#i still feel actually sick its still not resolved i barely even know this person | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-cult-of-russo · 3 years ago

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headcanon for when billy realizes he’s in love with reader? i’m such a sucker for romantic and soft billy😫

I love this. I'm going to go a little beyond just when he first realises too. You'll see. It's turned into more of a 'when Billy's in love with you' headcanon.

I'll break it down into sections once again. It's just easier that way 😌

When he first realises he loves you:

Oh man. Billy doesn't realise he's in love until he's so far gone he's drowning in it lmao

He has no idea why he gets crazy ass butterflies in his stomach every time he just thinks about you. No idea why his heart beats all funny when he looks at you or why his chest feels all warm. He doesn't know why everytime he's away from you his chest hurts and it feels like someone's punched a gaping hole right through it. The boy has no clue.

But then one day, he's out drinking with Frank, having a good time. And Frank's been going on and on about Maria, absolutely gushing about her. Billy being the good best friend he is, teases him of course. Sends him an offhand remark with a smirk. And Frank replies with...

"Yeah well. That's what happens when you're in love."

The words feel like a smack to the face. Suddenly, Billy feels like he's free falling, plummeting at record speed towards the concrete from a 50 story building. Because he relates. All the sickening gushing Frank had been doing, Billy got it. He does it himself about you. And Frank's words make everything click into place, Billy's world is suddenly tilting on its axis. Because what if you don't feel the same? Why would you when own his mother couldn't muster up any love for him?

He freaks out. His mind is going to dark places as his heart feels ready to give out. Frank sees him looking a second away from collapsing in a heap on the floor and takes him outside. After some brotherly advice and tough love, he feels a little better.

He still won't tell you though. Of course not, that's just fucking stupid. The fear of rejection runs far too deep in Billy to admit such a thing and he doesn't know how he'd cope if you broke his heart. If he lost the only person he's ever been in love with. So he resolves to keep it to himself. Its kind of nice though, to finally know just what it is that he's been feeling. It was obvious really. People write love songs about this bullshit. The same songs Billy's been listening to like a love sick fool because he gets it. He relates to the words.

How he tells you:

Billy won't outright tell you he loves you first. At least not on purpose. There are three likely scenarios that happen.

The first is you telling him you love him first. This is his best case scenario. He blinks warily at you for a moment, dark eyes rapidly scanning your face as he tries to find even the slightest hint of deception. It's not that he doesn't trust you, but he finds it almost impossible to believe anyone would ever be in love with him.

But when he realises you're telling the truth, he's dumbstruck. He's stunned but overwhelmingly happy and he tells you he loves you too. It feels like a weights been lifted, to finally tell you, to know you haven't turned him away. That you actually love him too.

The second way it might happen is him blurting it out randomly. This might happen during or after some amazing sex. Maybe you're both snuggled on the sofa and laughing about something stupid. He just looks at your wide and radiant smile and it strikes him how absolutely hopelessly in love with you he is. How lucky he is to be with you. And his mouth takes on a life of its own. The words tumble from his lips without his consent and he panics.

Total blind fear claws at his chest when he realises what he's said. He fears the worst. That you'll say you don't feel the same, maybe even laugh at him. Yet you don't do those things. You tell him you love him too. He reacts the same as the other scenario. Wary at first until he sees you mean it. And then he's overjoyed and shocked and confused but ridiculously happy.

The last scenario is similar to the other one in that it gets blurted out. Only this time it's during a heated discussion or argument. I made a whole headcanon post about arguing with Billy and another on the kind of things you might argue about.

This isn't a huge fight but most likely caused by something you did that he saw as reckless. Something like you walking home from work in the dark instead of getting a cab or calling him. Is he being overdramatic? Definitely. He knows this. But he's so terrified something might happen to you and it frustrates him that you don't see that. That you have no idea how much it would kill him if you got hurt. And in the middle of all the anger and the blind fear and intensity in the moment, after a biting remark from you, the words get ripped from his chest.

"Because I fuckin' love you, alright?! I'd die if somethin' happened to you! So you don't get to stand there and tell me it's no big deal!"

He's full of barely restrained rage at the mere thought of someone hurting you and he's sad and upset that you don't seem to care much about your own wellbeing.

But now it's a tense silence because he just blurted those words and worst of all, he yelled them at you. It was all going wrong and he hates it. But his panic was kept at bay by his anger, his only outwards reactions being the clenched jaw, the narrowed eyes and the roll of his shoulder. He's steeling himself for the inevitable. The searing pain of rejection.

But then you're yelling right back that you love him too and calling him an asshole and he's never been happier in his damn life. And with emotions still running high from the fight, he tosses you over his shoulder and takes you to the bedroom so he can show you just how much he loves you.

Ways he shows you he loves you:

Any of these that don't involve the words 'I love you' he's already been doing a while. But he continues to do so after that hurdle of first telling you passes and he gets comfortable with telling you verbally at every chance he gets.

He loves taking care of you. If he's off work he loves making you breakfast in bed. He loves cooking for you, he's actually quite good at it. He draws you relaxing baths, sometimes joining you and not even for sex. If you've had a hard day at work, he'll put your feet in his lap as you sit on the sofa with him and rub your sore feet.

He often buys you your favorite flowers, always accompanied by a sweet note. When you're both at work, he stops by your work for lunch because he can't stand a whole day away from you.

Since he wakes before you, he often just lays there and watches you. With the sun rising and bathing you in its glow, he watches in awe of how he managed to get someone as amazing as you. He doesn't dwell on these moments for too long though. His treacherous brain has a habit of poisoning anything good. If he lays there too long, his thoughts turn sour as the voice in the back of his head tells him he's not good enough for you. He doesn't deserve you, deserve your love. You'll leave him one day, realise you deserve way better than someone like him. He was an unloved and unwanted child, and that little boy is still there inside of him, hiding behind his bravado and his fancy ass suits. It's a downward spiral he finds it hard to come back from and he learned his lesson long ago. So instead, he allows himself a moment to admire you, appreciate you, and then he gets up for the day.

He doesn't wake you, you look so sweet and peaceful and he doesn't have the heart to. You don't need to get up as early as he does. Sometimes, if he's feeling particularly sappy, he leaves a note for you on his pillow. Letting you know how much he loves you and that he'll miss you while at work.

Gifts are abundant with Billy. It doesn't matter what it is, if you want it then it's yours. If it's expensive, it's yours. Cheap, it's yours. Weird and rare and very hard to get, he finds a way and it's yours. He's also a sucker for sentimental gifts. Jewellery that means something, maybe the date you met engraved on it. Some kind of photo gift with a picture of the two of you.

Billy has a lot of affection to give you. I've talked about this in other posts but he's a tactile person. He always needs to be touching you, reassuring himself you're real, you're safe and you're there with him. He often puts his hand on your neck, slender fingers feeling your pulse under them. It soothes him to do so. There's plenty of kisses on your head, temples, shoulders, neck, cheeks. He can't help it. He also loves stroking your hair. His hand are always attached to you like there's a gravitational pull towards you he can't resist. There's at least one hand on you at all times if you're near.

Billy doesn't fall for people easily. It's never happened before you. But when he falls, he falls hard. It's an all consuming kind of love that takes over his whole being.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo headcanons

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cupidsintern · 3 years ago

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shot thru the heart, pt 3

pt 1 //pt 2

Steve staves off actually caving and asking Billy for the notes for as long as he possibly can. Which is like, four days.

He actually needs those notes, for real, because he hasn’t been able to write a single fucking thing except the day’s date on his paper since…. Since Billy started sitting behind him at the beginning of the semester. It’s just been distracting, okay? That’s all.

That’s all.

And if Steve thinks about this anymore his head is going to literally explode so-

“Hey, Hargrove.” Steve catches up to Billy just as they are both leaving class. And he spaces out for a millisecond thinking how every time he thinks about blonde-curls-blue-eyes he thinks Billy, but what he says is ‘Hargrove.’

Billy slows, looks over his shoulder a little like he’s letting Steve know he’s allowed to continue, but he doesn't stop walking. He’s a faster walker than Steve, even though Steve’s legs are longer. Too long- he feels like a fucking. One of those. Desert-deer things. Antelope? No, a gazelle- it’s a gazelle.

“I, uh,” Steve realizes he’s never actually walked anywhere with Billy before, and has never entertained the possibility, but he started talking, so he may as well keep going. “If you’re still cool with it, borrowing your notes would be like, really helpful.” Why does he sound so stilted?

“Sure.” Billy seems so impartial to the whole thing, but Steve grins, a little relieved.

“Great! Uh, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Billy nudges past him.

Now Steve’s standing alone on the sidelines of the main hall. And he feels warm all over again.

Steve is sitting at his desk the next day when a small stack of notes gets dropped in front of him- the paper snaps a little against the desk’s wood top.

Steve turns around in time to catch Billy sliding into the seat behind him.

“Hey,” Steve smiles, tries to think of something else to say like ‘thanks again’ when Billy goes,

“That's everything I have from this unit. Don’t write on them cause I want them back.”

“Okay,” Steve thinks Billy seems like he's trying to compensate for something. “Thanks again.”

Billy shrugs. But he does smile a bit. One of his nothing-matters-I'm-cool smiles.

“Maybe we could study together sometime-” Steve says before thinking about it at all, so it comes out way lower than he means it to so he has to clear his throat and go “If you want.”

Steve panics for a split second, something trying to flip over in his chest and he worries Billy’s gonna think he was asking something else, is gonna get him all wrong- but-

“If I didn't know better I’d say you were asking me to hangout, Harrington.” Billy laughs just a little. A little huff, sharp off his tongue.

Steve looks away, then looks back to Billy. “I mean, sure, yeah.”

Steve can swear Billy lights up for a second, smiles a little brighter, sits up more- but then, no. Billy only looks nonchalant again. “Hm. Maybe.” Then he looks back at his own notebook. And Steve takes that as a signal that the conversation is Now Over.

He turns back to his desk. Billy’s notes are still there.

It's days before the test, and Steve is sure that Billy's notes would be super helpful if he was actually reading them for clarity and understanding or whatever, but instead he’s discovered something entirely different, scribbled in the margins of almost every page; commentary. Billy writes literal commentary, more scrawly and casual than the rest of his legible nites.

Shit like; “Incorrect date in lecture but who’s gonna notice that certainly not the guy whos supposed to be fucking teaching us this no sir” and “just saw a bird out the window” and “Five minutes in and you have no idea what’s going on huh?”

That last one seems a little sweeter than the two before it, though. Like Billy’s talking to someone, other than himself.

Steve loves looking at those notes.

Loves the slopes and slants of the writing. Loves the commentary. Loves the little doodles Billy does in the margins. A knife with a spiraly handle. A skull that’s actually pretty good, could make a good tattoo maybe. Roses- lots of them. All different sizes. And a little heart with an arrow shot through it. Steve didn’t know Billy likes to draw. He’s not half bad. Steve smiles to himself a little. Runs his hand over one of the roses absently, wonders if they’re Billy's favorite because they’re Steves favorite, because they’re the classic-

Steve should probably be learning a lot more than he was though.

Steve actually studies for a few days. Like two, but still. He looks at Billy's notes multiple times. Actually invests time and energy into learning shit. So, you know, good for him. Good for him, managing to get good enough with Billy to actually reap the benefits of almost-friendship, because honestly maybe they could be friends, right? Maybe.

Hopefully.

Steve kind of likes sitting near Billy now, kind of likes the banter they have going, likes how Billy never makes him feel dumb, even if he calls him dumb…

But he still leaves class right as the bell rings, quick as a whip crack. Steve can barely even get in a ‘goodbye.’

He’s only a little disappointed, but it’s not like he has any reason to care-

He looks down.

Billy’s notebook. On the ground in the desk aisle.

It must have fallen out of Billy’s backpack on his brisk way out.

Steve scoops it up, shoves it in his backpack, and is out the door without so much as a second thought.

The second thoughts kick in when Steve gets home. When he tosses his backpack on his bed and paces around like that's gonna do anything before walking back over and pulling Billy’s notebook out and just, Holding it. Looking at it. Feeling overcome with.. Something.

He should open it. No, he shouldn’t, it’s not his.

But he wants to.

Billy ripped out pages to give him notes, clearly there’s stuff in here for Billy’s eyes only.

Steve can’t help himself.

He opens it.

And honestly, it’s pretty standard stuff. Old notes. More commentary that Steve relishes with every new word. A doodle of Bugs Bunny holding a joint that’s actually pretty good.

And a half-ripped page in the back that reads:

“Literally so beautiful it’s impossible not to-

But I don’t think you’re a dumbass-

I promise. Which is dumb, bec-

but I can’t help myself. I-

wish you knew how -

wonder if I’m i-

smells good-

Stupid-”

It’s a love letter. Steve’s dumb, but he’s not stupid. No doubt in his mind- this is a love letter.

Steve sits there. Reading the broken up sentences, over and over.

Billy wrote a love letter. Unmistakably his handwriting. Pieces of beautiful ideas about someone Billy is clearly crazy about-

And Steve’s heat sinks. Sinks all the way down from its high-falutin place in his throat, pushing at the back of his tongue down, down, into the darkest pit of his stomach. Immediately he knows-

That warm feeling from before? The all consuming too-hot cinnamon and grease feeling from before was not jealousy.

This is jealousy.

The idea that Billy cares about someone enough to write them a letter in his perfect pretty collected handwriting makes Steve sick with envy. He just sort of figured he was the only person relevant enough to take up Billy's brainspace. Not like anyone else thinks about Steve in any way anymore…

Steve drops the notebook back on his bed like it burned him. He sits on the edge of his bed, tilts his head up to the ceiling, closes his eyes.

Fuck. Fuck please dear god why now.

Steve wished this was the first time this had happened. The first time he'd stumbled his way into thinking about a guy like that.

But it wasn't. God he didn't want to have to think about this. He tries never to think about this shit. It wasn't like it happened all the time, wasn't like he couldn't just wait for it to go away like he had before.

But it did mean he had to stop talking to Billy right the fuck now.

No more copying his notes. No more maybe-hanging out. No more fucking banter in class. Steve needed to crush this… fluke. Before it became anything worse.

But if he was so resolved to not think about Billy like that, then why couldn’t he just get rid of the torn letter?

part 4 coming sooon! the thrilling conclusion !!!

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve x billy #billy x steve #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fic #my fic

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stevenbasic · 3 years ago

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7:30pm, Friday Night. It's a little cold out here, huh? I thought to myself, standing outside the building’s entrance in the dark, rubbing my hands together for warmth and waiting for my ride to appear. I didn’t feel so great. Jittery, weak, and a little nauseous. And colder than I should on this fine October evening...

I know you haven't heard from me in a while; it’d been a rough week. Remember the episode with the three girls that last Saturday night, where in my own office they’d gotten me drunk and (I still shiver in ignominy at the memory) had taken advantage of me? Well, after that I’d tried to set my mind right; I’d been doing my best. This week I put all my efforts into acting professional, like a physician, like a boss, like a husband. Maybe I was just kidding myself but I’d even reached out to Sheryl, trying to mend things (I, uh, hadn’t heard back). I saw my patients, kept my head down. Tried to ignore the “Outfit of the Day” Instagram posts from Melissa or the (more than a little troubling) hyper-aggressive texts, pics and videos from this Angie person. I was surrounded by temptation, threatening to drown in it, and I was determined to try to keep my head above water.

But these new girls were too much. They were invariably gorgeous and now the office was full of them, bursting at its overmatched seams. It was so hard to stay strong, and I was just barely hanging on. I also knew I’d been obsessing far, far too much over Melissa in these past two months since she’d started. So, best I could I’d not only avoided being alone with her in the office but jerking off to her - or anything else, despite this monster of a sex drive I’d been battling. I’d had to try to prove to myself that I still had some modicum of self control. But, my dudes, it has been hard. It made me feel sick, in fact.

Is that their car? No. I shivered again, as a set of lights passed. It was really dark, and I was anxious.

Also, I’d decided not to have my booster injection on Tuesday and I actually think my body missed it, craved it. It was three days later and I was jittery, now, on edge. I felt a bunch of symptoms that seemed too much to me like signs of withdrawal, and didn’t know for sure whether I was doing the right thing by not taking it. But was it actually helping me from losing bone mass - or had it been accelerating things? I measured myself at five-three...five foot fucking three!...this morning, which if I remember was even shorter than I was last week. Whatever the case, though some of the more intense cravings had passed, I still felt a jonesing for the warm fuzzies, the tumescent somnolence the injection brought. Jesus, what was really in that thing?? Like I’d said before, I didn’t have the will to ask too many questions, look too deeply down what has turned out to be not just a rabbit hole, but a tunnel to a much, much darker place.

“Where are they?” I muttered to myself, pulling my new sports coat (delivered in less than a day…these drones are amazing) tighter around my shoulders. Stephanie had sent that text - with the jaw dropping picture of Lakshmi’s legs - more than a half hour ago. If I could have afforded an Uber I would have ordered one, but instead I’d begrudgingly accepted the offer for a ride to this event tonight. Having your wife take your car away from you sucks balls.

At first I’d said I wouldn’t go. Evolution Pharm was throwing us a party, had rented out a restaurant/bar thing in the city for us, a chance to ‘celebrate the partnership’. Vida told me about it, it had been arranged last minute by our drug rep Abby, and when I initially suggested that maybe I should stay home and let the girls have their fun, I had gotten an immediate text from Melissa:

I was nervous, really nervous to see Melissa. It would be awkward, explaining my behavior for the past week. And would I be able to keep up my resolve, if she decided to get flirty? But, it was true…I had to go. These were the money people, helping keep the practice afloat.

Oh crap, there’s their car. A black Lexus SUV, screeching in too fast into the parking lot from the road. Someone had their window down, was yelling out to me:

“Here we come Doctor Jjjjjjjjjjjj..!!!”

Oh Christ, I thought, immediately regretting everything, One drink and I’ll fake a headache, say I have to leave…

===============================================

lots more of "Growing into the Job" at my Patreon

#growing into the job

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thekisforkeats · 3 years ago

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Love Languages

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T probably for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set post-MAG 22, with a coda post-MAG 159. Everyone is ND and everyone is trans because that’s just how my personal S1 Archives gang rolls.

CWs: Mentions of ableism and Martin’s mother. I’d say canon-typical worms but the worms don’t really come up except in passing.

I do not know anything about BSL, so I did not try to describe the signs.

Summary: A love language is not just about how you best show love and affection; it is also about the ways you best receive love and affection. And so, for someone like Martin, who shows love by going out of his way to help others, someone going out of their way to help him, well. What better way for him to realize just how loved he is?

--------------------------------------------

The first time Martin went completely non-verbal after starting work in the Archives, it was the morning after giving Jon the statement about Jane Prentiss.

It wasn’t a surprising development, really. Martin didn’t go fully non-verbal that often, but when he did it was almost always a thing that started in the morning and lasted most of the day. Sometimes it wore off by the time he went to bed, sometimes it lasted until the next morning.

After his mother’s diagnosis, he’d been unable to speak for an entire week. That hadn’t gone over well--as much as his mother wanted him to be quiet, she didn’t like the “silent treatment,” as she called it.

Martin hated that she’d called it that, as though his non-verbal episodes were anything he did on purpose. Some days talking just felt like a chore; those days he could get by only forcing words out when he had to. But some days, the worst days, he just couldn’t talk. He could understand other people just fine, he could make noises, sometimes he could even hum. And he could definitely read and write. But speaking words, aloud? No. He could not speak, on these days, however much he may have wanted to.

As Martin grew older and learned more about himself, he learned words and reasons and coping mechanisms. He realized that some of the problem came from dysphoria and the longer he was on hormones the less often it happened. He realized that he was autistic (even if he never got diagnosed), and learned how to handle the episodes that still occurred. He took sign languages classes because it was a good and useful thing to know regardless, to be able to communicate with more people.

As many Deaf people had learned before Martin, he’d found himself in plenty of situations when nobody around him knew BSL, so he’d found a phone app that let him type out things he wanted to say and repeated them in a tinny, mechanical voice. Feminine, but he found it didn’t cause dysphoria; it wasn’t his voice. It was the app speaking for him, a robot lady translating his words.

Martin was fairly certain he was going to need the robot lady to speak for him today, and he was dreading the whole idea. The app got him a range of reactions from scorn to derision to faux sympathy. The last time he’d done so at work, the Institute library staff had regarded him with such pity that he’d called in sick the two other times it had happened since.

He’d woken early, because he was always awake fairly early, to ensure he looked presentable and got to work on time. He did not want Jonathan “Crisply Professional At All Times” Sims giving him that look again. The particular look that was “I highly disapprove of your sartorial choices but I’m not going to get into it right now because I have so very much else to do. Nonetheless, if I could fire you for what you’re wearing I would.”

Jon had a lot of looks. Martin fervently wished he could stop categorizing them; he very much disliked his boss, and very much wanted to stop thinking about Jon quite as much as he did.

Jon was attractive, that much Martin had noticed the first day he’d come in, with a jawline Martin would’ve loved to trace with his fingers, eyes sharp and deep and intelligent, salt-and-pepper hair that Martin would have tangled his fingers in gladly.

Except, of course, that Jon was also a prick who didn’t like Martin one bit and made that very clear. He’d put down on record that he thought Martin would “contribute nothing but delays.” Martin was not such a sucker for punishment that he would put up with someone who hated him just for a pretty face. The tiny potential blossom of a crush had been, well, crushed five seconds after it had poked its head above ground, by Jon’s declaration that he could dismiss Martin if he didn’t resolve the “dog situation” immediately.

Martin counted his lucky stars every day that Jon had not, in fact, dismissed him, despite having had to deal with a doggy mess. The luck was really in having Tim around, Martin figured; Jon actually seemed fond of Tim, and the other man had managed to smooth the entire situation over.

Martin had fallen asleep last night thinking about the new look Jon had given him yesterday: concerned. Truly, genuinely concerned, which had rather taken Martin aback. He’d been certain Jon wouldn’t believe him, would scoff and roll his eyes at the entire statement, and instead he’d just looked… concerned.

And then Jon had offered Martin the cot that he’d woken up in this morning.

It wasn’t the look of concern that had Martin non-verbal, though; of that he was certain. It was the stress of the last two weeks, and dumping out the statement yesterday, and all the whirl of figuring out how to live in the Archives. Jon’s insistence on going with him to pick up basics with a toothbrush at the convenience store, and then coming back to be sure he was okay. Jon finding clean sheets and discussing how he’d do his laundry. Jon had expensed clothing bought online to the Institute, including next-day shipping, because he’d “lost access to his flat and thus his wardrobe in the line of duty.” It had all been bewildering and overwhelming and it was no real surprise that Martin was in the state he found himself when he woke.

Martin had known as soon as he’d opened his eyes. It was just there, the feeling of nope can’t talk today. He’d pulled on his binder and the same clothing he’d worn the day before and then fumbled around for his phone. Which… he didn’t have. The damn worm-hive-lady had stolen it from him. Well, shit.

He managed to avoid having to figure out how to talk while he went out to get breakfast, just pointing at a scone in the display and smiling at the guy behind the counter as if he wasn’t secretly irritated by the price of everything in Chelsea. By the time Martin got back, Jon was already in his office, so thank God he’d avoided that awkward interaction. He went to make himself tea, and had his breakfast in the breakroom, and brushed his teeth, and then went to get started on…

Wait. He didn’t even know what they were working on right now.

Well, he wasn’t going to bother Jon about it; however nice he’d been last night it surely must have worn off by now, and Martin had no interest in summoning one of his boss’ looks this early in the morning. Normally he’d still be on his commute at this hour.

After a moment’s thought, he went to go see what they’d recorded in his absence, and soon had a stack of statements on his desk. They’d gotten through five statements in the two weeks he’d been gone. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Martin did contribute “nothing but delays.”

Pushing the thought aside, Martin focused on listening to the tapes, and was just finishing up listening to the second half of Father Edwin Burroughs’ statement when Tim came into the shared office the assistants used.

“Hey, you’re in early. You get the email?”

Martin raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Tim snorted. “Jon claims he’s got something to warn us about, something that ‘won’t parse properly through digital means.’” He rolled his eyes. “Which is Jon-speak for ‘it’s a weird thing and I don’t want to admit it’s a weird thing because I have to keep my skeptic hat on to preserve my self-image.”

Martin chuckled in solidarity, then gestured toward the door to Jon’s office, to indicate that’s where their boss was.

“Not coming?” Tim asked, his own eyebrow raised. When Martin shrugged, he said, “Well, I guess if you didn’t get the email…” Tim also shrugged, then said, “Guess I’d better get it over with. Wish me luck!”

Martin gave him a thumbs up.

When Sasha came in, Martin silently directed her to Jon’s office as well, then heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to explain being non-verbal at all yet, and it was already nine o’clock. Maybe if he was lucky, Jon would warn them off talking to him and he’d manage to make it the entire day without having to explain the whole “non-verbal” business to anyone he saw on a regular basis.

Alas, it was barely thirty minutes later that Tim and Sasha returned to talk to him, both wearing expressions of mingled concern and guilt. When they spoke it was a flood of the usual, expected platitudes:

“We’re so sorry!”

“We didn’t know!”

“Are you okay??”

And such like.

Martin shrugged and nodded and shook his head in all the right places, and evidently Jon had played them the tape of his statement so he didn’t have to explain it all again (thank God), and he thought maybe, maybe he could even figure out what statement they were working on right now if he just listened to their chatter after they were done with the niceties, but then…

Well. Then Timothy Stoker happened.

Which is to say, Tim actually looked at Martin, and said, “You’re being awfully quiet. You sure you’re okay?”

And then he and Sasha just… sat there, looking at him expectantly.

Martin sighed and reached for a piece of scrap paper and wrote, I’m autistic and sometimes I go non-verbal. Today’s one of those days, but I don’t have my phone anymore, so no communication app.

As he held up the paper so the others could read the words, Martin braced himself for the ensuing reactions. Pity, probably, like those in the Institute library, and he couldn’t even call in sick to avoid it; he’d rather have scorn and derision. At least those reactions were honest.

What he got from them was not pity, however, nor even scorn.

Sasha hummed. “Autism explains a lot, actually. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”

Tim grinned and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Yeah, why didn’t you just say so? It’s fine, you’ve been through an ordeal. And so you know--you’re hardly the only neurodivergent in the Archives.”

Martin blinked at Tim, then wrote: Wait, what? Who…?

“Would you believe me if I said all of us?” Tim said with a grin. “I have ADD, Jon’s… well… he’s Jon, and as for Sasha…”

Sasha sighed in fond exasperation and cut in, “Tim…”

“I contend that you cannot be neurotypical, Ms. James. You fit in too well around here.”

“I am not admitting to anything on Institute property,” Sasha said with aplomb. “And you shouldn't have either, but here we are.” She looked at Martin. “If HR finds out and they give you any trouble, let us know and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Tim, in the meanwhile, pulled out his phone. “Here, go ahead and use mine for now, until your replacement gets here or whatever. What’s the app so I can install it for you?”

Martin’s jaw had dropped open. Tim having ADD made sense; what did he mean about Jon, though? And Sasha? And what did Sasha mean about HR? And… and why were they being so… nice? So… understanding? It wasn’t an act, or at least he didn’t think it was. They seemed… genuinely fine with it. Accepting, even.

It was the strangest thing Martin had experienced in a while, and that was including the worm-riddled woman who’d stood outside his door for two straight weeks.

From there the day just… went on as normal. Tim installed the app on the phone, Martin’s robot phone lady spoke for him, the three of them did their work, and everything was fine.

Until, of course, the nature of their work reared its ugly head. They were discussing the statement of Leanne Denikin, case #0051701, which they had yet to attach a pithy name to; hence the discussion. It had long since become standard practice to attach a name to the “weirder” statements, to make them easier to discuss. (Jon insisted on using the case numbers on tape still, which was annoying, given that was the only place he did that.)

Martin was reading through the statement, and he typed into Tim’s phone: What do you think of this bit? “Be still, for there is strange music.”

What came out of the phone’s speakers, however, was garbled static followed by high-pitched screeching that startled Martin so much he actually dropped the phone.

Jon was walking in just as this happened; he stopped in the doorway, blinking. “What on Earth was that?”

“Martin’s robot lady gave Tim’s phone an aneurysm, I think,” Sasha said, eyeing Martin as well.

Martin scrabbled on the floor for the phone, pulled up the app (which had crashed), and typed, I don’t know what happened!! I was just typing in something from one of the statements!

Jon frowned at him sharply. “What are you doing with Tim’s phone? Are you quite well?”

“No, Martin is not ‘quite well,’” Tim said. “Non-verbal for the day.”

Then Jon did something that stunned Martin: Jon signed at him, specifically, “Do you know sign language?” He spoke aloud as he said this, too, but also raised his eyebrows and gave a quizzical tilt to his head to convey that he was asking a question.

Martin blinked rapidly, then signed back: “Yes, actually. But Tim and Sasha don’t.”

Jon nodded, then said aloud, along with signing, “Why are you non-verbal, exactly?”

“I have autism,” Martin signed. “Sometimes talking is overwhelming and sometimes, especially in stressful situations, I can’t talk at all. Woke up that way today. It should be gone by tomorrow morning.” Why was he explaining so much more to Jon than he had to the others? Maybe just because Jon knew sign, and thus could communicate in a language Martin found much easier than even the typing.

Jon frowned thoughtfully, then nodded again. Then, still speaking and signing both, “What were you typing into your phone?”

“Be still, for there is strange music. From the statement.” Martin gestured to the statement on his desk.

Jon’s frown deepened and he repeated the words. “‘Be still, for there is strange music….’” His expression went slack for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Right. Well. Just… just… I’ll be right back.” Then he abruptly turned and left the room.

Tim and Sasha exchanged bewildered looks. Then Sasha asked, “Do you know what that was all about?”

“I forgot Jon knows BSL,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “Hard of hearing on one side. Not that he’d have agreed to interpret all day or anything.”

Martin shrugged. It’s alright, he typed. This works just fine.

“Well, no, obviously not for some things.” Jon had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared, holding a small brown notebook the size of Martin’s hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at Martin. “This will work better, for communicating about the statements. You needn’t use it with me, of course, unless signing is also taxing.”

Martin stared up at Jon. There was an entirely new look on his boss’ face. Not any level of scorn or sneer, nor even concern. He was… nervous. Fidgety. Like he was offering a gift that he was afraid might be rejected.

Something went flip in Martin’s stomach and it was like the entire world turned upside down. Suddenly, in light of Jon’s actions in the last 24 hours, he saw the way his boss had acted toward him the last six months for what it was: a defense mechanism. Armor pulled up around someone fragile and soft and sweet, someone so terrified of rejection that he went about making sure it happened preemptively so he wouldn’t be hurt.

Martin had a sudden, fierce desire to hug Jon and tell him everything would be okay. It was so bewildering a sensation--he didn’t even like the man! At all!--that he just took the notebook with a nod and a signed “Thank you,” eyes still very wide.

Jon nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” He let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little. “Well. Then. I think we’ve found the name for this one, given the way Tim’s phone reacted to those words. ‘Strange Music’ it is.” He straightened himself. “Tim, you said something about the organ reminding you of articles you’ve read…?”

Tim nodded, expression suddenly serious. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”

“Right. Well, then, Sasha, if I could ask you to look through the Archive like we talked about? I’m certain we’ve had a statement from Jane Prentiss.” Jon then turned to Martin. “And if you wouldn’t mind helping me with ‘Schwarzwald?’ You used to work in the library, right?”

Martin was still staring at Jon in confusion, but nodded.

Jon actually smiled at him. Faintly. “Well, then, I’m certain you must know where to find the German history reference books, if you could go grab whatever they’ll let you bring down?”

The strangest thing about it was, Jon seemed sincere. Like he actually believed Martin did, indeed, know the library well enough to just… go up there and find the German history reference books. The faint, confident-in-his-assistant smile was a new look, at least directed at Martin; he’d seen Jon look at Tim and Sasha that way many times before.

Martin’s stomach was doing cartwheels. There were butterflies taking up residence in his intestines. His heart was pounding. How had he never noticed how nice Jon’s smile was? Soft and small, like he was afraid to let it actually take up residence on his face for too long.

Oh, God, oh, no. Martin could not fancy his boss. Jon hated him. Or, well, no, evidence suggested that perhaps Jon did not hate him, but Jon most certainly did not fancy him. This crush had to disappear, just as fast as it had come. This would not do.

He was going to be writing poetry again tonight, wasn’t he? Crap.

“Martin?” Jon’s tone was concerned rather than sharp, and the way Jon said his name made Martin want to sink into the floor.

Instead, he scribbled furiously in the notebook and held it up so all three of the others could see: Yeah, sorry, was just thinking about where that’d be. I’ll bring them down as soon as I find them.

Jon practically beamed at Martin’s use of the notebook and he nodded briskly. “Right! I’ll be in my office when you have the books, then.” He started to turn away.

Martin’s heart went pound pound pound because oh wow Jon was really cute when he let that smile take up more of his face. Throwing caution to the wind, he made a noise to get the other man’s attention.

Jon turned around, quirking a brow. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin signed, “Tea?” He, too, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to indicate the question.

Jon nodded. “Tea would be lovely, yes.” He smiled at Martin for a brief moment, and then suddenly looked flustered. He glared at them all. “Anyway,” he snapped in his ‘boss’ voice, the impact of which was ruined by the flush rising in his cheeks, “there’s still work to be done. So let’s… do it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the office.

Had Jon blushed because Martin had offered him tea? Did Jon like his tea that much? Was Martin imagining things? He had to be imagining things. He put his head down on the desk and wrapped his arms over it so he could grab at handfuls of hair. What was happening to him?

Sasha tried to make her voice serious, but couldn't quite manage it past quite clearly holding back giggles. “Mourn for poor Martin, working alone with Jon.” She looked at Tim. “We should call HR preemptively, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Nah, I think Jon’s softening on our boy,” Tim said with a laugh. He reached over to ruffle Martin’s hair with one hand while he took his phone back with the other. “Don’t worry, Marto. I told you he’d come around one day.”

Martin looked up at Tim with a stricken, betrayed expression. In the notebook: Is this how you comfort me in my hour of need??

Sasha shook her head. “For once, Tim’s being serious. You weren’t in the room when Jon explained things to us. He’s worried about you, he doesn’t want you to have to leave the Institute alone, he doesn’t want you to have to look for the Prentiss statement in case it’s ‘too traumatic’ for you to run across on your own. He actually asked us if we thought we should avoid any mention of Prentiss altogether in your presence.”

“I told him no,” Tim said. “I hope that was okay. You seem like you’d rather deal with trauma by facing it and figuring it out, rather than avoiding it entirely.”

Matin gaped at them. Really? he wrote. Jon’s… worried about me? Really? As if he hadn’t seen the evidence just now that Jon was, indeed… softening.

Tim gave Martin a very serious look. “I’ve told you before… I’ve known Jon, well, not as long as I’ve known Sasha, but for a long while now. He’s prickly and thorny, even to people he cares about, but that’s a front and I’ve said so. You just didn’t believe me.”

“In Martin’s defense,” Sasha put in, “Jon’s been awfully ‘prickly and thorny’ to him specifically.”

Tim put up a hand. “Oh, I agree. I have had words with our dear boss about the way he treats Martin, largely because I’m one of the few people he might actually listen to.” He looked at Martin. “I don’t want to take the credit, because it’s really been a remarkably fast turnaround, but I’d like to think I helped, a little.”

Martin frowned thoughtfully. Thank you, he wrote. If Jon’s at ‘I can stand Martin’ instead of ‘Martin is the source of all bad that happens in the Archives’ work might be… better than tolerable, for once.

“That’s the spirit!” Tim said with a grin. “Now, then, Jon did say to get back to work…”

Jon gave Martin another of those soft smiles when Martin brought in the tea, a smile which widened on seeing the stack of books he carried in right after. That afternoon, spent sitting and going through books and discussing the Schwarzwald statement, was the first of many they’d spend together, reading and talking and comparing notes.

Martin was feeling verbal again the next morning, but he kept the notebook. If nothing else, it was a good place to jot down poetry. And it came in handy when he found himself unable to speak the morning after Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Archives.

And the morning after Jon confronted him about his CV.

And the morning after Jon disappeared, leaving Jurgen Leitner’s body at his desk. (Martin blamed that on the corridors more than the body, really.)

Funnily enough, he didn’t need it the morning after the Unknowing. But he kept it with him that day all the same, the first gift Jon had ever given him, and one of the few things he had left of him with Jon in a coma.

--------------------------------------------

When they reached Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland, Martin had hoped he’d somehow manage to dodge the threat of going non-verbal. He’d been the one to drive the car, over Jon’s protests; it was something to focus on, to keep him remembering he was alive and real. He’d clutched the wheel and driven north north north with Jon giving directions in the passenger seat.

Martin had finally figured out that it was the chance to stop and think about trauma that led to his being non-verbal, which was why it was almost always a thing that hit in the morning. Adrenaline would keep him running after a stressful event, and then he’d carry himself through the rest of the day trying to clean up whatever mess had been caused. But sleep was enough for his body and brain to both tell him to stop, to process, to deal with whatever he’d run into.

It was possible, in hindsight, that he’d gone non-verbal more than once since the Unknowing and just hadn’t noticed because he’d been barely interacting with anyone. He’d certainly had a bad bout the morning after his mother’s funeral, dealing with so much misgendering and fake smiles. And there had been more than enough trauma to try to process in the past year, so it must have happened before.

He’d just really, really hoped it wouldn’t now, because he didn’t want to put Jon through that. (Why he thought he was putting Jon through anything he didn’t really want to examine. It made him feel Lonely, and that was bad.)

At any rate, the realization of why he went non-verbal had led to him keeping busy in order to hold it off, in order to hold himself together. So he drove, and he puttered about the cabin poking into cupboards, and he talked to Jon, and he talked to the shop lady in the village, and he brought back food and made dinner with Jon, and everything was good and fine.

And then he woke up the next morning, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and he could not speak.

There was the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes cooking, and Martin made his bleary way out into the main room of the cabin and peered at Jon, already up and dressed and cooking.

His boyfriend turned to look at him and smiled, one of those soft smiles Martin had come to love so much. “Sleep well?”

"Not really,” Martin signed. “I mean…” He gestured at his throat.

Jon nodded. “I figured you might feel that way this morning. I, uhh… hold on a moment, I need to….” He grabbed the pan of bacon and moved it off the heat, pulled a pancake off the griddle and deposited it on a plate, then turned off the stove and went to poke around in one of the bags.

Martin chuckled fondly. “What’re you looking for?”

Jon was still digging through his bag. “When I was grabbing essentials at the store, back in London, I was thinking, you’ve been through a lot, and the notebook I gave you before must be full if you even have it anymore. I know you were writing poetry in it, and… oh, here we go.”

Jon came up with another small notebook. This one was not plain and brown, the way the first one he’d gifted Martin all those years ago had been. This one was black, and had silvery stars on its cover that, as Jon held out the book and thus tilted it through the light, shimmered into rainbows.

“Just in case, you know, the shop lady doesn’t know BSL.”

Martin blinked at the notebook.

“It, uhh… I know it’s not your usual style,” Jon said, his voice suddenly nervous. He was looking down at the notebook as he spoke, instead of at Martin. “Not… retro. But… I saw it and I thought of you.” He paused. “That tape, where you were talking to Simon Fairchild. He talked about the ‘cosmic scale,’ and how we’ve never even been alive on that time frame, and you said… what was it? You said, ‘I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.’ And I just… that was… maybe the most… it was very… you. And there were other options, flowers or cursive writing, o-or… I don’t know, they all seemed so obvious, but this…”

Jon swallowed, and finally looked up at Martin. “I thought, after the Lonely, you might like a reminder that, you have value. That… that to me, you shine as bright as any star.” And then he flushed, and Martin knew it was for him, just as he now knew the flushes about tea all those years ago had also been for him.

Martin was gaping. Oh. Oh. Jon… loved him. Which he’d known, intellectually, but the emotional knowledge of it hit him suddenly, took his breath away. He knew it, all at once, in that “oh we could spend the rest of our lives together” way he’d never really thought he’d ever feel.

Jon had clearly misinterpreted the expression; he started stammering, “I-if… it it’s bad, I can… well, no, I can’t take it back, stupid, I should’ve just grabbed the one that had--”

Martin cut him off by reaching out to take the notebook from Jon and reached out with his other hand to cup the shorter man’s cheek. He smiled, and because he’d realized long ago how well Jon responded to physical touch, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Then he pulled back to put the notebook aside on the counter and signed, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

Jon smiled, both speaking and signing, “I love you, too.”

And for once in his life, Martin knew that to be true, and trusted that knowledge. He was loved. He had been loved, and he would be loved for the rest of his life, whatever state his voice was in.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jon sims #jonathan sims #jon the archivist #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #archives gang #otp: one way or another together #fanfic #my fanfic #ableism tw #jmart #canon tma fic

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demonicheadcanons · 4 years ago

Text

The Obey Me Brothers When the MC is Sick

AN: MC is gender neutral. TW for obvious mentions of illness (warning for anyone with emetophobia) and death (no actual death included). The MC has a general ‘bug/fever’ style illness to keep things simple. Like last time, I’ve included scenarios that take into account whether or not you’re close, because I want to consider what they’d be like when the MC first gets there vs when they’ve been there for a while.

Note: All of the brothers aren’t worried about getting sick, because I headcanon that whilst the demons can pass on harmful illnesses to humans that can be deadly, the opposite generally is not true.

Total words: Around 5k. This was written in 3 different sessions so there may be some inconsistencies. Sorry for mistakes, its 1am and I’m too tired to double check everything. Enjoy!!

Lucifer

· If you’re not close: He’ll check up on you, take your temperature, and ask about the symptoms. He’s not necessarily cold, but just seems rather emotionless, or he might come off as frustrated - because he is. It wouldn’t be good for Diavolo’s goals if something were to happen to you, so the entire thing is an inconvenience.

· He’ll take care of you to a degree, but he’s not going to be a very comforting presence. He’ll give you any medicine or potions he can find that might help, or he’ll ask Solomon or a doctor to look after you. The warmest gesture you can expect from him is a cup of herbal tea in the morning when you wake up.

· Have fun catching up on all the schoolwork you missed after. Lucifer claims he has too much work to do to help you, and he’s telling the truth... kind of.

· If you are close, he’s going to ask you to move to his room until you get better - this is so that he can keep an eye on your whilst working at his desk, so that his brothers won’t constantly disturb you, and also because he wants to be as close as possible; he can comfort you easier if you’re right there, and he can spend the night with you in his arms if it makes you less miserable.

· He’s going to be gentle and attentive. He’ll take his gloves off and check your temperature with one hand, and then ask a lot of questions. “How do you feel?” “Where does it hurt?” “Do you think you can eat?” “Can you drink some water?” “How do you think you got sick?” He wants whatever details you’re willing to give so he can paint an accurate picture of things and start resolving it as soon as possible.

· When he’s with you, he’ll rub soothing circles against your palm or the back of your hand with his thumb, or against your cheeks and jaw, or along your arms and sides - whatever seems to comfort you most.

· He’ll ask if there’s anything you want him to do, or anything that you think might help - he’s not your servant, and he does have to bite back his pride a little to ask, but if he can make you happy then he has plenty to be proud for. He knows humans are more fragile than demons, but going by everything you’ve said it seems like this isn’t a serious illness, just a little sick spell. Lucifer is one of the more realistic brothers - he knows not to panic too much. However, he’d still rather not see you upset or hurt if he can help it.

· If you’re physically being sick, he’s going to initially step back because its rare for demons to get to that stage, and he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. After a bit he’ll take to rubbing your back and mumbling whatever reassurances he can think of. He won’t admit it, but it definitely threw him off a bit, and it makes him even more anxious and doting for the next while.

· He feels guilty if he has to leave to go to class, but he’ll tuck you in and leave you with some tea and light snacks. He can’t afford to miss out on work, he has far too much to do already without falling behind and he doesn’t want to disappoint Diavolo. A lot of people are counting on him. That said, between classes and during breaks he’s going to be checking his phone to see if you’ve messaged or left any missed calls. If you haven’t, he probably won’t text each time to check up on you, but he’ll send at least 1 text a day whilst out to see how you’re doing.

· When he gets home, he’ll make sure his brothers aren’t doing anything stupid where he can see them and then head to his room to see how you’re faring. When you start to get better, you can see him smile faintly with relief and he flops down on the bed beside you, graceful as ever but more relaxed than he’d been the last few days.

· When you’re well enough to eat and your fever is down, he stops worrying. He’s a bit irritable around this time, though - its not your fault. His brothers are all really excited that they can see you up and about again, and when you turn up for dinner after not being there for a few days, they’re all so loud he starts to think he might need a day off to deal with the headache it gives them.

· If his brothers start teasing him for being so worried for the last few days, he’s going to snap fairly quickly. Please don’t be offended - he was worried, he made it clear he was when he was around you.

[Other brothers after the Read More]:

Mammon

· Close or not, he’s panicking. If you’re not close, it comes across as him teasing you about how weak you humans are, and he might come across as rude or inconsiderate. In reality, he really doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act, and he feels bad for it because Mammon is more emotionally in tune, and feels bad when others around him feel bad. He’s also just, trying to get more information - is it serious? Do you need a doctor? Should he go get Lucifer or even Lord Diavolo?

· Mammon isn’t the kind of person to wish harm on anyone, even if he doesn’t like them. When he finds out you’re sick, he’s going to quietly hope you get better soon, and then try and convince himself that he doesn’t care because you’re just some random human anyway. Still, he’ll be relieved once he hears that you start doing better, but the entire time you’re sick he’s worrying that you might die because humans are like that.

· If you are close... be prepared. Mammon is not leaving your side. He comes to wake you up in the morning and you seem more out-of-it than normal. Your face is flushed, so he checks your temperature with his forehead (its what he’s used to, he doesn’t even think to do it with his hand or arm). When he realises you’re much warmer than usual, he starts panicking.

· He’ll ask you about it first, but if you don’t give him clear answers or you seem a bit unsure, he’s going to go get Satan or Lucifer and bring them back to check up on you - he would go to Solomon, but he’s not close enough to him to predict how he’d react, and so leaves it as a last resort. If they give the all clear and say you just need a few days to recover, it relaxes him a little, but he’s still going to be on edge until you’re back to your usual self.

· Mammon is focused on comfort. When he’s sick he doesn’t want to be alone and he wants to be held. He’s either holding your hand, or laying right beside you with his arms around you, rubbing your back until you fall asleep. You’ll have to ask if you need anything like water or painkillers because he’s only going to leave if he really needs to eat, and if you’re physically being sick he’ll feel guilty but he’s not going to bring back any food because its impossible to predict how the Devildom food will interact with your illness.

· The first time you truly hear him snap at Lucifer probably happens whilst you’re sick - Lucifer comes to tell him he needs to go to class, because he’s missed too many lessons, and initially Mammon will plead with him and promise to attend every class for the next month no matter what, all pride thrown out the window because you’re important to him. If Lucifer still refuses to let him stay home, he’s going to get pissed. You shouldn’t be alone right now, and he’s adamant about that. It takes you quietly opening the door of your room, wrapped up in a blanket and flushed from the fever, to make the two stop arguing. When Lucifer sees you, he lets out a low growl and then leaves Mammon to do whatever he wants, filing an excused absence for the two of you.

· When you start getting better, Mammon lights up. You could swear he’s got stars locked away in his eyes that first morning you wake up and you seem almost back to normal. He keeps an eye on you, still, but his nerves finally die down a bit and he feels like he can breathe again. He’s grinning every time he looks at you, because he really is so happy you’re doing better, but if you bring it up or tease him he’s going to pout and refuse to speak.

· When you’re completely recovered, he might seem distant for a day or two - he needs to fall back into his normal schedule, and he needs a good rest. He’ll be there for you if you come to him, but he’s not glued to your side like he usually is.

Leviathan

· If you’re not close, he’s not going to know you’re sick unless someone posts about it in the group chat. Even then, he doesn’t pay any notice to it. You’ll get better. Whatever brother you’re close to will take care of you much better than he will anyway - that’s why you chose them, they’re better and more capable than him. Levi barely pays attention to anything at all for those few days, and spends most of his time holed up in his room with one distraction or another. He doesn’t understand why he feels lighter when you’re back at breakfast again, but he does. He keeps an eye on you from then on, but nothing really changes.

· If you are close, he can’t define how he feels no matter how hard he tries. He’s worried, he knows that much, but you’ll get better, right? Was he qualified to take care of you, if you were seeking him out? Shouldn’t you just rest for a few days? Wouldn’t that be enough to help you? He honestly doesn’t have a clue what would actually help you feel better, and so won’t even think to get medicine or painkillers unless you ask him to.

· He has to view it as an opportunity to get the ball rolling - if you come to him for comfort, or he feels he can offer any, then he can spend the time you’re sick getting closer to you. He can show you that he might just be able to offer something, anything at all, to your relationship. But... in his room, please? He’ll carry you there if he needs to, he has to be able to feed Henry and relax where he’s surrounded by his comfort items and his fish-tank walls.

· His bathtub bed (and his room as a whole) is quite cool and helps keep his temperature down, so he’ll set you down in that. If he’s also not focusing on keeping himself warm, he can drop his temperature enough that even just having him rest a hand on your forehead lowers your temperature. It takes a lot of courage, but if you’re up for it, you can sit in his lap and marathon TSL and he’ll keep his cold arms around you so you’re not overheating. He almost cries if you fall asleep like that - do you really feel so safe and comfortable around him?

· If you’re being physically ill he won’t have a clue what to do. Its not something he has experience with, so he’ll probably just wait outside the bathroom and call Lucifer to see what he says. When you come out he’s in pieces, tears in his eyes as he wraps his arms around you and holds you there. He’ll ask if there’s anything you want him to do if it happens again, and whilst it might make him feel a little ill himself, he’s willing to rub your back or hold back your hair if you need him to.

· If he’s asked to go to class or to a student council meeting, he’s reluctant to leave you alone. He makes sure you’re all set with TSL on and a handheld game system within reach, and a glass of water, and enough blankets and pillows... he’s nervously darting about the room making sure things are perfect. Right before leaving, he hesitantly kisses the top of your head and leans down to talk to Henry. “You have to take care of them, okay?”

· When he’s not around you, he’s nervous and unfocused. Where he’d usually spend his time glued to his phone so that he didn’t have to focus on the world around him, he now just stares off into the distance. He walks faster to make it feel like time is moving a little quicker, and the second he’s free, he rushes back to his room to check on you.

· When you start getting better, Levi in part wonders if anything he did helped. It was probably the doctor, or maybe one of his brothers came in whilst he was gone and helped, but all it takes is a ‘thank you’ from you and he’s tearing up. He wraps his arms around you until he’s too flustered to keep holding on. He still doesn’t want to let you out of his sight.

· It does end up being a bonding experience - Levi trusts himself a little more around you. He thinks that even if he’s not the best, you’re still open to his presence, and he’s not bothering you all the time. He finds himself closer to you, asking if you want to hang out more, and he’s more open after the whole experience. Really, an experience like this is the perfect way to break down some of the walls he’s built, so being sick isn’t all bad in the end up.

Satan

· If you’re not close, Satan will offer advice he’s found in books to you or whoever is taking care of you. He’s the most willing to help even if you’re not that close, because he has knowledge on the subject that the others lack. If a doctor isn’t available, he’ll be the one to check your temperature and ask about your symptoms and give a general diagnosis on the problem. If other brothers aren’t sure what to do, he is one of the first they call for advice after asking Lucifer (they think Satan might be better at dealing with it, but Lucifer is responsible for your safety and well-being, so the brothers view it as being necessary to keep him updated and get his opinion. Otherwise, they would usually go to Satan first and only to Lucifer if it was serious and/or you needed time off school.)

· The most he’ll offer in such a case is advice, though. You won’t get any real comfort from him, unless you call him and are clearly distressed, in which case he may offer some generic words of comfort over the phone before he calls someone you’re closer to and tells them to go take care of you.

· If you are close, he’s still going to be checking your symptoms, but he’ll be closer - instead of hovering over you from a distance, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and press a hand to your forehead and cheek instead of rushing to get a thermometer, and if you lean against him, he’ll put an arm around you whilst he asks about how you’re feeling.

· He’s one of the few brothers who prefers for you to stay in your own room - he’s aware that being physically ill is common for humans, and he can’t have you being sick on his books. Also, his room is too messy to fathom trying to take care of you properly. He ends up setting up a corner of your room for him to relax in whilst you’re recovering, with a selection of blankets and some pillows that Belphie was willing to lend him, so long as he washes them before returning them. Satan brings a couple of books and settles there until you’re better. He’s aware that he won’t get ill, and so doesn’t worry about proximity to you. He just thinks you might want your own space.

· If you ask him to, he’ll cuddle up beside you or sit beside the bed and read to you. His voice is low and steady and relaxing, and if it helps you sleep, he feels quite proud. He often ends up falling asleep right beside you, and it takes a moment for him to come around again when he wakes up. A lot of time is passed that way, with the two of you napping or him curled up in the corner in his impromptu fort, reading, as you rest.

· He’s not proud of it, but he finds it almost enchanting if you’re moody whilst sick. Its entertaining to him, and he wants you to get better, but he’ll still analyse your mood and actions the entire time you’re ill to see what makes you react in certain ways. He’s not intentionally provoking you, he promises, he’s just curious by nature.

· He asks a lot of questions in general - about how you feel, about what you think of a certain topic, about the human world. He’s trying his best to provide some sort of distraction for you, and the second you furrow your brows or start to look distressed, he produces another question or topic for the two of you to discuss or mull over instead. If it gets to a point where you stop answering, he’ll sit beside you and run a hand through your hair with an uncertainty similar to someone petting a cat that isn’t quite friendly yet. He wishes he could offer more comfort somehow, but Satan isn’t sure how he’s supposed to do that, so he just ends up acting like he normally does with short bursts of extra contact if they appear to help.

· If you’re physically sick, he’ll hold your hair back and then sit you down and get you a glass of water. Sips only, he reminds you - if you gulp it down, you’ll just be sick again. He’s practical, and he reminds you of anything he feels necessary when you’re ill - “don’t do this, it’ll make it worse” and “how about you try this, it might make it better?” become common phrases. He’ll listen to what you have to say, but will still gently coax you towards whatever advice he’s following out of a book if he can, because surely something has to help?

· When asked to leave for class, Satan complies without an argument, but he does notably struggle to maintain his composure when he remembers that you’re alone and suffering. Still, he reminds himself, if he goes to class he can tutor you on whatever you’ve missed when you’re better. So long as no one pisses him off, it’ll be alright. He checks up on you when he gets home, and realises that as long as you have everything you need before he leaves, that he can leave for short periods of time so as not to disrupt his schedule too heavily. He only really does so to go to school or cook, but knowing he can do that leaves him much less stressed than most of the other brothers, and he ends up a lot more organised too when you’ve recovered.

· When you start to get better, he tries to help get your school work out of the way as quickly as possible so that you’re not falling too far behind. He’ll still encourage you to relax and take it easy, but you’ll be caught up in no time with his help. He also prepares foods that are lighter when its his turn to cook so that you don’t distress your recovering system too much. Satan seems calm, and the next time you feel under the weather, he now knows exactly how to react to bring the least stress to both of you. He’s definitely the fastest to adapt.

· Bonus: You absolutely steal his heart if you ramble whilst somewhat out of it. Especially if none of your thoughts really connect but you’re trying to tell him something, anything that pops into your mind. He sits by your bed and rests his arms on it, with his chin propped up on them as he looks at you and listens intently, smiling the entire time.

Asmodeus

· If you’re not close, Asmo won’t really do anything. You might get a simple ‘get well soon, honey x’ text, and that’s about it, or maybe some moisturiser with a note about how you should still take care of your skin even if you’re under the weather. Asmo keeps his distance and goes about his days as normal, without any real concerns or worries. You’ll get better, he doesn’t have to stress himself out over some human.

· If you are close, he’s all over the place for the first few hours. He makes sure your bed is comfortable, being the only brother other than Satan who wants you to stay in your own room so that there aren’t human germs all over his, and so that if he needs to, he can have his own time in his room. He’ll give you the comfiest pyjamas he can find that still look ridiculously stylish, and will ask if you want any help changing with a suggestive smirk, but any offers he makes are fully genuine - if you want his help changing, no funny business, he’ll absolutely do it.

· He’s not worried about getting sick, so Asmo stays physically close, but he’s also just not interested in being intimate with someone who is ill. Because of this, you get a break from his more suggestive nature. He’ll press soft kisses to your forehead when he’s trying to get you to relax or sleep, but that’s the only kisses you’re getting until you’re better and there isn’t a trace of your fever left.

· You may not feel great but your hair is going to look great, because he focuses on it. There’s an intimate comfort in having someone wash, dry, play with, and style your hair, and he hopes its enough to help you feel a little better. If you seem distressed his hands go to your hair, and he runs his fingers through it gently. If it’s messy or hasn’t been washed, he’s going to offer to help you bathe, but if you’re too unwell he’s going to prop you up in a chair, swaddled up in a blanket, and he’ll handle your hair. While he’s at it, he’ll wash your face and apply moisturiser to your face, hands, and arms. He quietly tells you something about how feeling cleaner can make you feel healthier.

· He’s not forceful about anything. It’s the first time he’s cared about anyone almost as much as he cares about himself, his first time putting someone before him, so he treats you like he’d treat himself. He knows that when he’s sick he sometimes really just wants to rest and be cared for, so he’ll do that for you. He rubs your back and tells you to let it all out, to complain if you have the energy to, and he’ll listen to everything you say. He tries his best to focus on you anyway, but when you’re sick and you ramble and whine, he couldn’t focus on anything else if he tried; he’s startled to realise just how important it is to him that he understands how you’re feeling in that moment so that he can make it better.

· He’s actually pretty good at attending classes, and because his attendance is high, Lucifer is more willing to let him have the few days off whilst you’re ill so he can look after you. Asmo leaves every now and then to wash, eat, exercise, or just to stretch his legs and have a bit of a break, but he does try to spend as much time as possible with you. Sometimes he’ll sit by the bed and scroll through Devilgram and read out posts to you or show you anything he thinks you’ll like.

· When you get better, he books a full spa day for the two of you - it helps to wash away any remaining traces of the illness, without being too overwhelming. It also helps him - its going to take a long time for him to get used to taking care of others, but he thinks its all worth it at the end of the day.

Beelzebub

· Close or not, Beel is at least a little concerned. Being sick is one of the worst things that could happen in his opinion, and the second you stop showing up for meals, he notices and asks about you. He finds out what’s happened from another brother, and worries the entire time he doesn’t see you. He doesn’t know what to do, but he’ll tell whatever brother you’re close with to stay by your side as much as they can so you don’t feel too lonely. He’s relieved when you show up again, and will try to get closer to you so he can be closer to you next time you’re ill.

· If you are close, he’s at your door the second he realises you’re ill, and carries you back to his room if you’re comfortable. You’re wrapped up in blankets with as many pillows as Beel could coax Belphie into giving him, and he’s ready to take care of you as best he can. To him, this just involves staying glued by your side. He’s roped Belphie into helping, so that when he does have to leave, Belphie is by your side holding your hand in his place. Outside of that, Beel tries his best to only leave if you’re resting.

· He initially planned to have Belphie bring him food when he needed it, but then he felt too guilty because he couldn’t give you any and it might make you feel nauseous. Whilst you’re ill, no food is allowed in the twins’ room because of this.

· Beel is large and warm, making him perfect for cuddles. As mentioned in a previous post, the one issue is that if one of you is already feverish, you’re liable to overheating, and so Belphie has to set up a fan to keep you at a more reasonable temperature. With this in place, Beel lays down and wraps you up in his arms and stays there for as long as he can. He’s not one for words, but he’s happy to listen if you want to complain, or with some prompting, he’ll talk about his past and about what he and Lilith and Belphie got up to when they were angels in the Celestial Realm. If you still overheat, he kneels down by the bed and holds one of your hands in both of his, gently playing with your fingers and tracing shapes over the back of your hand idly as he speaks or listens.

· He checks your temperature regularly with his forehead, desperate for any sign of recovery, and sheepishly kisses it afterwards as an apology for disturbing you. Every time he leaves he comes back with a fresh glass of water, and will hold it up for you to sip at - if you can’t eat, you at least need to drink a little. If you end up being physically ill, Beel holds your hair back and rubs your stomach carefully. He makes a steady, quiet whining noise in his throat the entire time without realising it because he’s so sad and concerned that you’re this ill. At this point, even if Lucifer or Satan has promised you’re going to be okay and you’ve been checked by a doctor, Beel is calling them to his room and making them check again.

· No one can convince him to leave for class. He’s reluctant to go to classes anyway, although he got a little better when the exchange programme started because he wanted to be wherever you were. However, now that you’re stuck at home, he’s determined to stay by your side no matter what - it should have started a fight between Beel and Lucifer, but Beel looks at him once with those sad, puppy-dog eyes, and Lucifer lets him be. He wouldn’t be able to focus in classes anyway.

· When you start getting better he prepares a lot of food for a feast, although he asks Satan first about what foods would be light enough for you to eat. Whatever you can’t eat, he will, he reminds you, so you shouldn’t feel too pressured to finish everything. He lets you return to your own room, and the two of you have a movie night together. Beel pulls you into his lap and hugs you close to him the entire time because he’s so happy he doesn’t really know how to express it. If you’re still tired or unwell he’ll alternate between feeding you and feeding himself, and when the movie ends he presses a kiss to the top of your head, letting you rest if you’ve fallen asleep - if not, he reluctantly gets up to put on whatever you’d chosen to watch next, and then cuddles up with you and runs a hand through your hair until you fall asleep.

Belphegor

· Belphie doesn’t really pay any attention to you if you two aren’t close. He barely even knows you’re sick, and only picks up on whatever his brothers say around him. He doesn’t think about it too hard and goes about his days as normal, and his thoughts only drift towards the topic when he’s alone in the attic and can’t sleep. He briefly wishes for you to get better soon in his head, and then immediately denies that he ever thought about you and forces himself to move on from the topic.

· If you are close, good luck. Belphie’s motto for being sick is that the more you sleep, the sooner you’ll get better. There’s some truth to it, but he’s quite extreme. You’re carried to the attic the second you’re ill and dumped unceremoniously on a large nest of pillows and throws. Belphie flops down beside you and wraps his arms around you and tells you to close your eyes.

· His sin’s influence may not work well on you, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to make use of it anyway - he focuses hard and puts whatever spare energy he has into trying to make you sleep and have peaceful dreams, warding away nightmares for the entire time you’re ill. It works enough that sleep finds you easily, but for the brief periods where you are awake, you’re going to feel pretty dreadful because you’ve overslept so much and your body is crying out for some care. It takes time and effort to extract yourself from Belphie’s arms to be able to go get some water or go to the bathroom.

· If this becomes distressing, Belphie will listen when you shake him awake and tell him that you want to stay awake now for a while. He curls up beside you, the two of you facing each other, and smiles tiredly. There’s a comfortable silence in the room, only broken when one of you voices something or when Belphie yawns. If heavily prompted, Belphie might tell old, old stories of his past, and what humans were like long ago when he first visited the human realm. He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes to talk, holding your hands together between the two of you, trying to create a calming aura so that you don’t feel too bad.

· If you’re going to be physically ill, Belphie brings a bin or bucket of some kind to the attic and encourages you to aim for that. There’s no formality to it and he sounds almost uncaring, but the second you have to make use of it he’s standing by you, worry filling his features as he tries to figure out how to make you feel better. He hesitantly pats your back but leans away as far as possible because the smell is a little too much for him. He’ll help you rinse out your mouth and then lay you down again, begging you not to be sick on his pillows whilst he goes and cleans out the container.

· You get better quickly with Belphie, the sleep working its magic. Because of how quickly you are recovering, Belphie is allowed to stay with you to help you get better so that you don’t end up missing too much school. He’s already missed so much that another day or two doesn’t really matter in the long run, and it won’t be noticeable when added to the pile of schoolwork he has sitting in the corner of his room that he’s slowly working his way through with you.

· Belphie has this gentle smile on his face every time he looks at you, his hair an absolute mess. You’re welcome to stay in the attic for as long as you need to, but Belphie becomes unresponsive as he tries hard to build back up the energy he used helping you rest. Its your turn to ‘take care of’ Belphie now, which mostly just involves letting him rest his head on your shoulder, chest, or lap and running a hand through his hair as he naps.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my writings #my headcanons #lots of fluff in this one bc #its fun to write about just. little acts of affection. how people like to hold others

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honestgrins · 3 years ago

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if you're doing prompts... Mates Trope?! something during s1-2 of TO where part of the reason the wolves (or maybe just the elders who are very righteous about tradition) don't trust klaus is because he wanders around with everyone but his mate (which for this purpose i guess they can sense when a wolf is mated)

Oh || Klaroline

Elijah frowned deeply. “I’m not sure which scenario would be less tolerable to the pack, you being disrespectful to the mate bond or being mated to a vampire.”

Cradling the noticeable swell of her baby bump, Hayley snorted. “I might very well be carrying the next alpha with his disrespectful ass, so they’ll get over it eventually,” she pointed out. “But the vampire thing is always going to be a problem.”

“Not if Miss Forbes stays away from New Orleans.”

That was the crux of it, truly. Whether or not he had a mate, there was precious little Klaus could do about it in the eyes of the pack while she gave his city a wide berth. Honestly, her absence would likely make it all easier for them to swallow - perhaps to forget entirely with a few generations of distance. The thought left a hollow feeling in his chest, one far more noticeable since learning of his…predicament.

Learning he was to be a father after a millennium of running from the only one he’d ever known had been difficult enough. He’d ingratiated himself into the fabric of New Orleans in order to situate it to his needs, even softening the wolf pack to the idea of his leadership outside of the traditional hierarchy - at least, until he returned from Mystic Falls with a freshly established mate bond he apparently left behind.

A mate bond he could only imagine began with a defiant kiss and a slow-rising smile as bright as a sunlit afternoon.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know a thing about it until Hayley broke the news as to why the pack had turned against him. It was small comfort to know her use as a direct line in the camp, but he needed more. He knew so little about life as a wolf, that having been denied him for so long. “How can they know that I’ve found my mate?” Suspicion was a long-earned habit, and nothing was adding up. “How can they sense it here when I had no idea with her right in my arms?”

With a delicate cough, Elijah leaned forward to take some of his focus off Hayley. “I understand this is a difficult revelation, and there’s much to be learned about the mate phenomenon. However, I feel there’s a decided advantage in ensuring Miss Forbes is a non-factor in the politics of the city.”

His hand was around his brother’s throat before he could consciously think to do it, his hybrid strength more than enough to pin Elijah to the wall. “Stop. Talking.”

“Klaus.” Hayley’s voice was shaking, and her hands now covered her belly in a protective gesture. “You feel it now, don’t you? The need to protect her above all else?” She stood slowly, careful not to spook him further. “Even over your own brother?”

With excruciating control, he loosened his grip, finger by finger. “Alright,” he breathed once he could manage it past the sudden onslaught of rage. “I’m listening.”

“Caroline, you’re up!”

For at least the third time that afternoon, Caroline reminded herself there were too many witnesses at the Fall Festival to eat her sorority sisters. "I'm all for scamming money out of sleaze bags in the name of philanthropy, but I still think there are better ways to go about it than a kissing booth."

Amber just scoffed. "Suck it up, pledge, we all had to pay our dues," she said, divesting herself of the Gamma blue sash that said Kiss me! and handing it to Caroline. "If it helps, there's a total hottie in line. I almost extended my shift to get a chance at him."

Rolling her eyes, she forced a pageant smile as she slipped the sash over her head. "Thanks for your sacrifice."

"Funny," a familiar voice noted behind her. "You never thanked me for any of the sacrifices I made."

With a deep breath, she tried to make herself count to ten before turning. Call it personal growth that she made it to six when her glare fell on Klaus waiting at the booth. "I'm sorry, are we including the time you literally tried to sacrifice me? Because I'm so not in the mood to deal with you today, in case you can't tell."

"Oh my god, Caroline!" Amber looked mildly scared, but she took a step in front of her anyway, a stance she recognized from other sisters at any number of frat parties when a creep made himself known. "Who is this guy? Do I need to call security?"

She glanced back to Klaus, who remained uncharacteristically quiet as she decided what to do. Reluctantly, she met Amber's eyes with widened pupils. "Everything is fine, but someone needs to cover my shift. You never saw him, and I went home sick." When Amber obediently repeated her words, she also returned the sash. "Thanks!" she called out, quick as she was to flash away from the crowd, knowing he would follow.

Her dorm wasn't exactly a safe bet, given Elena and Damon's constant sexiling, and she didn't want to risk Bonnie catching them on campus. The only place she could think of was the wooded trail behind the chemistry building, where she found a quiet bench for them to sit. Well, for him to sit and for her to pace in front of. "We had a deal, Klaus. You weren't supposed to come back."

"To Mystic Falls," he clarified, his hands pressed together between his knees. At her decided frown, he allowed himself a sigh of discomfort. "Unfortunately, I have good reason to violate the spirit of our agreement."

She crossed her arms and waited.

He sighed again. "Sweetheart-"

"Just rip the band-aid off, Klaus!"

"I need you to accompany me back to New Orleans, and I need you to trust me enough to keep you safe," he said. With eyes intent on hers, his energy seemed barely contained, like he wanted nothing more than to grab her and go. "I would like you to do so freely. And quickly."

Her arms tightened, and she sank onto her jutted hip as she took in his plaintive request. "Points for being polite, I guess, but I doubt you would be if I were in any real danger. What I don't know is if this is you being overly cautious or just being a dick."

Rubbing two fingers at his temple, there was an ancient exhaustion in his face. "Neither of us can truly know what this is," he muttered to himself more than anything. He spoke up with more resolve. "Elijah wanted to hide you away in one of our many properties throughout the world, and Rebekah suggested a less involved plan that offered you an anonymous scholarship across the country - anything to keep you far away from me."

"Why are your siblings trying to get rid of me?" she demanded. "I didn't even do anything."

He shifted on his feet, and he couldn't quite meet her eyes. If he weren't Klaus Mikaelson, she might think he were embarrassed. "Your absence in New Orleans has been noted."

Confused, she pressed her hands to her face. "I seriously doubt that, since I've never been there. The only people I know in New Orleans is your family, and you've already established they don't want me there."

His ears flushed red, and then she knew he was embarrassed. "Hayley has found a home with nearby pack," he explained with a wince, "a pack that could prove necessary to the balance of the city. However, they are disinclined to negotiate with me at the moment."

"Gee, I wonder why. How many of them have you killed so far?"

Klaus gave a ferocious glare. "None, actually. But perhaps you missed the fact that a wolf with a known grudge against you is well placed to inform any number of enemies of your name and location."

The scoff burst out of her without permission, an absolute confidence emboldening her. "Like you'd let that happen."

Then he took a step closer, and that confidence withered into a new understanding - one that scared her. His voice lowered, soft in its menace. "Why do you think I'm here, Caroline?"

She swallowed, the tension unbearably thick between them. "I'm no one," she said, her voice shaky as she fought for the calm she felt only moments before. "Even if they could use me against you-"

"They can," he answered, deadly serious. "And they will. Maybe not now, but someday." He watched her closely; for what, she didn't know. His whole face softened whenever he found whatever he was looking for. "I'm only just beginning to understand myself," he admitted. "But you're far from no one, and I need to establish that you're firmly under my protection."

"Why?" He never really answered her questions, Caroline realized. This one, though... This, she needed to know. "Why me?"

His eyes seemed to burn with gold, and she held her breath as he stared. "Wolves know when another has found their mate, and this pack has judged my character unfit for abandoning mine."

If she weren't a vampire, she would swear her legs might collapse beneath her. As it was, her head felt suddenly light. Her mouth fell open, and she finally remembered to breathe. When she exhaled, it escaped as a sigh. "Oh."

"Yes, oh."

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #listen #i tried about six versions of this fic and they all kept getting worse #i'm sorry this is the best i can do but #i hope you like it!#to rely on the kindness of strangers #fic: oh

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suddencolds · 3 years ago

Text

Untrustworthy | Genshin Impact

This is a 3k word commission for anon! (I admittedly wrote over the commissioned word count).

Thank you so much for commissioning me and for your kind message 😭This fic was surprisingly very challenging to write, so I’m sorry for the wait; I hope you enjoy!

Requested prompt:

I want Diluc completely miserable with a cold. As much mess as you're ok with. Still trying to function. Until Kaeya can't stand watching anymore and inserts himself as caregiver.

—

It’s subtle at first. Diluc turns away from making a drink to cough tightly into an elbow. Diluc’s gaze pulls uneven as he ducks forward with a barely stifled sneeze into a handkerchief he’s been keeping in his coat pocket. Diluc—when he thinks no one is watching—leans a bit too heavily against the countertop, bracing himself with one arm, and lifts the other hand to massage his temples. as if he’s attempting to drive away a headache that he’s had all afternoon.

It would be unnoticeable, except Kaeya pays more attention than people give him credit for. It would be unnoticeable, except Kaeya is aware that a cold has been making its rounds through the Knights, many of which frequent the tavern—one severe enough to prompt Jean to actually take a sick day, for once, one that seems especially severe this winter and—judging by the absences in his ranks this last week—difficult to avoid.

Diluc doesn’t fall ill often, Kaeya knows. Even now he barely looks unwell, save for the faint flush of his cheeks, the exhaustion disrupting his usually-perfect posture, the sneezes that he keeps stifling into almost-silence.

Either he’s at the start of his cold—before it’s had a chance to get really bad—or he’s putting in an inordinate amount of effort to hide it.

Kaeya suspects it might be both.

“Master Diluc,” he says, when Diluc conveniently stops by one of the tables next to him with drinks. “When does your shift end?”

Diluc’s shoulders stiffen, though he doesn’t turn around to address Kaeya properly. “Three hours from now.” he says, frowning. “if you intend to involve me in one of your late-night arrangements…”

“Oh? Not this time,“ Kaeya says. He lifts his wine to take a sip. “Even if I were, I think perhaps I would have reconsidered.”

“And why is that?”

Diluc says it flatly—unaffectedly—but he only has the luxury of keeping up that act for a few seconds before he’s ducking into his shoulder with a perfectly silenced stifle. It’s such a seamless performance, neatly contained and expertly quiet—really, Kaeya deems himself unworthy.

“Bless you,” he says, though Diluc scoffs, swipes the empty glasses from the table he’s serving, and starts off toward his usual spot behind the counter. “I do hope you are not falling ill, master Diluc.”

Diluc sets the glasses down on the countertop, diligently averting his glance. “I’m fine.”

“Is that so?” At Diluc’s silence, he presses on. “Perhaps you should close up early, just in case. You look like you could use some rest.”

“No need,” Diluc says. “It’s just— “Hiih… hiIIH-nGK-t! Hiih… HIiIH…-!!.... hiIIh-GKt!” The sneezes snap him forward, his shoulders trembling with the motion. He straightens with an almost imperceptible shiver. “—just dust, snf. Perhaps the Knights would be more efficient if you put more time into work instead of investigating less…” Diluc looks to him at last, his jaw tightly set. “...pressing matters.”

“Ah.” Kaeya laughs. “So eager to get rid of me?”

“Your concern is unnecessary. I already intend to close up earlier than usual.”

That’s surprising, to say the least—Diluc usually never cancels plans to suit himself. “So you really aren’t feeling well,” Kaeya says, suddenly worried. If it’s so bad that even Diluc is closing up early...

He must not be doing a good job keeping the concern off his face, because Diluc just scoffs dismissively, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not that.” He coughs softly into his raised elbow. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Hmm, to think you said no late night excursions...”

“There’s a banquet tomorrow that I’m expected to attend.”

And yet he won't be closing up for another few hours. And yet he’s here, with the start of a cold, looking exhausted and unwell, and still—for reasons Kaeya can’t fathom—he intends to work late into the night and then spend the entire day tomorrow at some pretentious social event. Kaeya knows that having to entertain strangers is exhausting to Diluc even on regular occasions. He also knows that whatever Diluc is coming down with is unlikely to resolve itself in just a night’s rest.

“For the winery?” he asks. “My, such impressive dedication to the business… surely you can send Elzer on your behalf?”

Diluc’s shoulders tense in a way that suggests that he is as reluctant about attending as Kaeya expected. “I can’t. The host requested my presence.”

“At the very least,” Kaeya says, “You should close up a bit earlier.” He glances over his shoulder to peer through the first floor windows. It’s dark outside—too dark to come to any conclusions, but earlier today, the sky had been too heavy, the air prickling with humidity, the clouds overhead sprawling and dark. “It wouldn’t do you any good to get caught up in the rain.”

“The rain is of no consequence to me,” Diluc says, in the kind of tone that suggests that he doesn’t intend to close up early at all.

“Even with a cold?” “I don’t have a cold.”

Kaeya shrugs. “Well, if you’re certain.” He pushes his mug forward so that it rests on the countertop, right within Diluc’s reach, and counts the mora out beside it. “Goodnight, Diluc.”

He turns on his heels. Years ago, he might’ve stayed longer. He might’ve insisted for Diluc to take care of himself and not left his side until he had.

But it’s been years. Diluc left, and Kaeya tried to muster up the pieces of himself that had existed independent of him—he’d taught himself how to lie, tricked himself into believing that the person he’d trusted most hadn’t left him—and now even though Diluc is back, sometimes it feels as if Kaeya barely knows him at all.

If Diluc won’t take care of himself, then that’s his prerogative. It’s stopped being Kaeya’s problem a long time ago.

—

Kaeya has every intention of leaving Diluc alone.

That is, until he’s at the Knights’ headquarters, listening in on a conversation that he doesn’t quite mean to eavesdrop on but hasn’t gone out of his way not to avoid.

“He keeps taking our work,” one of the Knights says. “It’s awful. Last time we spent all our time finding this one domain—Fatui territory, alright? We had a whole expedition team ready to scout out the domain the next day. Then the next day, we get there and the place is abandoned. Everything’s been scorched. Must’ve been a pyro user.” “How do you know it was him?”

“Trust me, you’d know. How many pyro visions are there in Teyvat? It’s like the legends say. He doesn’t leave any room unturned. He’s more thorough than a team of our men put together.”

“Gentlemen,” Kaeya says loudly, smiling when they startle and turn to look at him in synchronicity. “What are you talking about?”

“The Darknight Hero,” one of the knights offers haltingly. “Last night he took down one of the Fatui strongholds we were planning to deal with. Talk about an annoyance, huh?”

“Oh? How heroic. It seems he lives up to his title,” Kaeya says. His mind is reeling. Diluc? But last night, Diluc had been working late. He’d gone home right after, hadn’t he? It wouldn’t make sense for him to be out last night. Unless, of course...

He would really, really like to believe that Diluc’s self-preservation instincts are better than that.

“I’ve been saying,” says another knight. “We were supposed to be scouting out the area right now. Chances are, there will be nothing left there that’s of any use to us.”

“Seeing as we have nothing to do today,” the first knight says, his expression hardening, “maybe we can conduct a search party for the Darknight Hero instead. See what he has to say about withholding information from the Knights.”

“Let’s not be too hasty here,” Kaeya cuts in, before the other Knights have a chance to offer their assent. “It’s unlikely that the Darknight Hero would be out during the day, isn’t it? Rest assured, I’ll make sure that it’s looked into. In the meantime, have you asked the Acting Grandmaster for a new assignment?”

The knight in question falters. “No, but…”

Kaeya smiles pointedly at him—the kind of vicious smile that, around knights and strangers alike, never fails to intimidate. “Then perhaps you should get to it, don’t you think?”

He waits until he’s sure they’ll be busy with something else. Maybe they’re mistaken. Maybe Diluc had gone to scout out the area on some previous occasion, and the Knights are only now paying witness to his usual efficiency.

Or maybe Diluc has forgone a night of rest in lieu of playing hero to Mondstadt in the pouring rain. And now he’s at a banquet somewhere, with a miserable cold that he’s most likely intent on telling himself he doesn’t have.

It’s been awhile since Kaeya’s been to a banquet. He misses the alcohol, the music, the extravagant decorations. It’s easy enough to tell himself that that’s the reason why he’s going.

—

It’s not difficult to get in. Kaeya is well-acquainted with having to sweet talk his way into lowering someone’s defenses.

Inside the banquet hall, it’s crowded. It is as pretentious a setup as it gets—visitors wearing suits and ballroom gowns, walls adorned with streamers and gold plaques, tables laid out with refreshments of all sorts. The building it’s being held in has at least two floors and too many side rooms to count.

He spots Diluc from across the room—red hair is rare enough that he’s not easy to miss. Diluc is currently engaging in conversation with someone Kaeya hasn’t seen before.

It’s likely that Diluc has found the person who explicitly requested his presence—probably someone with a business deal that he thinks warrants a personal talk with the owner of Dawn Winery. If Kaeya interrupts Diluc while he’s negotiating some sort of once-in-a-lifetime deal, Diluc will never let him live it down. So instead, he grabs a drink as an excuse to get closer and stands a few tables away to listen in.

Up close, Diluc’s cold is practically impossible to miss. His clothes look freshly ironed, but his hair is still damp at the tips—he’s changed into dry clothes, then, but his wet hair seems to only confirm the hypothesis that he was, in fact, scouting out domains last night in the rain instead of getting a wink of sleep. Diluc has always been pale, but now there’s a flush high on his cheeks that Kaeya thinks could only be a result of an impending fever. He is standing with his arms crossed—a last attempt to keep warm, perhaps—with a handkerchief gripped loosely in one hand. Faint shivers break the line of his shoulders.

Kaeya feels a pang in his chest. Diluc looks…

Kaeya watches as Diluc twists away with a soft apology and a wrenching sneeze that snaps him forward at the waist.

...miserable.

“That was merely my expectation,” the man says. “Crepus and I were business partners, do you know that? You don’t seem like the type of person who would choose this profession. I am sure your priorities lie elsewhere.”

Diluc clears his throat. “I have no qualms against upholding the family business.” His voice—though usually smooth and mellifluous—has taken on a rough edge to it, as if from overuse.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise,” the man says. “I am sure you’re aware of your options, no? You could make a fortune selling off the winery if you so desired.”

“If you are...” Diluc starts, though his sentence is punctuated by a soft, desperate gasp, and he turns away just in time, ducking into his handkerchief. “hiIh…. Hiih… hiih’GKt—CHhiiew! Snf-!” His eyes stay shut in anticipation, the grip tightening around the handkerchief as his shoulders jerk with another sharp intake of breath. “Hiih… Hiiih… Iiih’DZsshh-iu! haAHH’iIKTch-iIIew!” he sniffles wetly, barely suppressing a violent shiver.

“If you are here to gauge whether or not I intend to sell the winery, I can assure you that I do not,” he says, quieter than usual.

“Ah, of course, just a question.” The man leans forward, lowers his voice. “Truthfully, I am more interested in a partnership. It’s come to my attention that you have an excess of wine sitting in the winery’s cellars. If you can get me the amount of Dandelion Wine I need at a discounted price, I can sell it down in Liyue for a profit.”

“I have no interest in expanding the business any further,” Diluc says. “The excess will sell out easily in the spring when demand rises for Windblume.”

“I urge you to give it some consideration. Dandelion Wine is a specialty to Mondstadt. Think about the profitability of expanding to somewhere where dandelions are hard to come by,“ the man says. “You could stand to double or even triple the prices per bottle. I am only asking to take a fraction of your stock, see? Ten percent would be enough.”

He says it as if ten percent isn’t anything substantial, but Kaeya can’t help but think that there’s something wrong here—both with the presentation of the offer and with its suddenness. From here, Diluc’s expression is unreadable—it betrays only slight discomfort when he turns to the side, muffling harsh, forceful coughs into his suit sleeve, and murmurs a reflexive apology. No hesitation—not the slightest hint of wariness—even though the Diluc Kaeya remembers wouldn’t agree to raising prices so drastically without good reason.

“I can handle all transportation and deliver the profits to you in a few months,” the man presses on, interpreting Diluc’s untelling silence as interest. “My associates have done research on the market in Liyue and where it would be best to sell. You wouldn’t have to do anything differently from your end. All that I ask is for you to trust me with the first shipment and compensate me fairly after I handle the marketing and transportation.”

Diluc sniffles. “Forgive me,” he says, bracing himself with one hand against the table behind him as he ducks forward violently into a raised arm. “hiIh’nGKT-chhiEW! HIih… I do n-not… hhH… Hiih-! hiIH’iiikT-CHhiew! Sdf-! Ugh… hiIIH’NGKT-CHhiew!” He leans slightly into his side, and though the gesture is well-disguised, Kaeya can tell just how much he’s bracing his weight on the table. It’s concerning, to say the least. Is he really too tired to stand upright? “...I do not expect to give out so much wine without a proper assessment of the risk. If you believe the model to be profitable, you are free to… t-to… hh-! to purchase…. hiIH… haAA’iiKTT-CHh!-u! hiIh’iiiTSSHhh’uh! snf-!” The congestion in his voice is evident in all of his consonants, and his gaze flickers down to his handkerchief in unspoken desperation, though Kaeya suspects he’s too polite to blow his nose in front of a business partner.

“...You are free to purchase wine at the same rate as I offer other corporate partners. I cannot - coughcough - I cannot offer such a large first-time shipment for free based on only an assumption that it will be successful.”

Kaeya can see the exact moment the smugness drops off of the man’s face. His eyes harden at Diluc’s hesitation, his practiced smile shifting into the approximation of a sneer.

“An assumption? You don’t trust my ability to see the operation through to the end?” He says, still in the same polite, haughty tone of his. “As a long-time associate of your father, I would have thought I would have earned your trust as well. Unless, of course, you simply don’t agree with Crepus’s assessments?”

Kaeya can see the way Diluc’s jaw tightens at the query. He clears his throat softly, though the brief wince that follows suggests that the action is far from painless.

“His vision for the company is - snf - very important to me,” he says simply.

The man waves a flippant hand. “Or perhaps once he left, you decided you knew better? I mean, you have grown up so much, so I’m sure you feel more than capable of handling his affairs, regardless of whether or not you’re doing it his way. I don’t blame you.”

As the man turns around to pour himself a drink, Kaeya sees a flash of blue and gold tucked into his suit pocket. It takes him another moment to realize what it is.

A Fatui sergeant’s insignia—for identification purposes, or just a habit, likely.

This man isn’t a business partner of Crepus’s at all.

Now, the man wheels around, holding one drink in each hand. Alcohol, clearly—though it sparkles, faintly red. “Ah, well. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but your decisions are understandable. A friend of mine has been working on a drink that mixes certain Liyuen specialties and Dandelion Wine—would you give it a try?”

“I don’t drink,” Diluc says haltingly.

“Just a sip wouldn’t hurt,” the man says, raising an eyebrow. “If you are anything like Crepus, you must have developed quite the refined taste when it comes to wine. Perhaps you could speak for the quality?”

“I’m sorry,” Diluc says quietly. “I am… Hiih… f-feeling… hH…. hiIih’iIKT-chHIew! Sdf!... slightly under the weather.” Kaeya blinks at him, disbelieving. Such an outright admission is practically unheard of, when it comes to Diluc—but then again, it’s a convenient excuse, and Kaeya is not under the impression that he really knows him. Diluc lifts a hand to his face, sniffling hard. “I’m afraid I would not be able to taste it.”

“You state the obvious,” the man drawls, and Diluc’s shoulders hunch slightly as he turns his face away, his cheeks reddening slightly. “Actually, that’s one of the reasons why I recommended this drink. It’s made with Jueyun chilis. Should be good for clearing up a cold.”

“Is that so?” Diluc says, still frowning.

“Perhaps you could speak to its efficacy?”

Slowly—hesitantly—Diluc lifts the glass. The man watches him like a hawk—too eagerly, if anything. Kaeya presumes that he either wants Diluc poisoned or too intoxicated not to be swayed, and hauling home a Diluc who can’t hold his own sounds like more than he’s signed up for, so now would be a good time to interfere. Diluc can be mad at him later.

Kaeya, for all he’s attempted over the years, has plenty of practice making his entrances as obnoxiously showy as possible.

“My, my,” he says, striding in with a drink in hand to settle right next to Diluc. “The esteemed owner of the Dawn Winery.” Just for the way Diluc grimaces at the title, his eyebrows furrowing, he decides this intervention has been worth it. “And… who’s this?”

Diluc veers away from Kaeya to stifle—a soft, near-silent stifle that must be exhausting to suppress.

“A business partner,” the man answers through gritted teeth.

“Must be a busy job,” Kaeya says, snatching Diluc’s drink out of his hand and setting it down on the table behind him. “Given, of course, that you have two.” He takes an efficient step forward and swipes the insignia out of the so-called business partner’s pocket.

“I do wonder why the Fatui would be so interested in the Dawn Winery,” he says calmly, ignoring the man’s indignant yelp of protest. He turns the insignia over in his hands, contemplative. “Did you really think the owner of the largest wine business in Mondstadt would be so easy to scam?”

The sergeant swears. “You asshole—!”

Kaeya reaches for the sword tucked into his belt. He knows it wouldn’t be a fair fight, seeing that the man seems very much unarmed, but it’s as good as anything as a threat. “I don’t suppose you’ll try this again?” he says. “I can’t claim to be the best swordsman in Mondstadt—that title goes to the previous cavalry captain, but maybe tonight I can come in second.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh? Do you want to find out if I am?”

“No,” the agent says. “I wasn’t finished having my conversation.”

“Well, what a shame.” Kaeya doesn’t wait for him to think of a response. He takes Diluc’s arm and turns abruptly to haul Diluc towards the exit.

Diluc goes along easily enough. It’s only when they get outside that the frustration—from watching Diluc push himself, stubbornly, to this extent—boils over.

“Diluc,” he says, turning on his heels. “Really? After a late night shift at the tavern, your first thought was to forgo rest to spend all night scouting out a Fatui domain? In the rain, for that matter?”

Diluc turns away, his expression unchanging. “That’s not worth mentioning.”

“Perhaps you’d claim that attending a banquet directly afterwards is not worth mentioning, either? Your hair’s still wet. And that encounter with the Fatui sergeant—what’s gotten into you? Since when have you been so careless?”

He’s almost certain Diluc can hear the unspoken accusation behind it. This isn’t like you. Diluc is hasty—he has a tendency to overestimate himself and involve himself in situations he knows will be dangerous—but he isn’t careless.

“—I knew he wasn’t one of Crepus’s associates.” Diluc explains, with a soft, liquid sniffle. He turns away, lifting an arm to his face. “I would’ve - hhihH-!! - snf, I would’ve recognized him if he were, sdf.” his eyes drift shut; he buries his face into his suit sleeve, sniffling. “Crepus made it a point to… hiIh…-! hIIIh… to introduce him to everyone he - HIiIIih… sdf-!! ...Everyone he worked closely with.”

“Is that so?” Kaeya says, but it’s not enough. “Then why did you entertain him?”

Diluc is quiet for a moment. When Kaeya looks over, it’s to a dazed, bleary expression before he ducks harshly into his raised elbow with a forceful, “hiIh’nNGKT-chHIEw! hiIH’IITCHh-chhUU!! Snf-!”

He doesn’t lift his elbow from his face. “I w-wanted… snf-! more - hiIh-!...information,” he says. “If I were to know more about what he was planning, it would make it easier for me to find any fraudulent - hiIih-!! Snf-! - transactions in the company’s history if I knew what to - hIih-hiIh’iIKTch-IIiu! Excuse me… snf-! -to look for.”

“Bless you. There are better ways to do that,” Kaeya says. “No need to do it when you’re evidently unwell.”

Diluc peeks out from behind his arm, which he still hasn’t lowered from his face. His face is flushed up to his ears—easy enough to dismiss as fever, though Kaeya knows that’s not all there is to it.

Diluc has always been embarrassed about admitting weakness. Kaeya sighs, fishes through his own pockets for a spare handkerchief.

“I have to say, Diluc,” he says, holding out the handkerchief — which Diluc accepts hurriedly, turning away to clean up whatever mess he’s made of his sleeve - “My weekends would be much less eventful -”

“hiiihh’GKTTt-CHh’yyew! snf-!”

“- if I could trust you to look after yourself,” Kaeya finishes, raising an eyebrow. “Bless you, by the way.”

“I know my limits,” Diluc says.

Kaeya huffs a sigh. “But you don’t honor them, do you?”

Diluc frowns, looking away. “I would have been fine if you hadn’t showed up.”

Kaeya stares at him. It’s half in disbelief, half in exasperation—but Diluc has always been like this, hasn’t he? Insistent on his own self-sufficiency. Hesitant to admit he might, in any way, be infallible.

I would’ve been fine.

“You always are,” he says finally, with a smile that he doesn’t mean.

If Diluc so diligently insists on refusing his help, perhaps Kaeya should take a hint. Mondstadt is a half hour away—less, if he hurries. He quickens his pace. It’s fortunate, he thinks, that the rain stopped early this morning, after—

Diluc grabs his arm.

Kaeya wheels around, suddenly worried that Diluc might be feeling much worse than he’d let on, but Diluc’s expression betrays nothing as he lowers his hand to his side.

“Thank you,” he says—a soft, private admission.

Kaeya clears his throat, waves a dismissive hand. “I assure you, I have plenty more handkerchiefs.”

“No,” Diluc says quietly, looking away. “Not just for that.”

#snz #snz kink #snz fic #sneeze fic #my fic #gen/shi/n im/pac/t #i have been working on this for almost 2 weeks straight #longer than anticipated T-T i planned to finish this before moving back #it was really hard to write ngl (more plot-driven than most of my other recent snzfics)#i hope it doesn't disappoint ;;#(prob the last 2k+ fic in awhile unless my time management is insanely good)#i will still write drabbles if time permits! been wanting to write abt ko/kom/i after playing her character quest #(requests are still open as always! or scenarios if anyone just wants to talk!)#this is actually my first time being commissioned for writing and #it really made me happy!! thank you!

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atopfourthwall · 3 years ago

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Ive only recently gotten into classic Star Trek so I don't think I can properly answer but what is it specifically about Discovery and recent Star Trek that classic Trek fans hate?

Putting this behind a cut because... it's a lot.

Well, first of all a big rejection of it is just on an aesthetic level. Up until the 2009 movie (which was considered a reboot, even with time travel elements), Star Trek tried to treat the original series and how it was portrayed as pretty sacrosanct. Sure, they might occasionally make jokes about goofier aspects of it and discard some of the stupider stuff (like how in the final episode, penned by Gene Roddenberry himself, that women weren't allowed to Captain starships), but how TOS looked? That's how the 23rd century looked. Buttons and multi-colored outfits and boxy computers and smooth, undetailed ships WAS what was appropriate for the time. When Scotty came back in TNG, they had him on the holodeck and it was the TOS bridge. When DS9 traveled back in time to that era for an episode? They went onto the Enterprise and visited it. When in an Enterprise 2-parter we had a TOS-era ship? It looked like a TOS ship. They even did a 2-parter on Enterprise to explain why Klingons had smooth foreheads when later (and earlier) they didn't. Star Trek up until then cared about maintaining that continuity of appearance. But Discovery is set in the TOS era... but nothing looks like TOS. Even when we got the Enterprise and those uniforms and we saw inside the ship, it was an upgraded form. The only logic I've seen people try to argue about WHY it doesn't look like it actually did was "Well, audiences won't accept something as cheap as TOS being futuristic." Well, then you've got a few responses there: -Don't set in TOS era, then. -That's horseshit, because audiences from the 90s through the 2000s accepted it just fine. Even a piece of dialogue from DS9 explained it perfectly: "I LOVE 23rd century design." It LOOKS cheap, but it was just the aesthetics of the period. And the Enterprise 2-parter it still looked good in HD. Hell, arguably it looked BETTER in HD because they knew how to light it and create mood and its own unique flavor. -It's even more horseshit because people are STILL going back and watching it even today, as indicated by you saying you've started watching it, so clearly it's not that much of a barrier. But what's even more egregious is the TECHNOLOGY. You might be able to accept updated aesthetics if at least matches what was present during the period... and it doesn't. Holographic displays and communication (holodeck technology AT ALL, frankly - it's possible it was there, but TNG seemed pretty adamant that the holodecks were fairly new, very impressive technology), weapons not looking or acting like they traditionally did, Enterprise and Discovery having R2D2-style repair droids that certainly did not exist in TOS, the wrong sound effects being frequently employed, replicator technology for good-looking food instead of food dispensers that gave out marshmallows and cubes, and honestly the tech level shown in Discovery looks just as advanced - if not MORE advanced than seen on TNG 100 years later. And this is a minor thing, but despite the attempt to make the future LOOK futuristic, from a cultural perspective, the future looks... way too damn similar to now. The excessive swearing (it was said in particular in Star Trek 4 that while they certainly did cuss, it was less common and they sure as hell weren't dropping F-bombs), a party on Discovery that looked like a rave (when previously it seemed like the most popular music and culture of the 23rd/24th century was considered fairly high-brow entertainment [classical music, Shakespeare, great works of literature and plays, etc.] - and while you could certainly argue that that snootiness and love of that stuff is a problem with Star Trek and a sign of how sterile and homogenized it is, THAT is the future they presented and a character in Voyager loving some of the goofier parts of 20th century culture like jukeboxes and old sci-fi serials was considered unusual), and just the general way people talk betrays the idea that the writers aren't thinking about how society changes in the future. It's just the modern day, but with cooler technology. But hey, let's set aside the general aesthetics - some people aren't going to mind that and find

ways to handwave away a lot of stuff (even Discovery season 2 TRIED to handwave away stuff like the holographic communications, but did a piss-poor job of it). This brings us to the problem of the WRITING. And the problem with the writing is a big Michael Burnham-shaped indentation. To be clear, I don't mind Michael as a character or her actress - there are interesting aspects to her, centering a Star Trek show around the science officer is a neat idea (though that means you should probably NAME IT AFTER HER and not around the ship, because it suggests this is a standard ensemble group and not JUST her)... but the actual execution is that it feels like the entire universe bends over backwards for HER. She has a unique relationship with a beloved longtime character that is retconned in. She has unique relationships with several important characters to the point where the fate of billions of people hinges on her and the decisions she makes. She is presented as almost always correct about everything, and those that oppose her are often wrong, naïve, or active enemies. Now, this is less of an issue in the third season - but that has its own unique problems - but in the first season, the resolution of two major storylines (mirror universe and the Klingon war) revolves around her and her relationship to the Terran Emperor and Lorca. In season 2, her mother trying to help or save her is the basis of the ENTIRE friggin' plot with time travel and the like, with special knowledge and history having to do with her and everyone ready to abandon their lives for her so she won't be alone when she has to go to the future when arguably they barely know her (the timeline of the show is debatable). Season 3 has a few different problems with her - the first is that she keeps being involved in things that don't concern her (why is she going down to Trill?) and she keeps violating orders. Now, her violating orders is a problem throughout the entirety of Discovery - in fact, it's kind of the instigating factor OF the series. And arguably, other Star Trek characters are guilty of that and they face no consequences, just as she faces none... and yet it's the brazenness with which it happens, and in those other series it's arguable because the series tries to avoid excessive continuity changes for its episodic nature, so the status quo MUST return to normal... but Discovery is pivoted as one of MAJOR continuity, so her lack of consequences (and indeed eventual PROMOTION) is baffling to the point of frustration. Now again, let me be clear here - she is not a bad character in and of herself. Honestly what it shows is that being the science officer on a starship is not where her talents lie. She should be in a position where she has a lot more freedom to act and not in a major command structure... but being in that command structure, what we see in season 3 is that she lacks the discipline, emotional maturity, responsibility, leadership qualities, and general other traits necessary to be a Captain. Only once during season 3 did she display such a quality - putting the safety of the Federation above a friend and colleague... but other times she will happily disobey orders and put herself and others in harm's way, creating potential new problems. Now, again, Star Trek is rife with characters doing that... but usually not the Captains. And, in fact, when this happened once on DS9 with one officer disobeying orders and putting their own personal feelings above the greater responsibility, it was made VERY clear that the incident would mean that they would never be able to command a starship because of the unofficial reprimand. What's even more frustrating about her is that the character is ALWAYS shoved to the forefront so much to the point where we just get sick of her. SHE is the one giving log entries (usually pretty piss-poor ones, at that - very flowery and nonsensical and kind of dumb) and not the Captain. SHE is the one given so much focus and how the plot of the episode affects her. Barely anyone else gets any focus episodes - I STILL can't

remember the names of some of the secondary characters because they're so rarely said, and a PTSD-related plotline in season 3 for one of the secondary characters basically gets resolved OFF-SCREEN. Michael would be fine if we actually had a chance to miss her... but we never do. Arguably one of the best episodes of the show is in season 2, when it focuses on Saru and his people because Michael DOES take a back seat. It's his story and his development and problems relating to him and his people. And even if, again, we forgave the idea of so much focus on her even in plots that aren't about her... she never seems to really change that much. She'll TALK about how she's changed, but I see no real difference in the way she acts (MAYBE season 1 to 2, where in season 1 she was stiffer and more Vulcan-like, but that's it). But hey, let's assume that's not a problem for you - you really, REALLY like Michael and are fine with so much focus on her. Simply put, the writing of the rest of the show... is just kind of dumb. The ship is powered by magic mushrooms that let it teleport everywhere because the universe has super fungus capillaries throughout it that nobody can see and also it's magic and can resurrect the dead. The time travel plot of season 2 doesn't make any sense when you sit down and diagram it. Well-established Trek lore is just kind of sprinkled in, but now in ways that doesn't match what it was before or at least in ways that completely recolor how it's supposed to work, because it needs to serve THIS plot. Everyone remembering a murdererous monster fondly after she leaves because "Hey, she was coooool." The explanation for the big mystery in season 3 is just fricking stupid and one of the two big reasons why I've finally given up on Discovery, because it's just so absurd, doesn't match how anything works, and just feels like the writers giving the middle finger to the audience because they care more about "YOU MUST FEEEEEEL THINGS!" instead of it making sense. And indeed, there is certainly a balance to be made of plot vs. emotion-driven storytelling - some stories are dumb, but are forgivable because the character writing and emotion are so strong that they override how goofy the plot is... but sometimes a plot is just so dumb it overrides anything I'm SUPPOSED to feel. And it would help if I already liked the show, already gave it some benefit of the doubt... but I don't and it hasn't done enough to impress me. A little thing that's a problem with ALL of current modern Trek shows is that whole sprinkling lore thing - I don't think a single episode goes by in ANY current modern Trek series that doesn't have a random reference to classic Trek lore. A name, a line of dialogue, etc. It comes across like the creators don't trust you to enjoy it on its own merits, but want you to like it because "Hey, remember thing? We know about thing! Like us because we mentioned thing!" But hey, I recognize that these are things that other people may not have any problem with or just disagree in general. But for me and my family, these are the big ones that keep us from enjoying it. Hell, my brother and dad still watch it for hatewatching purposes, but I was done after season 3. I gave it plenty of chances to impress me, and while each season MARGINALLY got better as it went along, I'm tired of waiting to actually like it and to stop feeling like it thinks I'm a fucking idiot. If other people still like it, great - it clearly appeals to them in a way that it doesn't appeal to me and they are free to enjoy it. Other people probably have their own issues, but this long, rambly bit is the major stuff for me.

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tigerdrop · 3 years ago

Text

in lieu of doing more strenuous hand-based activities heres the Dogboy Gordon In Heat Megamix ive been talking about. i wrote this over the course of a couple months in an effort to feel okay about writing horny shit again and i only just realized there are nearly 6 thousand words here. and they only really fuck for like 10% of that

ta-dah

ive thought a lot about gordon being stuck back at gordonhouse after getting kicked out of barneyhouse. i think its ripe for a lot of pining. (and yes, he is pining over the guy hes actively banging. hes being a big mopey idiot over the fact that he doesnt get to have his fuckbuddy around 24/7.) absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever and gordons already at a baseline of "wheres benrey. wheres benrey"......and now i am about to turn it up to 11

so lets say......gordons starting to feel weirdly under the weather. sweaty and irritable and tired. hes holing himself up in his room a lot, wrapping himself up in blankets to fight off a chill and a sniffliness that wont go away. and hes gettin awfully moody, too. real fuckin testy. starting shit with freemind for no reason and snapping at og gordon like hes a teenager. and......hes nesting, almost, or at least, gathering up a whole bunch of blankets and pillows and anything that smells vaguely like benrey. (hes not really aware hes doing this last thing.)

basically, long story short, feetman is fucked up. hes pathetic. hes being a huge bitch. at least og gordon feels vaguely sorry for him, and expresses this by way of observing him and trying to treat it. for science. its better than freemind, who just loudly complains about him being a huge bitch and reeking up the place. theres something weird coming from vr gordons corner of the house.....a musky, heady, hormonal kind of thing that makes freemind act simultaneously territorial and irritable and more lascivious than normal. and that also piques og gordons attention, because having both of them be wound up little freaks at the same time is enough to make even the most resilient person pull their hair out

now gordon primes got his suspicions as to whats going on, but hes not gonna tell vr gordon that he suspects hes going into heat. that would compromise the experiment, and all that. so poor gordons just going thru all this shit not knowing what in the fuck is wrong with him and getting more worked up and irritable about it by the day. hes convinced that hes just got the flu, or something......except, uh, haha, jesus christ he is horny all the FUCKING TIME

he doesnt get it! he feels like shit all the time, so why is he constantly fighting off boners and having weird wet dreams and thinking about-- well. his fucking boyfriend, he guesses. (are they boyfriends?? he doesnt know. he gets a weird, sharp pang when he thinks about them not being boyfriends, at this point, but its not like theyve ever talked about it!) gordons half-convinced that hes just losing his mind from being stuck inside all the time and he really just wants to see benrey again. its, like, all he thinks about. (see? hes losing it. theres the proof.)

the sucks thing for everybody else is that gordon is also Extremely Vocal about how shitty he feels and how much he wishes he didnt feel shitty so he could go see benrey and how much he cant stand benrey for not being able to read his mind and come over when he feels bad. eventually freemind gets so sick of his shit that he decides to cut out the middleman and get benrey involved directly. "come take care of your fucking dog before i call the aspca! animal neglect is a crime, asshole!"

(if pressed, freemind would adamantly reject the idea that hes being nice to gordon. but on some level, hes kinda sympathetic. the guys clearly miserable, and he just keeps asking for the same fucking thing. might as well humor him to shut him up.)

vr gordon is completely unaware of these machinations, however. hes just holed up in his room trying to work out what makes him feel better because, uhh, powerade isnt helping

jacking off doesnt do a whole lot for him anymore. like, it feels good, but its not very satisfying. gordon just ends up feeling more restless than anything afterward. and hes always stupid horny. more blankets. a box fan. less blankets. sleeping with one of benreys shirts pressed up to his face. grinding into his pillow when he wakes up hard from yet another weird dream. theyre all a little helpful, and he feels like hes working towards the right thing, somehow, but its never really enough to take the edge off

and then.....he tries......jerking off more. especially when he realizes that its bizarrely soothing to do so while he can smell benrey up close and personal on that stupid shirt of his. better still when he rolls onto his side.....and then his stomach.......rocking his hips into the mattress until he gets the idea to lift his hips a little. and......oh. cool. something kind of......clicks. in his head. as he raises his hips higher while he keeps his arms wrapped around a pillow and benreys shirt jammed against his nose. hes got that lil moment of realization that this is good, actually. this feels like a good move. and its making some of that discomfort melt away

and gordon thinks about.....how it felt. earlier. when they were with barmey. and benrey had him just like this, ass up, face down, and was spreading him apart and licking him open and making him submit and he groans so fucking hard that embarassment just rips through him like lightning. but his tail starting to wag a little faster.....electricity shooting through his belly......and he cant help but wonder. what if benrey had kept going? pulled back and-- maybe, replaced his tongue with his fingers, one at a time, curling them inside him and telling him how well hes behaving and-- and his dick throbs, hard, and gordon realizes he wants fingers inside of himself right fucking now, thank you, hes not fully certain how to accomplish it be he is going to fucking try

(sigh) so my guy figures out about the old fingers in the ass trick. and i need you to understand that i am fully convinced that this is one of those guys who has an uproarious reaction to getting fingers in his ass. mr repressed and uptight over here doesnt really get what the big deal is until he gets braver and pushes a little deeper and hes rock hard in an instant, goodbye, just like everybodys favorite creative writing exercise

and this is what he decides to do for a solid day or two without leaving his room, because, honestly, this is awesome. and the longer he spends jerking off the less time he spends stressing about the fact that his imaginations getting really vivid, here. sure, like, hes no stranger to weird dreams even before this, but this is the first time hes really letting his mind run wild and this dude is nonstop thinking about being bred and gordon still has no fucking idea that hes in heat. doesnt even occur to him

unfortunately this also does not solve his problems but at least it feels baller and it keeps him occupied. also, unfortunately, the increased rate of jerking off is causing a serious uptick in Dog Smells, the effect of which is turning freemind into a nightmare. its just not good vibes in this house. enter: benrey

now i need you to understand that when these two meet up again i want gordon to get Emotional. think about how genuinely excited he gets to see some of his pals in canon. the like......excitement and disbelief when benrey shows up outside his window throwing rocks at it before noclipping in. he forgets to even act pissed off at first. i think it would be super fucking cute for him to drop the game for a moment just out of shock, basically. his tails waggin, his ears are perked up, and hed probably tackle benrey to the ground if he wasnt also a sweaty, trembling mess whos been holed up in his room for days.

and benrey has No Fucking Idea what he has walked in on here. as far as benrey knows, freemind just demanded he get over there and take care of his dog.

(INTERLUDE: here is the part where i gin up a freemind POV of this exact scene. b/c i am out of my fucking mind

so. i had the thought of a freemind POV chapter where hes spying on gordon and benrey.....because. gordons in heat. ive talked about that scenario before too (literally so many FUCKING times okay i just need this dude to have the uncontrollable urge to be bred like a little bitch! and for benrey to take pity on him and make him feel better by nutting in him literally as many times as is physically possible!!!)

but i wanna manifest it in this specific way: from an outside perspective. voyeurism is great and also i have a one track mind and basically the only time i traffic in Other Guys in this fandom anymore is as a participant in gordon and benreys horse shit. Im not apologizing for this

lets say.....vr gordons behavior has been getting worse and worse for "unknown reasons" and freeman prime just sees it as a key observational opportunity for his research. while freeminds getting really irritated at how much its cutting into his normal way of life. for one thing, vr gordons room reeks, and he cant even escape it in his own room! and its turning him into a feisty, aggressive, and loud son of a bitch. but he cant even resolve it in his usual fashion at this point (baiting vr gordon into another competition/fuckfest) b/c gordons being a little sadsack holed up in his room and doesnt wanna play

but also.....he kinda just feels bad for the guy at a certain point. hes clearly really miserable and looks downright ill and all hes asking for is to see his boytoy again. (gordons convinced that hes dying, and feels the need to dramatically speak to benrey one last time before he croaks.) so freemind decides, in all his benevolence, to go over gordon primes head and drag the guy over there anyway. (with machinations, not his literal bare hands. what is he, a caveman?) he reasons that itll be a good opportunity to twist gordons arm into groveling at his feet later

and he spies on the two of them in gordons room.....why? idk. possibly something to do with investigating this relationship between a gordon and a barney that he had yet to fully analyze. tl;dr he gets trapped in their closet for a remix of that one barmey voyeurism chapter b/c why the fuck not

i just.....i dont know.....i think theres something really charming about a 3rd party not being able to fully make out what theyre saying or doing but piecing things together anyway.....like benreys weirdly soft tone of voice when hes talking to a super agitated gordon. as far as any of them know, hes not really like that. he either sounds bored or smug, but either way, its usually straight-up antagonistic

it would make freemind bristle to hear it b/c its almost a mocking tone, but.....it makes gordons shoulders drop and gets him to let go of some of that tension and thats probably fascinating to watch. literally soothing him like a stressed out dog, huh. smoothing back his hair and murmuring things in a low, even tone that freeminds enhanced hearing still isnt good enough to make out. (the guy mumbles, okay? he needs a fucking toastmasters meetup.)

it would equal parts horrify and fascinate freemind, in my onion. watching a version of himself fall that hard into the loyal pet role.....its pathetic! for all that gordon goes on about not being a slave to his instinct or whatever, he sure is doing a bad job of acting like it! its like watching himself, but worse.

and benreys having to soothe him like a startled animal b/c he doesnt even know whats wrong with himself, but theres something thick enough on the air that even benrey can smell it, and hes taking some stabs at the dark. especially with how charged some of the shit gordons saying is......"i cant fucking take it anymore", "you smell so good", "i dont know whats wrong with me, man, my dick hasnt gone down for days and im pretty sure i need a doctor-- no, a real one, not the other gor-- NOT a vet, JESUS"

and the whole time.....freeminds peeking from behind a closet door. watching them devolve from outright hostility into "gordon climbing into benreys lap and shoving one of benreys hands up his shirt and demanding that he fucking touch him already"

normally i dont think freemind would be averse to a little bit of voyeurism, here. if it was anybody else, hed probably at least engage in a little heavy petting. but this is getting weird, man. he cant shake the uncanny feeling that this is something too intimate for him to be watching. for one thing, gordons whimpering like a goddamn dog just from a little necking, and for two, hes never really been the kind of guy to watch people make out for 15 minutes before they get to the good stuff

its just kind of unsettling how much these two clearly really, really like each other at this point. its not like watching gordon prime give vr gordon a handjob as part of a "test". freemind expected more of a hatefuck kind of deal out of these two, what with how often gordons normally going on about how much he hates the guy, what a pain in the ass benrey is, how he just wishes benrey would stop jerking him around.....etc. freemind could shit himself right now. that lying bitch!

i imagine its also kind of painful, on a personal level, for him to watch this borderline-sappy shit. he cant even fathom being on the receiving end of that behavior, let alone from......well. theyve all got their barneys, right? and gordon primes basically doomed himself to incel status b/c he wont nut up and do anything about it. freemind just assumed they were all in the same boat: cursed to casual sex with their roommates/clones, forever, and unable to achieve any kind of intimacy b/c all 3 gordons are fucked up in the exact same way. since theyre all just diff flavors of the same fucking guy, right?

well, theres the evidence that hes wrong. and that vr gordons better than him, somehow. thats gotta suck, bro

anyway then he watches vr gordon get railed in the ass a bunch and jerks off anyway b/c its still hot. see ya)

“take care of your dog”. huh. hes got no clue what that means but, yknow, he does kinda miss his dog. hasnt seen gordon in awhile. and he immediately comments "wow. you look fucked up" in as blunt and unsympathetic a way as possible. but gordons so far gone that he cant even work up a good anger about it. he is pretty fucked up, man. and benrey sits on the bed and slaps his forehead with a palm to take his temperature (and that gets gordon to bitch at him, finally, that thats not how you do it, asshole) and judges that, uh, he is hot. in his expert opinion

and thats when gordon kinda grabs his sleeve and tugs it and starts tryin to say something. hes really bad at it, because he is having to perform the mortifying task of Owning Up To It, but eventually he manages to grind out that he needs benrey to touch him, please. just pet him. something. he feels really bad and he just needs benrey to scratch his fucking ears. this is the most gordon can cop to in one go, and it is such a sad struggle to watch, but benreys caught off guard by it and he feels weirdly bad for gordon upon hearing it so hes just like "whoa, okay" when gordon tugs his hand to his head

gordon groans the moment his fingernails start scratching behind the ears and digging into his scalp. even just that much feels really fucking good. its comforting, for one thing, and its benrey, for another, and the physical touch feels so fucking good right now that goosebumps are crawling down his neck. gordon cant help but lean against benrey and bury his head in the crook of his shoulder. he wants to hide his face from scrutiny and he wants to get closer but he doesnt know how to say what his fucking problem is

and benreys weirdly quiet. just kinda mumbling and shushing him intermittently, awkward and not sure what to do b/c this is a level of intimacy he was not expecting but gordons sure is responding nicely to a second hand in his hair

so having both of benreys hands scratching at his scalp is really getting to gordon. hes scritchin behind the ears and gordons tails wagging at a mile a minute. the feelings making goosebumps race down his neck and arms. he starts kind of mumbling something into benreys shoulder, how hes been feeling so fucked up lately, and he squirms a little closer. hes not really aiming for anywhere in particular but every neuron thats firing in him right now is telling him to get closer. make contact. he missed the fucking guy, what can he say.

and one of benreys hands......slips down to gordons face. his jaw. a thumb pushing into that soft little divot between his jaw and neck, like hes trying to push up into gordons fucking teeth. its weird and bizarrely intrusive, but benreys hand is broad and warm and gordon leans into it anyway, groaning with relief. its not like its not doing anything for him. kind of the opposite, actually. then he palms at gordons neck, and gordon starts breathing harder. he can feel his heartbeat rabbit-fast, pushing against benreys skin (and theres no way benrey isnt feeling that, too).

benrey eyes are lidded and his breaths starting to get heavier, too. naturally, yknow, since gordons practically draped over him right now, melting all the more the longer benrey keeps petting him. oxytocin is crazy, man, especially when a guys in the full throes of some kind of chemical meltdown of the glands. gordons eyes are screwed shut, tail thumping furiously against the bed, and hes panting at benreys neck like hes a fucking dog. he just doesnt know how to articulate what the fuck his problem is

benrey smells insanely good to him right now, and gordon just blurts that out. benrey gives him some shit for it, but when gordon only makes a weird noise in response and fists his hands in benreys hoodie, it makes him shut up real quick. hes squeezing out words about feeling like he needs something, but its clearly a fucking effort. its almost pitiful

so. gordons crawled right into benreys lap, too impatient after days and days of feeling like this (you know, being in heat, in so many words). hes been pounding off like crazy, that brand new collar of his strapped to his neck nearly every time b/c hes that desperate to feel… well. *benrey*. he cant fucking jerk off to thoughts of anything else - porn doesnt do it for him, and his fantasies slip right back to the same thing every single time. its frustrating! hes bisexual, for gods sake! its not like hes normally immune to the wiles of the Phat Ass White Girl, but lately he just keeps ending up on his hands and knees and whining benreys name into his pillow and he couldnt focus on a girls rack if he tried

point being. hes being awfully fucking demanding. (and also, hes wearing the collar *right fucking now)*. he shoves benreys hand up his shirt and shivers the moment he makes contact with gordons burning-hot flesh. and hes demanding that benrey touch him already, jesus, hes losing his mind! and benreys just crooning at him, “bossy, huh,” but hes scritching gordons ears and palming at his side and nosing at gordons neck and gordon starts to feel like hes melting into it. his protests at being talked down to are perfunctory at best

benrey licks a stripe up gordons neck and starts muttering his stupid horseshit right in gordons ear and it makes gordon clutch his shoulders so tight, claws digging into the meat of him. benreys kind of into it, though, and it just makes him laugh, low and harsh and right in gordons ear. that just makes gordons problem worse. he lets out quiet, nasal whines on every exhale, like a literal fucking dog.

he starts teasing, like, “haha, you’re *gagging* for it, bro,” but gordon doesnt respond with the defensiveness he expects. instead, its like opening a floodgate - he is, hes fucking *desperate*, okay, his dick hasnt gone down in days and he wants benrey so bad he cant see straight and he cant stop thinking about him and all of this comes tumbling out of him at once. gordons trying to press himself as close to benrey as he can physically get, legs straddling benreys lap and arms clutched tight around his back. and when benrey prods a little more, tells gordon to say what hes been thinkin about, gordon starts to pant, squeezing his eyes shut. but he cant bring himself to do anything more than choke and stutter on the words

hes half-hard in his underwear already (and, lets be be clear, he was only in boxer briefs and a tank top to begin with. hes sweating buckets and its the least amount of clothing he could get away with wearing around the house) and his tails thumping a mile a minute and hes so far gone, just from benrey talking down to him and kissing his neck and scratching his ears. but hes not budging yet, so benrey slides that hand on his ears over to his ponytail and *yanks*. tells him, “speak.” gordons dick twitches rapidly, and he lets out a sharp sound, and he finally says it: he needs benrey to *fuck* him, jesus

benrey lets out a harsh breath at that. “yeah? thats what puppy wants?” and the nickname should blister him, make him feel to embarrassed to continue, but gordons too desperate to care. he just starts spewing a litany of “god yes”s and “please”s. hes getting harder and harder, pressed up against benreys belly, and benrey can *feel* it. “good boy,” he mutters, and those claws dig harder, that panting gets louder and harsher

he slips a hand around to gordons back, rubbing slowly for a moment as if to soothe him, and then slides it under the back of gordons boxers. and lower still. starts rubbing at gordons hole. that gets a quiet “oh god” out of gordon.

gordon cant help himself - he rocks forward against benrey, just a little, rubbing his bulge against what he realizes is benreys *extremely* hard dick in his sweatpants. hes not the only one whos got it bad. but he *is* the only one whispering, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as benrey pushes a little further, makes as if hes about to breach gordon dry. the poor guys so needy that he probably wouldnt even argue!

but benrey just stares at him, wide eyed and flushed, mouth hanging open a little. gordons so hot for this that it surprises the both of them.

anyway after some boring position finagling benrey coaxes gordon onto his hands and knees, running a broad hand down gordons shaking back. and he pulls back gordons tail, exposing him. its so fucking humiliating - gordons got his face buried in a pillow, and his ass in the air, and hes never felt so *vulnerable* before. he wants to argue, he wants to lift his head and look back to make sure that everythings, like, okay back there - benreys staring at his entire asshole, okay, and he wasnt exactly anticipating benrey making a house call to fuck him in the ass - but every time he lifts his head, or starts to say something neurotic about it, benrey chides him about it. clicks his tongue. tells him, “hey. dogs dont talk” or “i said *bow*, bro”.

for all his insisting that hes a real guy, that hes not just a dog, gordons feeling less and less like a human and more like something in thrall to his instincts. the condescension rankles like it always does, but doing what benrey tells him to feels good. feels natural. presenting himself like this feels like what hes *supposed* to do. it doesnt stop him from running his mouth entirely, but it helps to mitigate some of the embarrassment.

and then… benrey *licks*. gordon tenses and gasps. he doesnt know how benrey can stand it, its gotta be, like, unhygienic! but that didnt scare him off the last time they tried this, and its not like gordon hasnt thought about it since. hes thought about it a lot, actually. but hes been too neurotic to ask for it. benreys not stupid, though. hes a good dog owner (at least, so he thinks) and hes gonna take care of his dog. so he licks again, and again, pressing a little harder against gordons hole on each pass with the broad side of his tongue until he dares to breach it with the tip.

gordons rock hard again in an instant. his dick hangs between his legs and drips onto the sheets. he digs his fingers into the pillow now, tearing holes in its surface with those sharp nails of his, and he makes embarrassingly high noises that he muffles into into the pillow, too. hes tense, hes so fucking tense, he should be clamping down and making benreys task really fucking hard, but theres bright pink sweet voice dripping from his hole and benreys rubbing the side of his thigh in an effort to soothe him and both of these things work in tandem to get him to relax. and benrey works his tongue in further, further than a human ought to.

the tip was one thing, but it gets wider as benrey pushes it in, and its just as good as it was before - better, even, because now its just the two of them, just a master and his dog, and benreys the only one he wants to see him like this. bent over and whimpering. he cant— he cant stomach the thought of anybody else doing this to him. hell, there was a point once where the idea of stomaching *benrey* doing this to him would have made him laugh. but here he is. benreys fucking him open with his tongue and pressing against something thats making him see stars and gordon just wants *more*. he says it so sweet, too, voice growing hoarse and raw as he begs benrey to just fucking do it already, he doesnt wanna come like this!

gordon gets so worked up and emotional about it that benrey takes the time to scratch behind his ears again, shushing him and telling him to chill. benreys got him. hes been a good dog, and good dogs get treats. hearing the words “good dog” makes gordons entire body flush. thats all he wants, really. he wants to be a good dog. he wants to be *told*. he blurts out, “oh my god— say it again,” and benreys like, “huh? say what? youre gonna have to be more specific,” clicking the last syllable. it makes all the hairs on gordons head rise and prickle with shame. the best he can do is mumble it into his pillow.

benrey hears it, though, and tugs at gordons collar from behind, just enough to raise his head. “whassat? you want me to call you a good boy?” gordon cant bring himself to answer that directly, but his stupid body betrays him by making him whine. jesus christ, yes, thats all he WANTS! he needs benrey to be good and nice to him for once in his fucking life and give him what he wants instead of taking, taking, taking! but benrey just tells him that hes gonna have to earn it. gonna have to be *real* good for him. gordon could fucking snarl at that, but benreys pulling back to rub his dick between gordons cheeks and against his hole and that shuts him up pretty fast because hes *so close* to getting what he wants and hes not about to fuck it up now by running his big dumb mouth

and then… he starts to push in. that sweet voice has loosened gordon up enough to take even benrey, who, uh, is definitely the bigger of the two, in that regard. he goes slow, uncharacteristically so, and gordons chest heaves with the force of how hard hes breathing. a quiet string of “oh god”s spills out of him as he tries to crane his neck back to watch. the head breaches him with a strange popping sensation, and benrey groans, loud, as the rest of him slides in with little resistance in comparison. “good,” he pants in turn, “youre takin it so good,” and—

and gordon comes, in weak, aborted spurts. it snuck up on him. he clenches so fucking tightly that it winds benrey a little. he breathes out, “whoa. did you—” but gordon just begs him to shut up, keep going, hes not— hes not done yet, its always like this, its not *enough*. his dick barely even flags afterward, it just hangs there, achingly hard and dripping with cum. benrey cant even find it in himself to make fun of him. he wants it so fucking bad, doesnt he? and he feels so good, so fucking tight and slick around benrey that the only thought running through his head is “gotta take care of my dog gotta fuck my best friend gotta nut in him and make him howl”. so he pushes himself alllll the way in until theyre pressed together, skin to skin.

then he starts to move. slow, careful thrusts, more for benreys benefit than gordons. if hes not careful, hes gonna blow his load, right then and there, and hes trying to make it good for gordon, too, okay? unlike *some* of them, hes not gonna bust in two minutes and then spend the next half hour crying and trauma-dumping to the guy hes still got his dick inside of.

once he thinks hes got a grip, though, benrey starts fucking him in earnest, and that changes gordons vocalizations from weak little whimpers into something louder. less restrained. hes given up any pretense of being quiet so that his other selves dont hear that hes snuck his boytoy into his room. just loud, wordless moans on each thrust, initially muffled into the pillow but soon spilling into the wider room when he turns his head to catch his breath. the only words hes managing are “oh god” and “please” and “benrey, benrey, *benrey*”, and benrey just responds to him like, “yeah? thats good? fuuuck, bro, so good for me,” all short of breath and barely able to speak himself

he wants to see gordons face. he *needs* to see gordons face. needs to see what hes doing to him, needs to see that cute fuckin blush of his. so he tugs on gordons collar again, bringing him to his hands and knees properly instead of that bowing position. and then further still - pulls him back so that benreys on his knees, and gordons on his knees in turn, on his lap, cock still buried inside of him and fucking him in short, hurried thrusts. “paws up,” benrey tells him, and gordon does it. instantly. no resistance. just folds them at his chest like a real dog would.

“whos a good boy?” benrey croons, right in his ear again. gordon gasps, “i-i am!”

“yeah? youre a good boy?” nod, wail. “whose— whose good boy are you?”

and gordon chokes on his response. he cant say it, he *cant*, he doesnt want to be benreys but he does, he *does*. he doesnt want to be benreys because its not fucking fair! he cares so fucking much! so much more than benrey does, it feels like, obsessing over the guy like hes wrapped thorny vines all around gordons heart and he cant so much as shift in his seat without feeling the tug and the ache and thinking of benrey again. and benrey doesnt care, he never fucking cares, except—

except he showed up at gordons house, in his room. without even being asked. like he knew something was wrong. and he— hes always talking to gordon, shooting him stupid texts just to make him laugh. scheduling *date nights* for them. date nights where, yeah, maybe they couldnt see each other in person, and maybe they always end in some kind of depraved sexual act, but its not like gordons not into it. hes frighteningly into it, actually. and hes *so* into hearing benreys voice, low and crooning, right in his ear, and seeing him lean on an elbow and smile at him afterward. its— its practically genuine. and benreys always making excuses to talk with him, do things with him, watch stupid fucking movies that only gordon cares about and stream with him on twitch to help boost his subscriber count and—

and—

oh god. maybe he *does* care. that might be more terrifying than the alternative.

then benrey yanks the collar again. presses the whole of gordons back against his front in one hot, unbroken line. and asks, “i said, whose good boy are you, bro? *speak.*”

“benrey,” he blurts out, a ragged moan, “d-dont make me sa-AY it, oh god—”

“no?” benrey stills suddenly. his hands keep gordon stuck in place, unable to move or bounce or feel benrey shift inside of him. “thats, uh… thats too bad, friend. this trains for good boys only. good dogs go to heaven 2. no bad dogs allowed. gonna have to, uhh, escort you off—”

“im not a bad dog!”

“i dunno, gordo. bein’ kind of, uh… disobedient.”

(sorry. thats all i got . byeeee)

#this is so far from finished b/c A) im a coward now and B) typing qith my left hand sucks so i dont wanna do it right now. Sorry #writin stuff

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 4 years ago

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(The Hobbit) Thorin x Reader: Dragonsickness and the Heart

(Author’s Note: Well, it’s spring, and usually spring gets me in a hobbit/LotR mood, so here we are. I actually wrote a shameless OC self-insert a few years ago, and decided to just take a section of it an make it a reader-insert.

Warnings: Thorin acts like a lil creep, but in the end he wouldn’t do anything to hurt reader.

While under the effects of the dragon sickness, Thorin says some things... You wonder if it’s the sickness talking, or perhaps it is his true feelings coming out.

Enjoy!)

You struggled with the dwarvish armor, finally letting it fall to the ground. It was much too big and clunky: you could barely stand in it! Thorin had given the order for the Company to armor up, but it didn’t look like it would be possible for you. The clank of metal sounded in the armory around the corner, and you let out an exasperated sigh. You had taken your chosen armor to an empty room to avoid the humiliation as you attempted to try the foreign material on. Even after you managed to finally figure it out, the weight of the metal was too much. You weren’t exactly in the mood for endless teasing on Fili and Kili’s part. Dwalin might even find it humorous and would never let you live it down.

Footsteps sounded around the corner, and you whirled around to come up with an excuse or explanation of some sort as to why you were hiding away like this. To your surprise, it was Thorin, all armored-up and looking…well…looking pretty good.

Even with everything that had happened, after how crappy of a person he had become since the dragon sickness took its hold, you were surprised to feel your heartbeat pick up at the sight of him. He entered the dimly-lit room, eyes flickering from you to the bulky armor lying on the floor. He flashed an amused smile that made you feel weak.

“Trouble?” he asked, pacing over with a raised brow.

“Uh, y-yes,” you mumbled back, unable to meet his intense gaze. You tried to remind yourself that this wasn’t him. He wasn’t himself, yet it didn’t stop your heart from doing flips in your ribcage. “It obviously wasn’t going to fit. I don’t know why I tried anyways.

“Because you’re you,” he responded with a chuckle, prompting a nervous laugh from you. He was being friendly, but there was still something off about him. His voice. He spoke in such a low and silky tone, practically laced with dragon sickness. It made you feel uneasy and not necessarily in a good way.

As Thorin took a step forward, you caught movement in the corner of your eye and flinched out of instinct from being on the road. He noticed and paused, holding his hands up to show that he meant no harm. He only meant to give you something, he said. When you nodded, he rounded the corner until he was out of sight. Moments later, he returned with a bundle of armor in his hands though these were different from the weighty pieces you had already tried. He handed you the iron shoulder plates first, and you marveled at the simple designs cast into them. They looked as if they’d been made just for you. Judging by the warmth in Thorin’s eyes, they had been.

“These should suit you better.”

You tentatively accepted the shoulder plates, fiddling with the leather straps that would hold them in place. You tried putting your arm through one loop as if it was a sleeve, but it felt wrong, so you tried a different angle, a different loop…

As if reading your mind, Thorin took and unbuckled it. “Here.”

You gulped as he carefully took your arm and put it through the correct loop. Each movement he made was slow and drawn out, and you wondered for a minute if he was doing it on purpose just to make your heart race. It wasn’t doing anything to help the situations of your one-sided love towards him. You resolved to accept the rest of the armor politely and go find another hidden room to figure it out on your own, but as soon as the shoulder plates were secure, Thorin proceeded to strap on a chestplate. Then he continued with a sort of metal shin guard.

“There,” he said finally, checking some of the straps to ensure they were in place. “You will be much better protected.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, releasing a breath. “Thank you.”

He gazed at you, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “I will do all in my power to make sure you are safe.” Your eyes widened as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “You should know I have grown rather fond of you, _________.”

You remained still, absolutely shocked at the unexpected statement. It felt as if your body wouldn’t respond. Surely, he doesn’t actually mean what he says? It must have been some strange effect of the dragon sickness, right?

You had joined the Company early in the journey in hopes of changing the ending. You and Gandalf had an understanding that you would gain the Company’s trust and use your knowledge of Middle-Earth to ensure the line of Durin survived. From the moment you appeared on the dirt path in front of the Company in your modern clothes feeling lost and uncertain, Thorin hadn’t taken much interest other than to bark orders to you or spare a disdained glance at you and Bilbo at your “softness” when it came to life on the road.

Over time, you learned to place your trust in the Company and to do your part so they’d trust you- including Thorin. He and you had started to bond, especially in Lake-Town when you’d spoken to each other outside in the snow during the celebration of the dwarves’ return to the mountain. You even managed to make him smile a few times. You realized that as Thorin had begun to trust you, you trusted him not only as a leader but as a friend, and your affection grew beyond what you’d originally thought.

Still, you wondered if perhaps it was all in your head. Thorin had seen you as young and naive early on, but that was only because of your inexperience in the world of Middle-Earth. Things had changed. Perhaps they had changed more than you thought?

Thorin’s breath disappeared from your ear as he pulled away to circle aroundyou, the armor clanking with every step. You were frozen to the spot, but your lips managed to form words.

“What about Balin? You told him that you felt nothing for me and that you were focused on the quest.”

An eerie chuckle echoed from behind. “I told Balin what he wanted to hear. I told him that so he would not question me any further on the matter, but the truth remains…” His voice sounded right behind you. “I care about you.”

He was saying what you wanted to hear all along, and yet it felt so wrong now. This wasn’t the real Thorin, right? You could not possibly accept this declaration of feelings knowing that he would snap out of it soon enough.

“W-we should go join the others…”

His arm snaked around your waist, earning a gasp from you. “I love you, ________, and I want you to say you feel the same.”

“Thorin, I can’t. You’re not yourself. The stress of the Arkenstone and the battle must be affecting you.”

“My own kin has betrayed me. One of them has taken the Arkenstone. Please, do not turn away from me as well. Say you love me. Be my queen.”

You were left breathless by his words. He had released you from his hold and circled back around to stand in front of you. Thorin leaned in, eyes flickering to your lips briefly. It was beyond tempting. All you had to do was lean in a few mere inches, and you would feel his lips on yours. It was what he wanted, and it was what you wanted…

“I have to go,” you stated, putting some distance between the two of you. Thorin’s lips pulled down in a frown as you stepped around him.

“You’re making a mistake,” he called over his shoulder. “An offer such as this will not come again.”

You hesitated at the doorway, shaking your head. “Then so be it.” And then you left. You didn’t dare look back as you hurried down the halls to get as far away from him as possible. He was crazy. Insane.

And so are you for turning him down, a small voice screamed from within your mind. You could have been his, even for a short time. You could have had his love, even if it was twisted. His kiss. His embrace… It could all have been yours if you had just said so.

But it was wrong, and you knew it, to take advantage of his situation.

“Bilbo!” You halted when you rounded a corner and almost collided with him. “Where are you off to?”

He glanced around to make sure no one was near, holding a long rope coiled up in his hand. “I can’t just stand by and do nothing. I am taking the Arkenstone to Bard to use for bargaining. It’s the only way the people of Lake-Town will get their fair share. Hopefully, we will avoid war.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll cover for you while you’re gone.”

“Thank you, ________,” he whispered gratefully. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

You pulled him into a quick hug. “Be careful. I’ll see you later!” You parted ways with the hobbit once more, him heading for the front gate while you lingered in the corridor. You felt so alone, standing there. None of the dwarves could understand the situation.

It wasn’t the time to tell Bilbo what had occurred with Thorin. It would be yet another dark secret to weigh on you for now, along with the possible fate of the journey.

That night, the dwarves talked and laughed by the fire as usual. Even though they had all of Erebor to go off and choose a room from, the Company still liked to gather together to share a meal and camp out just like old times. Fortunately, Thorin never participated, spending his days and nights in the throne room. You joined the group, glad to have something take your mind off of the recent events. Bofur led the group in a few songs, Fili and Kili told jokes, Nori and Dori bickered and teased each other, Ori laughed along with Bombur, Bifur, Oin, and Gloin.

Balin and Dwalin were in a more solemn mood, but couldn’t help cracking a smile every now and then. At some point, the dwarves started sharing stories of hilarious hardship over the course of the quest.

“But don’t you remember the time in the beginning of the journey when we had to cross that river?” Bofur asked with a grin, earning a few bursts of laughter. “Quite a few of us took a plunge that day!”

“I lost a lot of supplies,” Bombur said with a nod.

“And what supplies you did have left was soaked!” Bofur laughed, slapping his knee.

“I do recall the stew being soggier than usual that night,” Gloin joked.

“Or what about the afternoon when _________ quite literally got sick of traveling?” A teasing grin spread across Kili’s face. “She jumped off of her pony to go throw up in the bushes.”

“Hey! I felt terrible that day!” you protested playfully. “Besides, it’s not like I had ever ridden a pony all day every day for weeks before.”

“The best part was that Thorin scolded her anyway for holding the Company up,” Fili chuckled.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I remember a time when you and your brother were supposed to be watching the ponies and nearly got us all eaten by trolls when we had to go find them.”

“Ooh, that’s cold,” Kili feigned offense, unable to hide the amused grin.

“You don’t miss a thing, lass,” Bofur teased.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, still smiling. No one asked about Bilbo, or wondered aloud where he was. The hobbit had been spending more time alone as of late, so it wasn’t unusual for him to not join them for dinner. He would return before dawn, you knew, but as each hour passed that evening, you became a little more anxious.

You managed to set aside your worries and let sleep overtake you. You fell into a deep sleep, and a certain dwarf king haunted your dreams that night.

#the hobbit x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #thorin imagine #the hobbit imagine #thorin x you #the hobbit x you #thorin oakenshield imagine #hobbit imagine #thorin reader insert #thorin oakenshield reader insert #the hobbit reader insert #the company reader insert #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin #thorin the hobbit #hobbit thorin

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Babysitter

Pairing: Yandere!Atsumu/Reader & Yandere!Kita/Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Synopsis: You don’t like Atsumu at the best of times. When he has to go out of town and you’re shoved into the arms of a man as ruthless as your captor and only half as loving, you find out you like his friends even less.

TW: Non-Con, AFAB!Reader, Infantilization, Graphic Violence, Water-Boarding, Drowning, Implied Kidnapping, Mentions of Past Non-Con, Bondage, and Troubling Implications.

The water was too hot.

There’d still been steam rising off the surface when Kita called you into the bathroom, barely sparing you a second glance before telling you to strip. Atsumu preferred cold showers. Utilitarian, freezing, and more often than not, rushed though when he was already late for practice or dead-tired, barely dragging himself through the end of a long day. Sometimes, when he had time to catch his breath, he’d throw you over his shoulder and force you to tolerate the frigid temperatures he preferred. Those were the worst days, when you had to huddle against his chest and let him hold you just to fight off the urge to shudder, to shiver, to give him an excuse to think of you as any more weak and any more needy than you usually were. He’d laugh and call you sensitive, and if he really wasn’t in a rush, he’d offer to warm you up. ‘Offer’ might’ve been the wrong word for it, actually. That’d imply you could refuse, and you knew better than to try anything that out-right, by now.

“I can take care of myself,” You’d said, lingering in the doorway, hoping beyond hope that he’d leave. “‘tsumu doesn’t mind, when I do.”

“Miya’s not here,” He’d responded, never looking towards you. “Get in.”

So you had, lowering yourself into the scalping water with a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the tub and a small, almost inaudible hiss. It should’ve come as a relief to feel warm, after so many weeks spent in Atsumu’s pervasive chill, but whatever comforting effect it might’ve had was negated by Kita’s stare, the feeling of his eyes prying into you, the way he touched you so casually as he rubbed body wash into your shoulders and combed his fingers through your hair, after slapping away your hand when you tried to reach for the bottle yourself.

That was what bothered you the most about Kita. This wasn’t Atsumu’s first away-game, and he’d left you alone for far longer than a week before, but it’d always been his twin watching over you. Osamu’s approach was hands-off, at best. He’d come over for an hour every night, make sure you still had food and that you hadn’t found a way to break through the half-dozen locks on every exit, then he’d leave, rarely saying so much as a word in your direction. It was simple. It was quiet. You could tell yourself he only did it because he as Atsumu’s twin, because they were family, and you were just some stranger who’d been too stubborn to give Atsumu what he wanted and too stupid to keep him any further than arm’s length.

Kita didn’t have the same excuse. Kita was an old friend, but just a friend. He should’ve called the police. He should’ve been disgusted when he saw the tattered state of your thighs, when he let himself acknowledge the trail of bruises Atsumu’d carved along your collarbone before he left. He should’ve done something, anything other than stare at you with that neutral, impassive expression and nod, as Atsumu chuckled and told him to take good care of you. It made you think about what Atsumu’s other friends must’ve been like.

It made you wonder how open he’d be to sharing, if one ever brought it up.

Just the thought had you curling into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest as Kita straightened his back, pushing himself to his feet. “I haven’t seen your room,” He started, pulling a towel off the nearest rack. There was a slight wave, a signal for you to stand, and hesitantly, you obeyed, crossing your arms over your chest. “What do you usually wear to bed?”

That was a good sign. A blessing, really, in the scope of things. You didn’t have to tell him about the lingerie, or the jerseys, or the nights where Atsumu decided you were being ungrateful and didn’t deserve to sleep in anything but the thinnest sheet he could find. “I… I don’t really have anything,” You managed, focusing on the cloudy water, soap suds still gathering around your legs. “He’s not really big on routine, you know? I can pick something out for myself.”

You cringed as he raised a brow. “Do you actually think I’m going to buy that?”

“Well...“ You had to remind yourself to smile, to stay on his good side. You didn’t know why he was doing this. There was still a chance he saw you as a person, and you couldn’t afford to ruin that. “I’m really, really hoping you will.”

There was a breath of a laugh, something between a smirk and a grimace, and without further indulgence, Kita took you by the arm, forcing you to stumble out of the tub entirely as he reached towards something on the other side of the bathroom, a plastic bag with a non-descript logo. You hadn’t noticed it before, not when every room in Atsumu’s apartment was just big enough to be disorienting, but you recognized the panic the moment it came flooding in, the anxiety that came with being at the mercy of someone you’d known for less than a day, someone you were sure you couldn’t trust. When the grey plastic fell away and something pink and sheer emerged, that sourceless dread was swiftly replaced with founded, familiar fear.

It was gratifying, in a way. A suspicion confirmed. A question answered.

That’s why he was here.

The bathroom door wasn’t locked. You’d checked once, when you first came in and again, during your bath. Kita was bigger than you, but you tried to dart past him anyway, aiming to catch him off-guard and lock yourself away somewhere dark and safe before he realized you’d ran for it. Your rebellion was short-lived, though. All Kita had to do was reach out, catching you by the waist and pulling you into his side, ignoring your efforts to claw at his forearm as he used his other hand to pull out whatever abomination he wanted you to wear. It looked like a nightgown, from what you could see, soft and pink with a white bow positioned at the dip of the collar and lace gathered around the hems. Something made for someone who wanted to feel helpless. Something made for a child.

“Miya said you were moody. You looked sweet, though, so I didn’t want to take him seriously.” The dress was slung over his shoulder, the plastic bag forgotten on the countertop, and you were left to scratch and scream and struggle, your efforts earning an annoyed grunt in return. If anything, he only dragged you closer, pulling your back against his chest as he went on. “Quit it. This is supposed to be simple, but you’re being difficult.”

“Fuck off!” It was the kind of blunt, blatant thing that’d make Atsumu roll his eyes and leave you alone, but Kita didn’t drop you, only gritting his teeth as you continued to seethe. “I should’ve known he’d invite one of his fucked up friends over,” You snapped, Kita’s arm beginning to dig into your stomach. He was stronger than he looked, but you were used to that, by now. You had to be, with a captor like yours. “I’m not wearing anything for you. I don’t care what Atsumu said, I’m not a fucking doll--”

Finally, he let you go, but you barely had time to catch yourself before his hand was on your shoulder, shoving you onto your knees and sending a sudden, shuddering crack, making you wince before he’d even tightened his grip. You managed to shut your eyes, to muffle a shriek into a low, pained growl, but if Kita was trying not to hurt you, it would’ve been impossible to tell. He didn’t hesitate to tangle his fingers in your hair, forcing you to keep your posture straight and your chest against something cool and porcelain - the edge of the tub, you realized, a second too late. Reflexively, you reached out to support yourself, but your wrists were already restrained, pressed into the small of your back with a strict severity. With the apathetic sternness of a guard restraining a prisoner, while the executioner loaded his gun.

You heard it before you felt it. There was a splash, the sound of water hitting tile, and then you felt it dripping down your chest, still too hot not to jerk away from. Cold acrylic bit into your chest, and all too abruptly, your head was submerged, forced just deep enough to let the air escape from your lungs when you instinctually tries to scream, just deep enough to make all your fighting useless. Atsumu’d never done this, before. He’d lost his temper plenty of times, caught you trying to use his phone or sneak a note into the pocket of his jacket and made sure you had the scars to pay for it by the next day, but he wasn’t creative, he wasn’t composed. Kita’s resolve didn’t waver. When you started to go limp, your vision dimming at the corners and your mind doing everything in its power to convince you to breathe, he didn’t even flinch. He didn’t move, not until you were genuinely slumping forward, not until you were convinced you were going to die, and he was going to be the one to kill you.

You were shaking, when he finally pulled you up, trembling so violently, you almost thought Kita might be concerned. He might’ve been. He let you gasp for air until your lungs stopped throbbing in your chest and your pulse began to slow, but that was where his kindness seemed to end. “Want to try that again?” It was a question, but your answer was lost somewhere beneath a blend of panting, blood rushing past your ears, and Kita’s tone, so calm, so measured. It made you sick. “I brought you a gift. What do we say when someone is nice enough to bring us presents?”

It took you a second to remember how to open your mouth. It took you another to realize you actually needed to speak. “I… I d-don’t--” You had to stop. Your voice was weak, as uneven as the hasty breaths you were still trying to rush. If you’d been more aware, you would’ve just told him what he wanted to hear, but your skull was stuffed with cotton and your tongue felt too heavy to lie with. “It isn’t… It’s not my gift if you’re the one having fun.”

To his credit, Kita didn’t try to deny it. He only forced your head back down, and you lost your chance to sputter out an apology.

You couldn’t be sure how long it lasted. You lost the ability to tell time after he pulled you back up, barely allowing half a hitched sob before deciding you hadn’t learned your lesson quite yet. It was a cycle - a relentless, constant, agonizing cycle, one that left you begging away what little oxygen you could’ve retained, muttering incoherent pleas into uncaring water, dripping with sweat and tears and blood, from where his nails cut into your scalp every time you tried to squirm. By the time he stopped, actually stopped, the process had sapped your energy, your strength, leaving you frail and malleable and unable to do so much as get up, when Kita let go of your wrists. All you could do was cross your arms over the wall of the bathtub, burying your face in the self-made nest. Part of you hoped you would make it just a little harder to tell you were crying, that it’d make it just a little easier to meet his eyes tomorrow. The rest of you just wanted this to be over.

Kita didn’t seem to like that idea as much as you did, unfortunately.

“See? It’s not that hard to behave.” You felt him tap your cheek in approval before he shifted, moving behind you. There was a rustle of fabric, a foot between your knees, edging your legs apart. You hesitated, but you relented. You couldn’t fight back, not like this, and running wouldn’t work. All you could do was hope and pray he’d be satisfied with the dress.

Luckily, he was kind enough to smother that delusion before you could really put your faith in it.

“Has Miya fucked you, yet?”

You stiffened, but you managed to shake your head. It was a pathetic lie, an obvious lie, but Kita only clicked his tongue, moving to crouch behind you. For a moment, you almost wished he’d taken the time to dress you, to put you in something pastel and immature that might’ve served as a barrier between you and him, however flimsy. But, then you imagined what it’d feel like to have that soft fabric pooling around your waist, where his touch might drift as he pushed the skirt out of the way, and you decided there wasn’t a better option. You were already on display for him. It couldn’t get worse. It couldn’t get worse.

That’s what you thought, at least, before his hand wrapped around your thigh, keeping you still as his fingers swiped over your cunt, barely bothering to play with the idea of decency. “You should be honest with me,” He explained, half-heartedly. Still dedicated to lecturing you, but distracted, now, his mind having moved on to other, less-verbal form of punishment. “But… your boyfriend probably wouldn’t like it if I gave you something to whine about when he came back. We’ll compromise.”

You were beginning to see why he and Atsumu got along so well.

The shame was more potent than the pleasure, at first. It was a gnawing anxiety, a constant spark that kept your nerves on-edge and your senses unpleasantly alert, only made worse by the moan you had to fight back as he moved to your clit, two fingers drawing harsh, practiced circles into every sensitive spot you didn’t want him to find.

His fingers were calloused. You noticed his palm was, too, as he tightened his hold on the flesh of your thigh, holding you up in spite of your shaking legs, but it was different from the harshness Atsumu tried so hard to fight off, tried so hard to mask with soft words and praises and the stubborn belief that you could enjoy it, if you let yourself. Kita didn’t seem to care. He did whatever he had to, whatever turned breath sobs into little, pitiful whines. Whatever dampened the shame and replaced it with guilty satisfaction, with the admission that this wasn’t nearly as bad as what he’d already done. Whatever made your pussy drool, the slick soon building up and staining his fingers and becoming impossible to ignore. For you and for Kita, both.

He let out a low, long whistle as he slipped his ring finger into you, your cunt sloppy enough to make the stretch tolerable. To yourself, you wondered if he’d planned this, if he’d accepted Atsumu’s invitation and walked through that door knowing he was going to, or if your misbehavior had just been his lucky break. It felt planned. Everything he did felt planned, from the way he hardly waited for you to adjust before forcing another finger in, alongside the first, to how slow his pace was, any decent rhythm interrupted by pauses and twists and curls that left you arching your back and crying out, despite your attempts to muffle the sound. You almost thought about telling him to stop, but as soon as you opened your eyes, as soon as you saw the water that was still so close and must’ve been so cold, the air hitched in your throat and any denial was choked down, replaced with a more agreeable keen.

Kita seemed satisfied with your wordless submission. Finally, he fell into a decent tempo, letting you slump against the short wall and let waves of content warmth roll over you with every stroke of his fingers. “It’s easier this way, yeah?” He asked, his free hand moving towards your hip, rubbing gently as you failed to fight back. Rewarding you for good behavior. “Never thought I’d feel bad for the jerk, but he told me what you used to be like, how determined you are not to change. It’s a shame,” He rambled, his tone growing more affectionate as you bucked into his hand, letting him grind against the soft, spongey spot that had you seeing stars. You didn’t try to stop yourself from mewling as he pushed another finger into you, you didn’t want to try. Kita didn’t want you to, either. “If I took you home, you would’ve been good for me, right? Miya doesn’t know how to treat sweet, emotional little things like you.”

You might’ve nodded. You might’ve denied it. You might’ve offered no reaction at all, because by now, you were too busy chasing after that feeling, that high, the bait he’d been kind enough to kick just within your reach. Your knees buckled under the pressure, your legs finally giving in, but Kita was there to catch you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he coaxed you closer and closer and closer. You could feel yourself clenching down around him, and for once, you didn’t care about how embarrassing it’d be, you didn’t care that you were a prisoner of someone who’d once sworn up and down that he loved you - you didn’t care. You deserved this. You deserved to feel good. You deserved it, and…

And you weren’t going to get it.

Kita pulled away suddenly, leaving you whimpering and grinding against his palm as he chuckled, the sound throaty, careless, sobering. You didn’t want him to see your expression, the sincerity of it, the genuine hurt. As soon as he pulled you into his chest, one arm hooked under your knees and the other supporting your back, your face was buried in the crook of his neck, keeping you hidden away and safe, even if you were still in the arms of your temporary captor. If Kita minded, he didn’t make a show of it. He was grinning as he kissed the top of your head, and when he spoke, it was barely audible, but clearly happy. ‘Pleased’ might’ve been a better word for it, but you tried not to think about that. “Needy little thing,” He muttered, more for himself than for you. “Try not to get too mad at me, (Y/n).”

This time, when he reached for the nightgown, you didn’t try to run.

“We still have all week to ourselves.”

The house was quiet, when Atsumu got home.

It was almost unsettling, honestly. He’d gotten used to hushed cursing and metallic clicking, to scraped glass and you, smiling innocently, trying and failing to hide a paring knife behind your back. It was a routine, and the moment it was broken, the moment he undid the deadbolts on his apartment door and didn’t find you trying to pick the wrong lock on the other side, he couldn’t help but stop, close his eyes, and appreciate it. Just for a second. Just long enough to entertain the thought that Kita might’ve managed to train the brat out of you.

This peace was shattered by light footsteps, a mug settling onto a marble counter. “You’re early,” Kita said, by way of greeting. “I didn’t think you’d be back for another day.”

“Caught a flight,” He shrugged, dropping the dufflebag slung over his shoulder next to the door. Even if it’d been Osamu, he would’ve hesitated to spill his guts about how little he’d slept, how many times he’d thought about calling, how the anxiety ate away at his gut and his mind until it was all he could to do remember that he would come home, eventually, and you’d be waiting for him. You’d always be waiting for him. He’d made sure of that, after you made it clear how little interest you had in waiting for just him. “There somethin’ wrong with that, ‘suke? A man can’t be dyin’ to see his sweetheart?”

He was given a scoff, but Kita was already smiling, turning on his heel and waving for Atsumu to follow. That’s when he noticed the buzzing - light, at first, but it got louder as Kita led him towards your bedroom, more unignorable until they were outside your door and Atsumu could hear it clearly, a constant, electrical drum. He almost asked, but the door was already opening, and whatever he might’ve said instantly faded into a small, surprised ‘oh’.

The dress was a nice touch. Mint green, the kind of shade that might’ve passed as white in sunlight, with sleeves that clung to your arms and a neckline so high, he almost couldn’t make out the collar beneath, pink and lacy and adorned with a small, sweet bell that chimed every time you took a decent breath. Your socks, a complementary shade of grey, managed to reach your thighs before they tapered off, or… one of them did, at least, the other hastily wrapped around your ankles, keeping your legs clamped together as you laid on your side. Your wrists were bound, too, tied behind your back with the same pale fabric Kita’d used to cover your eyes and stuff into your mouth, keeping you quiet despite the little whines and whimpers he was starting to make out. The skirt was hiked up to your waist, wrinkled and folded underneath you, but Atsumu couldn’t complain, not when it gave him a perfect view of your soak panties, of the vibrating wand pressed against your cunt so snugly, you’d be able to convulse and writhe and complain all you wanted and it wouldn’t move an inch. Not until you were feeling more considerate of your boyfriend’s feelings

Fuck.

He was almost mad he didn’t think of that, first.

He didn’t say anything, stepping towards you with an expression of astonished, dumb-struck elation still painted across his face, but Kita was kind enough to take up the mantle. “Someone got a little overwhelmed while we were playing dress-up,” He explained, watching as Atsumu switched off the vibrator, spurring you to let out a relieved, cracked sigh. The restraints were next, your ankles before your wrists, then your blindfold, Kita’s makeshift rope left forgotten on your bed. You blinked a few times, but after your confusion faltered and reality began to settle in, your eyes darted towards Atsumu. Finally, finally, you wrapped your arms around him, using what was left of your energy to cling to him, to bury your face in his chest and refuse to let go. It was all he could do to laugh, to pull you into his lap and cup your chin, using his thumb to wipe away tears and drool and the other remnants of Kita’s work. You were still shaking, still twitching violently, but Atsumu couldn’t bring himself to be mad. Not at this. Not at you.

“I thought a couple hours in timeout might help,” Kita finished, as deadpan as ever. “It usually tires ‘em out, if the setting’s high enough.”

If you were going to defend yourself, you didn’t make a move to. All your attention was on Atsumu, just like it should be. “Please,” You mumbled, your voice heavy, your words slurring together. “Please, don’t leave again.”

“I missed you too, angel.” Despite his sympathetic tone, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, from nodding towards Kita, still standing in the threshold, a satisfied grin pulling at the edges of his lips. Atsumu couldn’t blame him. He’d been skeptical, when Kita offered his all-too-needed services, but clearly, whatever lesson he’d beaten into your head had stuck.

He’d have to let Kita babysit again, next time he went away.

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veliseraptor · 4 years ago

Text

CQL Characters Rated by Their Stress Levels

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being “Lan Wangji smiling at Wei Wuxian” and 10 being “Lan Xichen at Guanyin Temple.”

Lan Wangji: Varies wildly over the course of the series; see @howpeacefulislwj for detailed rundown. The roundup post averages his peacefulness at 4.2/10. Generally speaking, stress levels middling, between 3/10 and 5/10 with some extreme highs, pretty much all Wei Wuxian related.

Wei Wuxian: One of those people where you’re like “god I hate him, everything’s so easy for him and he can do everything better than me, it’s the worst, how the fuck does he do it” and then years later you find out that he had an epic burnout and dropped off the face of the earth for sixteen years because actually it wasn’t that easy he just made it look that way.

I mean, he starts the series at about a 5/10 general state (he’s managing a lot but handling it okay) and basically escalates to a relatively consistent 9 or 10/10 for most of the stretch from the Burial Mounds through to his dying. Someone should make a @howpeacefuliswwx chart, I’d be curious to see his average.

Jiang Cheng: Has been existing in a constant low-level state of stress since late childhood and only grows over time. The calmest I think we ever see him is when he’s holding a bunny and other than that it’s mostly downhill. I worry about him getting ulcers sometimes. 8/10.

Jiang Yanli: Jiang Yanli is so used to being stressed that she barely even registers it any more. What do you mean, most people don’t raise two other children when they are also a child? What do you mean, most people take breaks from supporting others to help themselves? Weird. If she was thinking about it she’d be at a 8 or 9/10 but since she’s so accustomed to this way of life that it just feels totally normal she’s more like a 4 or a 5.

Jiang Fengmian: Avoids being more stressed by generally avoiding his problems, which is one way to deal with it but doesn’t really end up working out most of the time. 3/10.

Yu Ziyuan: Resides somewhere in the vicinity of 5/10 stress levels, 11/10 rage levels, and when the stress levels get above 5 then everyone else’s stress levels better be hitting the roof.

Lan Xichen: Lan Xichen would probably be relatively unstressed if life didn’t consistently come crashing through his relatively chill vibes. Lan Xichen on a good day is, like, 3/10, handling pretty well, but when things start going wrong around him then he pretty quickly hits critical stress levels and will do drastic things to resolve that, such as convincing Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao to set aside their near-murder differences and swear brotherhood, which will definitely work out absolutely fine. Ends up averaging closer to 8/10 because things keep going wrong around him.

Lan Qiren: He’d be fine if his entire family didn’t insist on causing him problems, constantly. Handling it surprisingly well, all things considered. Still 6/10 though.

Nie Mingjue: I mean, does spend a large chunk of time steadily inching toward a qi deviation? That on its own is pretty stressful and also he just seems like generally a high blood pressure sort of person. But the qi deviation inducing saber is definitely not, like, helping. Putting him at a roughly 6 or 7/10 with a median level that just keeps inching slowly upward.

Nie Huaisang: Actually less stressed than you’d expect given how flighty he seems to be! Even when plotting revenge is less “stressed” than “determined.” Pretty good at keeping himself calm most of the time. Generally sits at a stress level of 4/10 or so with a few significant exceptions.

Jin Guangyao: Very stressed all of the time. He has a lot to be stressed about! Between the various complexes and the tendency toward paranoia, Jin Guangyao is definitely among the most stressed in a room at any given time, while doing his best to convey otherwise. But seriously, look at this smile. Does that look like the smile of a serene man to you? 10/10.

Jin Zixuan: You know those high-strung racehorses that sometimes get spooked by, like, a shadow on the ground? That’s Jin Zixuan. Mostly manages to mask his constant low-level “AHHHHH” with a layer of arrogance and/or social awkwardness that looks like arrogance, but it’s there, in the background. 7/10.

Jin Zixun: Shielded from the general Jin neuroses by being an asshole. It’s not fair, but there you are. 3/10 because he does seem to have some inferiority complex issues going on, but that’s not the same thing as stress.

Jin Guangshan: Deserves to be a lot more stressed than he is. Alas, is confident enough to not be terribly stressed. 2/10.

Mianmian: So you know how cheetahs are very panicky animals and so they often in zoos get paired with dogs who will help them figure out that this situation is safe and they don’t need to panic? I feel like Mianmian is Jin Zixuan’s stress meter in their friendship. She will let him know when to be stressed! Because she is not going to spook at her own shadow. Has a sense of reasonable responses to stressors and knows how to remove herself from a bad situation when necessary. Generally a 5/10 because the inherent stress of existing in the Jin Sect is a real thing.

Wen Qing: It’s hard to be the most competent person in the room most of the time who spends most of her time in very politically precarious positions and with her or her brother’s life at least sort of in danger! Pretty up there for “most stressed” candidates. She’s really having a time of it. Generally hovers around an 8/10.

Wen Ning: Generally not stressed, at least not in the traditional way. Is distressed a lot, but not so much stressed. Ends up at roughly 4/10.

Wen Chao: Like Jin Zixun, gets somewhat shielded from stress by being an unrepentant asshole, though his end of life 11/10 stress via Wei Wuxian kind of makes up for the rest. Averages more of a 2/10 most of the time, though? I don’t think we can let that relatively brief period skew the scale too much.

Wen Ruohan: Does “magic induced losing your mind” count as stress? I mean, he has a pretty stressful job even before that, but he doesn’t project “stress” so much as “incipient madness” during the period where we actually see him doing things. Not sure what rating to give here. It seems like he’s kind of on a different scale.

Wang Lingjao: For the most part seems to manage to get by relatively stress-free, up until things start going completely to shit and she gets haunted to death. Generally closer to a 2 or 3/10, because life as a servant ascended to mistress in a strictly hierarchical society is inherently a wee bit stressful.

Wen Zhuliu: Too sick of this shit and not getting paid enough to really stress out about it. 1/10.

Lan Sizhui: One of those people who manages to appear serene and calm all the time but mostly has just gotten used to functioning at a higher level of stress and therefore can pass for calm even when he is having an Experience of it, which makes his stress levels kind of hard to gauge. But I’d put him at a relatively consistent 6/10.

Lan Jingyi: Wouldn’t call him stressed exactly but he’s definitely very high energy. Kind of gives off the vibes of a very energetic dog who would be stressed if you didn’t keep him busy, but mostly (because I feel like Gusu Lan Sect is pretty good at keeping him busy) hovers around a 2 or 3/10.

Jin Ling: I feel like Jin Ling isn’t stressed most of the time up until the actual events of CQL itself, where he is both very stressed and very confused almost constantly from the time he first runs into Wei Xuanyu, and it only goes downhill from there. So covering the events of the show I’m going to put him at a 7/10, because he does manage to deal with some wild things with some equanamity and makes it all the way to episode forty-five without breaking down sobbing.

Ouyang Zizhen: Seems like a sensitive soul but doesn’t give off the impression of carrying around a lot of stress, at least not from what we see of him. Probably the chillest of the junior quartet, tbh. Gonna give him a 2/10.

Xiao Xingchen: For most of his life Xiao Xingchen manages his stress very well! He’s actually surprisingly chill. Gets significantly more stressed, understandably, after Xue Yang engineers his no good very bad breakup (the first one) with Song Lan. But in general not that stressed! It is actually part of why he doesn’t handle the stress when it comes very well. He’s not used to it and he only had one pair of eyes to sacrifice. In general a 3/10.

Song Lan: Makes up for Xiao Xingchen’s relatively low stress levels by picking up on the stress for both of them. Still chiller than a lot of people on this list, though, but there’s a lot of very stressed people in this show, so. 5/10.

Xue Yang: Manages his stress by making everyone else very stressed, on purpose. If he’s having a bad day he’ll go and make someone else have a worse day and it helps. At least until there’s a dead Xiao Xingchen and then nothing helps! But as a rule exists at a general 2/10 and honestly he deserves it.

A-Qing: Her life is inherently stressful because she is a street kid trying to make it in a world that is not very friendly to people with no structure supporting them, but she manages to bear it pretty well on the whole. Still, it’s hard being a-Qing. She just makes it look easy. Probably a 4 or 5/10.

Sect Leader Yao: He’s not stressed, but he’s very good at making everyone around him stressed every time he opens his mouth. His presence is a +2 to stress for everyone in his vicinity with the exception of Sect Leader Ouyang, who is for some reason immune. 0/10.

#the untamed #cql #i'm not going to tag every character on this list that is TOO MUCH WORK #lise does meta #(um. ish)#i should just have an 'untamed shitposts' tag at this point #the sad queer cultivators show

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marmosa · 4 years ago

Text

you’re no fun.

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: none, i barely proof read this so maybe shitty writing?

A/N: i wrote this for my friend after she pitched me the idea, so this one goes out to her <3 i’m not too confident with this piece but i really do like the second half. hope you guys enjoy :)

***

“We are not talking about this again.”

“Oh come on [y/n], don’t be like that!”

“Fred, I’ve already told you a million times, I’m not telling you who I want to ask me to the ball and I’m most certainly not telling you who I fancy,” [y/n] scoffed, tightening her grip on the books cradled to her chest.

“You’re no fun,” Fred huffed, slouching his shoulders and finally falling back into step with her, “you know if you just told me I could get him to ask you-,”

“I’m quite literally seconds away from hexing you and getting myself banned from the ball all together, don’t try your luck Weasley,” [y/n] narrowed her eyes, the threat ever present in her words.

“That is the most Slytherin thing you’ve ever said,” Fred paused, a shit-eating grin pulling onto his lips, “Don’t tell me you want some stuck up bad mouther to ask you to the ball?”

[y/n] stopped in her tracks and looked at him an expression so surprised she might as well have been staring at one of the silly little creatures Lovegood was always going on about, “And so what if I did? What’s it to you?”

Her answer seemed to have taken Fred aback as pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to think of a reply. It was [y/n]’s turn to smirk as she chuckled to herself, proud she’d been able to stun him into silence, “Finally gave up, huh?”

As soon as the words left her mouth she was quick to regret it, Fred snapping back to reality, “You honestly think that was going to stop me? I am going to watch you like a Hyppogriff watches its lunch, I’ll get my answer whether you like it or not.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep on dreaming Weasley,” she hummed, trying not to let on that she was just as amused as he was hoping she’d be, “I’ll see you later, Fred.”

“Adieu!” He called from down the hall as he sprinted to make it to his next class on time after insisting on walking her to class.

“Adieu,” she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes in a feeble attempt to sooth the rising pace of her heart.

***

“I think I’ve figured it out.”

[y/n] groaned loudly and banged her head forward onto the table as Fred slid into the seat next to her. She lolled her head to the side and glared up at him, which he ignored and returned the sentiment with a grin.

“He’s a Gryffindor,” Fred claimed triumphantly, his grin only growing wider when [y/n]’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, “So Tessa didn’t lie to me!”

“Of course she told you, oh my god,” [y/n] turned her face back towards the table to hide her panicked expression.

“Well not everything, that was the only hint she gave me if it makes you feel better,” Fred shrugged, noticing her pinched brows and clenched hands in her lap.

“Oh thank the heavens,” she exhaled deeply, sitting back up and digging her palms into her eyes, “you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Why’s that? Scared I’m gonna tell him?” Fred teased, poking her in the side.

She swat his hand away and passed him a deadpan stare, “As if, you wouldn’t do it if I asked you not to.”

Fred’s cheeks tinged red which he quickly tried to hide as he tipped his chin up, crossing his arms over his chest, “that’s entirely not true.”

“Whatever you say Freddie,” [y/n] hummed, chuckling to herself and turning back to her papers.

“Say, have you gotten your dress yet? Tessa told me you were gonna go regardless of a partner,” Fred questioned, leaning his cheek onto his balled up fist, a small smile pulling onto his lips when she looked over at him with an excited glint in her eyes.

“It did! Wanna see it? I can show you now, potions work can wait,” She squealed, shutting her books and shoving her papers into her bag, “let’s go!”

[y/n] grabbed Fred’s hand and dragged him out of the Great Hall, pulling him along for most of the way until they reached the staircases. Fred looked down at her with a soft smile as she rambled on about the detailing and the pretty colors of the gown, an endearing look plastered on his face.

“Wait-!” [y/n] exclaimed as they stopped outside the dormitory entrance, the painting watching them both with nosy interest, “I can’t show you yet, it has to be a surprise for the actual ball!”

“Well then why the bloody hell did you drag me all the way out here?” Fred whined, pouting and reaching forward to poke her side again.

She swat at his hands again, “would you cut that out! Bloody hell, you’re dance partner is going to hate you if this is how you’re gonna treat her.”

“Well the jokes on you, I don’t have a dance partner,” Fred huffed, crossing his arms and marching off in the opposite direction.

“Wait, you don’t?” [y/n] asked incredulously, jogging to catch up with him, “why haven’t you asked her yet?

Fred pursed his lips and avoided her curious gaze, “because I’m worried she’s not going to say yes,” he admit quietly.

“I know it’s not fair of me to ask but who did you even have in mind, I might know if she’ll say yes! I frankly know far more than I’d like to about other people’s romantic endeavors, so I might have an answer,” [y/n] explained, looking up at him with eyes full of hope, her nerves hidden beneath still biting at her insides.

Fred swallowed his heartbeat and shrugged, trying his absolute best to calm the red starting to flush his face, “Since I’m not a stubborn git like you,” he paused as she scoffed jokingly, “I was thinking of asking,” his eyes scanned the hallway as he struggled to find an answer that wasn’t the girl standing by his side, his brain finally digging up a person, “Angelina. Yeah, I was thinking of asking Johnson.”

[y/n]’s heart sank to the bottom of her chest, a gaping hole starting to form where her heart had previously been, “Oh. Well, I know Angelina hasn’t take a particular fancy to anyone, so you should be all set. I can always ask her what she thinks of you too, if you want a more solid answer,” [y/n] muttered, trying her best to maintain whatever resolve she was clinging to that kept her tears at bay.

Fred noted the way she sunk into herself and tightened her grip around her books, the light bulb in his head flickering to life- was she upset?

“Thank you for the, uh, offer. I might just take you up on it,” Fred chuckled softly, trying to ease his own emotions while searching for a possible answer as to why she could be upset over this. He’d have to ask Tessa later.

“Of course, well, I have to head off to my next class, see you around Fred,” She pulled a tight-lipped smile, turning on her heel and hopping onto the nearest staircase, leaving Fred alone as she was lifted to the upper floor.

“Well shit,” He cursed.

***

Three days had passed since the Fred’s crappy revelation and as far as [y/n] was concerned she felt no will to attend the next day. Fred had gone ahead and asked Angelina the way he said he would and she watched it happen during their study period to which she quickly made up an excuse to leave the scene.

Tessa had tried her absolute best to console her best friend but it was no use, she had gone through hell and back getting [y/n] to even agree to still attend the ball. Another boy had come to [y/n], but she politely declined, knowing that leading him on would have gotten her nowhere but in trouble.

“Excited to dance the night away tomorrow? I promise I’m a better partner than you’d think,” Tessa giggled, nudging [y/n] in the side.

[y/n] looked up from her hand that she was glaring at intently as she carefully painted her nails a pretty shade that one of their roommates had let her borrow, “excited as always. But you do know, I’m going to avoid you like the plague, right? I’m not ruining your night with Diana.”

“Oh please, she won’t die if I dance with you once!” Tessa rolled her eyes, falling back so she was splayed out over her bed, “We’ve been dating for a year now, she won’t take it poorly.”

“Still, this is like a once in a moon opportunity. I don’t intend on ruining it,” [y/n] insisted, concrete in her conclusion.

“Goodness, fine! You’re such a hard-head. Just promise me you’ll at least try to have fun?” Tessa pleaded, sitting up to give [y/n] an serious look.

“Whatever soothes your soul,” [y/n] hummed, biting back a smile when Tessa rolled her eyes, falling back once more.

“You’re no fun,” Tessa groaned.

“Not the first time I’ve been told that.” [y/n] giggled.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, Fred says that to me a lot, he thinks I have a stick up my arse,” [y/n] chuckled sadly, avoiding Tessa’s sympathetic gaze, “don’t look at me like that, I don’t want to think about it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Tessa held her hands up defensively.

“Mhm, sure.”

“Shut up.”

“Gladly.”

***

“Tessa!”

Tessa came to a halt in the nearly empty hall, glancing over her shoulder with a confused look as she saw Fred racing towards her. She turned around completely to face him as he skid to a halt in front of her, her brows knit together as she wondered what he could possibly be tracking her down for the morning of the yule ball.

“Hey Fred, what seems to be the problem?”

“I, uh, wanted to ask you a question,” Fred explained through labored breathes as he leaned over, balancing his hands on his knees.

“Shoot.”

“When I told [y/n] that I was asking Angelina to the ball a couple days ago, she looked really upset. And I wasn’t quite sure what to make of so I wanted to ask if she’d told you what had happened?” Fred explained, his heart hammering against his chest.

Tessa’s face fell, a grimace pulling onto her features, “Fred...,” her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t-,” Tessa sighed, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the side of hall to avoid the traffic of other students, “take a wild guess.”

“Well, the only answer I can think of is-,” his eyes widened as a feeling of panic set in, “-oh shit,” Fred felt sick.

“Who did you think that Gryffindor was? Why did you think she left the Great Hall when you asked Angelina? Why did you think she was fine all the way up until she’d found out you asked Angelina? Fred, you’re by no means stupid, but this has got to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” Tessa frowned, not knowing whether to sympathize with his situation or be mad at him.

“I-,” Fred searched for an excuse, but came up blank, “I had no idea. What am I suppose to do now?”

“Well you certainly can’t drop Angelina, not on the morning of the ball. And I don’t think [y/n] is going to want to feel like a last minute option either,” Tessa sighed and shook her head, “I truly can’t offer you much advice here, I think you’re just gonna have to muscle this one out.”

“Yeah,” Fred muttered, dragging his hands down his face, “Thanks Tessa.”

“Mhm,” Tessa offered him a half-hearted smile, “Good luck.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

***

“You look lovely,” [y/n] smiled softly at her best friend in the mirror, zipping up the back of her dress, “Diana is gonna love it.”

“She better, we picked it out together,” Tessa laughed, smoothing out the creases on the bodice.

“Well in that case, she most certainly will love it,” [y/n] beamed.

“Aside from me, look at yourself, you’re just as beautiful as I knew you would be when we took it out of the parcel last week,” Tessa grinned, turning around to face [y/n] who was practically glowing with joy.

“You flatter me,” [y/n] scoffed playfully, dusting off invisible particles off her shoulder, “but thank you.”

“Of course,” Tessa nodded, “you ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” [y/n] exhaled, rolling her shoulders to sooth the nerves prickling at her skin.

“Then off we go!” Tessa cheered, hooking elbows with [y/n].

The two girls made their way down the stairs towards the Great Hall, eventually splitting off near the entrance when Tessa had to go find Diana among the gaggle of Hufflepuff’s nearby. [y/n] waved bye to her friend, turning on her heel and heading down towards the two main staircases, her hands clutching her dress so tightly she was sure it was going to tear in her fingers.

At the bottom of the staircase stood Fred, George, Seamus, and Oliver all chatting up a storm as they waited for their dates to arrive and join them before heading into the venue. The group of boys suddenly fell quiet when a hushed whisper fell over some of the groups surrounding them, turning around to the source of the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Holy shit,” Fred gasped quietly.

[y/n] descended the stairs, her gown billowing behind her. She looked positively radiant in the soft lighting of the candle lit corridors, her hair done in a way that framed her face perfectly. She carried herself like a queen down the steps, the bodice holding her up like an ancient Greek statue.

“Dude,” George muttered, elbowing Fred lightly, “do you know who she came with?”

“No one, I think, I heard she rejected one of Slytherin heartthrob’s,” Seamus whistled under his breath, answering George in Fred’s place.

Fred couldn’t take his eyes off her, his mind reeling. They way she described the dress didn’t half encompass the way she looked wearing it. Maybe it was good thing she didn’t show him that day, he would have become a complete blubbering mess had she worn it then.

“Are you gonna go talk to her?” George urged, nudging Fred slightly.

Fred finally snapped out of his trance and turned back around, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shaking his head, “I asked Angelina to the ball. It wouldn’t be fair to her for me to start the night off with another girl.”

“That’s for certain, it’s a sure sad thing she came alone though,” Oliver noted, shaking his head.

“I heard it’s because the person she likes asked someone else.”

The boys turned their heads to see Angelina and Clover, Seamus’s date, walking over. Fred felt his heart only sink further when he saw just how lovely Angelina had done herself up for the night, knowing full well he wasn’t at all going to give what she’d come for.

“Is that so?” George hummed, glancing at his brother who looked downright ill, “Well let’s not jump to assumptions, maybe she’s just independent like that.”

“Good point, it’s just something I caught in the girls restroom,” Angelina shrugged, “You boys ready to head in?”

“Seamus and Fred can go on ahead, We’ll stay and wait for our dates,” Oliver nodded towards the doors leading to the Great Hall.

“You’re sure?” Seamus asked, hooking arms with Clover.

“Certain,” George concluded, “See you boys in a bit,” he reached over patting his brother’s back reassuringly.

“See you,” Fred smiled, hooking arms with Angelina, leading her inside.

***

[y/n] sat at a table alone, smiling to herself as she watched Tessa and Diana dance across the ballroom floor, trying to pick out her roommates and their dates while she sipped her punch. She fiddled idly with the folded fabric in her lap, rubbing the material between her fingers to occupy her mind.

“Are you certain you don’t want to dance with me?” Tessa exhaled, both her and Diana stumbling over to the table as the most recent song came to an end.

“I need a break anyway and you look bored to death over here, go have some fun!” Diana teased, plopping down in a seat and slipping off her heels.

“I promise I will not step on your toes,” Tessa reassured [y/n], extending her hand.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” [y/n] rolled her eyes, taking her hand and rushing off to the dance floor.

The two girls swayed around the dance floor, giggling as they dipped and spun each other unexpectedly, thankfully avoiding each other toes as promised. The surrounding couples all seemed to be enjoying themselves as well, platonic, romantic, or otherwise. [y/n] was overwhelmed with thankfulness at having such kind and caring friends, especially at times like this.

“You know, I hate to be a party pooper,” Tessa started, dipping [y/n] and pulling her back up, “but Fred has been staring at you since the ball started.”

[y/n] felt her eyes go wide as she processed the admittance, looking around the seating area frantically, her mouth running dry when she locked eyes with Fred who was being less than conspicuous staring directly at her.

She snapped her gaze back to Tessa as the song came to an end, “I think I need a breath of fresh air, I won’t be gone long!”

Before Tessa could offer a reply, [y/n] was rushing off, dashing out of the crowd and out to a nearby balcony to get some cold winter air in her lungs and against her sticky skin.

Fred watched [y/n] run out of the Great hall, his brows pinching together as he wondered what could possibly be wrong. Before he could get too sucked into his thoughts, he felt a tap on his shoulders.

“Go to her,” Angelina demanded.

“What?”

“I’ve been watching you this entire night and the only other thing you’ve been doing aside from dancing has been staring at her. You’re a fool if you say otherwise,” Angelina deadpanned a-matter-a-factly.

“But I don’t want to leave-,”

“Oh please, you think you’re my only option? Don’t flatter yourself Weasley. Now go, before she talks herself into getting over you,” Angelina huffed, nodding her head in the direction [y/n] left.

“I’m sorry, and thank you,” Fred smiled, hopping out of his seat and running after [y/n].

***

[y/n] sat on one of the benches outside a little ways away from the Great Hall, far enough for some seclusion but still near enough to hear the music. She blinked back tears threatening to fall and ruin her makeup, frustrated with herself for getting worked up after having a great time with her best friend only moments ago.

“You’re a fool,” [y/n] muttered to herself, resting her forehead on her wrist, elbows balanced on her knees.

The cold ended up being just what she had need, the cool air blanketing her in the relief she’d wanted from the suffocatingly hot Hall. Her head snapped up as she heard footsteps approach, a panic setting in despite the relative safeness of campus.

“[y/n]?” A familiar voice called.

“Fred?” [y/n] replied confusedly, turning her head the opposite direction to fan at her eyes to hide the tears the were previously glistening there.

“Oh thank goodness it’s you,” He exhaled, skidding to a stop in front of her, “I was worried I had just bothered some couple getting it on.”

[y/n] scrunched her nose in disgust and felt a laugh bubble out from between her lips, “Hello to you too, Fred.”

Fred’s cheeks hued red, the color spreading to the tips of his ears, “Hey.”

“What’re you doing here? Didn’t you come with Angelina?” [y/n] questioned, cocking her head to the side.

“I did, but uhm, but plans changed,” Fred explained, struggling to piece together the smooth talker persona he usually sported.

“Changed? Well that’s not abnormal coming from you, Mr. spontaneous,” [y/n] teased.

“Yup, you’ve caught me,” Fred chuckled, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I guess I have,” [y/n] hummed, “but, truly, what brought you out here?”

“Well, it’s a long story, okay, it’s actually a short story,” Fred started to ramble, unsure exactly how he was suppose to lead up to “hey I’m in love with you” in this particular situation, “I was stupid and I made a lot of mistakes and it shouldn’t have taken me so long to notice but it did and I desperately want to fix my mistakes and I don’t know how to without being direct at this point because explaining everything would take us forever but I like you [y/n]. More than I’d care to admit.”

[y/n] sat there stunned, her mind reeling as she processed his confession, the heat she’d come outside to cool quickly rushing back, “I-,”

“I would say that it’s okay if you don’t like me back but I did all the emotional maths and I put the pieces together after Tessa practically knocked the sense into me and I know I’m the Gryffindor you we’re talking about so you can’t say no unless Angelina was right and you did talk yourself out of liking me any-,” Fred continued on, his eyes anywhere but [y/n]’s face, before he felt her hands placed gently on his cheeks turning him to face her.

“Shut up and kiss me Weasley.”

A smitten smile pulled itself onto his lips which was quickly swallowed with [y/n]’s own lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her impossibly closer, relishing in the feeling of her lips against his and the soft patterns her thumbs traced across his freckled skin.

When they pulled away Fred couldn’t help himself but to break into laughter, swaying her side to side with him in excitement. She laughed giddily along with him, squealing delightfully when he picked her up and spun her around before quickly settling her back down on the snow dusted floor.

“I think now would be a good time to tell you that you look absolutely radiant tonight,” Fred sighed in a hushed tone, cupping her cheek in his palm

[y/n] looked down and pressed her lips together to hide her smile, suddenly shy of his admiration filled gaze. He chuckled and tipped her head back up to face him, “don’t get embarrassed on me now!”

“I’m not embarrassed! Just happy,” [y/n] shrugged, placing her hand over his wrist tenderly, squeezing gently.

“Well that’s good news, I’d be proper worried if it was anything else,” Fred laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest.

[y/n] rolled her eyes playfully at his comment, “I guess I should tell you that you also look quite lovely tonight too. Molly truly outdid herself.”

“Oooo someone thinks I’m handsome,” Fred wiggled his eyebrows.

“Hmph, you’ve gone and ruined it, leave me be,” [y/n] wrestled herself out of his grip, teasingly walking off.

“You’re no fun! Come back here,” Fred groaned, grabbing her wrist and tugging her back into his arms, “you hear that? I think they’re starting a new waltz.”

“Should we head back inside then?” [y/n] suggested, “it is kind of cold out here.”

“Nah, it’s cramped in there anyways,” Fred shook his head, shrugging off his robes and wrapping them around her shoulders, “that ‘ought to do it. So, [y/l/n], would you do me the honor of giving me this dance?”

“I most certainly would,” [y/n] smiled, taking his hand in hers and placing the other on his shoulder, “don’t step on my toes now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, but no promises,” Fred grinned, placing his hand on her waist.

“Me neither,” [y/n] giggled, leaning forward to give him a chaste kiss as the music started.

“Hold on tight, I’m gonna give you the best dance of your night,” Fred declared, standing tall.

“Don’t let Tessa hear you she might kick your arse,” [y/n] warned him, giggling at the faux fear that washed over his face.

“Pish posh, she’ll survive the blow to her ego, now shut up and dance with me [y/n].”

“Gladly, Freddie.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x [y/n]#hogwarts #harry potter #yule ball #[y/n]#mar writes

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