glob landed right by your feet. 

Looked like your refreshing day out at sea was over. You could always go fishing another day.

You tossed the fisherman back his coin, holding it between your fingers and flipping it to him with your thumb before he could say anything, shooting off a quick, “I’m sorry!”

He jumped down and grabbed for it, though the brown haired fisherman caught it with some minor exhaustion.

You turned away and lightly nudged Hiccup’s arm, hurting before the old fisherman could do something more crass. Like his bare bottom over the railing. Sure, you may have had to know the sight once, but it was still irritating. And gross.

Hiccup kicked Toothless quickly off and up into the sky. You could feel the wind bursting past your face, much more biting now that you were once again without your coat.

You rotated your shoulder slightly after you slipped into the saddle behind Hiccup, arms sore from all the rowing you did earlier, which was difficult considered your arms were clenched around his waist.

“Fireworm island?” You asked, “Which ones are Fireworms, again?”

“They’re the small orange glowy ones,” Hiccup spoke past the rushing wind, though it didn’t seem like he was particularly rushed, bumping your shoulder with his as he glanced back.

“I don’t think I’ve seen those yet,” You said as you locked your arms around his waist, Toothless moving at rocketing speeds.

“We’re heading back towards Berk?” You asked. 

“Yeah. We were just- Well-” Hiccup struggled, “Recouping. Navigating. Splitting ground.”

“Splitting? What’s your-? You know.”

“I’m not- I left too early,” Hiccup said, embarrassedly at nearly a shout, “I was hoping you might know- Ah– But the- I know some of the fishermen used to use Fireworms as bait.”

He cut off then, but you got the gist of it.

“Why don’t we try a different island?” You asked, fighting against the wind as Hiccup and Toothless reoriented them all, nearly flipping over.

You imagined what Fishlegs would say; ‘There’s an island for that!’

It seemed like there was an island for everything. Was there one for Fireworms?

You wondered what Berk was the island for.

You didn’t need to be close friends to know for sure. 

It was bare. 

You pushed through another set of ferns, following quickly behind Hiccup as the two of you trudged through a thick set of trees.

You really hoped you hadn’t messed up and someone ended up dead, or something.

People would riot. Chase you off for sure.

You heard people talking about moving more into the forests where there were more resources and privacy, the only thing having kept them in the village being the dragons.

You’d have to take refuge.

Another dock would be nice, you thought.

You wondered if the volcano on Dragon island was still active. That would make for a good second island, if the dragons didn’t mind a few human visitors. Roommates. Exile-ees.

You figured they’d probably rather they be left alone, though.

“Would using Gel from another Nightmare work? Or is it like blood transfusions?” You asked as you ducked under another low-hanging branch. 

You stepped over the gnarled roots of this tree quickly afterwards, the soles of your boots making an odd wet noise as it hit the damp undergrowth. 

The two of you had just hit a pretty soggy spot in the undergrowth and you knew Hiccup was worried it might turn into peat. 

You were close to suggesting that you head back and try another direction in the forest.

Said Hiccup looked at you oddly, brows cinched and raised as he tried to repeat your foreign modern words, “Blood transfusions?”

You puzzled over it for a moment, “Blood… exchange? Blood giving?”

“That…” Hiccup cringed, but he had the shadows of his idea face ghosting the corners of his expression. He was, also, probably wondering if it was just as unsanitary as it seemed, as a normally adjusted person should.

“It’s not as gross as it sounds, I promise.”

“Really?”

“I mean, everyone has different blood types, and you- Shouldn’t try it. Please don’t try it,” You said a bit quickly.

He didn’t have the medical equipment, at least not for blood.

It probably wasn’t safe anyways.

You hadn’t talked since before his Dad started asking you questions you didn’t want to think about. You refused to let it get awkward. Still, you hoped to find some Fireworms soon.

Toothless had run off earlier, chasing the likeness of a work into the trees. Hope was nearly lost.

Catching the worms was sort of difficult and the Fireworms had been sparse. You’d been out for what, thirty minutes? An hour?

You winced.

It was like trying to catch frogs with tweezers. How you imagined it, anyways.

You wondered if there were frogs here and if that was something Vikings did. You thought you saw a kid with a frog once. You wondered if Hiccup wanted to go catch frogs, and if he was the type of kid to have tried to do that. 

Maybe with friends? You weren’t sure.

He seemed a little solitary before the Red Death, though not by choice or any sort of personality quirk, at least nothing you would clock from the modern day.

You were afraid, though, that his only friend was Gobber which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, in and of itself.

“Toothless!” Hiccup tried then, calling again, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

You glanced down at his leg, which you noticed just then had sunk a bit deep into the mud. It was going to get caked later.

“No dice?” You asked, pulling yourself up a step.

“No dice,” Hiccup shook his head. He tried to hide it, but he was looking kind of glum. Which was understandable.

You squinted ahead as the way forward got lighter, blinking placidly into the treeline. 

Maybe you wouldn't have to turn back after all. 

You kept moving forwards. 

Hiccup had a sort of stormy, contemplative expression on his face a for a while, and so you’d given him the space to think.

You weren’t particularly pressed to speak yourself, in a mood that made you just as happy with silence as exercising your vocal cords.

“Spitelout… Snotlout hadn’t said anything but I’m sure he wants him to- …” Hiccup spoke, after a while.

“Kill Hookfang?” You asked.

You likened it -the idea- to euthanasia for older animals or animals that were too sick to function anymore. But you had the inkling that that’s not exactly the type of person Spitelout was. 

It was still unreasonable, though. You hadn’t exhausted half your resources yet, you thought. If there was still a chance you’d be able to save Snotlout’s dragon…

You felt sort of bad for Hiccup.

Dragons were his thing, after all. “I should have told the others where I was going,” Hiccup sighed, gesturing with his hands as he stopped suddenly, then letting them fall until they slapped soundlessly against his legs, “I can’t believe I messed up this bad.”

You moved up beside him to see his face, lips pursed into a thin line as he looked exhaustively up into the thin pin-ey canopy above, “It’s not that bad.”

He looked at you guiltily then, though you had the feeling he wasn’t looking at you with guilt any more than you being the cause of it. Did he regret stopping by to pick you up? Coming to another island?

“It’s fine,” You tried, before adding hopefully, comforting yourself a little bit, “We don’t know if it’s a mistake, yet. These things happen, and you never know.”

“My Dad is going to kick me out and I’m going to have to spend every night from now on until I die eating alone.” Hiccup spoke dryly.

“I’ll be here,” You suggested helpfully, “And if you get kicked off I promise I’ll visit with things. So you don’t drop. Like fresh water and probably beads, maybe.”

“Well, thanks, I bet they’ll taste great mixed up with a plate of loneliness and self-loathing,” Hiccup said sarcastically, waving his hands at his sides, before pausing, as if remembering who he was talking to. 

You snorted, a little bit surprised.

He’d not spent so much time being any more sarcastic than awkward whenever you were together. 

You thought it was a little bit funny and a little bit worrying. If things went wrong it was probably your fault, anyways. For messing with the plot. 

Had you really, though? The thought came unbidden. What had you done besides just existing? That was a guiltless action. 

Had that been all you had been doing?

You internally shook, brushing thoughts of those things away.

You didn’t want to do any pondering.

“You’d be fine, minus the indigestion, probably. You have a lot of things going for you,” You nodded.

“My sharp intellect and dashing charm,” Hiccup said, keeping his elbows close to his sides and gesturing to himself emphatically in a way that was incredibly sarcastic and slightly gawky.

“Yes,” You said firmly as you nodded besides, your side brushing fully past another fern as you went, “I mean, you’re a good inventor. I can’t name another one on the island- really, I’m sure I heard your Dad talking about it the other day-  ‘I could leave that boy alone for a week and he’d have me a city built on a whole other island by the time I got back.’”

You didn’t talk to many people so you mostly kept that bit to yourself.

“Wow, that’s…”

“A bit crazy?” You hummed, lifting your boot and jumping back slightly as you stepped into a particularly wet, boggy patch of grass.

“A lot of pressure,” Hiccup gestured aimlessly with his hands again, the glass beads threaded into the twine around his wrists twinkling slightly as he rotated them.

He seemed kind of crushed, suddenly. 

“I’m really not that good at… Prioritizing, I guess. Anything. All of this.” 

They were yellow today. Yellow and light green. You hadn’t noticed, too focused on staying atop Toothless in the sky earlier and on the fauna after you’d landed.

You looked down as you stepped up onto a short dry patch, kicking aside a few pebbles with your muddied boot toes and grabbing a hold of a thin branch, sticking up out of a log as you pulled yourself over.

“I hope he didn’t mean it literally,” You said, shrugging. But then you immediately felt guilty for it, glancing up from your feet back to Hiccup, “It’s- I mean, things happen-And- You don’t have to be good at it. I mean, you’re doing it. Who else is going to?”

You stopped for a moment and took that time to let out a large exhale.

You felt like you fumbled the conversation before you even moved your mouth again. 

“Right,” Hiccup looked at you unsurely before peering around the underbrush, “I guess. But everyone expects me to. I shouldn’t be saying this, but I don’t- …know how.”

Hiccup grimaced, looking like he had a heavy set of weights on his shoulders. Which, he might’ve.

You hadn’t had any in a while besides the need for food and board.

It made you wonder. Did you expect anything from Hiccup?

“Can you…? Gods, do you even know what I’m talking about?” Hiccup continued, burying his face in his hands, throwing his head up exaggeratedly as he rubbed his face, one hand lingering longer than the other.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye as he did, “I didn’t mean-...”

He sighed heavily, defeated.

You looked at him for a moment, halted.

You ignored how your feet were sore and your back was starting to hurt from spending the whole day on your feet. This was no place to sit and rest, however, not even for a minute. You wouldn’t stop for more than a minute. 

Unless you wanted to be wet, that was. And froggy.

Way back on Berk, you were expected to take on responsibility a lot earlier than you were expected to in modern times so you guessed, in a way, you got it. And you wanted to tell him so.

You felt kind of odd about it all. 

Any direction you had you’d surely misplaced. Any path you knew was probably derailed- even this conversation you were sure wasn’t supposed to have happened. 

“I kind of know?” You said, “I get it, I mean. I haven’t been here for everything, but, you know, I’ve seen a lot. I don’t really have any good advice for you, though.”

You watched Hiccup slump slightly, grimacing as you spoke, feeling as if you’d failed some sort of test.

Who were you to ask for anything, really?

There was one thing you could give him, though. But similar to your own sleeves and patchy boots, which you liked a lot, you weren’t sure if it would count for much. 

“-And I’m sorry,” You said, before shrugging, not giving Hiccup a moment to think before you spoke again, “But I don’t expect anything you don’t want to give. Maybe, it would be hypocritical of me to ask for anything more than you are- I mean, I’m a delivery girl. I guess you know all that already, though, right? That you’re nice all on your own?”

You ended in a question, watching Hiccup as he watched you, searching for any more reaction. His reaction. Had you missed the mark? Was there even a mark to miss?

You hoped not. 

“Am I?” Hiccup asked, looking at you incredulously.

He gave you a wide-eyed look, some emotion you couldn’t name plastered all across his face.

You weren’t exactly an authority on the subject. You had been here, in the Archipelago, for a long while, but there were still many, many things you weren’t privy to.

“I think you are?” You took the lead by a few feet, urging Hiccup to subconsciously follow you forwards, hurrying the both of you up, “I don’t know what-I mean… Are you? I can’t really say. I’m not- the judge of- I think, honestly, the only one who can say what you are is- well. You? And you’d know better than me what you can handle. I don’t mind it, whatever it is you can or can’t do, I guess.”

You gestured back towards him as you glanced and turned away without actually looking, face heating up with an extra amount of embarrassment. 

You didn’t want to consider the idea that maybe you’d messed up, so you opted to ignore all of it. The idea that the whole conversation had happened in the first place.

Really, he was the main character. Why wouldn’t he know?

“I- ah, ph-what? I mean… Yeah?” Hiccup sputtered, following you as you through the forest around you, trying not to flinch as the water seeped through the bottom of your boots.

You shrug-nodded awkwardly, still staring ahead.

Thankfully, the damp earth began to grow firmer and the ferns grew thicker as you spoke until just by what you assumed to be the end of the treeline, where the sun shone brightest.

You pointed ahead, “I think there’s an opening up there.”

As you got closer, hurriedly trudging along though not too fast for Hiccup to keep up, you felt the beginnings and wisps of sea in the air.

You felt the beginnings of a rumble in your stomach as your anticipation grew.

So you had a little bit of an ulterior motive too, for rushing the two of you along. You were a little bit hungry, and you also had had no breakfast at all. A break would do Hiccup well too, you were sure.

You kept moving, the two of you in silence, until, finally, stepping past a particularly large front, framed by light that was almost glaring, considerably brighter than the kind you’d been subjected to in the smoggy underbrush-

The two of you had just broken out of the forest into a clear cliffside.

It was probably not too far away from where you’d initially landed. Geometric rock columns lined the cliffs’ edge, making the ground look almost like tiles, though some bits were slightly elevated over others. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

“Look, how about we take a break? I have to… I have to figure out how we’re going to get back,” Hiccup looked back, in a way you imagined was exhaustive, into the trees, most likely thinking of Toothless. Yeah, that was a problem.

You were glad he said it first. 

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away - Chapter Two

Warnings: angst, one small use of mild language, mentions of casual sex.

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

A/N: A little break from the heavier warnings in this one. I didn’t have a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Dean knew in his gut that the fire in the old bowling alley hadn’t been an accident. Damn, I’m good at this job! he thought with a smirk. He headed down the corridor and went to the office to talk to the Chief about last night's inferno and the fact that he had proof the building owner had purposely started the blaze to claim the insurance. 

He slowed his steps, and his heartbeat picked up when he heard Bobby talking on the phone. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but there was something in the Chief’s tone that was familiar even though he hadn’t heard it in a long time.

“Maybe…” the older man sighed, “maybe it’s time to come home.”

No, it can’t be! Dean thought. There is no way on earth that Bobby’s on the phone to…

“That’s all I’m asking, Princess,” It was her. There was only one person Bobby called princess - at least affectionately - and it was the same one he did.

Y/N.

Dean stepped into the doorway, his head cocked to one side, and he frowned expectantly. Expectant of what he hadn’t quite figured out yet. He knew he wasn’t owed anything from Y/N or Bobby. Still, he watched intently as the Chief’s eyes widened at his appearance in the doorway, and his heart dropped at the thought of Bobby kicking him out of the office. Instead, the Chief raised his hand in an ‘enter’ gesture.

“I, uh- I gotta go. I’ll call you later. I love you,” Bobby returned the phone to its cradle and leaned back in his chair.

“Everything alright, Chief?” Dean couldn’t help but ask. Bobby nodded, and Dean knew it was none of his business but pushed anyway.

“Was that her?” He could’ve cursed himself for how desperate he sounded, even after all this time. Bobby nodded again, his eyes softening, and gestured for Dean to sit.

“Danny’s in a hospice. His liver and heart are failing, and he has severe brain damage. The doctor says he’s only got about three months. She deserves to know.” Bobby grumbled, and Dean nodded.

“She does,” he said, turning his gaze to the window, unsure if he should ask or even had the right to. “How is she?”

“She’s good. I planted a seed about coming home. We’ll see if it takes root. She’s settled there, you know? She has a good job and a good life which she deserves. But this could change everything, son.”

Dean nodded again, not trusting his words and not wanting to get his hopes up. He was never one to be on the right side of good luck or fate, and he didn’t see why that should change now.

“You’ll be the first to know, Dean. Well, after Jody, of course,” Bobby grinned at the slight smirk he got from Dean. “Now, what can I do for you, Captain?”

Dean’s head was spinning with the afternoon’s turn of events. Danny was dying, and Y/N might be coming home. He’d never gotten over her. Couldn’t or wouldn’t, well, that was the million-dollar question. He scoffed as he opened his fridge and pulled out a beer.

Y/N had been the love of his life. He was pretty sure she still was. He knew she would’ve stayed if he’d asked her to, and she would’ve happily gone to the University of Kansas, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, and it was a decision he’d regretted every day. One he could still feel breaking his heart to this day, and Dean swore if he could go back in time, he would, and he’d ask her to stay. 

No one could compare to her. It’s why none of his relationships had worked out. Cassie, Anna, Lisa… they weren’t Y/N, and Dean couldn’t get past that. He tried, he really did, but once Dean saw their flaws and imperfections, it couldn’t be unseen, and whatever feelings he had for them had disappeared quickly, fizzling into nothing. That was when he knew it would only be a matter of time until he broke their hearts.

So, Dean took solace in the only thing that didn’t make him feel like a complete asshat for playing with people’s emotions: one-night stands. There were no obligations or commitments or the chance to catch feelings. He could have a fun night and go home, no strings attached. And it worked for a while.

He could take seeing Y/N’s face beneath him every time he slept with a girl. It was what got him through it sometimes. It was Y/N’s body that his hands were running over. It was her soft, supple skin he could feel under his palms and her smiling up at him, not the woman he was with.

Y/N’s big, beautiful eyes would shine with awe and adoration as she gazed up at him with lust-blown pupils. Her stunning hair fanned out on the pillow below her. Dean couldn’t even guess how often he saw Y/N under him rather than who he was with. But something had changed in him a year ago, and he’d started to notice the girls getting younger. Or maybe he was just getting older?

One night he’d been looking for a pretty girl to let off some steam with. All the women who looked around his age were with someone already or sporting a ring. Of course, their younger counterparts were just as pretty, and he quickly zoned in on an attractive woman at the bar.

Flirting had always come naturally to him, and he had her eating out of the palm of his hand in no time. She was attractive, but Dean found, for the first time, that her personality was distinctly lacking, and her outlook on life made her younger age glaringly obvious.

He had glanced around the bar for another potential companion for the night but only saw young, rowdy, desperate girls who couldn’t handle their liquor, and they held no appeal to him. At some point, he’d have entertained them. He’d probably even have found them ‘cute’ at one time, but not now.

He realised for the second time that night that these were things that had never bothered him before, but now even the mere thought of talking to them made his half-hard dick go limp. So, he turned his attention back to Stacey, or was it Stephanie? and continued to woo her until he accepted her invitation to get out of there.

Dean left her place in the wee hours of the morning, unsatisfied and still wanting. He’d brought out his A-Game and had her screaming his name and writhing in pleasure during foreplay. As soon as he was inside her, though, she became static and just… lay there, spread-eagled, and left him to it. Her moans and clenching heat told him she was enjoying herself; she just happily took everything from him, let him do all the work, and gave nothing in return.

He suddenly sympathised with every woman who’d ever faked an orgasm to make lousy sex end quickly. Even he seriously thought about faking it to get out of there fast. But, if there was one thing Dean Winchester would never do, it would be to leave a woman unsatisfied. So, he grabbed her legs, pushed them up until her knees rested on her shoulders, and pounded hard and deep until her quivering and clenching walls triggered his release.

And so ended Dean Winchester’s playboy ways. He’d taken a couple of girls home since then, but it was after Stephanie… Stacey? Or was it Sarah? that he was no longer interested in desperate, inexperienced girls who couldn’t handle their alcohol. The two he’d had since were closer to him in age and experience and had personalities that didn’t make him groan internally.

Dean knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up that Y/N might come home. It had been so long, and they were different people now. She might even have a boyfriend in Chicago for all he knew about her now. His biggest regret was that he didn’t ask her to stay, and now his mind was in overdrive, thinking about what he’d do if she did come back.

He needed to talk to her. That much was clear. If Y/N was single and still had feelings for him, he knew he wanted to try again with her. If she didn’t, well, maybe it’d be the closure he needed to move on and finally settle down.

Bobby said she had a good life up there, so them trying again depended entirely on her returning permanently. Or did it? And that begged the question: if she only came home to care for her father and had every intention of returning to Chicago when he died and they hit it off again, would he go there with her?

Yes. Dean couldn’t watch her walk away from him again. It damn near killed him the first time and would surely succeed the second. He grabbed another beer from the fridge and sighed heavily.

Why am I even thinking like this? I don’t even know if she’s coming back yet, and I’m planning our future!

Shaking his head in frustration at himself, he picked up his phone and called his best friend and confidant. He needed someone to tell him he was acting crazy. He needed to say all of this aloud, talk it through and try to make sense of it.

“Hey, Dean. Everything okay?” Benny greeted.

“Hey, Benny. Yeah, I need to vent if you’ve got the time,” Dean replied.

“Of course I do. What’s going on?”

“You remember Y/N, right? My childhood sweetheart?”

“Come on, Dean! We both know she was much more than that to you.”

“Yeah, she was. Is,” Dean corrected himself. “Bobby told me her father’s not doing good. There’s a chance she’s coming home.”

“I’ll be right over,” Benny responded.

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”

Three hours, six beers and several rambling confessions later, Dean felt lighter and grateful he would get some sleep before heading into his next twenty-four hour shift. He was glad Benny had come around. Dean listened to everything Benny had to say and even helped him figure out some of the things Dean didn’t have answers to yet. The confirmation that he wasn’t crazy helped too.

Although Benny agreed that Dean was getting ahead of himself, he’d encouraged Dean to talk it all through so he could prepare for all outcomes. Dean couldn’t fault his best friend's logic and talked through everything he had running through his mind: the good, the bad and the ugly.

As Dean brushed his teeth and changed for bed, he felt prepared for whatever way this panned out, whether that was with or without Y/N Y/L/N. He hoped it was with her, but the chances were it would only be temporary if she did come home.

Next Chapter >>

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[whatthebodygraspsnot]

Maybe Part VI #7:

"Let's find out how much you want it."

"Let's find out how much you want it." additional tags: playful dom ian, grumpy sub mickey, petnames, foodplay, stripping

Despite their air conditioner crapping out on them at the hottest time of day, Ian is positively buzzing with childish energy. Because of it, maybe. Perhaps the return of sunny, sweaty afternoons is bringing out the silly billy in him, just like old times.

Mickey doesn't have that problem.

Where Mickey has also known a stifling summer childhood, he differs in the way that he's grown very comfortable with their air conditioner now that they've got it. Which means when it's broken, he's got something to say about it. Loudly. He's bitchy and grumbly and Ian wants to mess with him so fucking bad.

So when the impulse flairs to strike, Ian goes for it, sneaking up behind his husband and snatching the popsicle he just took from the freezer right out of his hot little hands.

"The fuck-" Mickey's turning on his heels in a heartbeat, swiping at the air where Ian holds it just out of reach. "Get your own!"

"Both know this is the last one."

"Yeah, and I fuckin' had it, so paws off!" He goes for another attempt, one hand bracing himself against Ian's sweat-damp chest, the other swatting way up over both their heads.

But Ian's got the height advantage - has too many things working for him, the popsicle wrapper crinkling as he holds it out of reach. "How bad do you want it?" he asks, the playful curl of his grin betraying him immediately.

Mickey doesn't have that problem. "It's too hot for this shit, man."

"It's not that hot."

"It's a hundred fuckin' degrees in here."

"Thermostat says 84 - I just checked." Another attempt. Ian slips the prize out of reach just in time. "And since when do you care about a warm house?"

"Since you got my ass trained like a fuckin' air conditioned poodle, bitch. That's when."

Ian's eyebrows lift as he stares down at him. He's willing to spend some extra time on that imagery, he thinks.

Maybe a little later, though. There's a couple things he wants to take care of first - like his sweaty, shirtless husband getting all handsy and rubbin' up on him like this.

With a new dash of spice to his playfulness, Ian takes a step back, interested in how Mickey stays put.

Another then, until he's leaned back against the counter.

"Want it bad, huh..." he teases, enjoying how Mickey's eyes track the popsicle as he lowers it back to a reasonable height. "Let's find out how bad."

In front of him, Mickey has been given space to calm down. To simmer, simply, his hand coming up to rub over his eyes. "Man, I fuckin' told you I'll share the fan after I-"

"Oh," Ian interrupts, his slump backwards casual but decided. "I'm not talkin' about the fan, baby."

It's the tone shift of the century. Playful heat to rival the climbing thermostat. And no, his husband does not miss it.

Mickey lets out a great big sigh, but if he thinks he's hidden away the morbid curiosity lurking in it, he's dead wrong. "Whaddaya want." Simple. Cut and dry.

The corner of Ian's mouth quirks in absolute delight. "Take your shorts off."

The moment that stretches between them is dead silent - not even the hum of the air conditioner to fill it.

Then. "You fuckin' with me right now?"

"You want the popsicle?" Ian counters. And when Mickey makes a dramatic hand gesture that equates to a bitchy obviously, all he does is shrug, his brows bouncing in a clear then you know what to do.

It would be surprising, really, how quickly Mickey folds and starts shoving his shorts down. But there's just something in the air today. "Un-fuckin'-believable..."

Ian watches contently from his place against the counter, enjoying the reveal of those thick, milky thighs. Even when the discarded shorts immediately get tossed at his face.

He snatches them out of the air just in time. Drops them on the counter behind him. Nods down to Mickey's boxers, like it's the easiest thing in the world to say. "Those too."

And oh...that little spark in Mickey's eyes could catch flame and spread in a bunch of different directions right now. Ian can't wait to see which one.

"Better hurry, baby. It's melting."

Soon it'll be a juicy, drippy mess.

And so will the popsicle.

The huff that comes out of Mickey is supposed to be pointed - he just knows it is, because he knows his man. But even with all this room between them, there's nowhere to hide the rush in it - the annoyed horniness - especially as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and then pushes them down to his knees, revealing what didn't even need to be said.

Ian grins to himself, tilting his head in amusement as he watches Mickey's cock hang heavily between his legs, before standing at attention right along with him.

Gorgeous.

"You happy now?" he asks Ian, standing naked and hard in the middle of their kitchen.

And oh! What an understatement.

Ian brings the end of the wrapper between his fingers but doesn't look away from Mickey - doesn't move a single muscle more than what he needs to pull the popsicle free.

It's definitely melting - sticky red juice dripping down the thawing sides of it.

Damn.

"On your knees."

Mickey blinks. Flicks his eyes from the popsicle back up to Ian and his order. The spark has definitely caught.

And Christ, does he look beautiful as he does it, his skin flushed and sweaty as he gives in one more time and kneels right on the kitchen floor for him.

Ian hums, the urge to play with him finally too much to handle. Not when he looks like this. Not when those eyes stay on him as he approaches, just a step away now, and then says it. "Lemme see that tongue."

Because this isn't about the popsicle anymore, is it? It stopped being about the popsicle a while ago. The evidence of that is right in front of him, the wildfire in Mickey's eyes spreading downward as he blinks up and Ian, and then silently sticks his tongue out flat for him.

Just as he was asked to.

Ian takes a second to appreciate the sight, a nasty thrill jumping through him and between his legs. "Mhm... Definitely want somethin', don'tchya sweetheart?"

And really, he's waiting very patiently. Has done almost a complete attitudinal 180. So Ian is happy to reward him, holding the popsicle upside down by the stick and hovering it over Mickey's open mouth.

Slowly, the melted juice drips down the sides of it. Pools at the tip for a moment. Gathers, sugar and anticipation clinging. And then finally, it drips right onto Mickey's tongue in a sweet, chilly splash.

Mickey stays very still for it, only shifting a bit to save his knees. Ian will get him up off the floor soon. But for now he's having too much fun watching that tongue curl up - flick over the tip of the upside-down popsicle.

Ian's dick jumps in his shorts - the power of suggestion. "That taste good, baby?" It's got to with the way Mickey tilts his head up closer, wrapping his lips around the tip to suck at it without a word.

Yeah. This is definitely not about the popsicle anymore.

Ian grins, slowly twisting it...pushing just a little bit more into Mickey's mouth...pulling it away and loving how he follows after it, his lips cherry-red and probably oh so sweet as they try to stay connected.

He brings the popsicle all the way into himself, holding it right at lap level, dripping and begging for another lick. And yeah, it's 84 degrees in here, but god damn does it feel like it's about a hundred when Mickey knees forward and then wraps his hands around the backs of Ian's thighs - wraps his lips around the popsicle - bobs his head forward with a nasty slurp as he swallows the whole thing down.

"Holy fuck..." Ian smiles, practically giddy. He swears this wasn't what he was aiming for at the start, but he's more than happy to see it through, all the concentrated action getting him good and hard behind where he holds the stick.

Mickey must know what it's doing to him. Must be making these nasty, wet slurping noises as payback, his eyes never looking away from him as he pulls off and licks his tongue flat up the underside of the popsicle.

Jesus Christ, this is so hot. Ian can't help but play along - joins in and runs the juicy red tip all along his chilled tongue. "So fuckin' sloppy..." It's too much. He's too hard. He's way too into this, what started off as just a bit of fun now spiralled into something nasty and playful and- "C'mere," he gives in, pulling the popsicle away and helping Mickey to his feet so he can get in real close - immediately lick over his cherry-sweet lips and right into his mouth.

Micky groans. Melts. Is so pliant in Ian's arms and letting him do fucking anything, his breath hot as Ian sucks on his perfectly chilled tongue.

Ian won't remember setting the popsicle down. But when they come out of the bedroom later, it'll be nothing more than a sticky red puddle on the counter, dangerously close to Mickey's shorts.

[ send me a smutty one-liner ]

[piedpiperart]

Phantom of Gotham 13

Chapter 12

Meanwhile, Jason and Tim met up in the cave after Danny had gone to bed early. “How come you weren’t at dinner?” Tim asked casually. Jason sent him a look. 

“Wanted to look over the newest case,”Jason grunted. “Goldie and the old man took down Mr. Freeze trying to bring that blizzard to Gotham. So, the snow should be letting up soon.”

Tim nodded absently.”And that means Danny’ll be leaving soon.” 

“Bingo,”Jason grunted. “We know the kid is involved with Phantom somehow, and most likely has some kind of meta abilities. There’s no telling exactly what he can do, but it’s possible that he could be one of the Halfas that Phantom’s been protecting.”

Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “We could ask Phantom? If we come out and ask him about Danny he might help us help the kid. Or at least keep him off the streets. You said there’s more than the Fentons hunting them?”

“The GIW and the Fentons are hunting ghosts like Phantom. Apparently they don’t know about Halfas, but that could change. We don’t know why Danny left Amity Park, and if any of it is because of Phantom,”Jason said. The two of them thought for a moment before Jason spoke up. “I think we should talk to Phantom.”

“Yeah,”Tim sighed. “We’ve already determined that he’s an ally, so it’s a good chance that he’ll let us help now that we know most of the details. It might help segue to the whole treaty between the Infinite Realms and Earth thing that I’ve been working on.”

“Alright. Suit up then and we can try to find Phantom. Maybe we should get him a phone now so we can get ahold of him,”Jason grumbled. 

“Anyone else coming?” Tim asked, glancing around. He wasn’t sure if Burce even knew about their plans or much about Danny in general. 

“I hope not,”Jason grumbled, steering Tim toward the cave locker rooms. “B’s got his hands full with some stupid Gala in a few days anyway. So have fun going to that later,” Jason joked. 

Tim groaned. “Maybe I can use Danny as an excuse to miss it. We have a lot of information to go over and plan for. I doubt Bruce would care if I came anyway as long as Damian joins him.”

Jason snorted. “He’ll have his hands full with the demon brat, you’re probably safe.”

“We can only hope,”Tim sighed. 

-------------------------------------

Three hours later, Danny woke up refreshed and ready to blow off some energy. Looking at the time, he was happy to note that it was only 10, just in time for the Gotham vigilantes to start their patrols. If he was fast he could probably catch up to them, he thought. 

Danny pulled the covers back and stood up to stretch, relishing in the sickening pops coming from his back. Jazz had always shuddered and gave him a look of horror whenever he did it in front of her. He bit back a smile just picturing her face. Then he frowned at the thought. It’d been so long since he’d seen Jazz. 

Shaking his head, he put the thoughts behind him as he transformed and flew out of the manor invisibly. Danny distracted himself with loops and twirls until he spotted a speck of red on the roof of a building. Still invisible, he glided down and saw Red Robin and Red Hood quietly discussing something on the rooftop. Feeling mischievous, Danny hovered right next to Red Robin and phased a hand through his shoulder. 

Red Robin gave a full body shiver, grimacing at the sudden chill. “Phantom?” He called. Red Hood seemed to perk up at this. Danny hummed, the noise sounding like an echo. 

“Uh, we need to talk to you,”Red Robin hedged, and Danny made a questioning noise. At this point he trusted the vigilantes to not turn him in to the GIW or hunt him down. Not so much Batman, but Red Hood he especially trusted.. 

“It’s about Danny Fenton,”Red Hood cut in impatiently. Danny froze, his core thrummed with chills at the name. 

Abruptly, Phantom dropped his invisibility, floating closer to the two startled vigilantes.”How do you know that name?” He demanded. Were they looking into him? Why? Did the GIW come to Gotham? “Is he in danger?” 

“No, no, he’s fine. He’s safe,”Red Robin reassured. “We’ve just.. Noticed a few worrisome things about him and uh,”Red Robin trailed off. Phantom narrowed his eyes at him.

“Is he the Halfa you’ve been protecting here?” Red Hood asked. Danny pursed his lips, nodding hesitatingly. “Okay, thank you for telling us. We’re trying to protect him, but some things about his behavior is a bit worrisome.”

They were watching him? Danny thought abruptly. He was pretty sure he’d only met Red Hood as Danny. The only people who really had the chance to observe him were the Waynes. Did they tell on him to the vigilantes? Did they know? Danny floated around them cautiously. “What do you mean?” 

“How does being a halfa affect his health? He doesn’t eat much, he barely sleeps but he looks tired the time, and he has a slower than normal heart rate and body temperature,”Red Robin listed, much to Danny’s surprise. “Is that normal for a halfa? Can he get sick? Does medication work on him?” He continued to ramble. 

Oh. Danny’s eyes widened. They were worried about him. That was… something he was admittedly not used to, but also made his core thrum with warmth. If anything they sounded like the Wayne’s when they were trying to get him to eat. He took a breath of relief and straightened. “He’s okay, promise,”Danny reassured, holding his hands out with his palms towards them. “Halfas are more or less an unfamiliar species, so we don’t know exactly what his baseline is supposed to be. From what the medical ghosts in the Realms observed-” Or what Frostbite had-” he normally has a lower body temperature, heart rate, and doesn’t need to sleep or breathe as often as a regular human. It affects his appetite to where he doesn’t really feel hungry anymore, so we aren’t sure if he still needs to eat human food or just absorb ectoplasm or emotions, but we have been keeping an eye on it.” Danny explained. He was definitely lying about keeping an eye on it though. Absently, he thought maybe he should go see Frostbite for a checkup. He’d only been there a few times when he’d been really sick, like with his core developing. Other than that though, he’s never been sick with things he used to before he turned ghost.

“Okay, that… makes sense. Half ghost would probably mean lessened functions of his body,”Red Robin rambled, typing on his computer. Danny being not only half dead but also a different species is definitely going to make medical treatment difficult, Tim thought absently. Though some of the symptoms were reminiscent of Jason’s back when he still had the pit rage inside him. Though there were a lot of differences, like that Jason had a higher body temperature than normal instead. “Making sure he eats enough is probably the most important concern..”He trailed off and continued typing. 

“What would we do if he gets hurt, or sick?” Red Hood cut in. He kind of reminded Danny of Jason for a moment. Very direct, but still concerned. 

“He heals a bit faster than usual humans, and uh. His blood is a bit… ghostly? Radioactive maybe? His molecules sort of got rearranged during the.. When he became a halfa,”Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was not doing a great job of explaining this. To be fair though, he’d only found out most of these things by trial and error. Once he’d gotten blood on his jeans once and it burned a hole through the fabric after a few hours. “So don’t touch his blood directly just in case. Medication doesn’t really work on him unless it’s from the Infinite Realms, but we haven’t really been able to test it on anything stronger in the human realm. And uh, I guess stitches don’t work well on him either. They dissolve,”Phantom concluded, and the two vigilantes looked mildly concerned at the information. 

“Alright, so possibility of meta-level medication working on him, radioactive blood, and no stitches. Got it,”Red Robin noted. The other two could tell he was thinking through a bunch of options in his head. 

“You said he became a halfa?” Red Hood asked lowly. Danny bit his lip, fangs poking his lip harder than usual. 

“Halfas are… rare,”Danny started hesitantly. He wasn’t sure how much he should share, but they seemed to have good intentions. “You have to understand that if the GIW know how a halfa is made they’ll just try to create more, right? It’s not a painless process and halfas can be dangerous. I don’t want this information out and have more portals to the Zone showing up.”

“A portal?” Red Robin’s attention snapped back to Phantom at the mention. “Don’t the Fenton’s have a portal?”

“Listen,” Hood cut in. “This information won’t get out, and we’ll respect any boundaries you have with Danny. We only asked in case Danny had any specific traumas related to it. I know dying isn’t pleasant, so I can’t imagine what it took to become half dead all the time.”

“Ah,”Phantom grimaced. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Should he tell them? They’re helping him so far, but what if they just want to know for bad reasons? Danny shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. No, they were worried about Danny’s health and well-being, and haven’t pressed about anything else. His core hummed and he felt like he could trust them. “Yeah. He uh… The Fenton’s portal… it didn’t work until Danny tried fixing it, and it… turned on with him inside,” He said quietly. Red Robin and Hood were silent, but he could see Red Robin’s lips turn into a thin line. Hood on the other hand had clenched his fists together so hard his gloves made a slight creaking sound. “But uh, the other halfas happened more slowly. With Danny it was instant.” 

Red Hood was silent for a moment while Red Robin peppered Phantom with more questions. “So his parents- the Fentons- they didn’t know he was a halfa? And they hunted ghosts. Is that why he left?”

“Yep,”Phantom said, trying not to think too much about it. “M- Maddie and Jack found out and long story short he’s hanging in Gotham until… well until things calm down or he finishes school.”

“About the GIW,”Red Hood cut in. “They know about Danny right? Since the Fenton’s have been working with them? We read that the Fenton’s think you kidnapped Danny.”

Phantom barked out a laugh,”Nah, I didn’t kidnap him. He and his sister, and two of his friends had a plan in case his parents or the GIW ever caught him.”

Red Hood exhaled harshly, “That’s fucked up,” He commented dryly. To be living with people you were terrified of for so long, Jason thought. He might have to pay a visit to the Fentons after they take down the GIW. 

“And its exactly why we’re trying to take down the GIW and establish a treaty between the Infinite Realms and the Human world,”Red Robin added. At this, Phantom’s pointed ears perked up and he stood straighter. “Would you be willing to introduce the rest of the bats to some ghosts? You mentioned there was a Ghost King, do you think he’d be interested in a treaty?” 

Phantom’s eyes were wide and he suddenly stopped floating, his bright white boots landing softly on the rooftop. “You’re serious?”

The two vigilantes nodded. “They’re already going to be in trouble when the Lantern Corps hears about this from the league. The GIW is basically committing inter dimensional genocide with no one else knowing. That’s a crime. If we could start by meeting with people from your realm to talk about how to form an alliance it would be great.” 

Phantom nodded enthusiastically. “I can arrange a meeting between the ghosts. If you’re serious about this that is.” Phantom paused, looking pensive. “I just… don’t want to involve the Halfas just yet. If the GIW or the Fentons know how a halfa is created…” he trailed off but the two vigilantes grimaced in understanding. They didn’t need more people being experimented on. 

After a half hour of back and forth about the potential alliance of the Human World and the Infinite Realms, the two vigilantes went back to the cave, while Danny continued to fly around invisibly throughout the city. He was thrumming with energy, mostly excitement and dread about what this meant for ghosts. With the alliance, they’ll be able to come to earth with no threats of being torn apart molecule but molecule. The ghosts acting out in the human realm would be punished by the ghost king and handled by a team of experts appointed by said king rather than a mysterious government agency.

Not only that, but the portals would be restricted and only a few allowed access through. Humans wouldn’t be able to come and go either, but Danny thought it might be okay for scientists- actual scientists- to study the realm safely. He knew a lot of lost artifacts, worldly treasures and sometimes places ended up in the realms. Time moved differently there and so Ancient Greece and Egypt still existed and thrived. 

Phantom flew around towards the manor and thought about their next meeting. It was going to be a few more bats at a warehouse tomorrow night. Danny just needed to think about which ghosts to bring. Frostbite obviously, but maybe Dora too. Clockwork he knew was hit or miss, but that was a lot of the ghosts too. Wulf or Cujo might be helpful to open a portal too. He’d have to think on it. 

Surprisingly though, was that the two vigilantes actually listened to him. They trusted him to bring unknown beings to meet with them, and that the ghosts really wanted peace with the humans. Danny conceded that he was also giving them a lot of trust in telling them about himself, or halfas. They already knew about the Fentons weapons, and despite being one phone call away, the bats still didn’t put Phantom or Danny in danger. He liked that they waited til they had all the information before making a decision. 

Red Robin in particular was focused on gaining any little bit of information he could on Danny's health. It was a bit endearing, and reminded Danny of Tim. Hood on the other hand was quick to think of ways to protect Danny, which was nice. He’d only ever had Jazz and Sam and Tucker to do that for him. Hence the whole moving to Gotham plan. 

Eventually after Danny finished catastrophising and coming up with a plan of action, he headed back to the manor. It was only 3am, so he floated to the library to grab another book. He’d finished the last one and had started on a series with demigods. It amazed him to think that he’d never read books like this ever since his accident. Danny’d always been too busy with school and ghosts to read for fun.  He took the book invisibly back to his room and for the next few hours he read. It was easy to get sucked into the book and forget about everything that was about to happen. 

Somehow, Danny had fallen asleep in the midst of reading, and had slept through breakfast. The residents of the manor had all come to check on him, but once peering into his room to see the boy laying face down on a book, they decided he needed more sleep. 

Tim on the other hand noted that maybe Danny had trouble sleeping and read until he felt tired. Jason did that a lot when he couldn’t sleep. Thinking back to everything Phantom told them, Tim couldn’t help but think that Danny really didn’t know how his sleep schedule was supposed to change. He thought maybe Danny finally felt relaxed or safe, and that’s why he’s able to sleep more, but it was just a theory. The same went for his appetite, and Phantom had said Danny literally didn’t feel hungry anymore. He was glad Danny hadn’t outright stopped eating, but it was still worrisome since Danny looked like skin and bones. 

He’d have to keep an eye on Danny’s eating habits and sleeping patterns in order to gather data, Tim thought. Maybe he could rope Alfred into helping him. Either way, Danny sleeping the morning away allowed Tim to brief the rest of the household on Danny and Phantom. Jason in particular was sticking around, probably out of worry for Danny, but he didn’t contribute a whole lot to the conversation. 

“Do we know what kind of powers Danny has?” Bruce asked, and Jason scoffed. 

“Not really,” Tim pondered. “Phantom only told us the medical stuff, which wasn’t much. Danny might have more ghostly attributes too, since we know Phantom has invisibility, intangibility, flight, and super strength.”

“Doesn’t really matter if the kid has powers,”Jason said, “He still needs help. The kid basically got turned into a different species with no instruction manual. If he does have powers, he might have trouble controlling them.”

Damian clicked his tongue. “Folson has shown me that he has the ability to manipulate ice during our snowball fight,”He reported, only for the cave to go silent as everyone stared at him. 

“And you didn’t inform us of this before?” Bruce narrowed his eyes, and Damian bristled. 

“I highly doubt making snowballs is worth reporting,”Damian scoffed. “Danny had told me in confidence because he trusts me,”Damian preened, before sneering at the others. “I am only telling you as a courtesy. He is unaffected by the cold temperatures but from what I observed unable to create or stop something like the blizzard. He is secretive about his powers and used them minimally, but he could be hiding others.”

“Aw, you two are getting along so well!” Dick cooed, moving to wrap Damian in a hug, but was dodged by the scowling kid. They stepped further from the group as Dick attempted to cajole Damian into talking about his feelings.

“We won’t mention his powers, Damian,”Tim reassured, looking sternly to Bruce. “I’m not sure how ice ties into ghosts, but it might come up later. We can ask Phantom tonight.”

“He’ll be bringing a representative from his dimension?” Bruce clarified, and Tim nodded, bringing up the notes he shared with everyone. 

“Phantom said he was going to contact one of the Ghost King’s regents. They’re choosing to trust us here, with their people’s existence and Danny’s safety, so we can assume they’re not going to ambush us,”Tim reported, and Jason gave a stern look to Bruce.

“Think of it like a diplomatic Justice League meeting, but in a dingy warehouse in Gotham,”Jason snorted. Then he stretched, making to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Dick called, looking a bit sad. Jason waved him off. 

“Chill out, I’m going to find Alfred and see if the kid’s awake yet,”Jason said, heading to the stairs. 

“He’s really gotten attached to the kid,”Dick mused with a small smile. 

“I heard that!” Jason called, voice echoing in the cave. 

“Danny and Jason did sort of die,”Tim muttered, turning to his tablet. 

“Danny and Phantom seem close,”Bruce commented, and Tim rolled his eyes at the lack of communication. 

“From what Jason and I gathered, Phantom is only in Gotham to keep an eye on Danny and look out for the GIW or Fentons,”Tim said.” We don’t have a way to track Phantom, but he didn’t seem to know who Jason or I was under the mask. He might be keeping track of Danny through other means though.”

Bruce just grunted. 

“Hold on,”Dick interrupted, and Tim turned to see Damian sulking behind Bruce while Dick was messing with Tim’s tablet. “He has radioactive blood? Like acid blood?”

“Not.. exactly?” Tim groaned. “I’d really have to test it but Phantom made it seem like their blood had more of a lazarus pit consistency. It’s better not to risk contamination though.”

“I am more worried to how Danny was in danger enough to know stitches wouldn’t work on him,”Damian scowled. Tim made a thoughtful face at that, and Bruce’s mouth stretched to a thin line. 

“Well,”Dick sighed,”He is on the run for a reason. We just have to protect him from now on so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Clearly,”Damian crossed his arms,”Those buffoons in the white suits will not be coming anywhere near Danny while I am around.” 

Bruce cleared his throat.”There’s been no sign of the GIW in Gotham, but a tech company in the same area seems to have their sights here.”

“A tech company? Which one?” Tim perked up, head swiveling to Bruce. He had his computer out and ready to type. 

“DALV Co.,”Bruce grumbled. “Specializes in equipment commonly supplied to the GIW and FentonWorks. Run by Vlad Masters, who has invited himself to the WayneTech gala next week.” 

“That can’t be a coincidence,”Dick muttered. “You think he knows Danny? Or Phantom?” 

Bruce just grunted again, which Tim translated into ‘we’ll keep an eye on it either way’. Tim turned back to his computer, eager to run more searches on Masters when Dick grabbed his swively chair and steered him towards the elevator. “Dick-” Tim started, only to be cut off.

“Nope,”Dick cheered, hauling Tim out of the chair with Damian trailing behind. “Danny is your friend and you guys should be hanging out more! I bet he’s already up and Jason’s the only one up there right now.”

“But-” 

“B can handle Masters, but I bet your friend is missing you,”Dick said sternly. 

“Tt. Obviously Danny would prefer my company over Tim’s anyway,”Damian tutted. Tim shot him a look. “He was my friend first, brat,”Tim pointed out. 

“The keyword there is ‘was’,” Damian sneered. “Unlike you, Danny has already shown me his secret powers.” 

Tim frowned at that. “I thought you said he told you not to tell anyone.” 

Damian shuffled guiltily. “I.. It was important to the mission to disclose his wellbeing.”

Tim smirked,”Right, well, I won’t tell him you told unless you distract Alfred so I can make coffee.”

Damian scowled at him. “Fine. But your petty addiction will only worsen and Pennyworth will not be happy.”

“I can live with that.”

Chapter 14