#its about how angry the high part sounds
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Give meee: an Eddie who went into a small little bookshop on an Indie trip and stumbled across an in person fandom meeting.Â
It's mostly Star Trek, and also mostly women, but the stories they have are nothing like Eddie's ever read.Â
He's barely a teenager, and already protective of himself and his real identity--but everything he's ever wanted is written down, right here, on a little zine with Kirk and Spock doodled on the cover.Â
Theyâre not--itâs not obvious, that theyâre what he is, but the story itself is blatant and Eddie ends up being so obviously close to tears, he accidentally outs himself without ever saying a word.Â
(He also ends up on the mailing list, then being sent home with several hand printed copies of all kinds of zines.)Â
Eddie would remain on this list well past his third senior year in high school.Â
Past bats, and Vecna and Steve fucking Harrington.Â
Flash forward to his first apartment.The tiny one he shares with Steve when they followed Nancy and Robin to college.Â
Steve knows Eddieâs gay.Â
Or rather, Steve has been told, but Eddie's still pretty clammed up about it. He's not yet where Robin is, ready to bemoan her loveless existence while draped over their crappy, thrifted couch.
He makes jokes and he flirts and he absolutely says things he shouldn't, but none of it is real.Â
It's flash. Showmanship.Â
It's the persona that yes, is him, but Eddie consciously built it. Thereâs nothing soft or gooey there, nothing anyone can use to hurt him.Â
So when he comes home and sees that plain, padded envelope with the neatly printed label on the counter, torn wide open and flat without its contents?
 Eddie panics.Â
His heart thunders in his chest, vision tunneling as adrenaline kicks through him.Â
He wants to bolt-- should bolt--except ever since he almost died his brain no longer obeys him.Â
Not when it comes to running, anyway.Â
Instead it fights him to a standstill, freezing his feet right to the living room floor.Â
The urge is still there.Â
To run, and save face the cowards way.Â
Vanish before Steve could get at a part of him that had once kept Eddie out of Wayneâs trailer for two days, until the old man had hunted him down and made him come home, huffing about how heâd love Eddie no matter what but he better never disappear like that again.Â
(Which Eddie did anyway, and of everything that happened with Vecna, itâs that he regrets the most. The stories he heard of Wayne putting up posters. Squaring off with angry, too-righteous townies, and--)
A sniffle jerks him out of his thoughts.Â
Eddie gasps, entirely unsure of when he stopped breathing. Stumbles back and turns, right in time for Steve to come out of his room and amble down their hallway.Â
One hand rubs at his eyes, and the other is--the other hasâŚ
Eddie identifies the cheaply printed, stapled zine immediately. It's one he's wanted to read for a while now, solely because it features a story about Kirk and Spock being stuck in a cave together on a planet that has bat-like, vicious animals on it.Â
Kirk gets bitten after something goes wrong with the transporter and, look, itâs carthiatic okay!? Sue a guy for wanting to read a romance about a situation he identifies with!Â
Steve looks up from the zine and startles.Â
For a second his eyes go dark and flat, the same way Eddies and Robins and Nancy's and everyone's does when caught off guard.Â
It's gone in a flash though, Steve visibly relaxing when he clocks that it's just Eddie.Â
He keeps the zine pressed to his sweater clad chest, and huffs out a laugh that's half forced and half pure relief.
âFuck Eds, you scared me! I didnât know you could be quiet.âÂ
âUh huh.â Eddie manages, voice sounding totally and absolutely normal and not at all ten octaves higher than it usually is.Â
They stare at each other for a second. Long enough that Steve's eyebrows crinkle in the middle, which is the first hint that heâs beginning to worry, and Eddie really cannot handle Steve being worried right now. Â
âWhat's--â Eddieâs voice cracks and he coughs to recover. âwhat's that?âÂ
Steve frowns at him for a moment, until Eddie gestures at the zine in his hands.Â
âOh!â
Steve holds it up, as if to show it off.Â
âIt's a little book Robin got in the mail. It has a bunch of stories in it. They're normally boring as fuck but this one's from Star Trek.âÂ
Hearing the words âStar Trekâ out of Steveâs mouth shouldnât be weird, not anymore, when Eddie and Dustin have been on a two man mission to nerdify Harrington as much as possible, but it still kicks like a mule to hear him say such things without any prompting.Â
âYou know what Star Trek is?â
âEddie,â Steve tuts, tongue clicking in his mouth. âeveryone knows what Star Trek is. Itâs nerd shit, but like, old nerd shit. My grandparents used to watch it when I stayed over. This?âÂ
 He shakes the zine, so hard Eddie wants to snatch it away from him.
 âThis isn't nerd shit. This is excellent.â
Steve gives the zine an appreciative glance and hell, maybe Eddie accidentally walked into another dimension.Â
Heâs been trying to get Steve to read more, rediscover the joys of books the public school system does its best to destroy, but until now Steve hasnât really taken to it.Â
Enjoys when Eddie reads aloud sometimes, and has started to bug Robin to do it for him too, but otherwise?
Eddieâs nerve seen him with anything that had the written word on it that wasnât a cooking or car related magazine.Â
âHonestly,â Steveâs saying, âI think Robs fucked up, this isn't her style at all. Sheâs gonna be pissed.âÂ
He eyes the thing appreciatively, like the gift it is.Â
âI'm stealing it the second she figures that out.â He adds decisively.Â
âYou like it?â Eddie asks.Â
âMmm.âÂ
âEven though it's--it's gotâŚKirkâŚâÂ
Steve's frowning at him again. âWhat?âÂ
âIt's queer man. It's really queer.âÂ
Steve peers at him, the crinkle back in his eyebrows.Â
âI know. Wait, how do you--âÂ
And well. Itâs now or never.Â
âIt's mine.â Eddie says in a rush.
âNo it's not.â Steve scoffs, and okay, maybe this is a dream. Eddie pinched himself twice already, but perhaps a third time would wake him up?
(It does not.)
âit was even addressed to Robin. Well,â Steve has one hand on a hip now, his default position when arguing, âRobbie, but she goes by that sometimes.âÂ
Which Robin does, but not in the fucking mail.
Without a word, Eddie turns and goes for the envelope the zine came in.Â
Steve follows, invading Eddieâs space to peer over his shoulder (and thatâs Eddieâs fault too, that closeness, but he didnât think it would be turned on him in a moment like this--)Â
There's a sticker on the envelopeâs label.
 Itâs barely hanging on, half of it curled into the air. Round and yellow, with little black lines, it becomes immediately obvious that one of Robin's smiley face stickers has migrated again.Â
They're all over the apartment. Remnants of a phase she went through after she stole a roll of them from her and Steveâs job at a local toy store.
This one had clearly jumped ship from its original spot (likely on the ceiling somewhere), and was now firmly over the E in Eddie's name.Â
âDdieâ still isn't exactly âObbieâ but--
Steve leans around, snatching the envelope up and bringing it close to his face.Â
Far too close, like he can't read it, eyes squinting as he examines the label--and suddenly Eddie knows exactly what happened.Â
He laughs, an explosion of noise that's half hysterical and half disbelief.Â
Steve looks at him.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âOh my God,â Eddie says, one finger jabbing in the air in the vague direction of Steveâs nose. âI told you you needed glasses!âÂ
âI do not!â Steve protests immediately, but his eyes are darting around the envelope.Â
Heâs scrambling to figure out what Eddieâs seeing, trying desperately to find a hole that can prove himself right.Â
Eddie decides to help him, by plucking the smiley sticker off the envelope.Â
âSee?â He jeers, and shit okay, maybe his life isnât over just yet. âIt says Eddie, not Robbie!âÂ
âYou guys have got to start using your government names for this shit.â Steve bitches, but itâs weak.
Eddie feels a grin coming on, and lets it overtake his face.Â
âSo...Kirk and Spock huh?âÂ
âTheyâre cute.â Steve defends instantly, before sighing his defeat and tossing the envelope on the table.Â
The zine he keeps in his hands.Â
Eddie crosses his arms and leans against their rickety table. âEven though theyâre both guys?âÂ
âI thought we were past this!â Steve whines. âI went to a gay bar with Robin last weekend!âÂ
Which is news to Eddie.Â
âYou didnât invite me?â He gasps, feigning hurt by putting a hand over his heart.Â
Truthfully he still hasnât fully recovered--is play acting himself, almost, but is rapidly coming around to the idea of Steve appreciating queer fanfiction.Â
âWe did!â Steve rolls his eyes so dramatically his whole head moves. âWe absolutely did, You said,âÂ
Here Steveâs voice pitches into a mockery of Eddieâs that he will not give him points for, even if it is a little hilarious, âMe? At some loser bar? Fuck no, Iâve got a campaign to write. Starbuck, donât you have homework?âÂ
âI didnât know that was a gay bar!âÂ
âYou did! Robin told you!âÂ
âOkay well, I wasnât listening!â Â
âClearly. I keep telling you we need a fucking--system or, I donât know, a code word or something!â Â
âYeah well, when you wanna make us a safe word for conversations, big boy, you let me know.âÂ
Theyâre both laughing a little now, this argument veering into familiar territory, with Eddie not really listening and Steve mocking him for it later. (As well as vice versa, with startling regularity.)Â
âYou really like it though?â Eddie says after the laughter winds down, gesturing to the zine still clutched in Steveâs hand.Â
âYeah.â Steve confirms, easy as heâs said anything else. Like this isnât embarrassing, or almost worse than the time Wayne found Eddieâs porno mags and alphabetized them as a joke.Â
âIt's part of a mail tree. Iâm supposed to send it on to the next person when Iâm done with it. I make copies though,â Eddie rushes to add, because Steve is now clutching the little booklet to his chest in horror, as if Eddie was about to rip it out of his hands. âIf you like Iâll show you my other ones?âÂ
Steve eases his grip, giving Eddie the little smile he makes that makes his stomach flip.Â
âThatâd be cool.âÂ
(Later, Steve pokes at Eddieâs thigh from where theyâre both sprawled on Eddieâs bed, Steve having switched the new zine out for one of Eddieâs copies. âAre you going to laugh at me if I ask you to read some of these aloud?âÂ
âOnly if you donât laugh when I ask you to take me to that gay bar.âÂ
âDeal, but on the grounds youâre barred from making fun of my flirting attempts. Robin doing it was bad enough.âÂ
âWell you deserve it if youâre hitting on women at a gay bar, Stevie.âÂ
âI wasn't hitting on women you asshole.â Steve says and oh.
Oh.
Eddie feels the floor drop out from under him for the second time that day.Â
At least this time itâs not fear that thunders through him, but possibility.)Â
#steddie#pre steddie#eddie reads star trek slash fiction#kirk/spock#mentioned anyway lol#Steve Harringtons Terrible Fucking Eyesight#(me too buddy me too)#steve harrington#eddie munson#zines#0o0 fanfics#stranger things
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X-Men x Fem!Reader (Part.1)
You leave them speechless with your bikini (Part.1)
You arrives at a private X-Men beach in a stunning bikini, instantly capturing the attention of your crush who struggle to maintain their composure
Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Jean Grey & Ororo Munroe
Logan Howlett (Wolverine)
The sun beats down on the secluded stretch of beach where the X-Men have gathered for a rare day off, the sounds of the waves lapping gently at the shore. Logan stands near the bonfire pit, his sharp eyes watching as his teammates laugh and splash around in the water, but his mind isnât really on their fun. Heâs more focused on the horizon, trying to find peace in the familiar scent of the ocean, but that all changes when you step onto the sand.
He glances over, and there you are, walking across the beach in a bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. His breath hitches slightly at the sight of you, all sun-kissed skin and effortless beauty. The way the sunlight plays off your body makes his throat tighten, and suddenly, Logan has to clench his fists to keep his composure. His sharp senses can pick up on everything about youâyour scent, the warmth radiating from your skin, and the way your soft laughter reaches his ears.
Youâre walking toward the water, completely oblivious to the effect youâre having on him, and for a moment, Loganâs mind goes blank, his usual cool exterior crumbling as he watches you. He can feel the animal inside him stir, the raw attraction that he tries so hard to keep in check roaring to life. His heart races, and itâs taking everything in him not to let his eyes linger too long, not to show just how much heâs affected.
"Whoa, Logan, you might wanna close your mouth before you start droolin'," comes a teasing voice from beside him. Logan turns to see Bobby grinning like an idiot, clearly enjoying his discomfort.
Logan growls low in his throat, but itâs more embarrassed than angry. "Shut it, Drake," he mutters, trying to ignore the way his face feels like itâs on fire. He can feel the heat rising in his body, a mix of frustration and longing swirling inside him, but he canât risk losing control. Not here, not now.
Bobby snickers and pats Logan on the shoulder. "Sheâs somethinâ else, huh? Canât say I blame you. If I had your senses, Iâd probably be in trouble too."
Logan clenches his jaw, his eyes flicking back to you for a brief moment before he forces himself to look away. "Ainât your business, Drake," he grumbles, though his tone lacks its usual bite.
But Bobbyâs words only make it harder for Logan to push the thoughts away. Every time he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye, his chest tightens. He wants to go over to you, wants to say something, but the tension between you two has been building for weeks, and heâs not sure how much longer he can hold back.
As the day wears on and the sun begins to set, Logan finds himself standing closer to you, the unspoken connection between you two almost tangible. You glance over at him, a soft smile on your lips, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away. The temptation is too strong, the desire too overwhelming. Heâs not sure how much longer he can pretend heâs not completely drawn to you.
Remy LeBeau (Gambit)
The day is hot and humid, the perfect weather for a beach trip. The X-Men had chosen a private stretch of sand, far away from prying eyes, and everyone was in high spirits. Remy, as usual, was the center of attention, making jokes and tossing cards into the air with casual grace. But when you step onto the sand in your bikini, his usual charm falters.
His red-on-black eyes widen slightly as he takes in the sight of you, walking toward the water with the sun hitting your skin just right. You look effortlessly stunning, the curves of your body accentuated by the swimsuit, and Remy canât help but stare for a moment too long. Heâs never been the kind of guy to be at a loss for words, but right now, he feels like someone just knocked the wind out of him.
"Mon dieu," he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he tries to regain his composure. But itâs no useâhis heartbeat quickens, and his usual confidence wavers.
"Remy, you okay there?" Rogueâs voice breaks through his daze, and when he turns to look at her, sheâs smirking, clearly enjoying the way heâs struggling to keep his cool. "Didnât think Iâd ever see you look so flustered."
Remy shoots her a playful glare, but thereâs no hiding the flush creeping up his neck. "Ainât flustered, cher," he says, but his voice lacks its usual smoothness.
Rogue chuckles, folding her arms across her chest. "Sure, sugar. Whatever you say."
Remy turns his attention back to you, watching as you laugh with some of the other X-Men, completely unaware of the effect youâre having on him. His chest tightens, and for the first time in a long time, Remy feels nervous. Heâs always been confident, always known exactly what to say to charm someone, but with you, itâs different. Thereâs something real between you two, something thatâs been simmering just below the surface for a while now, and itâs starting to drive him crazy.
The way your hips sway as you walk, the way your hair catches the sunlightâitâs all too much. He swallows hard, feeling the urge to go to you, to say something, to finally make a move. But he hesitates, unsure if now is the right time. The tension between you two is thick, and heâs not sure if pushing things further right now would be a good idea.
But then, you glance over at him, your eyes locking with his for just a second, and thatâs all it takes. His heart skips a beat, and without thinking, he starts walking toward you, his usual swagger returning as he closes the distance between you two.
"Chère, yâ lookinâ like trouble today," he says, his voice low and smooth, though thereâs a hint of nervous energy beneath the surface. He flashes you one of his trademark smiles, but this time, itâs a little more genuine, a little less playful.
You smile back, tilting your head slightly as you look up at him. "You sayinâ Iâm too much for you to handle, Remy?"
He chuckles, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. "Ainât no such thing as too much when it comes to you, mon amour."
Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)
The beach day was meant to be relaxing, a break from the chaos that usually surrounded the X-Men. Kurt had been enjoying himself, teleporting from spot to spot around the beach, sometimes splashing in the water with his teammates and other times just relaxing in the shade. But all of that changes the moment you step onto the sand in your bikini.
Kurtâs yellow eyes go wide, his tail twitching nervously as he watches you walk by, the sun making your skin glow in a way that makes his heart race. You look stunning, the curves of your body making it hard for him to focus on anything else. His usual calm demeanor falters, and he suddenly feels a little self-conscious. Heâs always been drawn to you, but seeing you like this, so effortlessly beautiful, is almost too much for him.
He quickly teleports to the edge of the beach, trying to collect himself. His body is burning with a mix of desire and embarrassment, and heâs not sure how to handle it. Kurt has always been shy when it comes to you, his feelings never fully spoken aloud, but the tension between you has been building for a long time.
"Having a hard time there, Kurt?" Kittyâs voice comes from beside him, and he jumps slightly, his tail curling in surprise.
"Nein, nein," he stammers, though his cheeks are darkened with a deep blush. "I-Iâm fine, really."
Kitty raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile on her face. "Uh-huh. Sure. Itâs not like youâre staring or anything."
Kurt groans softly, running a hand through his hair. "I wasnât⌠staring," he mutters, though he knows thatâs not entirely true. He had been staringâhe couldnât help it. You were just so⌠beautiful. And the feelings heâd been trying to keep under control were getting harder to ignore.
Kitty pats him on the back. "Good luck, Kurt. Looks like you might need it," she says before walking away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Kurt takes a deep breath, his tail flicking nervously as he watches you from a distance. He wants to go to you, to say something, but heâs not sure how. The attraction between you two is undeniable, and he knows he canât keep hiding how he feels forever.
Scott Summers (Cyclops)
The beach was calm, a private retreat for the X-Men to take a rare day off from their usual chaotic lives. Scott had found a spot under the shade of a large umbrella, sunglasses in place, enjoying the peaceful sound of the waves. He liked the quiet moments, where he could allow himself to relax. You, on the other hand, had been excited from the moment the trip was planned, eager to embrace the sun and sea.
Scott wasnât prepared for what happened next. When you stepped out from behind one of the large rocks, wearing a bikini that hugged your curves in all the right places, his thoughts came to a screeching halt. He tried to maintain his usual calm, controlled demeanor, but it was difficult. His jaw tightened as he watched you move, the sunlight highlighting your figure as you walked toward the water. You hadnât noticed his reaction yet, your carefree laughter blending with the sound of the ocean.
He adjusted his sunglasses, glad they were hiding the way his gaze followed you. A part of him wanted to stand up, walk over, and say something clever, but he could feel the heat rising in his body, his usual control slipping. Scottâs hands clenched into fists, trying to focus on anything else, but it was no use.
"Havinâ a little trouble, Summers?" Loganâs gruff voice came from beside him, and Scott immediately stiffened, his head turning sharply to the side.
Logan was smirking, arms crossed, clearly enjoying Scottâs discomfort. "Didnât think youâd be the type to get rattled over a swimsuit."
Scott let out a slow breath, his jaw clenched. "Iâm not rattled," he replied, trying to sound composed, though his voice was a little too tight. He glanced back at you, who was now wading into the water, your body shimmering under the sunlight.
"Right," Logan said, his smirk widening. "Just⌠yâknow, if youâre havinâ trouble keepinâ your cool, maybe itâs time you make a move before someone else does."
Scott didnât respond, but Loganâs words stuck with him. The tension between you two had been building for months, and Scott knew it. Heâd kept his distance, not wanting to complicate things, but seeing you now, so carefree and beautiful, was making it harder and harder to stay composed. He couldnât help but feel protective, the thought of anyone else stepping in to win your affections gnawing at him.
As you swam further out into the water, Scott stood up from his spot under the umbrella, his heart racing as he made a decision. It was time to stop holding back.
Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)
The beach wasnât Erikâs usual scene. He preferred the cold steel of his lair or the sharp angles of his machines, but at the insistence of Charles and the others, he had agreed to join this rare moment of relaxation. He stood off to the side, watching the waves crash against the shore with a distant expression, his mind far from the present.
That is, until you emerged from one of the beach cabanas, dressed in a bikini that immediately drew his attention. Erikâs breath caught in his throat as he watched you walk across the sand, your beauty impossible to ignore. The way you carried yourself, the way the sunlight seemed to embrace youâit was enough to stir something deep within him, something primal.
You werenât aware of his reaction, of the way his gaze followed you with an intensity he rarely allowed himself to feel. Erik prided himself on his control, on his ability to maintain a façade of indifference, but this⌠you⌠were making that increasingly difficult. His hand clenched at his side as he fought to maintain his composure, the magnetic energy around him humming softly in response to his heightened emotions.
"Quite the sight, isnât she?" Charlesâ voice broke through Erikâs thoughts, the familiar, calm tone both irritating and grounding at the same time.
Erik didnât bother turning to look at his old friend, his eyes still locked on you as you dipped your toes into the water. "She always is," he replied, his voice lower than usual, filled with a tension that Charles undoubtedly noticed.
Charles chuckled softly, sensing the depth of Erikâs feelings. "You know, it wouldnât hurt to let her know what she means to you."
Erikâs jaw tightened. He wasnât a man prone to sentimentality, and yet, when it came to you, his defenses always seemed to waver. There had been an undeniable connection between you two for a long time, a mutual understanding of the worldâs cruelty and beauty. But Erik had always hesitated to take that step, knowing the dangers that came with loving someone as fiercely as he wanted to love you.
"Sentiment is a weakness, Charles," Erik muttered, though even he didnât fully believe it this time.
Charles shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Or perhaps, itâs the greatest strength of all."
As you turned and smiled in Erikâs direction, his heart skipped a beat. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe it was time to stop pretending that he didnât feel anything. He wouldnât allow the world to take this from himânot this time.
Warren Worthington III (Angel)
The sun was high in the sky, casting golden rays across the secluded beach where Warren had flown the X-Men for a much-needed break. With his wings stretched wide, Warren lounged on the soft sand, the sound of the waves providing a perfect backdrop to the otherwise peaceful day. He was the picture of relaxation, at least on the surface.
That all changed the moment you walked out of the changing cabana in your bikini.
His heart nearly stopped in his chest as he saw you, your skin glowing under the sunlight, your every movement graceful and captivating. Warren had always found you beautiful, but something about seeing you like this, so free and confident, stirred something deep within him. He tried to play it cool, lounging back as though he hadnât just been struck dumb by the sight of you, but it was no use. His wings twitched, betraying his nervousness, and he felt his pulse quicken as you strolled toward the water.
Bobby, who had been building a sandcastle nearby, looked up at Warren with a wide grin. "Dude, youâre staring."
Warren blinked, snapping his gaze away from you as a flush crept up his neck. "Iâm not staring," he said, though his voice didnât quite carry the usual confidence.
Bobby snickered, leaning back on his hands. "Yeah, sure. Your wings are practically shaking, man."
Warren shot him a look, folding his wings a little tighter against his back in an attempt to regain control. "Mind your own business, Bobby," he muttered, though his eyes flicked back to you as you splashed playfully in the water, your laughter carrying on the breeze.
The truth was, Warren was having a hard time keeping his composure. The tension between you two had always been there, an unspoken attraction that neither of you had fully addressed, but seeing you like this, so effortlessly stunning, was making it impossible for him to ignore. His usual smooth charm faltered, and for the first time in a long while, Warren felt⌠vulnerable.
He wanted to go to you, to say something clever and sweep you off your feet the way he always imagined, but instead, he stayed rooted in place, unsure of how to approach the situation. His wings twitched again, and Bobbyâs teasing laughter only made it worse.
"Come on, man," Bobby said, still grinning. "Youâve got wings. Just fly over there and make a move already."
Warren rolled his eyes but couldnât deny the urge growing inside him. He wasnât used to feeling this uncertain, but for you⌠it might be worth the risk. Standing up, he brushed the sand off his shorts, his wings unfolding as he glanced in your direction again. Maybe today was the day heâd finally stop hiding how he felt.
Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)
The beach was a blur of activity, mostly thanks to Pietro zipping around the shore, never able to sit still for more than a moment. You were used to his constant energy by now, but today, his focus seemed a little... off. It wasnât until you stepped out of the changing room, wearing your new bikini, that you realized why.
Pietro froze mid-sprint, which was a rare occurrence for him. His eyes widened as they took you in, the gentle breeze tugging at your hair, the sunlight casting a warm glow on your skin. You smiled at him, completely unaware of the way his heart was practically racing even faster than usual. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool, but his usual cocky smirk faltered, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and awe.
"Wow," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "Thatâs... I mean... you lookâ"
Before he could finish, a sharp whistle came from nearby. You didnât notice, but Pietro did. Logan, leaning against one of the palm trees, raised an eyebrow at the speedster. "You gonna stand there gawking all day or actually do something about it, kid?"
Pietro shot Logan a glare, his usual confidence slowly seeping back into place. "Mind your business, old man," he grumbled, though he could feel the tips of his ears burning. Logan chuckled, clearly enjoying the younger mutant's discomfort.
Pietroâs gaze returned to you as you walked toward the shoreline, blissfully unaware of the exchange. He could feel his pulse quicken as he watched you, his usual bravado faltering just a bit. He knew he should make a move, say something, anything to let you know how he felt, but for the first time in a long time, he found himself at a loss for words.
With a deep breath, he decided to make his moveâfaster than you could blink, he was at your side, the usual teasing grin back on his face. "You know," he said, his voice low enough for only you to hear, "youâre making it really hard for me to concentrate on anything else right now."
Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)
Wanda Maximoff had always been intense, her emotions simmering just beneath the surface, controlled but always present. You knew that better than anyone, and today, as you stepped out onto the beach, you could feel that intensity directed at you in a way that sent shivers down your spine.
The beach was quiet, only a few of the X-Men scattered across the sand, but the moment Wanda saw you in that bikini, it was like the world fell away. Her eyes darkened, her lips parting slightly as she watched you walk toward the shore. You could feel her gaze on you, and it wasnât just casual. It was hungry, a heat that made your skin prickle with awareness.
You waded into the water, letting the cool waves wash over your ankles, and when you turned back to look at her, you caught the moment she tore her eyes away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. Wanda wasnât one to lose control easily, but around you, it seemed she couldnât help it.
"Youâre staring," Pietroâs voice cut through the quiet, and you saw him lounging nearby, his usual smirk plastered on his face. "Not very subtle, sis."
Wanda shot him a glare that could have melted metal, but it didnât stop him from chuckling. "Shut up, Pietro," she hissed, but the damage was done. Her composure was shaken, and now, she knew you had noticed.
Wanda stood up, brushing sand from her legs as she made her way toward you, her steps purposeful, but you could see the slight hesitation in her eyes. She was powerful, confident, but when it came to you, she seemed almost unsure, as if she wasnât entirely certain how to handle the way she felt.
"You okay?" you asked, a small smile playing on your lips as she stopped beside you, her eyes locking onto yours.
"Fine," she replied quickly, too quickly, and you raised an eyebrow.
"Wanda..." You took a step closer, your voice soft. "You donât have to hide how you feel."
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the tension between you was thick, almost suffocating. Wanda's fingers brushed against yours, and the simple touch sent a spark through you both. She didnât say anything, but the look in her eyes said everything. You could see the desire, the need she had been trying to keep under control, and you knew it wouldnât be long before she gave in.
Jean Grey (Phoenix)
The beach was serene, with the waves gently lapping at the shore and the soft hum of the wind weaving through the trees. Jean was sitting on a towel, a relaxed smile on her face as she watched the others enjoy the rare day off. She hadnât expected you to take her breath away, but thatâs exactly what happened when you strolled down the sand in your bikini.
Jeanâs eyes followed your every movement, her usually composed demeanor shaken for just a moment. You were stunning, the sun reflecting off your skin in a way that made her heart skip a beat. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, though she tried to keep her expression neutral.
As you waded into the shallow water, Jeanâs thoughts raced, and she struggled to maintain her usual control. The tension between the two of you had been growing for some time now, an unspoken attraction that was always there, simmering beneath the surface. She had always tried to keep her feelings in check, worried about the complications that might arise if she let them show. But now, seeing you like this, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the pull.
"Sheâs beautiful, isnât she?" Scottâs voice broke through Jeanâs thoughts, and she blinked, turning to look at him. He wasnât teasing, just observant, and Jean felt a pang of jealousy twist in her chest. She quickly pushed it down, forcing a smile.
"She is," Jean replied softly, her eyes drifting back to you as you laughed, splashing in the water. "But itâs more than that. She just... has this energy."
Scott nodded, though he didnât say anything more, leaving Jean alone with her thoughts. As you turned back to glance at her, your smile radiant, Jean felt her resolve begin to crack. Maybe it was time to stop hiding behind her fears and take a chance on what she truly wanted.
Ororo Munroe (Storm)
The air around the beach was warm, with just the right hint of a breeze to keep things comfortable. Ororo had spent the morning making sure the weather was perfect for the outing, her powers ensuring a clear, sunny sky without a cloud in sight. She was standing near the waterâs edge, her feet sinking into the sand, enjoying the peace of the day when she saw you.
The way the sunlight kissed your skin as you stepped onto the beach in a bikini left Ororo momentarily speechless. She had always known you were beautiful, but seeing you like this, so effortlessly confident and radiant, stirred something deep within her. She wasnât the type to be easily rattled, always so in control of herself and her surroundings, but for a split second, she felt a crack in her calm exterior.
Your laughter reached her ears as you splashed into the water, completely unaware of the way Ororoâs gaze lingered on you. She could feel the tension building in her chest, a mixture of admiration and desire, though she maintained her poised stance. Ororo prided herself on her ability to remain level-headed, but the sight of you was testing that self-control.
"You okay, âRo?" Rogueâs voice came from behind her, and Ororo turned, her serene expression back in place.
"Yes," she replied with a small smile, though her thoughts were still focused on you. Rogue followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
"Looks like someoneâs got you a little distracted," Rogue teased lightly, nudging Ororoâs arm.
Ororoâs lips twitched into a soft smile, but she didnât deny it. The truth was, she had been distracted by you for some time now, the connection between the two of you growing stronger with each passing day. She had always kept her feelings close to her chest, not wanting to let them cloud her judgment, but seeing you here now, so carefree and beautiful, made it harder to maintain her usual restraint.
As you waded further into the water, Ororo took a deep breath, her eyes softening. Maybe it was time to let go of the careful distance she had been keeping.
#logan howlett x reader#remy lebeau x reader#kurt wagner x reader#scott summers x reader#erik lehnsherr x reader#warren worthington x reader#pietro maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#jean grey x reader#ororo munroe x reader#marvel#marvel headcanons#marvel headcanon#marvel x reader#marvel imagine#marvel imagines#x men#x men x reader#x men headcanon#x men headcanons#x men imagines#x men imagine#x reader#imagines#imagine#headcanon#headcanons
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AU of my Gotham/Tim Drake! Danny where Danny doesnât know any knowledge beforehand about the DC universe.
Danny doesnât know how he got here, but the fact that he now shares something in common with Vlad other than their technical halfa status disgusts him
His new name is Timothy Jackson Drake. Itâs so far removed from Danny that his parents had him examined for deafness because he didnât respond to it. He got better at it, at putting on the mask Janet and Jack Drake wanted to see. So they took him to the circus.
He meets Dick Grayson. Danny thinks the kid is adorable, even if Danny himself is technically younger. He sees the flying Graysons fall. The buzzing in his head doesnât go away.
Heâs five, when the fading spirit of Gotham reaches out and pleads her King to protect her city in her stead. She is fading. He says yes, because sheâs one of his. The buzzing in his head settles and oh because thatâs whatâs been missing this entire time. Danny didnât have a haunt and Gotham gave him one.
He grieves when she dies, the new title settling around small shoulders, and the city grieves with him. In the city proper, Batman and Robin are having the worst night of their lives in the sudden storm.
Heâs nine. Robin is Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson, in turn, is an idiot. Batman⌠well, heâs at least mentoring and protecting the child vigilante, which is more than Danny ever had. He grows fond of them. How could he not, when they tried their hardest to help his city? To help him?
He shows himself, to the duo, in his Phantom form. Itâs still him, still modeled after Danny Fentonâs face instead of Tim Drakeâs. Ghosts are a reflection of the soul, after all.
âWho are you,â Batman demands, shielding Robin with half a step.
âGotham.â He replies. Danny wills the city to affirm his claim and the city wraps its arms around the vigilantes. Batman and Robin understands, a deep well of pure knowledge being tapped into in ways they werenât truly meant to understand.
ââŚHow?â
âMagic,â Phantom says, dry. He tells them of city spirits, and that they can call him in times of dire need.
Dick calls him to help with Two Face. Two Face learns the pain of unmelting ice to the balls.
His core aches when the Bats fight, but Danny knows now that it is inevitable. Theyâre part of his haunt, his âfraid. He knows these things far before they come into fruition.
Dick moves to a sister city. Phantom expands his haunt to Bludhaven because he doesnât, wonât, ever leave his Robins to themselves.
Nightwing is hopeful, is pleasantly surprised, and very suspicious when he shows up during patrol.
âGothamâŚ? What are you doing hereâŚ? This isnât, well, Gotham?â
âSatellite City. It is an extension of myself. You were Robin, yes. Youâre Nightwing, now. But that doesnât mean I wonât protect you when I can.â
Phantom goes back, and finds a kid trying to steal tires to make a living. He guides his Knight to him. The starved features, the bones Danny could see, it tugs at his core. It feels like the Ancient of Fate themselves were pulling him along.
âHowâd you know I was taking the wheels?â
âGotham.â
âAre you⌠high on shrooms or something?â
Bruce sighs. Batman asks Gotham to meet the new Robin, and chuckles when Jason is surprised by the glowing green figure.
Phantom hides this Robin just as much as the last one. He curls shadows around his vigilantes, sometimes at the same time, and softens what little sounds they made while stalking through his city for crime.
He makes small jokes with Jason. Danny forgets, a little, the crushing loneliness of being Timothy Drake.
âI didnât kill Garzona!â
âYou-â
Batman stops as a chill heâs never had experienced directed at him weaves around his neck. An angry Gotham.
âHe didnât kill him.â Danny slides a cold hand on Jasonâs shoulders.
But the damage had been done and the next day, Batman is begging Danny to tell him any clues of where Jason had gone.
âEthiopia.â
He clears the way for Batman to get to Robin. He clears the way for Bruce to get to Jason.
Heâd fallen into the trap of believing that Batman would handle everything when in the end, heâs just a man in a mantle that demands more than he ever thought heâd have to pay.
Robin is dead and Danny grieves. The skies crack open and pours a torrent of smogged rain water upon the streets of Gotham. Despite that, Crime Alley is untouched by flood. They say the second Robin was protecting his home.
In a way, itâs not wrong.
Gotham fishes Batman from the bay, carelessly tossing the broken Joker against a shipping container.
âYou canât keep doing this. Youâll die.â
Bruce, Batman, lays on his back, eyes glazed and empty. âMaybe I want to.â He admits. And Danny canât lose someone else. Itâs already bad enough he feels the death of everyone in his city, he canât lose him too. But Dick wonât come back. He already denied Gotham when Phantom had asked him to come back. Granted, Dick was nervous about denying him the entire time, but Danny realized that heâd lost a brother in the colors his parents chose for Dick. Danny- Phantom had cradled Dick in a swaddle of shadows and comfort.
âAlright.â
âIs it? Alright? I- I donât want to fail you, Gotham.â
âIt is. Youâve always made me proud. You will always make me proud. Whether it be by different name, it matters to me not. Stay. Heal.â
Like Dick was given permission, like he received a hint of peace, Dick Grayson crumpled to the floor and sobbed into Gothamâs shoulder.
(Later, long after Dick Grayson realized his little brother was also his city personified, he cries again into Timâs shoulders after the later dropped a flower pot perfectly on top of Catalina Floresâ head.)
Gotham, Phantom, Danny makes a choice.
âTomorrow, a child will show up at your door. You will let him in.â
âNo- I canât. I wonât.â He knows what Danny will ask of him.
âYou will.â Danny doesnât ever do it with his people, with his city, but dire times call for dire actions. It is an order. And Batman is Gothamâs knight. âYou will. You will train him. You need a Robin to leash your brutality. I need a Robin, for Robin is my hope. The cityâs hope. Our peopleâs hope. Do not forget the goal you have set out to accomplish in my city.â
Batman rages at him, until he falls unconscious from the wounds heâs gathered. Danny brings him home. He tells Alfred what to expect tomorrow. Bruce wakes up, eyes fixated on the crack that appeared on Dannyâs neon green face. âDid. Did I do that?â
Danny nods slowly.
Batman crumples into Bruce Wayne. âOkay.â He says. âAlright. Tomorrow.â
Gotham watches him, unreadable. âTomorrow.â He says, before fading away.
Tim Drake shows up at the door. Nightwing shows up not long after. Tim Drake adapts to Bruce Wayneâs cold looks and brutal training. Slowly, but surely, he leashes in Batmanâs grief fueled brutality and less criminals go to prison with half of their lives beaten out of them.
Batman doesnât see Gotham as much anymore. He feared that heâs angered his city, that he is no longer welcome.
When Tim figures it out⌠he allows the roads and the shadows to help Batman once more.
Batman stared intently at the extra coverage. âThank you,â Tim hears him whisper. âIâm sorry.â
And when Jason Todd comes back to life and attacks Tim in the tower, Tim lets Hood beat him. Gotham had failed him, as Jasonâs city. He deserves it. (He doesnât but Danny had gone past the point of being healthy about his own physical wellbeing. Perhaps being a city spirit this long had affected him, even with the Kingâs title mitigating the worst of the damages.
âHE REPLACED ME!â
âBecause I ordered him to.â Tim whispers, past the pain of a broken leg.
âYou? Order Batman around? If youâre going to lie, make it a better one, Replacement.â
Tim catches Jasonâs wrist, the one holding the knife to Timâs throat.
âRobin,â he says simply, allowing Gotham to come out and peer at the child that is his.
Jason stares, disbelieving. Gotham had⌠Gotham had come by and approved of his plans to clean up Crime Alley. Gotham had extracted a promise not to damage the buildings.
âNo.â
His city stares back and him and Jason stumbles away. Tim shifts into Danny, into Gotham.
âYouâŚâ
âI am Gotham. I- I did not want to wear these colors. They were yours and Dickâs. But Bruce was hurting the city, he was hurting me. So I made sure he stopped.â
Jason stares at the new cracks, the fresh ones he just caused and the old ones he does not remember being on Dannyâs ghostly skin.
Jason swallows. âIâm sorry.â
âAs am I. I am sorry I was not there to save you. I am sorry that you died.â
Jason stares at him. The Replacement is Gotham. Jason almost destroyed his city.
âI am glad that youâve returned. That youâre alive, now.â
ââŚReally?â
âAlways.â
Alternative Version of the above Tower Scene:
Jason slides the knife against the Replacementâs neck.
Danny sighs. âI canât believe Iâm dying again.â
Jason pauses. âWhat the fuck did you just say, Replacement?â
Danny rolls his eyes at him and Jason rethinks his decision of not offing the little fucker right away.
âYou think youâre the first one to die in this household? Get a grip. I did it first, way before you did, jackass.â
Tim is 14. Heâs a child. What the fuck is Jason doing?
âWhenâŚ?â
âHow do you think I became Gotham, little bird?â
Jason freezes. And then heâs scrambling backwards, the knife flung away in his horror.
Tim shifts into Gotham and Jason bites back a cut of regret and bitterness.
He⌠no, what? What even is happening?
âWhy is the Joker not dead? You⌠you told me that you loved me. That Gotham⌠that-â
âIâm cruel, little bird. The Joker would not suffer as much if he were dead.â
âHeâs killing people! Heâs killing your own!â
âSo everyone thinks.â
âWhat?â
âI am Gotham, little bird. Mass hallucinogenic gasses are so within my reach to the point it is concerning. Perhaps you should help Ivy with the city clean up?â
âHuh?!â
#genius tim drake#gotham bay is a corpse dumping ground#danny phantom#dc x dp#batman#bruce wayne#tim drake#jason todd#red hood#dick grayson#bamf danny phantom#nightwing#bludhaven#gotham#gotham is Dannyâs haunt#protective Danny#Danny Fenton#Danny doesnât have the familiarity of knowing the universe heâs been reborn into#so he doesnât have the emotional crutch of distracting himself#Danny is both protecc and attack#Danny grieves gotham and Jason#Danny: fuck Iâll fix you myself#Batman is Gothamâs plumber lol
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SIX WEEKS (8 YEARS) OF BREATHING CLEAN AIR / I STILL MISS THE SMOKE
touya todoroki x reader
you finally bring yourself to visit your husband in the hospital.
mha official ending spoilers
part 2/3, part 1
inspired by the black dog
what a long 8 years.
touyaâs defeat came at no surprise to you. as much as you wanted to root for your husband, to hope he achieves the twisted, revenge-filled dreams he dedicated his like (death) to, you knew his attempts would be futile.
you knew that the moment shoutoâs fists connected with your husbands, itâd be over. the flames would subside, and dabiâs fiery reign would come to an end. for just a moment, in the midst of the blue and red flames, you saw a glimpse of two broken brothers. just a glimpse.
what followed wasnât any less heartbreaking. touya was kept alive in his own, high tech cell. though he had made sure to keep you hidden from the world, you heard from short whispers that there was nothing that could be done about his current state. he could only manage a few words, his vessel slowly slowly dissipating into nothing but ash.
you absolutely could not bring yourself to visit. not in any of those 8 years. maybe its because you knew you could very well be hearing your last words from him soon.
too many memories engulfed in fire. his arsons match and your tear-stained eyes, watching it all helplessly.
so for as long as you could, you stayed in your house, grieving for the living.
until now.
it wasnât a surprise you were eventually found out. when you opened your door, expecting the mail, you were greeted with a familiar face- not when you were angry about seeing, but not particularly delighted by any means. his dual coloured eyes and scar similar to that of your husbands- not by look but by origin.
you honestly couldnât remember how he convinced you to leave your home. he may as well have dragged you by your feet, into his car and to the facility they were keeping touya in. this man was technically your brother, too. but seeing him felt like a wound reopened.
touya laid there, his body weak and emaciated, as the machines beeped and whirred around him, monitoring his vital signs and keeping him alive. a futile but admittedly impressive effort by his rich father, wanting to somehow make amends. everyone knew, however, that he was not saving a life- he was prolonging a death. the death of his firstborn son, to be exact.
his mind was hazy, his vision blurry as he struggled to keep his eyes open. the sound of the machines became a constant, familiar background noise, almost like white noise.
as he laid there, fading in and out of consciousness, one thought ran through his mind again and again: you.
while you stood outside the room, touyaâs barren body laid in his tomb. his eyelids could hardly closed, so he was more or less forced to take in the grief-stained drywall. he thought about you, every single day. wondered where you were, how you could be doing- he hoped it was better now that he was gone.
your hand was wrapped shakily around the doorknob. just one twist and push. but it felt as though that door was made of iron. why was it suddenly so heavy? why was it being weighed down with the weight of your love and grief all rolled into one?
ââŚi donât think i can do this.â you say shakily, a single tear rolling down your eye at the thought of seeing your dying husband after all this time.
a hand is placed on your shoulder. a comforting touch, like one who is learning to navigate through the grief alongside you.
shouto stood silently beside you, his expression stoic as he waited for you to make a decision.
he knew how difficult this must be for you, the years of pain and guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders. if he was grieving a man he hardy knew as his brother and more as a villain, he couldnât even grasp how his wife must be feeling- someone who had loved him despite it all.
âyou can do it.â he says softly, his voice firm but gentle as he tries his best to hold it together. he doesnât want you to face this alone, though he knows he cant enter that room with you.
âyouâve made a good name for yourself.â you say, acknowledging shoutoâs growth. at least one of the two brothers can still live, still be happy. âno one even calls you endeavours son anymore.â
he nods silently, his expression softening slightly at your words.
âi guess so.â he said quietly, a small hint of a smile on his face. he doesnât dare to jinx his success. â iâve⌠iâve tried to separate myself from my fatherâs shadow, to be my own person.â
he says for a paused moment, looking at the small glass panel that gave a window into touyaâs room, his hand still resting on your shoulder.
âbut t wasnât easy. it never is.â he says, taking a deep breath before speaking his next piece.
âthe doctors think they can buy him a few more months, maybe.â shouto reveals. the extent of your absence towards your dying husband finally begins to sink in. you waited until it was almost too late to see him. its a guilt like no other. what could you possibly say about to him after all this time?
ââŚiâm going in.â you say, pushing the door open and letting it close behind you with a click that rings through the room.
theres constant whirring and beeping from the technology keeping touya breathing. he lays there, his body held together by planks of metal and wiring. god, as morbid as it may seem, you wondered why they were even trying at this point?
he doesnât seem to notice you, not till you walk closer to him. its hard to move his head with that brace around his skull, anyway.
his eyes weakly tracked your movements as you weakly made your way over to the bed, pressing your hands against the glass keeping him inside of his pod. he recognizes you, because how could he not? he married you, after all.
ââŚhey.â you manage, despite the dryness on your tongue.
your heart clenches as you watch him try and respond. his throat was dry and raspy, like his quirk had given him sandpaper for lung. he was forced to swallow several times before he could even mutter a word.
âhey..â he finally croaks out, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and strained.
you take a deep breath, silently cursing yourself for your already shaky words.
âyou look like shit.â you have the audacity to chuckle at him, the numb laughter devoid of any empathy. you were grieving, grieving yet angry. as much as you understood and wanted to understand, he still left you.
touya would be nothing if not an asshole.
âthanks, doll.â his voice almost mechanical. â..donât look too hot yourself.â
there he is. that smartass touya you love. his quick tongue and his smart heard, smarter then he lets on. you love his remarks, his sass, his demeanour. and it seemed that even through all this pain, he still managed to give you some of it.
the tears are already sliding down your cheeks, knowing that this is likely the last time youâll ever get to feel it.
and for a moment, through your hazy eyes, a silver glimmer catches your eyes.
ââŚyou kept the ring..?â you have to rub your eyes, unsure if its just a grief-stricken illusion.
he scoffs, as if it should be obvious. âyeah⌠course i did.â
his time is running out and you both know it. you cringe watching his weaken state, trying to slide the ring off his finger. you quickly hush him, your delicate hands carefully reaching into his pod to help him remove the band. though most of his nerves are killed off, he feels as though heâs truly lost his favourite part of him.
his eyes continue to grow tired, but me fights them valiantly to catch a glimpse of you slipping the ring onto your own hand. he had taken that part of him, and given it to you.
you sob, pressing your forehead against the glass. your hand just barely grazes his, feeling the charred skin you still loved, no matter how dead.
âi love you.â you sob, baring your soul to your husband. his eyes close, feeling the exhaustion sink in- but he canât give in. not when this is his last chance to see his wife.
despite the pain and the knowledge of his imminent death, he manages to find his voice and responds, his voice hoarse but filled with a raw intensity of emotion. heâs doing everything to stay with you right now, though you know it canât ever make it up.
â⌠i love you⌠tooâŚâ he croaks, letting what soul he has left reach itself out to you.
âand iâm so mad at you.â you sob. ânot just you⌠iâm mad at the world.. iâm at the world that let your father get away with abusing you and breaking you down.. iâm mad at the world that didnât see you were a boy who needed help. iân mad at the universe for not giving you and i a chance⌠iâm mad at your god damn fire for taking you away from me.â
your tears slide down the glass, only continuing as you see his eyes close. heâs still breathing, yes, but either he was so exhausted from fighting death, or he couldnât bare to see you in this much pain. probably both.
âi know⌠iâm⌠sorryâŚâ he prays you know how sorry he really is. for doing this to you. for exposing you to the evil of the world when he should have been protecting you.
â..donât cry..â he rasps, asking more for him than for you. you scoff.
âiâll cry if i damn want to, touya.â you chuckle. âi lost my husband.â
just for a second, its almost like he smiles.
âyou⌠still⌠call me.. that?â
without a trace of hesitation, you nod. âof course i do.â
heâs having trouble forming his next words and you can tell. you know you have to do it. you somehow have to say goodbye.
âi love you, touya todoroki. i love you so much.â you declare, showing your soul to him right before he enters the afterlife- maybe so he knows to look for you once your time comes as well.
ââŚi⌠love you.. too..â he rasps. heâs trying and you love him for it, despite the sobs that choke out of you seeing his struggle just to speak.
âiâll never ever, ever forget you. i wouldnât dream of it.â you whisper.
âyou better notâŚâ he rasps out weakly. what a fucking smartass you married.
you cant kiss him. but you do press your forehead and your lips to the glass, and give his hand once last squeeze. you have to rip yourself from the room and out the door, otherwise you might have stayed in there forever.
the door clicks behind you. a breath escapes your lips, knowing that you have truly said your goodbye. you still clutch his silver ring on your finger.
the ring served as a reminder. that no matter what happens now, a part of your soul forever belonged to touya todoroki. that no matter how many of your clothes you burn and how many exorcisms you perform on your house, the love you shared with touya will never leave. no matter how much clean air you breath, a small part of you will always miss the smoke he gave. always.
you vowed to never forget him, anyway.
tags!đŞ˝
@the-dumpster-fire-of-life @greenmanshoe @connorsui
#bnha todoroki#bnha dabi#dabi x y/n#dabi is touya#dabi mha#dabi smut#dabi x reader#mha touya#bnha touya#touya todoroki#touya x reader#dabi touya#bnha x y/n#bnha x fem!reader#bnha x you#boku no hero acedamia#my hero x reader#bnha manga spoilers#bnha spoilers#bnha#bnha x reader#my hero academy fanfiction#mha x y/n#mha x you#my hero acedamia#mha manga spoilers#mha todoroki#touya x y/n#mha dabi#dabi todoroki
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I am thinking once again about plausible speculative mammals that would weaponize their parasites, and in my mind, one of them would live in North America alongside skunks and porcupines, completing a long overdue trifecta of funny woodland critter with a deeply unpleasant defensive strategy. CLOCKWISE: 1) A very large rodent that has its own alarmingly large fleas, like the real life fleas of mountain beavers. Most of its body is hairless with thick, wrinkled skin that discourages flea activity, so they're left with no choice but to concentrate in its big, bushy tail. A high concentration of blood vessels in the tail keep the fleas fed, and a low concentration of nerves keep them from being too irritating. When this animal gets upset it curls the tail over itself, spreading its fur so wide that the fleas feel exposed. Parting the fur of a wild animal is incidentally a surefire way to get a bunch of fleas jumping ship to you and immediately biting you. Now look at this mountain beaver flea next to a more normal size flea and imagine the pain:
2) A big ground-dwelling cousin of the silky anteater. A combination of long, course, tightly interwoven hairs and a thick underlying layer of fluff are impenetrable to most pests, but a bald patch of thick leathery skin on its back is an ideal attachment point for its specialized ticks, kind of like right whale callosities and whale lice. The anteater can sweat a thick, suffocating grease from this area that forces ticks to let go and scatter in search of another attachment point (LIKE YOU!!!! Leave wildlife alone!!!). Maybe It has pouchlike hairless underarms to serve as refuges for even more ticks, or ticks in their juvenile stage? If they co-evolved closely enough, the ticks could have developed an instinct to migrate up to the back only with their final molt. Maybe they're even as neurotoxic (to other animals) as Australia's paralysis tick? Maybe the ticks are also brightly colored, so predators can tell at a glance to stay away. 3) A desman-like animal, but maybe it's a marsupial or even a monotreme? I feel this one would have an unconventional symbiote; like how beavers have the only fur-dwelling beetles, sloths have their own moths and hairless bats have their own skin-dwelling earwigs. None of those examples, however, are parasites! As far as we know, all three of those insects just chill on those animals and possibly clean them. So what if this one had fur dwelling blister beetles? Blister beetles are a huge diverse group of beetles whose defensive secretions can severely burn skin, and accidentally ingesting a blister beetle can be deadly to even large mammals like horses. This guy's matted wool would be thick enough near the skin to shield it from its own insects, keeping them in the matted outer fluff, where they would maybe feed on whatever sustains beaver beetles (we actually aren't 100% sure! We just know it isn't blood!). If you make this thingy angry, it curls up like a pangolin, and anything that keeps messing around with the big hairball is probably going to keep pissing off, damaging or accidentally eating the worst beetles to ever do anything of those things to.
I also want to say I didn't think of names, but if one or all of these existed I wouldn't want them to get names like "tickbacked antsloth" or anything like that. They'd deserve their own original words like squirrel or fox or bear. But I think it should sound as nasty as they are to mess with. Like a vlykus or a thobb or a snentch. Probably any of these could be a snentch maybe. Nobody tell me if that's already an urbandictionary word for something worse, let me have snentch.
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I love to check you blog every day when I get up and when I go to bed and it's funny that you posted the shockwave fic literally before I got into bed, just after I was thinking of whirl and shockwave while getting ready to sleep. 𼺠Can't wait to see more tfp shockwave around here
A bit of serendipity đ
This oneâs 18+ đ but not for fun reasons, rather dubious, horrific science on Shockwaveâs part
Point of Extinction Pt 4
TFP Shockwave x Reader
⢠Even if you canât see whatâs going on in the lab from your opaque box, you canât shut out the sound. A high pitched bleating that just gets sharper, more awful until youâre pressed into a corner of your box, knees drawn tight to your body and your palms pressed against your ears in an attempt to shut it out. When that soul wrenching sound abruptly ends after what feels like forever, youâre shaking uncontrollably and sick to your stomach.
⢠âExperiment fourteen. Failure,â Shockwave growls at the drone placidly hovering and recording. Every failure brings him closer, though. Step by step to creating a new home. A fail safe in case Cybertron canât be revived, but progress is almost painfully slow. Terraforming organic life much more erratic than heâd like. Flicking the end of his cannon at the drone to end the recording and go charge, he turns back to his other experiment. âCome, Thirteen.â Leaning closer to find you huddled in a corner, trembling.
⢠Your head comes up at the sound of Shockwaveâs voice, panic seizing you as he reaches into your cage, his servos wet with blood. âDonât.â Shoving back tighter into your corner when he makes to pick you up. Terrified youâre next. That youâre about to suffer whatever it was he just did to some poor animal. Hoping it was an animal not a person making that sound. Freezing, Shockwave stares at you, that unreadable face dipping to look at his hand like heâd forgotten. Servos trembling slightly as he pulls away, disappearing from sight.
⢠Donât. You canât do this. Moving to cleanse his hand, for a moment his processor is tangled in the chaos of a memory that isnât truly his. Hands on his arms, seizing him against his will. Dragging him⌠somewhere. The memory shreds when he tries to pull it close. Screaming. He remembers screaming when they took his optics. No, he only has one. Heâs only ever had one. Heâs not sure, though. Servos of his one hand shaking, he turns his attention to the cannon his other arm ends in. Sometimes he swears he can feel those nonexistent servos. Theyâre like the memories that arenât his, but are. Wrong, hurtful things that snare him. Turning back to your cage, he leans closer bothered by the way you shake. âThirteen.â
⢠Heâs back and you shudder as he reaches for you again. His big hand is clean now, still wet, but you canât make yourself go to him willingly. But you canât make him angry either if your survival depends on being good. Being cooperative. âYouâre not going to hurt me, right?â You ask, eyes burning as you stand and walk over to him. Putting yourself in his servos.
⢠Carefully curling his servos around you, he lifts you free. Something about how insubstantial and warm you feel in his grip skitters through him. Trusting him when you probably shouldnât. He canât even trust his own memories, how can you trust him? âNo,â he says. Comforting your fear even though itâs illogical. It doesnât, shouldnât, matter, but it somehow does. You make a sharp sound, staring at fourteen and you start shaking harder.
⢠It was a deer. At least you think it was. Why heâd thought a deer should have that many, spidery legs or a skull that split open to house awkward looking mandibles is beyond you. Itâs a half formed mess of flesh, fur, and metal. The bones partially warped with liquid metal and twisting out of its rib cage, viscera shiny and wet spilling out. Dry heaving, you press your face against his servos. Donât want to see what heâs done. What he might do to you. âWhy?â He hasnât hurt you, so youâd convinced yourself that you were safe. But this? Heâs not safe and definitely doesnât actually care for you. Heâs a monster.
⢠Rooted to the ground, he stares at the failed experiment. Something uneasy in the back of his processor whispering that he should have cleaned it up before retrieving you, but it hadnât occurred to him that the sight would bother you. The way youâre shaking in his hand is clawing at him, twisting in his spark. A feeling he can almost remember, an emotion that he doesnât have anything more than a dull echo of and canât understand. Illogical even as he brings you closer to his chassis, turning so you canât see the mess anymore and running a trembling servo along your arm. Needing to understand. To remember.
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Winterâs thorn
Summary: Lady Y/N Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden, had no intentions of marriage when she visited Winterfell. But with her honor on the line, she might have to reconsider.
Part two
âWhat about Lady Y/N Tyrell, the younger sister of Lady Margery Tyrell,â the maester suggested. âShe is young and Lady Olenna is seeking an alliance. Her raven comes with certain peculiar ideas that need careful execution.â
Catelyn was delighted. After hours of pouring over letters from all the heads of the houses, she found Robb his ideal match. She ordered a feast to be held, and invited Lady Y/N Tyrell under the pretense of trade.
âAlmost here, Y/N,â said your cousin Taena. You shivered and wrapped your cloak around you tighter. âYou are aware this visit is not purely of trade?â
âNow, Taena, thatâs enough.â The septa chided.
âEven Queen Daenerys wishes to see you married, cousin. Perhaps to-â
âNo more, cousin. I tire of this, although you mean it in jest.â You said, exhausted by these rumors.
âIt would mean strengthening our loyalty to the Targaryens. He is Jon Snowâs brother,â Taena said.
âCousin,â you corrected. She took it as though you were chiding her, and unexpectedly fell silent.
You took two steps out of the carriage, unassisted. You tried holding your head high, like the wind wasnât cutting into your skin.
You were astonished to find the people of House Stark assembled in the courtyard, waiting for your arrival.
Catelyn was the first to greet you.
âMy son, the Lord of Winterfell, Robb Stark.â She said, motioning to him. Youâd heard of him, they called him the young wolf. Honorable. Gentle and strong.
Robb had the most gorgeous blue eyes youâd ever seen, framed by thick auburn lashes. His hair was a signature Tully red, just like Sansaâs. Youâd once thought she was the most comely maiden at court, and her brother had all of her good looks in his ruggedly handsome way.
You courtesied in greeting. He took your gloved hand in his bare one and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your heart raced. He was so beautiful. You didnât look up, and affixed your eyes on your boots instead.
âLady Tyrell, we thank you for making the long journey up north. I hope it was not too difficult.â His voice couldâve melted the snow around you.
You nodded curtly: he should not see the blush on your face.
In your haste, you tripped on a stone hidden in the snow. A strong, leather clad arm wrapped around your waist to pull you up. You felt him stand you upright and the fingers of his other hand dug into your arm to steady you.
You gasped at the close contact, and turned to face him. He might be the lord of Winter but his arm felt like it might burn you. His fingers, where they touched the smallest silver of skin at your shoulder, were equally scalding. You didnât want to step away from him into the cold.
âForgive me, Lady Tyrell,â Robb said, his blue eyes still peering into yours. There was an instinct to lean into him, to step into his arms. But you resisted.
You turned your face away, and looked as angry as you could.
âUnhand me at once,â you said slowly. The Septa behind you gasped at your lack of courtesy.
âLady Tyrell-â Catelyn began, but you cut her off.
âPardon me, Lady Stark, but the carriage journey was long and tiring. My companions and I would be obliged for a warm room.â You asked.
The walls of Winterfell were bare, the tapestries grey with little or no embroidery. The heat you had longed for suffocated you. Your mind still harbored thoughts of Robb and only Robb. No, you corrected, Lord Stark. You touched your shoulder where his fingers had rested, and giggles burst out of you. Thankfully, your cousins werenât around to witness your shame.
You thought of how this was where Robb grew up, his childhood home that was now his.
You tugged on a new dress, one that stood out against the drab castle walls, with its golden roses and green leaves on a background of ivory and pale green.
You heard a loud sound outside. You opened the chamber door at once, and Robb Stark tumbled in.
âMy lord, what does this mean?â You asked, horrified he was in your chambers.
âI only meant to escort you to the great hall, my Lady. But there has been an invasion into Winterfell and as my guest I must see to your safety myself.â
You only just noticed his armor. He bolted the doors and you backed away from him.
âMy cousins?â You asked.
âThey are safe, in the library. Do not fret, my Lady. You will be reunited as soon as the threat is stopped.â
You trusted Robb, you realized. It was a foolâs idea to put your trust in a strange man who you didnât know, just because you found him attractive. But you trusted him.
âMy Lord, it is most improper for a Lady to be in the presence of a man without companions.â You protested, just to save face.
âProprietary will not restore your life when it has been taken by a criminalâs blade.â Robb said. You closed your eyes.
âI apologize you have not yet supped, my Lady.â Rob said softly. His concern endeared him to you even more.
âIâm not hungry,â you said. You went to sit on the edge of your bed.
âDo not mind me, Lady Tyrell. I cannot express the depth of my displeasure that Winterfell is inadequate on your first night here. Please rest until my men finish the task.â Robb said courteously.
You laid on the bed, the dress too uncomfortable to sleep in but fitful sleep did come.
It was in the early hours of the morn when the Septa found you curled on the furs in the chamber room. Robb was resting against your bed, his head lying on furs with his legs sprawled out across the floor.
âTaena,â you said, going into her embrace.
âOh cousin,â she said, crying. More of your companions rushed in and fussed over you. You broke your fast with them, your voices and laughter could be heard across the hallways.
Your septa walked in just as soon as the servants cleared the room.
âY/N, do not tell untruths when I ask you this,â she said. âAnd I place no blame on you. Was Lord Stark in your chambers during the attack?â
âWhy, yes,â you confirmed, head nodding. âHe was the most noble.â
âAnd you did not think of your honor?â The septa asked gently.
âEven the most noble ladies laid next to their knights with nay but a sword between them.â You protested.
âRobb Stark is neither your sworn protector nor a knight.â She said. âLady Catelyn has written an apology to your grandmother, and suggested a proposal.â
âA proposal for what, septa?â
âA marriage between two great houses. Youâll be betrothed to Lord Stark.â
#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones#robb stark#robb stark x reader#robb stark fanfiction#robb stark fanfic#robb stark x tyrell!reader#robb stark x oc#robb stark x y/n#robb stark imagine#robb stark x you#margery tyrell#olenna tyrell#house tyrell#highgarden
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me & you, beyond a horizon so blue.
scaramouche/wanderer x (gender neutral) reader cw: slight angst, brief and vague mentions of scaramouche's past and the shouki no kami fight, you and wanderer have adopted a child together, this fic takes place before scara tries to erase himself in irminsul note - after he's defeated in a fight against the traveler, scaramouche wakes up in the distant future and learns a few things about an emotion he's always felt undeserving of.
Itâs dark until he has the courage to force his eyes open.
Immediately, he wants to shut them. Near-blinding, the afternoon sun beams into his room through a part in the curtains. If he were human, it would have caused some sort of irreversible retinal damage. Heâs notâthough he isnât spared the impending irritationâand so heâs able to adjust with relative quickness, his indigo eyes soon finding comfort in the brightness. It means a new day has dawned. Heâs not deadâif that mortal concept can even apply to a puppet like him.
With a weak groan, Scaramouche drags a hand down his face and, like a sluggish, reanimated corpse, sits up in bed. The sheets are clean and soft, a soothing balm amidst the unrest that vibrates through him. It has been a long while since heâs slept through the night, preferring the shadows over the sun. Nocturnal like nature intended. A creature created in gloom can change and adapt, but it will always seek familiarity no matter what.Â
Intrinsically like a rooted habit.
Itâs only natural he would be forced into sleep, considering the fall was not pleasant, nor was the inevitable impact. He brings his fingers to his cheek, presses against the area, and assesses for injury. Nothing is damaged.
But then nothing is fixed. Not internally.
Having expected the dreary interior of an infirmary, heâs struck with bewilderment when he makes note of the bedroom heâs currently confined to. Itâs furnished like a typical residence, unlike that of any inn heâs ever known, and there is a strange sense about this space. As if heâs always known about it and has just recalled it, destined to wake here one day and submit himself to its simple charms.
This canât be right.
Heâs never seen this bedroom before, let alone slept in it. Until now, that is. Perhaps a part of him has subconsciously willed it into existence with all of his fruitless wishing, the result of some illusion weaved from the intricacies of hopeful dreams.
Scaramouche glances at the bedside table, his brow furrowed in the beginnings of a wary scowl. Something is so obviously, painfully not right. He knows it has something to do with this room and the fact that heâs alone and unguarded. Lesser Lord Kusanali is not a fool, no matter how much heâd like to comfort himself with that delusion, and so he knows there should be no reason why heâs here instead of where heâs meant to be.Â
And then he hears themâvoices. Three of them, actually. One is high and giggly. Itâs a little girl. Judging by the intonation of the other, an adult. Her guardian, to be more exact. He canât place the third, especially since itâs one that sounds so grossly affectionate. Heâs never heard anyone, human or not, speak with such tender warmth.Â
Heâs never known such a thing. Not in a long while.Â
Scaramouche throws the covers off at once, stumbling from the bed in a panicked flurry. Watching it like itâs a threat, he clutches his chest. He doesnât feel a heartbeat; rather, itâs the crackle of Electro deep within the core of his being that resounds, fizzling like snapped, angry circuitry. His fingers dig into wrinkled fabrics and he takes pause, realizing his actions.
To think something as mundane as a bed could startle him.
To think comfort would feel like a curse.Â
What a joke. Even here, Iâm not allowed the peace of a lonesome parting.Â
He walks on intact legs, bidding the room a final glower before throwing the door open and stomping outside. Wherever heâs found himself, whether the mortal coil or a place beyond, heâs determined to get out. He pays no attention to the picture frames on the wall as he stalks down the hall, his mind working twice as fast to conjure a plan. If this place proves to be foul, there will be casualties. Three of them.Â
Bloodshed is nothing new.Â
What is new, though, is the scene he walks into when he approaches the kitchen, stepping through the threshold and immediately stopping short when he sees himself.Â
OnlyâŚheâs different.
âYouâre in poor shape,â his other self comments, almost conversationally, as if this sort of talk is casual. Heâs dressed in breezy colors: whites and blues, the prettiest of hues. Itâs a color scheme he would never entertain at present, but it sings of free skies with fluffy cumulus. An unburdened soul, light as a feather.Â
Scaramouche opens his mouth to retortâso are youâand shuts it because thatâs not true. His other self looks better than ever as he sits at the table. He looks healthy.Â
He looks happy.Â
âWhoa! There are two Papas?!âÂ
He flinches, horribly rigid, every sense on high alert. His gaze pans over to the little girl peeking out from behind your legs. She looks at him like heâs a wonder to beholdâlike heâs someone worth adoring.Â
Itâs different. Itâs not the fondly fearful gaze of a devout follower, nor is it the clinical stare of a mournful creator or a deranged doctor. Itâs something else.Â
ItâsâŚ
What is it? What is that emotionâthe one that has evaded him for the entirety of his existence?
âGood afternoon, sleepyhead. We were beginning to wonder when youâd wake up.â
He turns to look at you. A smile softens your features. Coupled with the glorious sunlight filtering in from the window, you are the most seraphic creature heâs ever seen. Horrified at the development of his thoughts, he hardens his face into a vicious glare and tamps down the weakness that rises to the surface.
âYou were expecting me?â he asks, but it sounds like a demand. âWhatâs the meaning of this?âÂ
âWhy donât you take a seat? I can fetch you a cup of tea,â you offer, your voice gentle and coaxing. He glances at the little girl. Her gaze is worn down with worry.
âI will do no such thing,â he snaps, folding his arms across his chest. âYou have no authority over me. Iâll sit if I so please, and I do not please. So I will not sit, nor will I indulge in tea.âÂ
His other self barks out a laugh. âTo think I was like that⌠I was intolerable.â
âStill are,â you reply with a cheeky grin.Â
âYouâre just as bad,â he snipes back, but there isnât any heat to the remark. Thereâs that emotion again, reflected so clearly when heâs looking at you. His other self smilesâgenuinely smilesâand then addresses him next. The smile tightens into something serious. âRelax. Weâre not going to bite.â
âNo, but I can and I will. Donât think for a minute that just because youâre me I wonâtââ He stops himself when the little girl tugs on his shorts, peering up at him with more wide-eyed concern. Rather awkwardly, he does his best to bring his attitude to a child-friendly level. âI⌠Iâm fine.â He searches the silence for her name.Â
âAaliya! Nice to meet you, Papa Number Two!â
Scaramouche nods mechanically, moves to bend down to her height, and then straightens again, thinking better of it. âWhat is all of this?â His hand sweeps across the room. âJust who are you?âÂ
Like clockwork finely tuned, you and his other self exchange a furtive glance before nodding. Itâs some unspoken language Scaramouche canât decode. He frowns as he watches this interaction, even more suspicious than before.Â
âAaliya, could you draw something for me?â you ask, guiding her from the kitchen towards the neighboring sitting room. Aaliya grabs a notebook and pencil from the countertop as she goes, humming her compliance. âWe need another masterpiece to hang up, and youâre the best artist weâve got.â
She giggles. âYou can count on me!â
The sound calms him. He almost allows his shoulders to drop. Almost.Â
Scaramouche watches from the doorway, observing the way you interact with the girl. Itâs parental and adoring. You care for this child, and she cares for you.Â
Just what is that elusive emotion? Why canât he place it?
Once Aaliya has been successfully distracted with the allure of art, you return to take your seat beside his other self. Scaramouche stares between the both of you, utterly lost.Â
âYou donât have to sitânot like I could get you to after youâve made up your mindâbut, at the very least, letâs talk.â
Scaramoucheâs eyes narrow. âSpeak.â
âSo entitledâŚâ His other self sighs. âI shouldnât expect anything less. I am you, after all.âÂ
âWas,â he corrects astutely. âThis isnât the present day, and it canât possibly be a dream.â He scrutinizes his surroundings, slowly fitting the pieces together. âItâs gone on for much too long.âÂ
His other self tilts his head, playful. âAre you sure youâre not just stuck under Buerâs thumb?â
Right. Dreams. Lesser Lord Kusanali can poke her nose in and out of dreams as she pleases.
âPlausible, yes. But this is too detailed. And youââ he gestures to Blue Scaramoucheâ âare different. I wouldnât dream of something so inane. Something likeâŚthis.âÂ
Something so carefree and content, he almost tacks on as an afterthought, but he refrains. Weakness.Â
âOh, but of course. Youâre too good for good things,â his other self jeers, sardonic in a way that incites violence. He pushes that urge away. Thereâs a child nearby. âFor what itâs worth, weâre still the same person.â
âDo not compare me to a weakling like you.â
âHah? You think Iâm the weak one? Iâll show youââ
âWawan, relax,â you say, moving your body to obstruct his view.Â
Both look on, horrified.Â
âWawan?â Scaramouche ventures, brows furrowed.Â
âYouâŚâ He turns away with a huff.Â
âWhat? Itâs cute! You like it!â You smile and nudge him.
Scaramouche is in awe, nearly slack-jawed from witnessing such a bold display. If anyone were to do that to himâto the fearsome Lord Harbinger Scaramoucheâthey would not get away unscathed. In fact, heâd subject them to a death so brutal theyâd beg for release even in the afterlife. No one lays a finger on him unless theyâre actively seeking a bloody finale. More importantly, no one reduces his being to such flowery nicknames.Â
Disgusting.Â
His other selfâthis Wawan foolârecovers from his flustered state and clears his throat. âWanderer,â he says, hurrying the syllables before you can make any more comments. âThe name I go by. You should know it because youâll use it one day.â
âI will do no such thing.â
Wandererâs expression softens at thatâout of sympathy, he realizes. Uncharacteristic, Scaramouche thinks. I do not soften, nor do I sympathize.Â
âYou lost, Balladeer. There is no future for the god you hoped to become because he doesnât exist. Not anymore.â
He bristles, suddenly defensive. âAnd whoâs to say I havenât already achieved godhood? Your claims are as useful as a corpse. You have no valid proof.â
âBut I do. Iâm you.â
âEven so, youâre woefully uninformed if you can so carelessly prattle on aboutââ
Wanderer sighs again, and this time you offer your hand. He hesitates, looking between Scaramouche and you, before his hand slips into yours, holding tight. Scaramoucheâs face twists.Â
Foul.Â
âYou failed, and this is the result of thatâthe future neither of us could have foreseen.âÂ
âFailure is a strong word,â you chime in, running your thumb over the top of his hand. You look at Scaramouche next. âYou didnât succeed, yes, but you can learn from your mistakes and grow.â
âAnd grow I so apparently did,â he mutters, bitter and resentful. âInto a weakling whoâŚâ He pauses, his tongue heavy in his mouth, eloquence escaping him. âA weakling who⌠Who shackles himself to idyllic nonsense with nothing butâŚâ His fingers curl into tight fists. âNothing but filthy weaknesses to show for it.â
Nonplussed, Wanderer submits to temporary silence, to the comforts you provide. Thereâs a feeling sprouting between the both of you. Neither of you says anything, but you understand regardless. Itâs a silent sort of communication, an undeniable connection. An understanding fostered from that despicable emotion.Â
With an offended scoff, Scaramouche turns swiftly on his heel and freezes when he finds Aaliya standing there. She peers up at him, studies his poker face, and presents him with her drawing.Â
âPapa tells me love is hard, but it comes easy when youâre with the right people. You need to be willing and accepting. When you are, love will find you and youâll find love.â
She presses the parchment into his hands. Shakily, he beholds it. Itâs a poorly drawn family portrait, but Aaliyaâs artistic talents mean nothing to him. Itâs the first time heâs ever been willingly included in a portrait. A family portrait. The only time someone has bothered to document a side of him that isnât the vindictive, villainous, ever-raging tempest heâs known for. The one time heâs ever known what it means to be loved.Â
Ah. Thereâs that emotion. That temperamental, difficult, stormy emotion. Itâs love.
In this future, he is treasured and cherished. He has a family. He has love, and he feels it and itâs reciprocated. Or Wanderer feels it, that is. But Scaramouche can see it: the quiet intricacies of your relationshipâitâs all the result of love. You love him. Himâa being who was never created for the sake of loving. A being who has always been undeserving, unfit for the burden of divine admiration and reverence. You love him, and he loves you. Godhood and power and controlânone of these things matter when compared to love itself.
Scaramouche stares at Aaliya next. He folds the drawing into a neat square, clutches it in a trembling fist, andâ
And he cries.
Silently. His shoulders do not shudder. He does not gasp and wail like a newborn. It is entirely soundless, a reaction delayed by years. Tear trails streak down his porcelain cheeks in steady streams. His lip wobbles.
And he cries.Â
He cries as he brushes past Aaliya, ignoring her protests and your mumble of, âLet him go. He needs space,â while he flees, beelining for the bedroom. He cries when he unfurls his fingers to cradle the folded square in his palm. He cries when he thinks of the life heâs livedâthe suffering and the lies and the tragedy and the backstabbing and the manipulation. He cries because he canât hold back anymore. Because he failed. Because he will never be a god. Because he is inadequate in the eyes of the divineâas unsubstantial as a common pest.Â
He cries because heâs loved. Because someone has found something within his fractured being thatâs worth loving.Â
He cries into the night, curled in on himself to protect whatâs left of his exposed weakness.
Itâs dark when he closes his eyes, and unlike before they remain shut. Because if he opens themâif he doesnât patch up the damaged floodgatesâhe will cry.Â
And it hurts to cry.
And Scaramouche, for all of the pain heâs dealt, has never enjoyed being on the receiving end of agony, self-inflicted or otherwise.
It is a long, sleepless night punctuated with the soft pitter-patter of rainfall.
Heâs lying sprawled like a defeated starfish when the first few rays of sunshine poke through the window. Groaning, he slides his arm over his eyes. He knows himself, even if Wanderer is a version of himself he has not yet experienced, and so he doesnât expect to be checked on. The silence is both a comfort and a curse, smoothing his nerves and chewing through to the core of his being.Â
He thinks Iâll come to him first. How utterly foolish.
Scaramouche turns his back towards the sun and presses his face further into the sheets, drained of energy even though heâs just woken up. His ears prick at the sound of a girlish giggle and he lifts his head slightly, his eyes sliding towards the window. Aaliya skips down the pathway, carrying a basket in one hand and holding another girlâs hand with her other.Â
A friend, Scaramouche observes, watching the girls until theyâre out of sight. He hears you call out to them even though theyâre already long gone: âBe back before dinner and donât get into any trouble!â
He peers at his own hand and flexes his fingers experimentally. Is everyone this feeble in the future, or am I just too strong?
Thereâs a knock on his door next. He intends to lie back down and block the world out, but instead he sits up and stares.Â
âBalladeer, Iâve put a pot of tea on. Youâre more than welcome to have some if youâd like.â
He wonât dignify you with a reply. Or thatâs what he initially thinks, but then heâs covering the distance to the door before he can stop himself. He yanks it open, much to your surprise.Â
âIââ he starts, his scowl mellowing into a reflection of the cold and cruel Fatuus heâs known to be. âIâŚwill have a cup,â he finishes, oddly subdued.
âYou donât have to force yourself to talk. You can glare at us if it makes you feel better. Just make sure to take care of yourself, okay? Weâre here for you if you need anything.â
He scoffs, straightens his posture into something regal, and pushes past you. âI was feeling much better until you opened your mouth and spat that irritating dross.â
You exhale through your nose, tentatively stepping into his path. For a minute he considers sweeping past you, but deep down he knows that heâthe one he supposedly becomes in the futureâwould regret it. He would hate to push you away when youâre making an effort to be closeâan emotional proximity heâs so clearly avoiding.
âYouâre always welcome here.â
âConsidering the circumstances, you have no choice but to be hospitable. Itâs pointless to feign sincerity just because Iâm here. Iâm not fragile. Do not treat me as such.â
âYouâre right. Youâre far from fragile.â
He opens his mouth to argue that point and then pauses, absorbing your words with a dubious frown.Â
âYou may not believe me, but youâre very resilient and so strong. I should know because I wake next to him every morning, and his existence is enough to remind me that heâs come a very long way.âÂ
Smiling, you continue onwards. Scaramouche stalls, wondering what that could possibly mean. A very long way from what?
Heâs not sure he wants the answer to that.
As if it matters.
âWithout spoiling too much, Iâll say youâre in for a world of development,â Wanderer says once Scaramouche has graced the kitchen with his arrival. Heâs sitting at the table, which is set for three people and adorned with the usual Sumerian snacks. The scent of tea hangs in the air, fragrant like perfume. âLots of fun things.â
âFun,â Scaramouche parrots, his nose scrunching. âWhat an unconventional way to refer to countless days and nights of agony.â
âI never said itâd be easy.â
âYou never said itâd be difficult either.â
âBoth of you,â you cut inâvocally and physically, youâre standing between the two of themâ âno fighting at the table.â
Wanderer takes your hands in his when you lower into the seat beside him, his thumbs tracing delicate patterns into your skin. âDo you see how troublesome he is? Did you really have to put up with him all those years ago?â
âHeâs part of you, Wawan.â
He scoffs. âNo part I particularly care for anymore.â
Scaramouche rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest so the couple in front of him wonât pick up on his discomfort. âIâm not asking to be cared for or coddled. Hate me all you want. I donât intend to like either of you.â
âWell?â Wanderer raises a brow, a smirk lazily tugging at his lips. âInsufferable.â
âBitter like your tea,â you agree, to which Wanderer and Scaramouche huff in unison.
They glance at one another, searching the other for an indication of mutual tolerance, before turning away.
âI suppose,â Scaramouche says after a beat of silence, âI shall indulge. Be grateful.â He steps closer towards the table, lifts his cup from its saucer, and brings it to his lips. Itâs lukewarm and just as bitter as the tea heâs enjoyed in the past. âIt would be a shame to let tea go to waste after your efforts to prepare it.â
He nods in your direction and you beam under his approval.
âThank you, Balladeer.â
His brow raises, but he doesnât ask. You fill in the blanks yourself.
âThis is the current you. Right now, Wanderer and I, this entire home, the life we share, and even our dear Aaliyaânone of it exists in your present. If anything, weâre just a dream to you. So who else are you if not The Balladeer?âÂ
Who elseâŚ
âObviously Iâm no one in thisâŚreality.â He frowns. âIf Iâve become that, thereâs no need for any of my current aliases.â
âPerhaps not, but youâll see for yourself when you get there.â
âIâd rather not. Iâll simply shut my eyes.â
âAvoidance is a common symptom of unresolved trauma,â Wanderer oh-so-helpfully adds.
âOh, youâre a comedian now, are you?â But he isnât laughing.Â
âJust passing on a fact I learned. Youâll hear it for yourself one day. Why not share it in advance? Soften the blow a little.â
âAnd youâre so perfect?â
âI have no intention to be.â
âSure.â Scaramouche sips his tea, swallowing the torrent of insults weighing heavy in his mind and on his tongue. âI suppose all of this just fell into your imperfect lap then?â
âWouldnât you like to know?â
Before they can continue their petulant bickering, you gaze sharply at Wanderer and then at Scaramouche. Heâs never felt compelled to obey anyone; heâs never needed to heed those who have always sat below him on the hierarchical pyramid. But for some reason he shuts his mouth and lowers his gaze to the floor.
This is pointless. I must find my way out of here at the earliest convenience before he drives me into the ground with his irritating sentiments.
âArguing isnât going to solve anything. Heâs our guest, first and foremost. We should treat him like one.â
âI guess it canât be helped. If this truly is our reality for the next few days, thereâs no point in living in denial and self-loathing,â Wanderer concedes with a huff.
âWhich is precisely why we should welcome this opportunity. It might not come around again.â
âLetâs hope it never does,â Wanderer and Scaramouche admit at the same time.
That elicits a giggle from you, and they turn on you with disapproving glares. âSorry, sorry. Itâs not funnyâI know. I just couldnât help it. Youâre the same person, yet so different. Even your stares hold different feelings.â
Scaramouche wonât acknowledge your observations with a response. Instead, he watches his reflection as it warps and wavers in the tea. And then he drinks.
This is by far the most excruciating dream Iâve ever had the displeasure of experiencing.
There is no pain or death in this dream. No power tantamount to that of a god. He may as well be an apparition without an apparent place in this world. But there is domestic bliss and that is by far the most torturous aspect of this dream.
To think anyone could look upon my visage with such tenderness⌠You must be out of your mind.
âItâs not like I particularly care, but you seem to lead a quaint life.â Scaramouche sets his empty cup down and leans against the wall, his arms folding impetuously. âWhy?â
Wanderer, troublesome menace that he is, bats his eyes and pulls you against him in a possessive half-hug. âDifficult to believe, isnât it?â
Scaramouche wants to scowl, but he refrains. âI wasnât asking you.â
âItâs mostly quaint,â you cut in, smooth as alabaster. âLife is always busier when youâre with your loved ones and thereâs plenty to doânever a dull moment, as they sayâbut I donât mind it. I like busy days.â
The delivery sounds rehearsed, but Scaramouche suspects itâs the truth. Your eyes soften and your smile mellows into something adoring when you nudge Wanderer. He almost retches outright when his other self nudges you back, discreetly reaching for your hand beneath the table. He wonât comment, but it prickles his skin with disgust when he watches this display. His other self fancies you so openly⌠The current Scaramouche would never.
Could never.
âAlso, busy days prevent useless idling.â
âAnd keep boredom at bay,â Wanderer finishes. He assesses Scaramouche with a fleeting once-over. âYouâve always been a sad, lonesome existence. Your busy days were but minor distractions meant to fill a bottomless void that could never truly be filled.â
âWhat of it? I prefer solitude.â
He exhales a humorless breath. âCenturies of solitude and all it took was a single vase of flowers⌠Neither of us could have guessed.â
A vase of flowers? he wonders, bewildered, but too prideful to ask for an explanation. When will I ever receive flowers?
âYou donât need to worry about that right now,â you say, sipping at your tea with a cryptic smile. âGood things come to those who wait.â
Scaramouche rolls his eyes. âIâve had enough âgood thingsâ for the rest of my life.â
âI wouldnât be so sure. Even if you donât think so, youâre deserving of good things. Everyone is, even if theyâve done something bad.â
He waits for the gutting punchline. It never comes.
He watches the world beyond the window: fluffy clouds, grass rustling in a breeze, a bird hopping about on the ground. His reflection frowns back at him. âI donât agree.â
Wanderer shrugs. âIf you say so.â
âThatâs okay. If thatâs what you think, who are we to judge your opinion?â
Briefly, Scaramouche wonders how you can have the patience to put up with him. With Wanderer, he thinks, even though he knows heâs just as troublesome, if not more.
He finishes the rest of his tea and then rises from his seat.
Itâs not as if it matters. He doesnât fit in this family portrait. He never will.
But he does in some distant future.
How peculiarâŚ
Scaramouche wakes on his third day in a rather pleasant purgatory. As it happens, heâs still stuck in this unusual cottage with a bizarre doppelgänger.
So be it, he thinks, sitting up in bed. It occurs to him that he hasnât been very resistant since he was plucked from his timeline and dropped here. But what is there to resist? You and his other self? This comfortable home? Family? Happiness? Love?
I should get back to my world as soon as possible. Thatâs my priority. Do not get distracted.
Ideally, heâd like to imagine thatâs where he belongs, but he knows thereâs no place in this worldâor any other world and timelineâwhere heâs wanted and accepted. At the very least, thereâs some semblance of home in his timeline. Even if it isnât the most welcoming.
When he wanders into the kitchen, he finds you standing over the stovetop. Strips of meat sizzle in a pan. Sitting at the table, doodling on a blank page, is Aaliya. He hasnât spoken much to her since his first day, and she hasnât come to his room to pester him.Â
âLet him settle in,â you and Wanderer tell her whenever she stalks past the closed door.Â
Still, he feels the beginning of a smile pull at his lips as he watches her kick her legs to and fro to an imaginary tempo.Â
Iâm looking after a child in this timeline. Me. A parentâŚ
He struggles to fathom it.
âOh, Papaâs back!â
âAlready?â You whirl around, a greeting on your tongue. âAh, no, honey, thatâs our visitor. The Balladeer is his name. He does look like Papa, though, doesnât he?â
âB-Balla⌠Ballaba⌠Babadeer?â She scrunches her face up, perplexed.
Scaramouche offers her a gentle, understanding smile. âYou may call me âBabaâ if itâs easier to pronounce.â
She lights up immediately. âOkay! Youâre Baba and Papaâs Papa!â
He finds that the term is more endearing than any alias heâs taken on in the span of his lengthy existence.
âSpeaking of, where is he? I would assume heâd be smart enough not to leave me by my lonesome.âÂ
âHeâs out for the day. Wonât be back until later.â You lift the pan from the stove and proceed to distribute breakfast between two plates. He shakes his head at you when you attempt to fix him a plate. With a shrug, you add, âYou slept in. How was it?â
âAcceptable,â he admits, lowering into the chair beside Aaliya. âI suppose itâs better than most places.â
âIâm happy to hear that.â You place a cup of tea in front of him. âBitter. Just how you like it.â
Scaramouche eyes it like itâs poison. âYour hospitality isâŚappreciated.â
âWhat do you think?â Aaliya lifts her drawing, proudly showcasing the portrait sheâs sketched of you.
Scaramouche is a critic of many things. Art is not one of them. Still, he takes the page in his hands and spends a moment admiring the shaky linework.
âVery wonderful,â he praises, and he means it. âYou should become an artist.â
âI want to, but I also wanna be like Papa. Heâs really smart.â
âIs he now?â
âMhm! Heâs studying at the Akademiya. My friends told me only really smart people go there.â
Iâm a scholar? Truly? He looks to you for confirmation. The proud smile on your face is answer enough. To think this is what becomes of me in a distant realityâŚ
âA commendable occupation. You should always do your best in your studies. Theyâre very important. But most of allâŚâ He hesitates. Thankfully, his other self isnât here to listen to his encouraging words and ridicule him. Heâs certain heâd never hear the end of it. âYou should pursue what you enjoy.â He reaches out to pat her on the head. âAlways dream, Aaliya.â
âI will! I promise.â
Scaramouche doesnât do promises, but somehow heâs convinced by this one.
You sit across from him. âTime to eat, my dear. You can finish your pretty drawing later.â
She nods and pushes her pencils and crayons away in favor of focusing on her plate. Scaramouche watches, stiff and awkward. Family meals are not an unusual occurrence, but itâs been so long since heâs spent quality time with another living creature. With humans.
Am I really so foolish that Iâd willingly indulge in a life with humans? Donât I know better?
âWawan told me your arrival might be linked to a faulty Ley Line. Weâre not sure when youâll return to your worldâif thatâs even a possibilityâbut until we know more you can stay here with us.â
âIf I must. Although I assumed that was already established.â
You chuckle. âIs that right? Then it looks like youâve gotten comfortable in the three days youâve been here.â
He rolls his eyes. âYour singular deeds are not enough to earn my veneration.â
âIâm not trying to.â
With a huff, he averts his eyes. An uncanny feeling crawls up his throat and settles on his cheeks. You hide your playful grin behind your utensils and eat alongside Aaliya in peaceful silence.
If only everyone could see him: a puppet now named Wanderer, who attends the Akademiya and has a family of his own. A puppet who seems complete when he surrounds himself with his loved ones. Itâs impossible to live in denial when all of it is unfolding before his eyes like a fantastical tale in a storybook. He really canât believe it.
âTell meâam I fulfilled in this reality?â
You blink back at him, and suddenly he regrets asking. Thereâs vulnerability in a question like that. An open wound waiting to be exploited.
âWill knowing put you at ease?â Before he can snap back with a defensive reply, you add, âI suspect youâre already aware of the answer.â
He stares at the amber-colored tea in his cup. âI am,â he confesses quietly.
âAnd do you feel any better?â
âAm I supposed to feel that way?â
âI canât tell you because thereâs no right or wrong way when it comes to emotions. You justâŚfeel them.â
Just feel them?
âIâm more conflicted than anything else. That Wanderer fool⌠He canât truly be me. I would never allow myself to grow so weak. To surround myself with weaknesses⌠How utterly thoughtless.â
âWhat you see as weakness is his strength.â
Scaramoucheâs gaze slides from the tea to you. âAnd he⌠And I⌠Iâm happy here? This isnât a grand farce?â
âAs absurd as it seems, this is to be your reality. Youâre not always going to be happy. Sometimes youâll dwell on the past. Sometimes youâll feel angry and upset. Itâs all part of existing.â
âThat sounds horrendous.â
âWhat does?â
âExisting. Isnât it tiring? Iâve never understood how humans do it.â
âItâs tiring, yes. But itâs also very rewarding. To exist is to cherish happiness and weather hardship. Itâs not perfect, but itâs enough. Sometimes all you need is enough.â
What if Iâve never had enough? What if Iâve never had anything?
He shuts his mouth. So many questions flit around in his head, but he already knows the answers to most of them. He just doesnât want to hear it from himself.
To have enough when youâve never had anythingâwhen youâve never felt like anything substantialâhe surmises Wanderer can sympathize.
The first few drops of rain patter dry earth. Like dolls moved with wire, you and Scaramouche turn towards the window to watch water beads pearl on verdant fronds.
âOh, itâs raining!â Aaliya exclaims with a delighted giggle.Â
Scaramouche reaches to touch his cheek. A single tear wets his fingertip.
âHuh,â he mumbles. âSo it is.â
Sitting on the stoop, watching worms wriggle in wet soil, Scaramouche sighs.
âDid you know the worms sometimes lose their way when it rains?â
âIs that right?â he murmurs, glancing at Aaliya who scoops one up from the stone path and places it in the grass. He smiles at her kind impartiality. âItâs very admirable of you to help them.â
âMhm! Papa tells me even worms need homes, so itâs important to help them when the rain washes them away.â
He breathes a laugh that sounds more like a scoff. âI really said that? Thatâs difficult to imagine.â
Ironic, too.
âIf no one helps, how will they find their homes?â
âTheyâll find their way. Everyone does eventually.â
âEven you?â She blinks at him from where she stands in the grass, worms held in her palms. Â
He exhales slowly and gazes skyward. The clouds have opened to let in the tiniest peek of sun. âIf worms can find their way, then so, too, can I.â
Heâs not sure he trusts it. Not now, at least. But itâs just as inevitable as the shifting seasonsâan undeniable, irrefutable fact. Heâs changing, if only slightly, and soon heâll be in Wandererâs shoesâa puppet with a home and a family. With all of lifeâs greatest joys and sorrows at his fingertips.
Aaliya sets the worms down in the grass before meandering over. She lowers to sit beside him, resting her head against his arm. âI believe in you, Baba.â
âThank you.â
Soft as rain, subdued like a snuffed candle, his voice doesnât waver. For the first time in a while, Scaramouche is defenseless. Heâs not so sure he believes in himself. Wrapped in waning sun, listening to the hushed sway of grass, he tries on a smile. Albeit awkward, it fits.
He knows why his future self has become the wind, free and flowing, gentle and tumultuous all at once. Liberated from the past.
Even though he has his doubts, he knows heâll get there soon.
The sky clears up just as Wandererâs form comes into view. At first, heâs an insignificant pinprick against a blue sky. Aaliya jumps up from her spot on the stoop to run the rest of the way, calling out to him in an eager voice.
âFeeling any better?â
He keeps his eyes pinned stubbornly ahead. âItâs nothing to concern yourself with.â
âYouâre our guest, silly. Of course Iâm going to be concerned if youâre not comfortable during your stay. Ah, but I expect youâre coming up on the end of that, arenât you?â
He blinks at his hands and realizes theyâre transparent. âSo it appears.â
âDoes it?â you tease, patting him on the shoulder. Or you try to, at least. Your hand goes through him. âGuess it wasnât very funny.â
âNot in the slightest,â he snaps with a scoff. He checks to make sure Wanderer isnât within earshot. Heâs kept occupied with Aaliya, who jumps around him like an energetic bunny. âBut⌠Thank youâŚfor everything. Iâm aware I wasnât the most grateful guest, nor the kindest.â
âYou donât have to be. As long as you felt safe and secure during your time here, despite everything thatâs happened in your timeline, thatâs all that matters.â
Scaramouche stares at you. I suppose it was a worthwhile escape. Unnecessary, but worthwhile.
âIt wasnât as hellish as I thought itâd be.â
âIâm glad. It was nice having you.â
Just then, Wanderer approaches. Aaliya sits proudly on his shoulders, her fists in his hair. âGlad to see everythingâs still in one piece. No atrocities today?â
Suddenly, any sort of security Scaramouche might have been feeling evaporates. Heâs reminded that itâs impossible to endure his other self for more than a few minutes. Itâs actually impressive youâve put up with him for this long.
Love is weird like that.
âGo back to the Akademiya and maybe youâll learn a better sense of humor.â
âArenât you a bundle of joy?â Wanderer chuckles and levels him with a playful smile. His next words are tender and truthful. âGood luck on your journey. Have lots of fun.â
What sort of fun could possibly be found in pain? I donât want or need your sardonic optimism.
âOh? Babaâs leaving already?â
Scaramouche and Wanderer share a look. You smile behind your hand.
âBaba?â
âP-Pay it no mind!â He reaches for his hat in hopes of relieving everyone of his flustered expression and stops short. Heâs not wearing his hat. He hasnât had it this entire time. Refusing to admit he forgot such a crucial detail, he turns away and folds his arms over his chest. âIt matters not.â
âSure,â Wanderer concedes, but Scaramouche can tell heâs thinking something snarky. âWeâll go with that.â
âThank you for visiting us,â you interject before the two of them can argue semantics. âEven though our time together was short, it wasnât any less enjoyable.â
âIâll miss you, Baba!â Aaliya extends her arm for a high-five.
âCareful now,â Wanderer warns, steadying her on his shoulders. âI suppose, though youâre more trouble than anything, it wasnât so bad seeing my past self again.â
âYouâre a welcoming lot,â he says with a curt nod. âIt made this entire debacle slightly tolerable.â
âOnly slightly?â
âYour presence didnât add anything of substance. Donât get it twisted.â
âHmm. Perhaps not. At least I get to say I saw you once more.â
At that, he rolls his eyes. Am I supposed to feel flattered?
Wanderer smiles, but Scaramouche canât place the authenticity. Maybe itâs there and he just doesnât want to confront it.
âDonât be so hard on yourself. I know the feeling well enough.â
âAnd live every day one at a time. Thereâs no rush,â you advise, sweet like a real parent.Â
âI believe in you, Baba! Youâll find your way just like the worms.â
Wanderer raises a curious brow, but instead of ridiculing him he takes your hand in his and squeezes. Aaliya giggles and pats Wandererâs head. The three of you make a family. Togetherness. Love. Itâs everything heâs never had.
Now he understands. When Wanderer is with you and Aaliya, heâs whole. Heâs happy. Free. Heâs turned a new leaf. There are still so many apertures and questionsâso much heâs missing from a puzzle not yet pictured to completionâbut he isnât worried. Equipped with this new information, he finds himself at peace with the present situation.
âI donât know if weâll ever have the chance to meet again in this timeline, but if we do letâs not dwell on the past.â
Scaramouche can feel his consciousness slipping from this realm, every sense pouring in like light through the gaps in trees. Just before he can make sense of it all, he notices the pendant glowing just above Wandererâs chest.
Impossible⌠Is that what I think it is?
âYou have a lot to look forward to, so next time letâs talk about the future.â
Suddenly, heâs not so sure he wants to leave. Scaramouche steps towards his other self, hand splayed, and wants to say something. Anything. A million words and phrases stick to the roof of his mouth.
Iâd like that, he thinks just as the rest of his corporeal form vanishes in a blip.
Scaramouche comes to in the infirmary. He lifts his arm towards the ceiling, observing shattered fingers and broken joints. Thin cracks run along his armâsurface injuries as far as heâs concerned. Theyâll be gone within the day, a testament to his self-sufficiency.
Youâre very resilient and so strong. Someone once told him that. But who? And why does it warm him so?
âOh, youâre up!â
He gazes sidelong at Lesser Lord Kusanali, the God of Wisdom, past the wellness bouquet on the bedside desk, and his features harden with antipathy. âBuer.â
âDid you have a nice dream?â
âDream?â He scoffs. âI donât dream. Not anymore.â
But it feels like Iâve been asleep for ages⌠Just what have I been doing all this time?
âEveryone dreamsâeven when theyâre awake. Dreams are what give us hope.â
âNot me.â He turns on his side and shuts his eyes to block her out. âI have no need for childish dreams and misguided hope.â
What does it matter? I have nothing. I am nothing. Thereâs nothing for me in this rotten world.
Her hum of acknowledgment reaches his ears. âI wouldnât be so sure.â
Scaramouche scowls. Stop poking around in my head. You have no authority over my thoughts, Buer. Get lost.
âWell, if it makes you feel any better, Iâm here to give you a second chance.â
âI donât want it. Itâs pointless to put me on the path to redemption. Inane, even.â
âRedemption starts with recognition. If you realize that what youâve done is wrong and are willing to change, redemption will find its way to you.â
He inhales a long, weary breath. âWhat more is left for me?â
Scaramouche, despite his grandiose title, feels small lying here and contemplating the worth of his existence.
âPlenty of thingsâgood and badâthat youâve yet to experience.â
He tries to envision what these things could be and turns up blank.
Strange. I was so certain⌠He sits up in bed, clutching the space where his heart would be if he was human. I could have sworn there was somethingâŚ
He gazes at his palms next. What happened while I was unconscious?
Surely he witnessed a joyous scene. Otherwise why would he wake feeling soâŚhopeful?
Inhaling a resolute breath, Scaramouche decides it doesnât matter.
âWhy donât you take some time to think about it? I may not know the full extent of the turbulence in your mind, but I do know itâs not something to treat lightly.â
The void is both loud and quiet when she departs, and now heâs forced to come to terms with his reality. He lost. Even as a manufactured deity, he was still unfit for godhood. It was a moment so short-lived it was practically a blinkâinsignificant in the colossal tapestry of time.
âWhat a joke,â he spits, glaring at the wall ahead. âAll of that for nothingâŚâ
He sits back against the cushions and drowns in the silence. It doesnât comfort him.
Donât be so hard on yourself. Where has he heard that line before?
Perhaps it was just another delusion.
Scaramoucheâs gaze is drawn to the bouquet next. The flowers are fresh and vibrant, each blossom a representation of good health and happiness. Someone placed these here. Someone went out of their way to assemble a bouquet in his honor and then send it over. He wonders if this is the work of Lesser Lord Kusanali.
Who else could muster the empathy for a sorry creature like him?
Will knowing put you at ease?
He thinks it might. At the very least, it would soothe a restless part of his beingâthe part that craves a connection and yearns to be wanted despite everything heâs done. He wants a heart and a home. He wants to feel the rays of the sun stinging his skin and bathe in the exhilaration of being alive and in the moment. He wants to finally know all of the sweetness he was deprived of in life. The sweetness that comes from love in all its many shapes and forms.
Scaramouche reaches for the bouquet and pauses. He could swipe it off the table and watch rumpled petals scatter amidst shattered glass in a puddle. He could ignore it and pretend itâs not worth his time or attention.
He wants to act like it doesnât matter, but somethingâs nagging at him.
For once, the feeling isnât terrible. For once, he has something to look forward toâan anchor to cling to in this vast, wild sea.
And he isnât going to let go.
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your papa prime head cannons are spot on! Though I wonder what papa prime would do if and when he realizes that his autobots/kids are like his sparklings (btw I love your writing style!)
Aww, thank you for the kind words. I love this so here a short story about how I think he would discover that he is running sire protocol aka
Optimus realizes he is now a dad.
Optimus fluff
Words: 812
It was a quiet day in the base, the entire week was for the bots peaceful the cons didnât try to destroy the earth yet again and the kids were out using the holidays to visit family. Miko was in Tokyo visiting her parents and catching up with friends, Raf and his family went to Mexico for his cousins Quinceanera and to catch up and even Jack and his mom went on a trip to Canada to visit Junes Sister.
The bots used the rare tranquility, in different ways, Arcee went out more training her parkour skills, Bumblebee visit the Griffin Rock stationed Rescue Team. Meanwhile Bulkhead joined Wheeljack on a âspace adventureâ and even Ratchet allowed himself to rest more. Truly a perfect time to relax before the storm comes again and the efforts to end the war start anew.
And yet Optimus could not sit still, since the beginning of the week his frame has been acting up. It started with the itching of his plating as if nano ticks are biting into his mesh, then his fans and vents acted up leaving him sometimes unable to move from the cold or borderline delirious from the heat. When parts of his frame started to move, like his right leg transforming, making him stumble into his work desk he had enough.
âOld friend, could I ask for your expertise?â
âOh? What a rare occasion to find you willingly come into the med bay. To what do I owe this pleasure of your visit Optimus?â
âMy frame has been acting up in various ways and I cannot fathom on what may have caused this.â
âWell then letâs get you checked out come on take a seat.â
Optimus did as instruct while Ratchet readied the scans to run a complete diagnostic on his frame. With the last scan complete a frown made its way onto Ratchets face plate.
âWell Optimus physically there is nothing wrong with your frame, everything is in working order, energy levels are good. But what concerns me is your spark activity, normally it is in a very calm even lower compared to the others due to the influence of the matrix, but your current scan shows a hyperactivity, like you are in a high stress situation.â
âCurios, I have never felt like this before.â
âHm, well let me run a protocol diagnostic scan maybe one of your battle protocols activated or is damaged. Lay down, go into power-down and I will see what I can find.â
âVery well, Ratchet.â
Laughter is what rose the Prime out of his power down, as his optics finally came back online he was met with the sight of Wheeljack laughing, Arcee getting a packet of rust sticks from both Bumblebee and Bulkhead and Ratchet standing on the side shaking his head in disapproval, before realizing Optimus woke up.
âWell Optimus, I have found the cause of your well, functioning problems, so I ran the protocol diagnostic scan and in good news all of your battle protocols are in perfect working order, matter of fact all of your protocols are working fine.â
âThen what would cause my flare-ups, old friend?â
âWell like I said all of your protocols are running fine and well- â
âHa, your running sire protocol Prime, oh I never thought I see the day. Oh, this is too good.â
âWHEELJACK!â
An angry shout, followed by the sound of a wretch making contact with a piece of metal, the piece of metal being Wheeljacks helm, echoed through the base. Letting out a puff of air through his vents, Ratchet turned back around to face Optimus.
âWhat he said is true though, your sire protocols are running and that on overdrive.â
That day, at that time, something happened which has never happened before and will never happen again. Optimus was at a loss for words.
âBut this doesnât seem plausible I am not with a sparking neither haveâŚIâŚadoptedâŚoneâŚâ
A look of realization crossed over the Primes features.
âThe children.â
âYes, Optimus your spark has formed a spark bond with each of the children and seeing the effect it has of you they, though most unknowingly, accepted it and with that you as their sire.â
âWhen are the children coming back?â
âSoon Optimus, Raf is as far as I know already on his way back, they will arrive tomorrow.â
âAnd Miko told me she takes the plane from Tokyo tomorrow.â Bulkhead added.
âJack and his mom should arrive either today late in the night or tomorrow morning to noon.â Arcee mentioned offhandedly.
âWell, I believe it is in the best of interest to wait until all of them arrive and see how we will proceed from there. I will excuse myself then I will see you tomorrow.â
With that Optimus exited the med bay not seeing the knowing smirk on his medicâs faceplate.
#transformers#transformers prime#maccadams#tfp#fluff#optimus prime#macaddam#papa prime#bulkhead#tfp ratchet#miko nakadai#raf esquivel#jack darby#tfp arcee#bumblebee#Wheeljack#arcee
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Leopold "Butters" Stotch x Reader - sweet escape
Also available on ao3!
Summary: When you and your darling boyfriend break up, Eric Cartman's inner cupid decides to make sure you two get back together... By fucking your way right out of that argument.
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (EVERYONE INVOLVED IS ABOVE THE AGE OF CONSENT), Explicit Language, Cisgender female Reader, Aphrodisiacs, Nipple Play, Nipple Orgasm, Penis In Vagina Sex, Bathroom Sex, Creampie
A/N: I've had this in my Docs for almost 2 months now, and never got to properly finish it. Then yesterday I went berserk and stayed until 4am writing and cleaning up the draft so I could have it up by today.
We have an utter drought of Butters x Reader smut in this fandom, so I hope I did our sweet guy justice.
Obligatory "English is not my first language, if anything sounds like total nonsense it probably is so please let me know" This is also my first fic after whole years without writing anything creative and my first smut work in general and IDK how to feel about it
It was your average Monday morning in Park County. People from all walks of life had frowns on their faces as they made their way to school or work, missing the protection of their warm blankets and the peacefulness of a deep sleep. In your high school, most of the students hung about in the hallways as they waited for classes to start, and the cliques standing around together provided some warmth for its members, both emotionally and physically.
At the end of one of the corridors, in one of the staircases, hung out a particular group of young men, lazing around and chatting about their weekend like everyone else. Some of them stood, leaning on the wall or the handrail, while others sat on the steps, basically creating a barricade against anyone who wanted to go up or down the stairs - not that many people tried, anyway; over the course of their high school days all the way to the current senior year, the South Park boys had kind of made that particular part of the stairs their hangout spot, and the other students really just preferred to take any necessary detours than have to deal with the certified biggest assholes in the whole school.
As they began to engage in yet another heated debate over some useless topic, almost none of them saw a certain blonde man arrive. This was not abnormal - most people were never paying attention to Butters, unless they needed him for a favor. What was abnormal, however, was the expression he carried. Butters was a normally friendly and peaceful person, always with a smile on his face even in the most inhospitable of days; to see him like he was now, walking with heavy steps like a soldier, his face down and gaze fixed on his own feet, it didnât take much from anyone to see that he was not doing well.Â
âHey there, fellas.â He spoke in an unusually low voice, not looking up for even a second to acknowledge his peers. Almost all the other boys responded with a quiet Hey or a quick movement of the head, but he didnât acknowledge either of those greetings, too engulfed in his own feelings.
âOh, hey, Butters, there you are.â Cartman said, looking briefly at his direction but almost seeing past him, clearly not realizing what was amiss - Eric couldnât care about someone elseâs feelings to save his life. âThank God youâre here, I have to talk to you about something later and itâs really important, if you didnât show up it wouldâve really fucked me over. Youâre really gonna have to make up to me later for that. Weâll go over what you can do during lunch, so tell your bitch to - hey, whereâs your bitch, anyway?â
âI DONâT KNOW, I DONâT CARE, AND IF ANY OF YOU DO THEN YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELVES!â was Buttersâ immediate answer, in such a thundering angry tone that it made the whole group flinch in fear. This was the first moment he actually looked at his so-called friends that Monday, and his face was one of pure fury. âAnd if YOU-â he turned in his heels to face Cartman, pointing a finger at his face, â-think Iâm going to be a part of whatever fucking evil deeds you have planned right now, then you better sit that fat ass of yours down, because I ainât helping you anymore, got it?â He turned again to glare at the rest of the guys, who all had wide eyes. âOr any of you bitches either! Iâm done with you jerks! DONE!â
âDude, dude, calm down, itâs okay-â Kyle was the one to first try and appease the situation, seeing as everyone else was too afraid to make a movement. He tried to reach an arm out to Butters, but it was promptly slapped out of his reach by the latter.
âITâS NOT FUCKING OKAY! Everyone hates you, yâall fucking hate each other, and then you sit around here and pretend to be best friends! Oh, but yâall wonât say anything because if you do yâall gonâ have to hang around with fucking Kip Drordy âtill graduation! And Iâll tell you what else-â
He eventually became engulfed by his own rage, breathing rapidly as he looked around for anything else he could say his truth about.
âEasy there, buddy. Look, I havenât had breakfast yet, how about you and I go pick up a snack in one of the vending machines?â Kenny tapped on Buttersâ shoulder, gesturing in the direction of the canteen.
âI donât want no goddamn snack!â Butters yelled right in Kennyâs ear, but the latter didnât even acknowledge the rudeness, being used to worse back at his house.
âYes, you do. Now letâs go.â
The whole staircase group watched in silence as Kenny dragged Butters far away, and then all faces turned to Cartman.
âGreat job there, fatass.â Kyle snarled, rolling his eyes.
âFuck you, Kyle! What the hell did I do now?â Cartman raised his voice, pointing a finger in Kyleâs face, then signaling with his other hand towards the corridor through which Butters had just left. âHeâs the one that started acting like a chick on her period! Thatâs got nothing to do with me!â
âYou provoked him, dude! You know heâs sensitive about that shit these days!â
âButters is always sensitive, dude! What is his problem NOW?â
The other boys looked at each other, unsure if Cartmanâs behavior was legitimate. âYou really donât know what you did?â Kyle asked, almost a surprised tone in his voice, his eyebrows arched.
âNo! If Iâm going to be blamed for shit, at least tell me what it is!â Eric huffed, tired of the back-and-forth.
Kyle took a deep breath. âButters and (Y/N) broke up this weekend.â
The news had Cartman legitimately shocked. âReally? Why didnât he tell me?â
âBut he did. He told all of us.â Stan picked up his phone and turned the screen towards Cartman, with the messages app open, and started scrolling up quickly with his free hand, which made it impossible for the other to be even able to read anything. âItâs all over the group chat, dude.â
âOh, right. I didnât read that shit, I was rushing the battle pass for the new Fortnite season.â Cartman waved his hand in dismissal and Stan put his phone back in his pocket.
âThen you canât complain about not being informed of stuff as soon as it happens.â
âAlright, alright, my bad. But man, hope they get back together.â
Eric wasnât really feeling bad about causing Butters to snap or worried about your romance out of care for his friend. More so, like everything else in his life, the fatass wanted you to sort your issues because that would bring him personal benefit. He needed your lover for something in the coming days, a very important plan he had been cooking, and that breakup could very well ruin it all.
When you and Butters first got together, Cartman thought this was the death of his most useful pawn, maybe heâd even have to spy on your relationship to make sure you wouldnât be too much of an inconvenience. To his surprise, the opposite turned out to be true - the already affable young man became even more docile, if that was even possible. He was also willing to do damn near anything if it meant your happiness, so the only thing Cartman ever had to do to get his help was make up some bullshit story about how that scheme was actually going to be great for your relationship and how youâd be so glad if Butters just assisted him with this one thing (despite said thing having nothing to do with you at all, and you normally not being aware of the stuff until it happened). Since the blonde was mad at you, that meant the usual strategies wouldnât stick.
Whatever it was that was creating this rift between you two, it had to end fast.
âBut why the hell did they break up, anyway?â Eric continued, hoping to gather more information that he could use to reverse the situation.
âYouâd know if you read the group chat!â, three or four of the guys answered in unison.
âHell, I donât read the group chat either and even I know what happenedâ, said Craig. He wasnât usually one to engage in his colleaguesâ dumb fighting, so, since the most aloof person on Earth had an opinion on the subject, Cartman knew heâd been missing out.
âYou donât read the group chat?!â Tweek yelped, looking at Craig with a panicked expression on his face - even more panicked than the one he had at any given time. âACK!- You gotta read it, babe! What if one of us gets injured, dies, and you never find out because you didnât read the group chat? What if EVERYONE dies and our last wishes are all in the group chat? UGH!â
He then seemingly got really scared of this hypothetical situation he himself created, proceeding to hyperventilate and tremble on the spot.
âI donât read them because you do, babe. Then you tell me everything. Your texts are the only ones I ever need to read.âÂ
Craig patted Tweekâs hair a few times and kissed him on the forehead after speaking, which seemed to calm down the anxious male, who let out a contented sigh as his lungs seemed to finally allow him to breathe properly again. Everyone else around rolled their eyes at this, and Jimmy, out of the coupleâs line of sight, stuck his tongue out and made a gesture pointing down his throat as if going to vomit.
âWhat do you guys do when the girls are mad at you, though?â Kyle asked, looking across the group, focusing on no one in particular - Kyle was the only one there who never managed to be in a long-term relationship (his surreal bad luck with women was extremely good content for jokes around those parts), and wouldnât have an answer to that particular question.
âI just fuck mine âtill sheâs stupidâ, Clyde answered immediately, with a hint of pride in his voice.
âJesus, Clyde!â Tolkien gawped at the man next to him. Even if they were used to that type of vulgar speech, hearing it early in the morning on a Monday was a less than ideal setup. âDidnât your mom teach you some manners or something?â
âAs a matter of fact, no. She couldnât.â Clyde looked sad for a moment. âBut itâs real, you guys. Whenever Bebe starts bitching my ear off about some nonsense, I just take her somewhere private and give it to her good. By the time weâre done, she canât even remember what it was she wanted, so itâs a win.â
âShe probably just drops the issue because she knows youâre too stupid to hold any kind of deep conversation withâ, stated Craig, earning a chuckle from most of the guys.
âHey! Itâs not like youâre any kind of master communicator either, Mr. Donât-Read-The-Group-Chat!â Clyde retorted, hitting Craig - and Tweek, by association - right where it hurted.
By then, Cartman had tuned out the voices of all the other guys, the gears in his mind turning furiously. Clyde, however much of an idiot he could be, had unironically given him the solution to his most pressing problem.Â
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Later on, at night, the only lights on in a particular suburban street were those in the kitchen of the Cartman household.
Eric had an old cookbook open in the counter in front of him, alongside an assortment of ingredients and kitchen utensils. The food laid out seemed like your average components for making cupcakes - sugar, eggs, flour, the works -, but, hidden in the middle of it all, camouflaging itself nicely with the vanilla extract in a way that one would really need to pay attention to realize, was a bottle containing an edible aphrodisiac concentrate - the wonders of same-day delivery allowed it to be dropped off at Cartmanâs doorstep right that afternoon when he bought it in the morning.Â
After being done with all the other ingredients in the bowl, following the instructions in the book to a tee - Cartman could fool around with many things, but food was not one of them -, Eric grabbed the tray with the liners he had set and transferred the mixture to them. After that, he picked up that one particular bottle, turning his attention to two specific tins closest to him in the tray, lined with red cases. The bottle had instructions in the back of it - thorough information about its content, advice about the amount that was to be used and general warnings -, but the cook was having none of that, instead dumping the liquid in the two tins until he felt satisfied. In his mind, the more effect it made, the easier for him.
When that was done, he carefully put the tray into the oven and moved on to other parts of the recipe.
ŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźđŠâĄđŞŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕź
The next day, Eric Cartman was on a mission. Along with the usual backpack, he carried with him to school a small box that smelled faintly of vanilla. The cupcakes had turned out really dang nice, if he could say so himself, and now it was time to pacify a certain pair of lovebirds.
After going to the usual staircase, he was surprised to find that his target, the only one of those assholes he cared to see today, was not around - but it wasnât without reason; ever since his outburst yesterday, most of the other guys had decided to leave Butters alone with his anger until the issue was resolved, so he got warned to take his sulking elsewhere because it was bringing everyone down. As soon as he found that out, Eric turned on his heels and continued through the hallways, leaving his other colleagues very confused.
Making his way to Buttersâ locker, he found the blonde male unaccompanied, mumbling some nonsense as he picked up everything he needed for the upcoming classes.
âButters! Hey, buddy.â Cartman approached him with a smile.
âFuck off, Eric!â Butters slammed the door to his locker, startling everyone who dared to be around him.
âWoah, calm down dude, I just wanted to give you this.â Cartman opened the box in his hands and carefully picked one of the cupcakes that had the red liner, handing it to his infuriated friend. âMight make you feel a little better.â
âOh- huh- Really? Thanks.â Butters seemed genuinely surprised that someone, no matter who, was being nice to him. He picked up the cupcake, taking a bite out of it right away and getting some of the whipped cream on the side of his mouth. âThatâs awfully nice of ya. Youâre a good person, ya know, Eric. UNLIKE SOMEONE I KNOW!â He said that last part too loud, facing the corridor, as if he expected you to be around so you could hear all about how much he hated you right now. Unfortunately, you were nowhere to be found - instead, he yelled that stuff right while a group of young freshman girls happened to be passing through, laughing about something. They jumped in fear, looking at him like he was a maniac, and quickened their steps to leave as soon as possible while whispering to each other.
âYeah, yeah, Butters, I know, Iâm amazingâ Eric replied, absent-mindedly, setting his sights on the end of the corridor, planning his escape route. âLook, man, I gotta go, see you in class or whatever.â Not even saying a word more than the absolutely necessary, he left Buttersâ side as well, this time looking for his next objective.
Luckily, he didnât take too long to find it as well. Right as he turned the corner, you stood next to another set of lockers, next to Red and Wendy. As they talked eagerly about something, though, you kept to your silence, also dwelling on your fight with your ex-boyfriend. You just werenât trying to make your anger everyone elseâs problem was all, but the other girls knew better than to talk about it near you or ask you questions, lest a wrong word also have you snapping.
Cartman beelined to your group, and as you all saw him coming up, the happy chatter immediately turned into silence. âHello, ladiesâ, he spoke, earning a raised eyebrow from you and a questionable stare from the two other girls. âMight I interest you in some cupcakes?â
Before anyone could answer, he opened the box in his hands again, carefully picking a cupcake and handing it to every member in your trio, making sure to give you the one with the red wrap. He had made sure to bring extra cupcakes just in case anyone else in the class might see him with them or ask about it, since just giving sweet treats to you and Butters and no one else would look extremely suspicious. The red liners were to separate the laced cupcakes from the others, so he wouldnât give them to anyone else unknowingly, and among the colorful liners in the others, no one could see you and your ex getting the same color as nothing but a funny coincidence.
As he closed the box, though, you didnât make a single movement, still staring at him with the baked good in your hands. âNo need to thank me, you know. Arenât you going to eat it?â He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.
Your eyes narrowed at him. âYou put your dick in this thing, didnât you?â was the question that came out of your mouth. Red let out an âEwwwwwâ.
âNO! Why would you think that?â He gasped, his eyes widening in surprise, like it was an absurd thing to even think about - even though it was definitely something he was capable of doing and everyone knew that. âWho do you think I am, some kind of psychopath?â
âYes.â Your eyes went from him to the cupcake, turning it around in your hand, analyzing it for any obvious signs of tampering. âFarted on it? Put cum on the whipped cream? Is my mom dead on the filling?â
âNo, no and NO! Christ, you do something once and all of a sudden itâs all people ever talk about.â He didnât actually expect you to start asking so many questions - who questions free food? -, so he hadnât taken the time to build up an actual excuse. âI just had too much batter and made a few extra to bring to class, canât a guy just be nice anymore?â
 You waited a little bit more to see if heâd say anything, if heâd give away any evil plans. Unable to figure out anything, you took the leap of faith, getting the cupcake near your mouth and slowly taking a bite of it. The taste that your tongue could pick up - plain vanilla, whipped cream, a little bit of chocolate from the sprinkles on top - was good, but nothing out of the ordinary. Well, you werenât expecting Cartman to be some kind of superb baker, and there wasnât anything that struck you as odd, so you continued eating. Seeing this, the girls around you followed suit with eating theirs, since if you couldnât find anything wrong with it they probably wouldnât either.
âSee? Pretty good, isnât it? Anyway, Iâm gonna go and give the rest away, bye.â He left before you could interrogate him any further.
âWhat a weirdoâ, stated Red. Before you could dwell on the subject more, Wendy warned both of you about the time, and your trio started making your way to class.
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For the next couple of hours, Butters felt like he was about to die.
His whole body felt hot, to the point where he was building up a slight sweat. During this time of the year and up in the mountains, this concept felt absurd, so when he asked the classmates around him to see if anyone else felt the same way, he was met with confused stares and Kenny putting the back of his hand on Buttersâ forehead to check his temperature. He was warm alright, but he could tell this wasnât a fever because this particular warmth felt more intense in the lower part of his belly, irradiating through his body.
The worst part that came with it, though, was the hard-on. It had popped up about an hour into classes, throbbing like crazy, refusing to go down and urging him to take action. He thought about asking for the hall pass to go to the bathroom and masturbate, but decided against it - because that would mean getting up in front of the whole class and standing there where everyone could see him. At this point, after so long, it all started to feel really painful, so he resorted to just curling onto himself on the chair as best as he could, waiting for the bell to ring so he could leave without drawing too much attention.
All the way across the class, you werenât faring too well, either - just way better at hiding it. Some strands of your hair were glued to your forehead from the sweat, and you fanned yourself with an old crumbled assignment you found in the bottom of your bag. Under your table where no one could see, you pressed your thighs against each other, rubbing them together as silently as possible to create even the tiniest bit of friction to relieve yourself. As much as you did, it wasnât nearly enough.
During this whole ordeal, you and Butters would look across the room towards each other regularly - even though you were mad at each other, you were the only person he could think about at a time like this, and vice versa. Every once in a while, your gazes would cross, both with completely panicked stares. Oh what youâd give to know what he was thinking at those times. But then, either you or him would realize the other was staring, and youâd immediately turn to the blackboard and pretend you were staring at it the whole time.
The bell ringing to announce lunchtime couldnât have come soon enough.
âAlright class, off to lunch, weâll-â The teacher started her usual speech to send all of you off, but before she could finish, Butters got up from his desk and bolted out of the door in extreme hurry, the speed with which he left being so intense that it knocked his whole desk back as he left and all his belongings scattered to the ground. â- Oh, I guess someoneâs really into Taco Tuesday.â
As everyone got up to leave for the canteen, you thought about making a quick detour to the bathroom, maybe you could sneak in a little DJing session in one of the stalls, if you kept your quiet, just enough to get yourself through the rest of the day. Before you could make your way there, however, your girl friends made a whole group around your desk, and you had yourself cornered. If you wanted to leave anywhere, they were absolutely going to follow, so you begrudgingly walked to lunch alongside them, still trying to keep your legs as close to each other as possible. You werenât sure if youâd even survive the rest of the day at this rate.
You hoped that lunch time and the interactions that came with it could make you distracted unlike the quiet classroom, but you were deprived of that as well. No matter how much you tried to pay attention to the conversations the girls were having around you at the table, the heat in your lower abdomen was too strong to ignore, and your thoughts always went straight back to poundtown at any given chance. More than once you had hands waved and fingers snapped near your face because someone asked you a question and you didnât realize it.Â
Also, having scanned around the room with your eyes more than a couple of times like a turret looking for a target, you couldnât find Butters anywhere in the canteen. You wanted anything from him, even his angry looks at this point were enough to get you going - your mind got busy drawing up all those detailed scenarios where he pinned you to the table, choked you, slapped your ass, pulled your hair, all that while pounding into you violently and calling you filthy names that you never thought youâd hear from his mouth, but that made sense in your anger.Â
But he wasnât there, and you had honestly started to worry. The way he left class earlier had you wondering, who was he hanging out with that made him leave in such a hurry? Was he with some other girl? You usually trusted Butters a lot, he worshipped the ground you walked on and never gave you any reason to doubt his loyalty, but now that you had broken up, God knows what kind of shenanigans he could be up to. You certainly didnât want to imagine the worst; not only because of the implication of betrayal on his end and the idea that he could already be loving someone else so soon, but also because it would mean he was getting a bunch of action while you couldnât even masturbate.
âEarth to (Y/N)!â You were once again thrown out of your train of thought by Wendy Testaburger, snapping her fingers close to your ear to draw your attention once more.Â
âWait, what was it again?â, you answered, looking around with your eyes focused on the peers closest to you. All the other girls at the table were staring back, some with anger in their eyes, some with concern.
âUgh, nevermind. Iâll text you later, since youâre too good to listen to us today.â She made a dismissing motion with her hand. âThe bellâs about to ring. Letâs head back.â
As your whole group got up to leave, you looked around the considerably less crowded cafeteria one more time, hoping to catch your ex lingering around, maybe he just came late for lunch? But unfortunately, he was God knows where still. You were expecting to catch some sights of him in class again, but that was unideal - the setting there was one of silence and concentration, two things that you had no intention of keeping up with.
You didnât have to wait until then to see him, though. As soon as your group opened the cafeteria doors, he was waiting right on the other side of it, just waiting for you to leave for the hall. Coming up from your side, he pulled on the sleeve of your blouse to draw your attention. âCanitalktoyouplease?â was the sentence that left his mouth, almost too quick and slurred for you to catch.
âHuh?â
You turned to face him and the sight was almost absurd. Butters was usually well kept, his parents werenât going to let him get out of the house looking less than presentable, but right now he was a whole mess. His hair was all shagged up and he was panting like he had just ran a marathon. The hairs closest to his forehead were wet and some droplets of transparent liquid were around it - could be sweat, the same problem you had, or he mightâve thrown some water on his face to cool himself down (which was also a great idea). He also had his jacket tied to his waist, which was weird considering it wasnât hot this time of the year and he had been wearing it earlier. Did he spend the whole lunch period running track?
âCan- Can I talk to you, please?â He repeated more slowly this time, gripping your arm tight and making you wince from pain. He wasnât aware of his own strength right now. Seeing the look on your face, he quickly removed his hand from your arm, but stayed still waiting for your answer.
âShe doesnât wanna talk right now, asshole!â Before you could even say anything, Red yelled out, moving right next to you and locking her arm on yours, to show him that you werenât alone. âAnd itâs almost time for class anyway. Fuck off.âÂ
You loved Red McArthur, you really did. That was one of your best friends right there. You didnât regret at all having told her everything about your fight with Butters, were extremely grateful for the support she had shown you throughout, and youâd surely be glad for her intervention in any other situation. However, she was the one that should be thankful right now - thankful that the knives in the school cafeteria were dull, otherwise youâd have picked up one and stabbed her on the spot. You and your ex were still in a rift, sure, but he was the person you wanted to talk to the most right now and she was denying you that. Even if unknowingly, she was currently being the ultimate cockblocker, or pussy-blocker?
You took a deep breath, something that the other girls probably took as an attempt to dial down your anger at Butters, but that was in reality so you wouldnât yell at your best friend in front of everyone else. âItâs alright, Red. Go on without me, we wonât take long.â You spoke as calmly as you could, waving them away with your hand and taking your arm away from hers.
As soon as you did so, Butters took you by the wrist and started to power walk in a completely different direction from everyone else, and you had a hard time matching his footsteps while trying not to bump into the groups of students everywhere. You wondered where the hell he was even taking you in such a hurry. For a while, he also seemed confused - he looked towards every door as you went, as if searching for something himself -, but then he made a decision, taking you up two sets of stairs to the third floor of the school building, where he surprised you again by pulling you inside the handicapped restroom.
Unlike the other toilets in the school, the ones reserved for handicapped people were single-user, and since there werenât many disabled students that were willing to go all the way to the third floor to pee, this one was actually always seen to be in great condition. It was quite spacious to make it easy to maneuver wheelchairs, and also away from many of the actual occupied classrooms. Whatever it was that Butters wanted to discuss with you, he clearly didnât want anyone else listening.
While he turned to lock the door, you took a few small steps towards the other side of the restroom, standing in the middle of it. You crossed your arms and straightened your posture, trying to look as stiff and unsympathetic as possible. Maybe it was overkill, you had agreed to be here so that already sent the message that you were at least willing to listen, but you didnât want him to think for a second that he still had your heart on a chokehold like he did.
He took a deep breath as he turned to face you, as if trying to collect his thoughts. âLook, I know youâre mad at me and Iâm mad at you and you prolly donât wanna see me none, but I have no one else to turn to! I need your help!â He blurted out, his arms in front of him like he was ready to push you back if you were to become aggressive.
You frowned. âYOU need MY help? With what?âÂ
âI⌠I canât say it, okay?â He was fighting with his thoughts now, knowing that heâd need to speak up, but couldnât bring himself to. âItâs a heck of a thing and I canât really explain it and I donât even know if it can be explained-â
âStop with the rambling!â You stomped your foot on the ground to alert him. âEither you tell me what this is about or Iâm leaving!â
At this moment, he averted his eyes to the ground, avoiding your gaze as if that would conceal his feelings of absolute shame. His hands moved to his waist, untying his jacket and letting it fall to the floor, and the reason why he wasnât wearing it immediately became clear - he had a noticeable tent in the front of his pants, which the sleeves of the jacket previously hung in front of, covering the view.Â
As soon as you saw, it took you every little bit of restraint you had not to immediately drop to your knees, free his dick of its confinements and take it in your mouth to suck him dry. You felt your saliva building up, ready to make it as sloppy as possible too. But it would mean a complete lack of self-respect on your part to give in without at least him properly asking for it (you could faintly hear the voice of Red in your head scolding you for that), and you also needed to negotiate your own release, so you just swallowed it all back and waited as he built up the courage to continue talking.
âI tried jacking off in the stalls, watching porn on my phone, heck, even meditating to make it go away⌠Itâs not enough. Nothing is. I NEED YOU.â He grabbed both your wrists with his hands and stared deep into your eyes as he pleaded. âIâll do anything you want if you help me. If you never wanna see me again, Iâll leave! Forever! Just please help me! I canât stand this anymore!â
You were far from wanting him to leave forever, not when he begged like this, looking like a hungry lost puppy. The poor man was so overwhelmed by his own arousal that he couldnât notice the fact that you had taken a few steps towards him to close the distance between you instead of widening it. âAnything?â You murmured, to which he nodded vigorously.Â
You wriggled your wrists out of his hold and took his hand in yours, guiding it towards your crotch. Your other hand quickly opened the buttons and zipper in your pants, and you pulled it down just a little, just barely halfway down your butt. The wetness between your legs had created a damp spot in your panties, and when you guided Buttersâ hand to feel it, the mere brush of his hand over your extremely sensitive area was enough to make your breath hitch even through the fabric. He noticed it immediately, and you saw his eyes widen. âI believe we can help each other.â
He needed no more explanation, maybe due to fear that talking any longer would make you change your mind. So he quickly clashed his mouth onto yours, needy and desperate, wrapping both his arms around you with unusual strength - whatever it is that was driving him mad was also making him act differently than what youâre used to, but you were here for it. As you kissed him back, you felt his usually soft lips to be slightly raw - he had probably been biting them in his anxiety earlier. You didnât have a second to dwell on it, though, because his tongue swiftly started to brush over yours, an invitation for a dance that you gladly accepted.
Still completely glued to your mouth, Butters started to take small steps, which made you walk backwards, all the way to the other side of the restroom. As your back touched the wall, you felt one of the horizontal metal grab rails under you. You shifted so more of your ass was on top of it, not completely seated (the bar was too narrow for it), but just giving you the extra support in case you needed it. The current position had you firm on your right foot, while the other hovered slightly above ground. Your legs being more open also allowed for Butters to get even closer with his hips, his erection so close to your pussy, separated only by the clothes you both wore.
In one swift motion, Butters hiked up both your blouse and your bra, not even caring about the back clasps, taking everything off and exposing your breasts to the slightly cold air of the restroom as well as to his hungry gaze. The latter wasnât true for much long, though - he closed his eyes and dove immediately with his mouth to your left nipple, sucking on it and flicking the hardened bud with the tip of his tongue, while his right hand took care of the other breast, massaging it softly. Your nipples were already sensitive by nature, but right now they felt connected to all other nerves in your body, and the stimulation had you whimpering in pleasure.
Your lover started to alternate between one breast and the other with his mouth, giving both the same amount of love and attention - wherever his mouth wasnât, one of his hands was sure to be, kneading the soft flesh and flicking your peaks slightly. The other hand would then be running around your chest, arms and belly, feeling your soft skin and making up for lost time.Â
On your end, one of your hands grabbed hard on the metal rail below you, even if that wouldnât do you much to make you stable. The other ran through Buttersâ hair, caressing it - a type of caring behavior that almost felt out of place considering the borderline sinful thoughts you had all day and the situation you found yourself in right now, but that was doing wonders for him, since it made him even more eager to keep loving on your tits.
You could also feel his hips rutting towards plain air near you, as he tried to satiate his throbbing dick even a little bit. Not wanting to deny him any part of this experience when he was treating you so right, you moved one of your legs closer to him, putting your knee between his legs and allowing him to grind on your thigh. He took the offer immediately and responded by growling against your breast and sending some more shivers through your body with the vibrations.
The new stimulus had Butters going wild. He was getting more feral with his treatment of your body - taking your nipples between his fingers, tugging at them and twisting slightly. He started to graze your bud with his teeth, which soon turned into full-on love bites all across your nipples and breasts, the red patches not looking so jarring now that your whole skin was so flushed, but theyâd certainly be a nice keepsake later.
When you started to feel that familiar tension in your muscles, the pleasure in your nipples spreading like a flame under your skin, it came as a surprise. You hadnât ever climaxed from just him working your nipples before - hell, was that even possible? -, and it had sneaked up on you, first feeling like if lightning was gentle, an electric tingle all over your body that sparked like fireworks. Then there was no denying the well-known wave of pleasure that hit you like a tsunami, crashing your whole world around you and making your knees buckle.Â
Sensing your loss of balance in front of him, Butters quickly let go of your breasts and wrapped his arms around your waist. You wouldnât have fallen either way, catching yourself in the metal bar behind you with a firm grip, but the consideration was appreciated. As he looked at you with a worried expression and breathing through his mouth anxiously, you felt the walls of your pussy spasming again and more slick dripping in your panties.Â
âYou okay?â His eyes ran through your body, looking for anything that might be wrong, and coming up short. You were absolutely perfect as always.
âMore than.â You purred with a smile, giving him a brief kiss. When your mouths parted ways, he tilted his head closer to yours ever so slightly, almost as if chasing your lips with his. Savoring his yearning, you pucker up your lips and make a kissing sound, before tugging at his shirt. âYouâre gonna kill me like this though. Just let me feel you already.â
It was his time to smile. âOkay, honeyâ, he hummed, fixing his posture - and you closed your eyes happily, not having noted how much you missed him calling you pet names until now. He locked mouths with you again and his hands drifted down between you two, pulling further down the hem of your jeans and tracing your slit through the soaked panties, earning from you a sharp moan.
His mouth left yours so he could focus on ridding you of the rest of your outfit, and you held down on the grab rail with your other hand as he lifted your legs â first one, then the other so you could keep stability - to remove your shoes, pants and undergarments completely. You wouldâve helped him to make the job quicker, but he seemed to be enjoying the ride now that he had you back in his embrace. Once he had fully taken everything off, he planted a quick kiss on the inside of your lifted thigh, making you shudder.
Slowly and carefully letting go of your leg, Butters took another look at your full body as you stood there naked for him. He wanted to kiss every inch of you, show you as much of his love as possible, but there was also this overpowering lust. Not wanting to spend another second more not touching you, he made quick work of his own pants and boxers while you grabbed onto his shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing it somewhere and allowing his bare chest to touch yours. You were both drenched in sweat at this point, and your naked bodies basically glued together like that, but in the haze none of that mattered.
Butters lifted your left leg up again and held your thigh firmly against his hip with his right arm, while his other hand stroked his shaft slowly as he moved to position it against your entrance. You felt your cunt clench tight as the head of his cock breached your folds, and you were sure he could feel it too, as his breath hitched and his eyes fluttered when you tried to look at them. âNeed me that bad, huh?â, he murmured, giving you a kiss on the cheek. âI need you too, honey. Canât be without you no more.â
With that, he thrusted into you in one swift motion - your surreal wetness making it easy for him to bottom out several inches deep inside of you, the familiar sting you felt as he stretched you being eased by how aroused you already were. The both of you moaned almost in unison at this very welcomed sensation, and in a moment of pseudo-clarity you remembered that you couldnât be loud like this, a realization that did not seem to grace Butters as he started to push out and back into you with more fully open-mouthed moans. You quickly put one of your hands in the back of his head and push it towards the crook of your neck, where he starts to place quick but strong suckles and bites, not caring for - actually downright wanting - the marks theyâd leave.
âShh, honeyâ You whispered with the softest of voices, not wanting him to get discouraged, but still needing to give him a reminder. âCanât get loud in here or theyâll catch us. Just do this for me, okay?âÂ
It was hard for you to heed your own warning, though - with each quick and hard slam of his hips, plus his assault on your neck, you wanted nothing more than to have him hear just how good he was doing. You settle for biting your own lip and keeping your moans in your mouth, which to him seemed to sound even hotter - as he sped up the pace of his thrusts with newfound energy, getting high on the sound of your muffled whimpers and the wet sound of his dick plunging inside your weeping cunt.
The force with which his hips struck your body had you sliding up and down against the wall, your tits bouncing with the movement. His hot breath on your neck made the fine hairs on your whole body stand up, and your back arched, which made him hit that sweet spot inside of you even more perfectly now. Needing to be closer, closer, you let your hands go from the grab rails where they had settled before and wrap your arms around Buttersâ neck, relying on him like your last connection to the Earth now. You were glad he had enough strength to hold you with just the lower half of your body pinned to the cold bathroom tiles while still jackhammering into you.
As Butters raised his head from your neck to take a brief look at you through his half-lidded eyes, he used a lot of self-restraint to not cum on the spot. You were a whole mess: disheveled hair, face moist with sweat, a soft reddish tint spread through your whole body, but more prominent on your cheeks, nose, and breasts. You werenât staring back at him, eyes tight shut as the feeling of his cock inside of you distracted you from using any of your other senses. He wanted to kiss your rosy puffy lips again, but wouldnât risk disturbing the pretty noises that came out of your throat as you tried so hard to not let out the loud moans you wanted to. âYeah, thatâs it, baby... Youâre so⌠good to me...â He laid his head back on the crook of your neck, but didnât go back to biting - instead, he inhaled deeply, taking all of your scent in, your faint perfume that he loved mixed with your sweat and⌠a hint of vanilla? âLemme make you⌠feel even betterâŚâÂ
His last sentence slurred into nonsense, but in the blur you barely registered it. You also didnât even notice how he sneaked his left hand between your bodies, coating his thumb with the splattered juices around your cunt before moving it up and rubbing quick circles in your clit, increasing your pleasure in an almost overwhelming way. You felt a sharp sting in your lip and a metallic taste - in your efforts to not make any noise, you had bitten your lip so hard it broke skin. The pain, however, was quickly overshadowed by Buttersâ ministrations, and you slapped one of your hands over your mouth to silence yourself, leaning with your back against the wall again.
It wasnât like any past fuck you ever had. Everything was heightened; You heard every slap of his skin against yours and all the little sharp breaths both of you took as you tried to avoid being too loud in your pleasure, you could feel every single vein in his cock squeezing through your tight walls, and you saw whole galaxies even through your closed eyes.Â
As that coil inside of your belly was getting tighter and tighter, so were your walls against Buttersâ cock - and you knew that had to be catching up to him, as he started to lose the pace on his thrusts, and the muscle in his arms and legs seemed to become even more tense. ââm- I- canât hold much longer like this, sweets!â It seemed almost impossible for him to get the words out, having to say them through quick breaths as he got close to his release himself. âYouâre just⌠too goodâŚâ
Then there was no warning as he let out a loud growl and his hips hit your body with one final deep slam, and you felt his dick pulsating as he filled the deepest part of you with his hot seed. The thumb in his left hand, however, still flicked your clit viciously, and so it didnât take much longer for you to come undone, your cunt gripping his throbbing dick as the pleasure washed over your body for a second time.
As both of you dissolved into each otherâs bodies, you found it in yourself to take his face in your shaky hands and press his lips to yours once more. Unlike your previous kisses of today, though, this moment was much more kind and full of tenderness, feeling exactly like the ones you shared throughout your relationship with him. You both felt loved and cared for, and while that rough fuck session took care of the needs of your physical bodies, the kiss took care of your souls.
You only dared part your mouths this time when it became necessary to breathe, and both of you sported soft smiles after you did, tired, but happy. You started using one of your hands to brush back through your fingers the multiple small strands of hair glued to his forehead, while the other caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch, resting his hands on your waist. His dick was softening, but he didnât feel keen on pulling out just yet, relishing the closeness of your bodies like this.
âI love you, Leo.â You finally broke the ice after a couple of minutes like this, giving him a peck on the forehead, to draw his attention back to Earth.
âGeez, by now I sure hope so!â You couldnât help but giggle at his ever present sincerity. âI love you too, (Y/N).â
As you smiled and took note of your actual environment for the first time in a while, an idea came to mind. âWanna get away from here?â You already knew what his answer would be to this offer, but you wanted to make your intentions clear nonetheless. âWe can find someplace else where we can make some real noise.â
ŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźđŠâĄđŞŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕźŕź
You and Butters didnât come back for the rest of classes, and nobody in school had an answer to where you were, either. All texts sent to you or him went unanswered for that day, and your friends had no idea what happened.
What they could certainly say they saw, though, was the pair of you arriving at school together the next morning with a pep in both your steps, chatting away and smiling as you held hands. Everyone was left speechless, and some even questioned if the last few days had even been real.Â
The only person who didnât seem confused was Eric Cartman, his nonchalant behavior earning him plenty of questioning from the other dudes the following days, but he refused to admit to anything. And why would he, anyway? You and his friend were back together, happy as could be, the sun was up in the sky, everything was right. And, if it ever stopped being that way, he had a certain tiny bottle in the back of his wardrobe to sort things out again.
Dividers by @cafekitsune
#south park#south park fanfiction#south park smut#south park x reader#south park x y/n#south park fanfic#butters stotch#leopold âbuttersâ stotch#leopold âbuttersâ stotch x reader#leopold âbuttersâ stotch x y/n#butters x reader#butters x y/n#butters x you#sp x reader#butters#south park butters#south park butters stotch
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Like Father, Like Child | Part 4 | Alastor x Exorcist! Reader
Familial! Alastor + Exorcist! Adopted Child! Reader
Description: When an angry mob comes knocking at the hotel's door, Alastor is more than prepared to defend his kid. And, as it turns out, so is said kid.
(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of murder, fallen angels) (gender neutral reader) (reader is Alastor's adopted child from when they were alive) (Final part of Like Father, Like Child)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
You blinked, letting what you'd just witnessed on TV sink in. Not only did all of hell know you, an exorcist, was here now, but it seemed an entire angry mob had gathered under the command of that TV-headed demon to come and kill you. Amazing.
"...Maybe they'll lose interest before they get here?" Angel Dust said, reminding you that he was still there sitting beside you. On your other side, Vaggie didn't seem to think that outcome was very likely with the worried expression on her face.Â
"I'll go warn Charlie." She decided finally, getting up from the couch and leaving the room before you could even say anything else.
"Angel," you spoke, turning to the spider-like demon with a serious tone now, "Tell me honestly; how bad is it?" You weren't familiar with the sinners in hell so you really weren't sure how brutal they could be about things like this yet. Would they really kill you just because they'd found out you were a fallen exorcist?Â
There was a bang at the door, followed up by a series muffled shouts. You winced at the sound, realizing your time was likely up now and that the mob had arrived. "On a scale of one to ten?" Angel asked and you nodded, turning back to him eagerly as you hoped he'd reassure you, "an eleven." So much for reassurance.Â
"I'm so dead," You groaned, pulling your knees up and burying your face in them. You didn't have much time to dwell on your fast-approaching demise, though, because another familiar voice spoke behind you.Â
"Nonsense, darling!" It was Alastor, and the second you heard him you snapped up, looking over at the deer-like overlord. "If that pathetic mob of sinners think they can break into this hotel and harm one of its guests, they clearly need to be taught a lesson." he didn't add the unspoken fact that that resident was also his kid, but he didn't need to; you knew it was the main reason he seemed so upset.
"Since when have you cared about any of us?" Angel asked in confusion, pointing to you, "They just got here, like, ten minutes ago!"
"All the more reason to ensure they're left alone!" Your dad replied as he straightened his bow-tie and then began heading for the front door.Â
"W-wait, what are you going to do?" You asked, calling after him. He paused for just a brief moment, glancing your way with the sinister smile you'd come to expect from him now.Â
"Nothing they won't have deserved." And with that, he seemed to blink right out of sight and the sounds of screaming outside became louder. Only, now, they weren't screams demanding you to come out; they were screams of pain as the sinners begged him to stop whatever he was doing.Â
Your jaw dropped as you stayed frozen on the couch. You weren't sure what to do. Angel seemed to notice your concern because he just waved the situation off.Â
"Eh, don't worry, toots." He told you, turning back to the TV, which was playing his favorite show again. "I know you're an angel and all, but smiles has killed plenty of people so this is nothing new. Trust me, it ain't your problem." He had expected you to give up and turn back to the TV too, but instead, you stood from the couch and headed for the nearest set of stairs, determined to see just what your dad was doing with the screaming sinners outside.Â
"Hey, where ya going?" Angel called, "You'll miss the finale!"
"Record it for me!" You called before running up the stairs as fast as you could. Angel sighed but shrugged as he hit the record button and then continued watching his show.Â
Meanwhile, you finally made it as high-up as the stairs would allow, reaching a balcony somewhere on the second floor. There, you looked out at the carnage your dad was currently causing. He'd grown a lot bigger than he was inside the hotel before and black tentacles extended from his body, grabbing various sinners and tossing them into his mouth to eat. The sight was more than a little terrifying, but at the same time, you wanted to follow after him.
Even if your dad was a know killer, and even if you were supposed to have been an angel, something inside you didn't want to make him do this alone. You wanted to help; especially since you knew he was out there killing people for your sake.Â
But as a former angel, shouldn't you have known better than to fall to your own murderous urges? You'd been dealing with them all your life and afterlife so you couldn't give in now.Â
"Fallen angel?" A voice to your right spoke suddenly and you practically jumped out of your skin, turning to see...Lucifer? It was undoubtedly the king of hell; sitting and drinking tea out of what looked like a duck-themed cup as he gazed at Alastor's actions. Remembering the story of what happened to him, you couldn't help but relate a bit as you finally relaxed and then nodded.
"...Yeah." You turned to look back at your dad, who had now grabbed a huge group of sinners and was biting their heads off like it was candy. Your face scrunched in disgust at the sight but Lucifer seemed either unbothered by it or too bothered to be bothered anymore. "And I'm assuming you know him?" He asked, pointing to your dad. You nodded awkwardly.Â
"Yeah...We're related," You admitted reluctantly. You weren't sure why Alastor had been hesitant to tell everyone about you being his kid, but maybe it was to avoid a situation like the one you were in right now.Â
"Yeesh," Lucifer replied as he took another sip of his tea, "That's gotta be rough. No wonder you feel from heaven too."Â You paused at that; surprised by how he wasn't even questioning you.
"What am I...Supposed to do now?" You asked after a second. Lucifer froze, glancing back at you in surprise.Â
"You're asking me?"
"I guess." You admitted with a shrug, "You fell once too, didn't you?" After a moment he nodded, setting his cup down on the table.Â
"Whatever you want, I suppose." He told you, "I always wanted human souls to have free will, which is how we ended up in this shithole in the first place." He stood, leaning against the balcony as the sounds of more screams filled the air from the Radio Demon's actions, "You can try to get back into heaven or just...Exist." He seemed pretty deflated as he leaned half his body over the railing now; practically falling off.
Still, you considered his words. Do whatever you wanted, huh?Â
You'd tried to avoid killing, no matter how much you wanted to, for your entire life. Now, you were dead and you'd already killed countless sinners for the 'greater good,' and permanently, at that. You'd ended up in hell already, so it wasn't like anything mattered anymore.
So what did you want to do?Â
You paused, contemplating the question for a moment before finally coming to a decision. You turned back to the king of hell with a bright smile once your mind was made up. "Thanks, Lucifer." His expression seemed to soften at that and a smile even made its way onto his face.
"No problem," he told you genuinely, "I'm always happy to help a young sinner and-" He cut himself off when you turned and jumped right off the hotel balcony into the bloodshed. From there, you seemed to instinctively figure out whatever powers you might have had, either from being an angel or being fallen, and began assisting Alastor in killing off the crowd of demons around the building. "-enable their murderous behavior..." Lucifer finished his sentence with a regretful sigh. Why did he even bother with these sinners again?
Meanwhile, you felt more exhilarated than you'd been since before you died. It turned out you had some sort of light-related power. You could shoot small beams of white light from your hands, blasting holes right through sinners like a laser. It probably wouldn't kill them permanently, but the memory and pain would be enough to stop them from ever coming after you again.
Being down there and fighting sinners was one of the most natural moments you'd experienced in a while. You supposed it came from being the child of a literal overlord, but it couldn't have been more fun. Alastor seemed to notice your presence on the impromptu battlefield now too because one of his tentacles gently reached down, picked you up, and then placed you on his giant shoulder.Â
"It seems the power of a former exorcist is quite useful, isn't it, darling?" He asked before throwing another five sinners into his mouth.Â
"Sure is!" You replied with a smile that rivaled even your dad's, "I can see why you became an overlord now; this is the best!" Alastor's own grin only widened at that; pride swelling in his chest. Most of the sinners were gone now thanks to both his power and your angelic laser beams, but there was one still nearby that caught his attention.Â
Vox attempted to scramble away but wasn't fast enough; being plucked from the ground by Alastor's hand. He hadn't even needed a tentacle to grab the TV demon and now he simply held him by the back of his shirt for the both of you to see.Â
"Now, this is who brought this crowd here today." He informed you, even though you already knew. Alastor glanced at you, still on his shoulder. "Would you care to do the honors?"Â
You brightened at that, immediately nodding. "I'd love to!" Alastor cackled, turning back to the terrified Vox.
"Let it be known," he said, "That this is what happens when you mess with the Radio Demon or his child!" Alastor was more than aware of the fact that there were likely cameras on you three right now, figuring what better way to announce his relation to you? With that out of the way, you shot a laser beam at Vox, melting through his body and then his head, ensuring it would be a long time before he finally regenerated.Â
Once you were done, Alastor turned and chucked Vox's temporarily-dead body across the entirety of Pentagram City; you weren't even sure where it ended up landing.Â
Your dad began to shrink back to his normal size now, gently placing you on the ground nearby to ensure you didn't get hurt. Once he was back to normal, he turned to you with the widest smile.Â
"Very well done, my dear!" He exclaimed with nothing but pride, "I didn't think you had it in you, but it seems we'll make a hellish overlord out of you yet!" You laughed as his hand gently ruffled your hair, feeling all the anger and grief you'd once held towards him melt away. It seemed embracing your murderous tendencies really had done wonders for your emotional state.Â
"Thanks, dad." You replied, hugging the deer-like demon for the first time in many years. His smile somehow widened even more as he pulled you closer, ignoring the surprised looks of the hotel guests, who'd come out now to see if the fight was over.Â
"Dad?!" Angel repeated in shock. Meanwhile, Charlie and Vaggie were too stunned to speak. Cherry seemed to not know what to think of it, Nifty was beyond touched by the scene, and Husk couldn't even be surprised by any of Alastor's actions anymore.Â
"Would you call this...A reverse redemption?" Lucifer asked, leaning over to his own daughter and feeling slightly responsible for the horror he'd just released upon hell through you. She didn't reply but you and Alastor both turned back to the hotel now, heading over to the group as if this was the most casual situation.
"Now, how about I make some jambalaya?" Alastor suggested as your eyes immediately lit up.Â
"That was my favorite when I was alive!"
"It sure was!" Alastor agreed, tapping your head with his radio-cane as you smiled. As you walked past the rest of the hotel guests, they all remained frozen in shock.Â
"Is this ever not gonna be weird?" Angel asked no one in particular. He hadn't expected to receive a response, but then you called from inside.
"Probably not!" After that, all that followed was the sound of yours and your father's combined laughter.
Like father, like child.Â
âŚâŚâŚ.
Tags for those who requested: @avitute @deadgirldreaming
#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#platonic hazbin hotel#alastor#alastor x reader#platonic alastor x reader#alastor x child reader#alastor x daughter reader#alastor x son reader#fanfic#alastor x adopted reader#adopted reader#dad alastor#child reader#platonic x reader#dadastor
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Fairy Circles
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fairy!Reader
Summary: Eddie accidentally traps you in his lunchbox and takes you home with him.
Word Count: 2545
Fairy!Reader Masterlist
Eddie eyes up the wooded area next to the trailer park from his van before sighing and grabbing his stash from the passenger's seat. Heâs been trying to smoke less for the last couple months knowing Wayneâs been getting sick of the smell, but it had been a long day. It seemed like everyone in Hawkins car had an issue and they were down a man at the garage and on top of that heâs been having phantom pains on and off all day in his scars. And the weed always helps, so he turns the van off and crosses the park.
Heâs not paying attention to where heâs walking, too busy searching for the blunt he knows he rolled yesterday. Which is what leads him to almost stepping in the fairy circle that definitely wasnât there a couple of days ago. Itâs only when the slight tinkling sound reaches his ears that he looks around.
âShit!â Eddie moves his foot that was about to be set down on the other side of the mushrooms sprouting from the ground back to safety before taking a giant step backwards. The tinkling stops as soon as he does, causing him to look around for what could have been causing it. When he doesnât see a cause for it he glances back at the decently sized circle of mushrooms that seem to have sprung up overnight.
Heâs never seen a fairy ring in real life before and he has to admit heâs intrigued. Just not enough to risk stepping into it. He knows all about the different outcomes that could come from it, and the last thing he wants is to get trapped there or dance until he dies. So instead of investigating it, which he wants to do oh so badly, he turns to go around it.
The light shining off of his rings is what had initially drawn your attention to him. And when he was about to step into your circle you couldnât contain your excited laughter from your lounging spot on the moss growing on a branch of the oak tree above the circle. You feel like youâve been waiting ages for someone to come across it and dance with you. You even got up and moved to get a better look at this, as you came to realize quickly, pretty human man. And when his foot stops just as it was going to cross the boundary and he takes a step back you grow the most aggravated youâve been in a long time.
You cross your arms and stomp your feet as you pace in an angry circle, cheeks puffing out. You let out a tiny yell that gets absorbed in the wind and kick the part of the branch pointing up that you were leaning on to get a better look. Your eyes catch on the acorns on one of the thinner branches under you. You have to pull with all your might, and you go somersaulting backwards once you rip it off, but you get it with a proud smile on your face.Â
The rustling of the leaves only catches Eddieâs attention for a brief moment before he shrugs it off and keeps walking to his designated smoking spot, a hunters' platform he found his freshman year of high school and has yet to see anyone actually hunt on.
âWhat the-â Itâs when an acorn hits and bounces off of the top of his head that he spins around and looks up at the tree, brown eyes becoming slits as if thatâll help him spot the culprit. When he doesnât see anything he chalks it up to just nature running its course instead of a fairy throwing something at him and scoops up said acorn before continuing on his way.
You follow him, becoming intrigued even more by him once you watch him put the acorn in the thing heâs carrying and wanting to know what else is inside immediately. Once heâs situated on the platform in a tree you hover for a while watching in awe as he brings his weird stick to his lips and inhales before exhaling and leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree. You enjoy how the dying sunlight glints off of his rings and the ink on his newly exposed arms.
Once he throws his fire starter back into his box you fly over to it landing just next to it, staying crouched so as not to be spotted. Once you see his eyes are closed again you stand and grab onto the top to peek inside. The pretty blue crystals scattered on the opposite side immediately draw your attention. After seeing the man preoccupied you dart inside to get a better look. Theyâre all different shapes and bigger than your head and you canât help but think youâve found treasure.Â
Eddie puts his roach out against the platform before putting it back in his lunchbox to throw out later and shutting it. He slings his jacket over his shoulder and grabs the boxâs handle before climbing down to head back home.
You donât notice the stub of the stick he had fall in behind you, too distracted with turning one of the more ball-like gems around in your hand, until you get overwhelmed with an odd earthy smell and notice the lid shutting. Itâs immediately being moved and knocking you onto your ass. You huff before standing, finding purchase on a smaller less solid red and white box, and flying up to try to push on the lid to try to open it. After several failed attempts you land back on the constantly slightly tilting ground and let out a scream. One that stays hidden from Eddieâs ears due to the metal blocking it and the distance from his lunchbox to his ears.
You should have never gotten into this trap! Because of course thatâs what this was, the intriguing pretty human and the gems were all a ploy to capture you. You feel so stupid and your anger boils up as one of said gems slides to your feet. You kick it into the wall enjoying the echoing noise it makes. You enjoy it so much that you continue to kick and throw the things in your prison, stomping all over the green clumps and snapping the arm of the little statue off. As soon as your prison stops moving and finds solid ground you rush to start banging on walls.Â
Eddie hears the constant dinging coming from his lunchbox just as heâs pulling his pajama pants on. He sits at the chair in front of his desk before sliding it in front of him, successfully knocking you on your ass again, and opening the lid up. Heâs immediately met with the sweet smell of strawberries, which is definitely not what it should smell like. His eyes go wide when he sees you sitting there arms crossed and slightly glowing in the midst of the chaos that is his lunchbox.
âWoah.â You look up at the sound of his voice catching the shocked look on his face briefly before youâre shooting up and out of the box you were stuck in. You hover there for a second before seeing your way back outside next to him and flying straight into a wall of some sort.
âI gotcha!â Eddie catches and cradles you in his hands as you bounce off of the window. You canât be taller than three inches and your wings, which tickle the slightest bit as they brush against Eddieâs palm, remind him of a butterfly. Your dress looks delicately made out of the petals of some purple flower and he wants to admire the craftsmanship. And he would if you hadnât flown out of his hand to hide behind his lunchbox as soon as the shock of flying into the window wore off.
Heâs still in so much shock that thereâs a real living fairy in his room that it doesnât register how scared you might be after being shut in his lunchbox until youâre scurrying away from him.
âOh god, Iâm such an idiot. You must be so scared, hold on.â He gets up and you peer around the corner to watch him as he digs around in a drawer, the softness in his voice gaining your interest. When he sits back down you go back to hiding only hearing the beads he drops in between your hiding spot and himself. âHere, I donât want to hurt you, I swear.â He pushes his chair back and crosses his arms so you know heâll keep them to himself and waits for you to come out.Â
You think about it for a couple minutes before poking your head around the corner again looking at his new position before at the small offering in front of you. The pretty beads make you smile and you clock the human in front of you again before making your way to them. Eddieâs transfixed as you walk out from your hiding spot and kneel to pick up and admire the beads.Â
âSorry for shutting you in my lunchbox. Right hand up to god I didnât even know you were in there.â Your attention goes up to him and Eddie catches himself holding his breath for your reaction. You can tell heâs telling the truth, youâve always been good at that, so you just shrug and go back to your beads. You donât even flinch when his hand goes up with his choice of wording. He notices and decides to test his luck and move his chair back to where it originally was. All you do is look at him and tilt your head to take him in. He has very pretty eyes, if you were a more violent fairy youâd want to pluck them out of his head. The thought makes you giggle and Eddie recognizes it as the tinkling sound from earlier.
âThat was you earlier, I was about to step into your circle.â Heâs beaming at you and getting excited. Itâs admittedly contagious as you nod and smile at him before remembering how he ruined your fun by not stepping into it. Your smile drops and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices and goes to reach into the box pulling out the acorn from earlier.Â
âDid you throw this at me?â You nod once pouting. âWell Iâm sorry for not stepping in. Iâve just heard and read stories about what could have happened and didnât want to risk it. But you seem very nice and Iâm sure you wouldnât have kept me trapped there forever.â You shake your head rigorously. You really just wanted to dance with someone for a bit, youâve felt so lonely recently. And you had forgotten completely about how some fairies will do things like that.Â
âWhat were you doing in my lunch box that got you shut in anyway?âÂ
âOh!â Eddie doesnât hear your exclamation, just sees your mouth form it before youâre standing and climbing into his lunchbox. He only has to wait a couple seconds until youâre throwing out his D20 dice and rolling a nat twenty without meaning to. When you fly out you have his D4, D8, and D10 balanced in your arms. You drop them where the D20 rolled and beam while gesturing with open arms at them.
âMy dice?â You nod even though thatâs an odd name for gems.
âTheyâre pretty.â To Eddie your words are a little like small bells but the way you stare at them has him agreeing with you anyway.
âYouâre a pretty little thing arenât you?â Once again you look up at him but this time you really take him in, from his long hair to his pretty brown eyes to the scars on his neck, chest and torso. Under your studious gaze he suddenly remembers that he never put a new shirt on and starts to fidget with self consciousness.
âI should finish getting dressed.â
âWhat are those from? Somebody hurt you?â
âI donât know what youâre saying darlinâ but if itâs about the scars you donât have to worry about it. I got them a while ago.â He winces as the phantom pains decide to pick the worst moment of his life to return. And suddenly heâs feeling the bites all over again just slightly less painful. You fly over to hover in front of him as he rubs the ones on his chest and grimaces. You start to panic not liking watching the human who gifted you such beautiful beads and showed you kindness and called you pretty go through whatever this is.Â
âLet me help.â You fly closer to his ear hoping itâll help him hear you. After you fly back to see his reaction you find his eyes wide at hearing your voice before he nods an okay. With his permission you fly closer to where heâs rubbing and trying to get it to go away, placing your tiny hands on the scars and starting the healing process you normally just do for animals or plants. After so long of it not working how you want it to because you canât cover enough surface area you aggravatedly sigh and back away for your next move hoping itâll work better.
One minute youâre this small fairy in front of him and the next youâre human sized, glitter falling to the floor where you stand from your use of magic. He barely has time to take you in before your hands are on his chest again, a sort of glow emitting from your connected skin as you try to heal him. It works, the pains fade but Eddieâs not sure if thatâs because of you or well you.Â
Your hands are cooler than he would have expected them to be. And now he can really see the curves that make up your form and the gorgeous eyes that he could only barely make out the color of before. Youâre pretty as a pixie but as a human youâre like nothing heâs ever seen, youâre plain ethereal.Â
âBetter?â Your voice sounds different than in your smaller form and Eddie immediately falls in love with it. All he can do is nod as you look up at him, because even in your bigger form youâre shorter than him, and you take your hands off of him. You giggle as you see the glittery dust in the shape of your hands on his skin where you were using your magic. Itâs Eddieâs new favorite sound because on top of it being an actual laugh thereâs still the slight tinkle in it from when youâre fairy size. âGood.â
Before Eddie can say anything else youâre poofing back into fairy size, leaving more glitter behind, and flying over to the desk to pick up all the beads you can carry. After that you fly over to the window touching the glass with your foot wondering how to get out.
âLet me get that.â Eddie comes over and opens the window watching you while he does so. âWill I see you again?â You just shrug before flying out and heading back home.
Eddie Taglist (27/40): @sadbitchfangirlâ @notbeforelongââââ @navs-bhat @emotionaldreamer âââââ  @gaysludgeâââ â@eddiethesexyâ @mazerunnerroseâ @midnightsgetawaycar   @mushroomelephant @saramelaniemoon @nojamsonmytoast @vintagehellfire @esoltis280 @spikedhe4rt @siriuslysmoking @toobsessedsstuff @alana4610 @gretavanfleas @sparkletash @aactuaaltraash @spookyemorockbabe @jesssssmaybankk @tlclick73 @eddiemunsonslittlemetalhead @bl4ckt00thgr1n @eli-flower @canyonmooncreations
Everything Taglist: @matchamunsonâ @bubsonnobx @practicalghost @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts @rory-cakes
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson#eddie munson x fairy!reader#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things#stranger things 4#stranger things imagine
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{ 146 }
sands of time.
academy arc
jinwoo sung x fem.reader
{ the spell on me hasnât been lifted | i want to use the sands of time | i want to be by your side }
you never liked the freshman student who entered the same high school as you.
the one who made all the boys become green with envy over-
the one who made all the girls practically fall to their knees for him-
sung jinwoo.
despite how all the girls went crazy over his dashing good looks and charming smile, you sadly never saw his appeal. for you personally, he looked just like any other guy. nothing about him stood out to you-
especially not his perfectly styled ebony locks of hair,
or the grey eyes that you swore sometimes glowed purple in some instances,
or the full lips that remained in a permanent smile whenever he met your gaze-
yeah, there was absolutely nothing appealing about him!
you suppose you should count yourself lucky on how you didnât share the same class with him, being in a different homeroom as you simply saw him in passing within the hallways and heard stories about him from the gossiping girls who wished to date him.
as you trail your eyes away from your open textbook, the sounds of a certain commotion was heard as one of your classmates runs back into class. her friends were comforting her as angry tears fell down her face.
âwhat gives?! just what is up with that sung jinwoo guy! doesnât he realize that iâm practically the most beautiful girl in school here!â
ah, ji-yeon was throwing another tantrum again, running her hands across her luscious, brown locks of hair with her blue eyes fuming after what you assumed was sung jinwooâs rejection.
filled with amusement from witnessing the spectacle, you trail your eyes over to ji-yeon and her lackeys, ara and cho. âhe kept telling me that he couldnât possibly give me a chance; that he was already in love with someone else, yet refused to relinquish her identity to me!â
âah, he probably didnât want you to bully her, ji-yeon.â
âand come on, you shouldnât feel so upset! you can do so much better than him!â
âbut i donât want anyone elseâŚ! i want him!â
you had to bite back your laughter the moment ji-yeon stomps her feet against the ground, âand thatâs what pisses me off the most! who even is she, managing to steal jinwoo away from me like that?!â
you could no longer hold back your laughter, making a snort escape from your parted lips in response to ji-yeonâs anger. she hears you and turns to face you, tossing back her hair in response. âwhatâs this?â
she lets out a hiss of your name, âhow dare a wallflower like you eavesdrop on my conversation.â the girl gains up on you with her two friends in tow.
âi didnât eavesdrop. you were the one who kept airing out your business in class.â
she clicks her tongue in response to your words, âitâs lunch time, are you really that much of a loser, eating all alone in class like this?â
âno, i simply didnât want to eat in the cafeteria and be bothered by idiots like you. but i guess even with my best efforts, i couldnât escape you at all.â
your gaze was unflinching even as ji-yeon raised up her perfectly manicured nails to strike you, ready to take the hit when the sight of someone tall stops ji-yeonâs hand from making contact with your cheek.
your eyes go wide, seeing sung jinwoo himself hold ji-yeonâs hand in a vice grip. his eyes were glaring down at her, making you see that same familiar glow.
his voice was filled with authority when he lightly shoves ji-yeon away from you. âthatâs enough.â
âsung, what are you doing here?â ji-yeonâs voice comes out as strained as ara and cho took a stance behind her, ready to support her even when they felt intimidated by jinwooâs glare.
âi heard you throwing a tantrum and decided to intervene before you did something stupid.â
ji-yeonâs face became a vibrant shade of red, its scarlet hue depicting her embarrassment and shame at being scolded by the man she had a crush on. with a huff and a final flip of her hair, she walks away from him, hearing her high heeled shoes tap against the linoleum flooring of the school.
âhmph, i suppose youâre right, sung. that bitch isnât worth getting expelled for.â
ara and cho follow from close behind her, yet you were the one that stopped jinwoo from following after them.
âitâs okay, just hearing her complaints was more than enough for me.â even if you didnât like him (and no! you were not in denial!) you didnât want him to do anything that would further jeopardize his education.
he was already under suspicion due to his shady past, disappearing for two years before returning unexpectedly-
despite how odd he was, you truly didnât hate him enough to want to see him fail.
in the end, he relaxes his stance and looks down at you, eyes still glowing with that strange, purple hue. you swallow thickly, but did not look away from him, maintaining eye contact with jinwoo as you waited for his next words.
instead, he ends up shocking you when he places a hand against your cheek, caressing it softly while asking you, âare you alright?â
you give him a nod in response, all while trying to hide the heat from your cheeks. âyes, iâm fine.â
you shiver when he lets out a rich chuckle in response. âthatâs good.â
looking away from him in hopes of calming down your rapidly beating heart, you ask him, âwhy did you come to my rescue?â
he remains silent for a few moments before gently giving your head a few pats.
âbecause i would hate to see a bruise blossoming on that pretty face of yours.â
his admission was enough to make you do a double take, looking up at him with wide eyes while catching his smile.
âdo you have any club activities later today?â
your mouth was still dry, and because of this fact, you were afraid to speak. this was what prompted you to shake your head in response to his question, earning yet another smile from him.
âgood. how about you keep me company and watch me do track on the bleachers?â
his question leaves you gaping in response, and jinwoo didnât even bother waiting for your answer when the 5-minute bell rang, alerting you to the end of lunch as your classmates slowly filled the classroom once more. you wanted to call out to jinwoo and tell him how you had much better things to do than watch him running around in circles-
but his smile when he looks back at you while giving you a wave manages to make your heart flutter in response.
dammit to hell-
this boy had you wrapped around his fingers after all.
{ ⌠}
the sun was slowly setting as you found yourself on the bleachers, watching jinwoo and his track team practice their endurance and speed for the next competition.
as you sipped at the bottle of water jinwoo had given you, you couldnât deny that he was a beautiful runner.
he was graceful, while maintaining a good speed. he never once appeared to be out of breath, even when he was working up a sweat.
during his run, you notice the way the upperclassmen kept gesturing at you while talking to jinwoo. he gives the senior a smirk before telling him a few words, making them all smile at you in response.
you had a sneaking suspicion that they were talking about you, and the thought alone was enough to make you bristle in response. you were on edge when the track team finally finished their practice, with their coach commending them on their good work as he allowed them all to return home.
jinwoo makes his way back to you while extending his hand out to you. âwater, please.â
you look down at your half empty bottle of water. âwhat- but⌠i already drank from this?â
âso?â jinwoo gives you a smirk before taking the bottle of water from your hand, uncapping it as he worked on drinking the rest of it. you were captivated by the movements of his lips, emptying the bottle with greedy gulps as you watch the droplets of water slide down his chin and onto his throatâŚ
you immediately snap out of your reveries when jinwoo meets your gaze. as if sensing your thoughts, he tosses the empty water bottle into the bin with his smirk growing wider in response, âwhat are you looking at?â
ân-nothing!â
you ignore the heat felt against your cheeks and step out of the bleachers, feeling jinwoo place a steady hand against your waist and shoulder as he helped you back on the ground. he flashes you a wide grin before picking up his duffel bag.
âcome on, iâll take you home.â
he interlocks his fingertips together with yours, pulling you closer to him as he walked out of the school with you. by now, your heart was pounding within your chest, feeling deeply affected by his close proximity.
âjinwoo.â
you say his first name out loud, making jinwoo stiffen in response. feeling proud at being able to make him lose his cool, you proceed to ask him.
âwhat did you tell our seniors during practice? they kept looking at me, laughing while giving me winks each time they ran past me.â
you look up at jinwoo, seeing him scratch the tip of his nose as a light blush was settled against his cheeks. he remains silent for a few extra beats, as if carefully considering his words before confessing to you,
âi told them that you were my girlfriend.â
your brain seemed to short circuit in response to his answer, unable to fully comprehend what was going on as you sorted through your emotions.
you feltâŚ
annoyed,
confused,
but perhaps above all else-
you felt happy.
ây-you, are you joking, sung jinwoo?â
your pout was evident when jinwoo looks back down at you, eyes glowing a faint purple once more before he leans down closer to your height.
âif you donât believe me, how about i show you just how serious i amâŚ?â
somehow understanding what he meant, you close your eyes in response, allowing jinwooâs lips to perfectly slot against yours in a sweet kiss-
but little did you know, you were once jinwooâs lover in another timeline; a timeline that he now spent years correcting as he made an oath to himself to bring you back to him, no matter what the cost may be.
a.n. - my jinwoo obsession will never stop, lmao, and iâm afraid iâm going to keep flooding everyoneâs feed with stories of him đđđđ
all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.
#sung jinwoo x reader#jinwoo sung x reader#sung jinwoo x you#jinwoo sung x you#solo leveling x reader#jinwoo sung#sung jinwoo#.stories
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you belong with me
satoru gojo x f!reader
**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series
content: high school!au, gojo is a robotics nerd, reader is class president, emo nanami (my beloved), toji is ur shitass football playing boyfriend, typical cheesy highschool drama
an: tell me why posting this is giving me a tummy ache like I haven't posted for gojo in forever and now i think I suck at it :OOO anyways, please be nice to me about this and close your eyes if you hate it. also, totally reliving my high school days when I was senior class vice president (worst experience of my life) FDLJFKDSJFLS
--
Youâre a hater. A self proclaimed, real-life, deep in your soul hater.Â
What do you hate today? Being class president.Â
You hate that you willingly ran, somehow won, had people up your ass all day about stuff that wasnât in your control, and got stuck in the current situation you were in. Which was arguing with your boyfriend Toji, as you pace around your room and do your own fair share of screaming back.Â
âYou just did that shit because you were pissed at me.âÂ
âI did not, Toji. You know, not everything is about you. Other people needed the money and I put it where it was needed.âÂ
âTo the color guard team? Babe, no one gives a fuck about the color guard team. Everyone is at the homecoming game to watch the football team. Not a bunch of idiots waving flags in the air.âÂ
âTheyâre also part of the game and all their equipment is broken. They need it more than you when you guys literally get donors and funding from the district and-â
âYouâre just pissed about the sweetheart thing. Thatâs why youâre doing this shit and taking it out on everyone else.âÂ
âToji, Iâm not even mad about-âÂ
Youâre met with the sound of ringing over the phone, signaling that Toji had enough and finally hung up on you. You flop straight onto your bed, pushing your face so hard into your pillow that sits uncomfortably against your nose and the smell of your laundry detergent makes its way to the crevices of your brain.
You hear a banging behind you and twist around to see Gojo pointing at his walkie-talkie, switching it on as you reach for yours. Itâs still covered in glittery pink stickers from when you were seven, the silver coming off on your hand every time you grab it.Â
âCome in, bunny.âÂ
âLoud and clear, Toru.âÂ
He smiles, setting his hardware down - probably for another weird ass robot he was making - as he holds it up to his face, talking again.Â
âYou okay?âÂ
âYeah. Just arguing with Toji, again. Iâll start allocating some of our funds to get you some sound proof windows.âÂ
âMuch appreciated, Madam President. Thatâs very generous of you.âÂ
You laugh, dropping the walkie talkie to lift your fingertips to your temples, lightly massaging the pulsating under your skin.Â
âFor what itâs worth, the color guard team is really grateful you did that for them. I know Utahime was so excited when the new flags came in, she was flipping them around on the field for hours.âÂ
âThatâs why itâs even more annoying. I know what I did was right, but he just doesnât see it that way. Uta dragged me down to the field to watch them and their choreography looks so much better with the multicolored flags. They were really happy about it.âÂ
âHeavy is the head that wears the crown?âÂ
âHeavy is the head thatâs dating Toji Fushiguro.âÂ
He laughs as you switch your channel off, taking the last few seconds to study you before you draw your curtains. He can see the tension sitting in your shoulders and how clearly it hurts you to argue with Toji like this. And it infuriates him. That you even have to go to sleep angry and that the cause is the headass idiot youâre dating.Â
Toji Fushiguro is lucky, far more lucky than he realizes. Not for obvious reasons. Yeah, heâs a great football player and yeah, heâll probably get scouted for some really good university at the end of the year. He doesnât have a shortage of friends or intelligence and for all intents and purposes, heâs loved (which Gojo doesnât understand at all).Â
Heâll probably be that scumbag that people see a few years down the line and then get infuriated at. Because if an absolute asshat like Toji Fushiguro can be successful, then truly all things have gone to shit. That the patriarchy is real, that society is broken, living proof that the asshole always wins and everyone else always loses.Â
But no, those are common reasons to hate Toji Fushiguro - ones heâs heard echoed by Suguru and Shoko every time he does something that pisses the two of them off. Like scream obscenities in the hallways, block their parking spots when theyâre going to class, call them names when they walk by.Â
No. Toji Fushiguro is lucky because he gets to date you. Because out of the long list of girls he had to pick one, Toji just had to pick the one that was his. The girl heâs been in love with since he moved in right across the street and had a smiley neighbor excitedly waving at him through her bay window.Â
To him, love has always been the pigtail braids you used to wear everyday in the fourth grade, the matching walkie-talkies you bought him in sixth grade when he got grounded, and that sweet smile youâve had since the first day heâs met you.Â
And when he sees those green curtains pulled against the bay window heâs stared at for years, where heâs loved you from for years, he lifts the walkie and says what he forgot to mention.Â
I love you.
--
Thanks to your gracious ride, you make it to school thirty minutes early. Your intuition - that Toji was ditching you as your ride to school this morning - was correct. Luckily, you made it in time just before class started.Â
Nanamiâs already seated on the green bench outside the classroom, headphones plugged into his ears. As you walk up, you silently wonder how much hair gel it takes to keep his Gerard Way hairstyle in place.Â
âHi Kento! How is my best friend doing on this fine morning?âÂ
âWeâre not best friends.âÂ
âSure we are!âÂ
You reach forward and pinch his cheek in your hand, which he only swats off and rolls his eyes at. Thatâs how you know your best friends. Because if it was anyone else, Nanami would probably break their hand and walk away. But he always lets you tease him, because he know he loves you.Â
âAre you still fighting with that dog?âÂ
âThat dog has a name. And itâs Toji. And Iâm not sure, he didnât pick me up for school this morning.âÂ
âDid he at least tell you he wouldnât?âÂ
âNo. I was lucky enough that Satoru had walked Megs to the bus stop a little late and I was able to get a ride with him.âÂ
Nanami looks over, narrowing his eyes at you, as the hallway starts getting crowded with people. And you know what heâs saying, what heâs been saying for the past few months.Â
âYou know, itâs very normal to give your neighbor a ride when they need one. Not everything has ulterior motives, Kento.âÂ
âThatâs true. Everything doesnât have ulterior motives. But he does. Iâve seen how he looks at you.â
âHow does he look at me, Kento?âÂ
âLike heâd kiss the ground youâd walk on.âÂ
You roll your eyes, reaching up to mess up his perfectly styled hair. It doesnât budge and you get a handful of minty smelling hair gel.
âAs if.â
Like youâve summoned him by bringing him up, Satoruâs sidestepping to where you and Nanami are sitting, Shoko and Getou in tow with him.Â
âNanami~~ Howâs my best friend doing?â Satoru says, bending over to totally obscure Nanamiâs line of vision.
âShut the fuck up, Gojo.â Nanami responds.Â
Nanami stands up, giving you a look, before he stalks away to his next class. Leaving you, Satoru, Shoko, and Getou standing in front of your classroom. Â
âSo. I hear you have a robotics competition?â you ask.
âYeah. Next Saturday. We always practice our hardware out the night before, throw a little party in the lab. You should come.â Getou says, smiling at you.Â
Satoru smacks Getou in the stomach right after he invites you, clearly trying to tell him something with his eyes. And then when he catches you staring, he gives you a nervous laugh.Â
You get it. He doesnât want you there.
âDonât act too excited to see me now, Satoru. Anything more and I might think you like me.â you bite sarcastically.
âWhat? No, itâs not like that. I just-â Satoru stutters,Â
âSo you donât like me?â you say, smirking at him. Shoko and Getou are laughing, the tips of Satoruâs turning pink as he very adamantly tells you that he does indeed like you.Â
âI have stuff to set up for the homecoming game that day, so I wonât be able to. But Iâll try my best, yeah?âÂ
âOkay. Next time?â Getou asks.Â
âSure, Sugar-u. Iâll see you guys around, yeah?âÂ
You give the three of them a polite smile as you trudge away, leaving to meet Toji at his locker and give him a piece of your mind for this morning. Which leaves Shoko and Getou to give Satoru the scolding of his life.Â
âAre you fucking stupid, Satoru? You made it seem like you didnât want her there.â Shoko says, smacking him on the back of the head.Â
âI panicked! Plus, Haibara always likes to play Just Dance and Iâd rather not embarrass myself in front of her.â Satoru responds, rubbing the now sore spot on the back of his head.Â
âYouâre hopeless, Satoru. Sheâs never going to like you if you keep rejecting her the way you do.â Suguru says, dragging him along to the robotics lab.Â
âShe has a boyfriend. Who isnât me. As if she would even consider dating me in the first place.âÂ
And when the three of them pass you by the lockers, clearly getting yelled at by Toji, it only furthers their argument more.Â
âYeah, Iâm sure she really loves him, Satoru.âÂ
--
Your argument with Toji hours prior simmers in your head, as you wait for the bus to arrive and for this godforsaken day to finally be over. You watch him pile into his car with Salma and the other boys from the football team, which only makes your anger fester more.Â
Heâs doing this to piss you off. Of course, heâs doing this to-
âNeed a ride?âÂ
You look up and unclench your fists to find Satoru, sparkly blue eyes shining at you and a hand held out to you.Â
âThanks.âÂ
He leads you to his car, an almost demolished Honda Civic from his maniacal driving, and you climb in, immediately putting your head in your hands. You can feel him moving around you, the engine purring on and him backing out of the spot.Â
âAbout earlier. I donât not want you to come to the robotics thing. I just thought it was awkward the way he asked you and I-I didnât want you to feel obligated to come, you know? And I-Iâd like it if you came too and so would the rest of us.â he rambles, a hand in his hair.Â
You look up, his ears tinted pink from the confession.Â
âI was just teasing you, Satoru. Iâll try to make it by, okay?âÂ
He sighs, a clear breath of relief, and looks over to smile.
âOkay, cool cool cool. Now tell me why you and Toji are fighting.âÂ
âWhen arenât we fighting?â you murmur, pressing your head against the glass.Â
âBut why?âÂ
And when you look over, his blue eyes staring into yours, in earnest while the light is red, you unload it all.Â
âDo you know about the sweethearts thing they do at the homecoming game?âÂ
âUh. Thatâs when the cheerleaders wear the jerseys right. And then decorate the locker room or some shit for the players.âÂ
âYeah. Well, itâs not limited to cheerleaders. It usually is, but if youâre dating someone, that person can do it for you.âÂ
âSo Iâm guessing Toji doesnât want you to do it for him.âÂ
âNot exactly. He was just saying that itâs more traditional for a cheerleader to do it since theyâre also on the side of the track and he wants to see his name out there instead of running around, trying to make sure the game is running and all that.âÂ
You slump into the chair as Satoru frowns, a pitying look in his eyes, as he keeps driving. You canât help but watch him, his silhouette against the window - defined jaw, the slope of his nose.Â
Heâs not the guy who ran away from kissing you in the eighth grade. Heâs just ten times hotter.Â
You shake your head, letting the thought spill from your mind, as Satoru looks over.Â
âJamoca?â he says, giving you a wide grin.Â
You canât help but laugh, nodding as Satoru makes a sharp left turn, making his way to the ice cream shop.Â
Jamoca is your favorite ice cream flavor. Coffee, layered with fudge and almonds, became a proclaimed favorite when Satoru dragged you once in the sixth grade. After very sorely losing the class president battle, you moped in your room for five days - even going as far as borrowing one of Nanamiâs My Chemical Romance vinyls to truly and properly mope.Â
On day three of blasting the vinyl, Satoru called enough and dragged you to the closest ice cream store, claiming it was the closest thing to therapy that you normies could afford. Since then, any bad day was easily solved with two things.Â
Jamoca and Satoru.Â
When you make it to the store, Satoruâs excitedly dragging you out of the car, his hand pressed in yours as you both run into the store, giggling while you order your single scoops. And when he drags you out to the curb and you sit there, you silently think to yourself why you ever stopped doing this in the first place.Â
Satoru leans over, digging his chocolate fudge covered spoon into your cup, before talking.Â
âSo. If you guys fight so much, why are you still dating?âÂ
âDunno. Feels weird to initiate a breakup, I guess. I canât see myself doing it.âÂ
âEven when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart?âÂ
âEven when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart.âÂ
You kick the pebbles into the broken parts of the pavement, leaning your elbows on your knees.Â
âI donât know, Toru. I guess he was just the first guy who ever liked me back and then IâŚ.spent so much time in the relationship and trying to make it work that it feels weird to let it go now.âÂ
Satoru swallows hard, eyeing his melting ice cream, as he ponders the best response. Because in earnest, he has two options. Support you or be selfish. Support you to stay with Toji, to do what youâve been doing because he knows itâs what you want. Or be selfish. Tell you that he you deserve better, that he could be that for you if you just let him.Â
He reaches over, flicking you in the forehead.Â
âOuch, asshole.âÂ
âYouâve got a really big brain in there. And you always have. Youâll figure out the right thing to do, just give it time.âÂ
And when you give him a halfhearted smile, reaching over into his cup for a bite of his ice cream, he lets it go.Â
He canât be selfish. Not when it comes to you anyways.Â
--
After running around all day, you give yourself thirty minutes to go to Satoruâs robotics thing. After triple checking the microphones work, the yearbook team has access to the field, the glitter has been set out for everyone trickling in, and that everyone who could possibly need your phone number has it, you speed run to the other side of campus, to the robotics lab.Â
And when you make it, the five of them - Haibara, Nanami, Shoko, Getou, and Satoru - are in the room playing Just Dance. Shokoâs sitting on top of the desk, flippantly moving her remote in the air, while Satoru quite literally is trying to give it all heâs got - and losing apparently.Â
You lightly push the door open, which stops the two of them in their tracks, and youâre met with some very excited cheers as they all drag you into the room. You take a seat next to Nanami, giving his cheek a pinch, which he hates.Â
âYouâre Haibara, right?âÂ
âYou know who I am?âÂ
âWhy wouldnât I? Youâre friends with Nanami and Nanami and I are best friends.âÂ
âNo we arenât.â responds Nanami, now sulking two seats away from you.Â
âAre too.âÂ
You throw the nearest object, a pencil at Nanami, as you turn back to Haibara and laugh.Â
âI like your shirt. Flight of the Navigator is a really good movie.âÂ
You see Satoru, Shoko, and Suguruâs eyes widen in the back at your words and hear a considerable amount of groaning from Nanami behind you. And after twenty minutes, you find out why.Â
Haibara really, really loves Flight of the Navigator. Almost too much. In earnest, you barely remember the movie - at most, maybe the weird little alien companion he has. But here Haibara is, reciting the cast, the directors, acting out the scenes and itâs clear to you that youâve tapped into some monster they all keep hidden.Â
Luckily for you, Satoru comes to your rescue.Â
âOkay, Haibara. Iâm going to steal her for you for some Just Dance.âÂ
âI donât Just Dance Satoru.âÂ
âOh yeah? Youâre just saying that because you know youâre going to lose.âÂ
You scoff, knowing exactly what heâs doing.Â
âAs if, sweetheart. I distinctly remember you banning us from ever playing that game together after I beat you in the fifth grade.âÂ
âYouâre rusty. Maybe weâll start with something easy. Like Rasputin.âÂ
âI could do Rasputin in my sleep, bitch.âÂ
âProve it.âÂ
You roll your eyes as you march over to the front, where theyâre projecting the game onto the screen. And just for posterityâs sake, you take Satoruâs sunglasses from where they were flipped over on the desk and put them on, effectively blinding yourself from the screen.Â
And when the songs start, you can hear them all laughing behind you, Satoru and you hurling insults at each other as you dance on. And somewhere around the middle, youâre sure Satoru must be losing because he grabs your hands and suddenly heâs swinging you around in the air, his hands on your waist as you laugh.Â
And when you take your blindfold off and the song dies down, Satoru wins by five points.Â
âYou asshole. You literally cheated, Satoru.âÂ
âDid not. Youâre just a sore loser, bitch.âÂ
âYou kiss your mom with that mouth?âÂ
âEvery night, sweetheart.âÂ
You put the palm of your hand in his face as you push him away, moving to sit on the desk. He joins you, the two of you now watching Haibara and Nanami have a very one sided dance battle.Â
After forty-five minutes, Satoruâs phone buzzes three times and the smile on his face drops when he checks. You place your hand on his, squeezing twice before asking.Â
âYou okay?âÂ
âHuh. Oh, yeah. I-I think you should go to the field. Right now.âÂ
âWait, what? But you hate that kind of-âÂ
He grabs your hand, dragging you out, as you both start running to the field. You keep asking as he pulls you on, getting almost no response and only a faster pace.Â
And when you reach the field, you catch just the end of it and the only thing grounding you to that moment is Satoru and Utahime, who was surely the one who had texted Satoru, holding onto your shoulders.Â
Salma, the cheerleader Toji picked to be his sweetheart, just asked him to homecoming during halftime. And he said yes.Â
Utahime squeezes your hand three times, a soft look in her eyes when she talks.Â
âIâm so sorry, Y/N. I just thought you would want to know and I wanted to tell you because youâve been nothing but nice to me.âÂ
You smile, moving into her open arms as you whisper a small thank you into her shoulder. She leaves, having to return to the color guard team waiting for her on the side, leaving you and Satoru standing on the pavement right by the field.Â
âTake you home?âÂ
âThanks, Toru.âÂ
âYou want Jamoca?âÂ
âNot today.âÂ
He nods, a hand on the small of your back, as he leads you to his car, even going as far as opening the door for you and letting you crack the windows while you drive back - which you know he hates.Â
At the first red light, he taps on the top of your head to get your attention.Â
âPenny for your thoughts?âÂ
âDo you think thereâs something wrong with me?âÂ
âWhat? Of course, not. Toji is just an asshat who doesnât see you for what youâre worth and-âÂ
âNo. No, no. Not like that. Do you think thereâs something wrong with me because Iâm not even the tiniest bit sad right now? IâmâŚrelieved.âÂ
Satoru looks over, the red front the traffic light flashing on your face, and a blank expression staring back at him.Â
âOf course, not. Heâs a grade one idiot. Anyone in your position would feel that way, bunny.âÂ
âI know. Thatâs true.âÂ
âBut?âÂ
âDoes this make me defective, Satoru? Like, maybe I just canât like people that much or something and I was the problem.âÂ
Satoru twiddles his thumbs on the steering wheel, pondering the same question he has been asking for the past few days. Encourage her or be selfish.Â
He canât be selfish with you.Â
âOkay, Y/N. Close your eyes.âÂ
âHuh?âÂ
âJust do it.âÂ
âOkay.âÂ
He looks over, to find you eyelids fluttering shut, your face lit up by the streetlights outside.
âNow. Tell me about your dream guy, bunny.âÂ
âWhat are you going on ab-âÂ
âJust do it.âÂ
You sigh, before thinking hard about his question.Â
âSomeone I can be comfortable with. Thatâs my type. Like we can have fun together and play games but also being around them is comforting to me. Things might suck, but at least they are there to kind of pick me up at the end of the day. Theyâre nice to people and are surrounded by good company, because you are who you love and they try to be better each day.âÂ
After finishing, you open your eyes to find Satoru staring at you, an all-knowing look on his face.Â
âBunny?âÂ
âToru?âÂ
âDoes that sound anything like Toji to you?âÂ
You slump back into your chair, sinking down.Â
âNo.â you murmur.Â
âYou arenât defective. Well, maybe in the higher level cognitive thinking part because you clearly have some impaired decision making but-âÂ
âHey. Donât be rude, asshole.âÂ
âGet out of the car.âÂ
You crane your head out the window to see youâre in fact not at your house, but at the ice cream store. And when he comes around to your side of the car, opening your door, he drags you out, the two of you eating you ice cream in the light of the dingy lamp outside the store.Â
--
You knock hard on your window, only stopping when Satoru looks up from his desk, dropping the pencil he was just scribbling with. You point to your walkie talkie, switching on the channel as he grabs his.Â
âHi bunny. You look nice.âÂ
âThank you. Are you coming tonight?âÂ
To homecoming. Because despite all odds and last night, you still have to go. And crown the homecoming king and queen since youâre the class president, which youâre sure will be Salma and Toji since the universe is very, very kind to you.Â
âIâm sorry. Haibara needed help designing something for next week.âÂ
âOh. Okay. I wish you were.âÂ
âI wish I was too. His hardware is Flight of the Navigator themed so wish me luck.âÂ
You laugh, giving him one last smile as he pulls the curtains to his window. And when you see his navy windows against the pane youâve stared at him through for years, it only now occurs to you.Â
When he asked you to describe that last night, he unlocked something. Bringing it to your attention, to the forefront of your mind.Â
The person you were describing is him. You lift your walkie talkie to your mouth, press the button, and mention the words you forgot to say.Â
I love you.
And then you turn on your heel and drive yourself to the dance.Â
--
Satoru ponders it for thirty minutes.Â
Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish.Â
Be fucking selfish.Â
Satoru gets up, dropping the hardware he was making for Haibara, and pulls out the first suit he can find. He grabs his walkie talkie off his desk, convinces Megumi to go beg your mom (who loves Megumi) for your walkie talkie, and then goes ninety on the freeway to get to the school on time.Â
He finds Nanami first, the glob of gel on his head somehow even worse than normal and sets his plan in motion.Â
âNanami.âÂ
âPlease, for the love of god, not tod-âÂ
âGo hand this to Y/N.âÂ
Nanami and now Shoko are taking the walkie in their hands, flipping it over and inspecting it like theyâre the fucking FBI. And more importantly, wasting time.Â
Three feet away, youâre standing by the punch table, counting how many balloons are on the ceiling. You reach three hundred and fifteen when youâre approached for the first time that night, by Nanami and Shoko.Â
âNanami. What is going on with your hair? You canât possibly need that much hair gel.â
âYou would be shocked, Y/N.âÂ
âThat's what I said to him too. But this is for you.â Shoko says.
She hands you your walkie talkie, the silver glitter coming off on your hand, as you flip it over.Â
âDid you break into my house, Shoko?âÂ
âNo. But Iâm guessing Satoru did. He ran in here five minutes ago and basically yelled at us to give it to you.âÂ
They both shrug as they walk away and you look around, clutching the walkie talkie so hard in your hand you think you might break it. Satoruâs here.
And when you scan your eyes around the room, you see him at the front door, his eyes already fixed on yours. Heâs smiling so big that it makes your heart squelch and suddenly youâre moving towards him. And as you both start walking (running) to each other, you canât help but feel the anticipation of whatâs coming.Â
Except thatâs right when Toji stands in the middle of the two of you, his characteristic slimy, sneer on his face. He reaches for your hand first.Â
âCan we talk, Y/N?âÂ
"No."
You shrug your hand off, pushing right past him, as you walk closer to Satoru. You can hear Toji shouting something at you, but youâre too tunnel visioned on Satoru to pay attention. And when you reach him, youâre both smiling so big at each other, that it makes your face hurt.Â
He lifts his walkie talkie to his mouth, talking first.Â
âCome in, bunny?âÂ
âLoud and clear, Toru.âÂ
âI love you.âÂ
You can feel yourself smiling so big, so excited that youâre basically jumping on your toes, your walkie shaking in your hand.Â
âI love you.âÂ
âOh thank god. I was scared I was going to get a breaking and entering charge.â
You laugh, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him square on his face. And when he pulls away, ears pink and face red, you whisper against his lips.Â
âIt was always going to be you. I belong with you.âÂ
He smiles, that stupid smile youâve stared at, loved for years and you canât help but cheese, leaning forward to kiss him again.
--
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Fours Company - Part 1
Everything is below the cut because this is just pretty much going to turn into porn. -Minors DNI
Summary - After hearing about Lyria and Azriel's agreement and arrangement with Feyre and Rhys, Nesta and Cassian are desperate for a taste.
Warnings - its long.. Smut. Fingering. Choking. Dom/sub dynamics. Fxf briefly, mxfxfxm dynamics play. Cassian is a switch. Subspace. Voyeurism. Degradation and praise. Free use mentioned.
A/N - I plead the 5th. Part 2 will be up soon. Also, peep "Slow Hand" link in my masterlist to learn about our dearest Lyria Vanserra.
Word count- Over 4k
Update:
Part 2
Lyria stretched her sore fingers, silently praising the Mother that her appointments were all finished for the day, and that she had opted to take a night off.
She loved Velaris, truly she did, and she was beyond thankful and blessed Rhysand had brought her here after her father had publicly disowned her Under the Mountain.Â
He had purchased her that very night to protect her, bringing her into the small sanctuary his chambers would become for the two of them down there. She cannot freely touch you anymore. You are safe here, he had held her against his chest, allowing her to cry and be angry.
She had nothing to repay him with, but a gift that the Cauldron, Mother, and love of research had bestowed on her. And the second night she spent in Rhysand's chambers, she had spent it working every ounce of tension the High Lord held out of his body. It became their routine. She'd play the part of his eye candy, never to be marked or touched by another, and she'd repay him by ensuring he was at least out of physical pain and discomfort.
Maybe that was why she was suddenly the most popular massage therapist in the city. Who wouldn't want to pay for the time of the female the High Lord and Lady, along with their Inner Circle, all go to and rave about so loudly in public? She loved Velaris, she reminded herself again, and Gods did she love money and all the expensive things that came with it.
It had been the massage on Lucien that did her in tonight. Her poor older brother was not even a client or booked, but she had found the knot while stretching his neck trying to help with a headache he'd told her he had for days. She'd asked him to lay down and worked his back, shoulders, and neck until it finally came out. It had taken 2 hours. 2 hours on top of the 15 massages she had already given today.Â
But she didn't regret it, she didn't regret a single thing as he thanked her and placed a soft kiss on her temple, promising her treats from every court he could manage to get to.Â
She didn't even regret it now as she rubbed the cream Madja had made into her own skin, eyes fluttering shut as the pain relieving ointment worked its magic as she slid her hands under a heat pack.Â
She could have slept like that, curled up in her soft bed, hands being warmed and relaxed as she used her magic to create the sounds of a forest in her dimmed room, but a knock on her door pulled her from the sleepy blissful state.Â
She got up, knowing if it was a knock this late, it was a member of the Inner Circle, and she'd never deny them, no matter how tired or aching her hands were.Â
Cassian was leaned against the door frame and she moved to welcome him in, immediately noting the casual sweatpants and t-shirt he wore. "Foxling," he said casually, taking a seat on the new couch Azriel had insisted on purchasing.Â
"General," her tone was questioning. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She didn't miss the twitch in Cassian's lip. Mentally noting it for later when Azriel would get here.
She watched him lean forward, eyes locked on her. "Nesta and I know about the situation with you, Azriel, Rhys, and Feyre." Heat filled Lyria's body as she nodded, immediately feeling a flush hit her face. "We want a similar one."Â
"You're very blunt tonight, Cassian." Lyria refused to meet his eyes. The discussion of the agreement with Rhys and Feyre had been done with Azriel present as Rhys approached you. "I would be more comfortable with my mate here."
Cassian smirked again as if he had prepared for that answer. "Azriel is currently in discussion with Nesta. I said "similar", little fox, not the same." He watched as she bit her lip. "We know you and Feyre swap. Rhys takes you out, plays with you with no actual sex, then goes home to his pretty little wife and family to fuck her brains out. Azriel takes Fey out, plays with her, and comes back here to rearrange your pretty little body. Nesta and I don't want to swap or to court. We just solely want to fuck you two. Whenever we'd like, wherever we'd like. With or without our mates involved. Do you understand what I'm asking for, doll?"
Her breath stilled in her throat and she nodded. "I would need to talk to Azriel." Cassian stood, coming over to her and backing her into the wall. "I can tell you right now, he's already agreed. He has conditions, just like he had with Rhysand." His arms came up, caging her between him and the wall. "The first of which is I do not get to be daddy, or sir, or show possession of you, and that's fine. The second is you had to offer submission willingly without him pressing you."Â
She nodded, they were similar rules to the ones he had with Rhysand. "I still need to talk to him before I agree."Â
"I know, princess," he was ranging pet names with her, she quickly figured out. Trying to see which one his brothers had not taken to ensure he had his own name for her. That one struck, he scent her arousal immediately. Cassian leaned forward, his mouth near the soft shell of her ear. "Don't make me wait too long, Lyria. I'll see you tomorrow for our session."Â
He pulled away from her, walking out the door with a soft goodnight. Once the door clicked shut, Lyria sunk against the wall, arousal flooding her mind. Her hand quickly found her heart, feeling it beating erratically as she took long deep breaths.Â
She had not noticed her mate appear until he was in front of her, ripping her leggings down and the tank top from her body.Â
Azriel quickly sunk two fingers into her soaking wet heat, making her back arch as he rested his forehead against hers. "I got you, babygirl."Â
He began pulling her apart. Lowering her completely to the floor. His hand found her throat as he pulled his fingers in and out of her the way she liked. "Does the idea of having Cassian inside of you turn you on, Lyria? Hmm?" He smirked as she whined, back arching as shadows began to play with her nipples and hold her hands down. "Or is it knowing Nesta wants to lick this pretty pink cunt until she's drowning that has you pent up?"Â
Lyria felt heat filling her body again as shock set in. Cassian had not even mentioned the possibility of Nesta touching her. Of gorgeous, gorgeous Nesta with her long hair buried between Lyria's legs. "Oh?" Azriel teased, slowing his fingers down. "Did Cassian not mention Nesta wants you, babygirl? Did he not mention how Nesta has started buying toys to fuck you with?" Azriel felt feral as he watched her writhing on the ground. "I can see it now. Cassian and I sat in chairs with whiskey in hand, watching Nesta dominate you while my shadows hold you down and keep you vulnerable to her every whim and wish. Her making you cum again and again and again until your squirting and begging for a break." He could feel his cock struggling, aching to be freed from his pants.
"Or imagine this for me," his fingers picked up pace again, hitting the spongy part of her walls and making her cry out. "Me with you naked in my lap, only letting you cum when Nesta thinks Cassian is being good enough. Or her forcing him to eat you out while I fuck her and he can only listen."Â
The deep growl in his voice had her tightening around his fingers. He groaned listening to the wetness of his fingers inside of her. "So delicous, babygirl. Making such a fucking mess on the floor. Should I make you lick it up while I fuck you? Do you want daddy to fuck you?"
Lyria nodded desperately, "Please daddy, Gods please!"Â
Azriel wasted no time, ripping his own clothing at the seams. He flipped her to her hands and knees and buried himself deep inside on his mate. He pushed her head down to where a small puddle of her slick had pooled on the floor. "Clean it, little whore."
He fucked her brutally. Holding her head down and watching as she licked her arousal and essence up. He immediately looked to find his and her high as quickly as possible after Ness had riled him up, whispering in his ear all the things she wanted to do to Lyria. All the things Azriel would now be stroking his own cock picturing until they came to life.
Lyria was just as desperate. The tension between her and Cassian had built when she was teaching him how to dance. She was attracted to the male, his hands, his thighs. She was attracted to Nesta. Her aura, her body, her quick wit. Her mind snapped back to her mate as that coil began to threaten to pop, but she knew better. She knew better than to cum without his permission. "Daddy, can I cum please?" His hand found her throat again, growling in appreciation for her submission.Â
"Cum on my cock, babygirl." She soaked him, screaming his name, chanting it over and over like a mantra as she milked him. He fell over the edge quickly after she did, collapsing onto his forearms on top of her.Â
The room was filled with the sound of their labored breathing and with the scent of sex. She opened the windows using her magic, knowing she'd have to air out her home before clients came tomorrow.
Azriel pulled out of her, falling to his back while pulling her on top of him. "You are under no obligation to say yes, Lyria." He stated as his hands began to run through her hair. He kissed the top of her head. "Your hands have been hurting today, I felt it through the bond."Â
Lyria nodded, lifting her hand that hadn't tangled itself in Azriel's dark hair. "I might need to take a week off," she admitted softly. "It's just so hard to say no. I've been working with anywhere from 8 to 15 clients a day depending how much time they book."
Azriel hummed, his chest almost vibrating with the deep sound. "Maybe we could go to Dawn for a week. Rhys has a cabin there near a river. Whenever my hands start to bother me, I go there and lay in the river."
"Cold therapy?" Azriel nodded at the question, admiring his mate's intelligence once again. "Do you want to?"
Azriel knew it was a double question. He looked at her, raising a brow. "Of course I'd love to sit naked with you in a river."Â
She shook her head, smiling. "Do you want to have an arrangement with Nesta and Cassian?"
He had already brought it up to Rhys and Feyre after talking to Nesta. The two of them did not care. They were as eager to share Lyria and Azriel's love and devotion with Cassian and Nesta as they were to take it for themselves. They just wanted a rotation and schedule worked out between the 6 of you to ensure Rhys still got his time with Lyria and Feyre her time with Azriel. An easy task in all honesty. "I am not against the idea. But it is your comfort level, my spark." He kissed her lips before moving to stand up with her and carry her to the bedroom. "Just let Cassian know tomorrow what you decided or if you need more time."
-
Lyria prepared the room for Cassian, her last client of the day. She switched to the custom table she had made for him and Azriel a few months ago, heating it with her magic before adding on the soft coverings and lighting Cassian's favorite candles that he said reminded her of a rainstorm in the mountains. She created that atmosphere with her powers and then waited.
She had Cassian for 2 hours. He had booked a longer session knowing that this would be his first massage since coming home from a 4 week trip the training camps. She had been working with Madja on a special oil and lotion for massages and was excited to use it for the first time on Cassian, knowing the general was open to anything when she had his muscles bending to her every will.
It was made with a certain herb she and Madja kept quiet from Rhysand due to its taboo nature. It had been shown time and time again by countless healers to aid in stopping inflammation, provide pain relief, and it's a wonderful moisturizer, but for some reason a certain High Lord, her father, refused to see use in allowing easy access and regulation to it despite seeing how it had saved Spring's economic state.
A knock pulled her from her thoughts of Beron's stupidity and went to the door, opening it for Cassian with a smile.Â
"Hello gorgeous," he smirked at her, "what do you have planned for me today?"
She lead Cassian down the hall. "I was thinking we'd do a deep tissue with hot stone mixed in since it's been awhile. I have you down for 2 hours and if we need longer, that's totally fine since you are my last one for today."Â
Cassian was thrilled with the idea. Silently thanking the Mother that Lyria always seemed to know what her clients needed. "Sounds good, princess. Azriel said you had a new oil you wanted to use today?"
Lyria nodded and bit her lip. "You can say no," he nodded and raised his brows. "It's made with mirthroot. You won't get high from it, but it has so many benefits to the muscle system regarding swelling, inflammation-"
"Princess, I've been using mirthroot off and on since before you were born. I am perfectly fine with you testing it on me. So would Rhys and Azriel."
He smiled as she squealed and bounced in place. "I'll let you get comfy then! You can pick which side we start on or if you just want to do your back today!" He watched her practically skip from the room with a small smile and shook his head.Â
He laid on his stomach, covering himself as he got comfortable. He had hoped she'd be willing to focus on his back, but knew from Azriel her hands had been killing her the past 2 or 3 days. Rhys wanted to take Lyria on a little vacation, all three couples, as did Azriel. Rhys was hoping on that vacation he'd be able to convince her to cut herself back to 5 to 8 clients a day with a few days off throughout the week instead of just evenings off. They, as selfishly and selflessly as possible, did not want her to have to stop her little business.Â
Rhys has spent years trying to find a massage therapist as skilled as she is. He'd have to spent a millenia trying to replace her.Â
She re-entered the room, dimming the fae lights. "Just your back today then?"Â
"Yes please."Â
Lyria knew Cassian was asleep 30 minutes into the massage, he always was. He has told her once it was that special time during the week where he could just focus on himself, on his body, his spirit. It was his self care time, and that had always been a high compliment for her. She worked his shoulders, feeling knots she had previously gotten out trying to form again and sighed as she realized she needed a better angle to get them out.Â
The professional line between her and all of the Inner Circle had blurred when Azriel and her were officially known as a couple. She was given liberties and consent with their bodies and with them topics of discussion with her. She climbed on Cassian's back, not fully setting her weight into him, to dig as gently as she could into the spot between his wings that was getting tense again.Â
All three of the males had this problem. It was just worse for Cassian for some reason. It was an area the two of them focused on intensely in their sessions, sometimes to where Cassian told the female she was a tiny torturess and terrorist. "Cassian," she stroked his back lightly to wake him.
"Oh top of me already, princess? Could have at least let me roll over." His deep voice was laced with sleep causing it to be slightly gritty. "It's back, isn't it?"Â
"Mmmhmm," she confirmed while rubbing his back. "If I get it now, it won't be as bad as if we wait again."Â
He groaned, wings falling in a little temper tantrum, "Fine. Just, get it over with. My safeword is pineapple."Â
She laughed as she got started. "Does Nesta make you use your safeword a lot?"
Cassian chuckled below her. "No. Your mate used to though when he, Rhys, and I all used to fuck around." They both tensed at the quiet confession. "I didn't tell you that."
"Oh yes you did." Lyria dug into the knot, rolling her elbow in it. "Tell me Cassian."
He let out a slightly pained moan, "We used to bring a single female back to Rhysand's mom's cabin and take turns with her or fuck her two at a time with the third brother shoved down her throat. If it was just one at a time, while one of us was enjoying the fairer sex, the other two would be enjoying each other."
"Oh?" Lyria was blushing. "And they enjoyed this?"
Cassian would have looked back at her offended if her elbow wasn't currently dug into the sole source of his discomfort the past few weeks. "Lyria, I have never failed to make a female cum at least twice in all my sexual interactions. Of course they enjoyed it." She released the hold in Cassian, rubbing the area gently again to feel where the knot had broken into small pieces. "Azriel used to be rougher than I think he is with you. Especially with Rhys and I because he knew we could take it."
"I've told him to stop holding back," she confessed. "I figured he wanted more."
She mentally cursed herself as her hand made contact with the leathery membrane of Cassian's wing as she reached for the oil. "Lyria," Cassian growled in warning.Â
"I'm sorry I-" She couldn't respond quickly enough, Cassian had somehow found a way to turn with her on top of him, setting her down directly on his hips and holding her there with his hands. "It was an accident, I swear."
Cassian's eyes were animalistic as he studied her. "I need your answer now."Â
Her hands had fallen to his chest, her eyes had gone wide. "Lyria. I was told I do not get to come home until you say yes. Give me your answer now so I can argue with you and change your mind if I have to."
The word fell from her mouth with hesitation. "Yes." Cassian's head fell back as he groaned, gripping her hips tighter. "What are the rules?"
"Only that we have to keep the bonds open." Cassian was eager to start playing with Lyria immediately. He began to grind her core against his hard length with a groan. "Azriel already told me if you agreed I could have fun with you today. Nesta just wanted me to tug the bond twice if you agreed so she could come watch."
"I don't know if I want to do anything today. This is supposed to be me massaging you and taking care of your body." Cassian smirked. Her words said no, but the faint wetness he could feel from her said yes.Â
"Are you sure? I can roll back over, princess. We can plan an official start date and sit down. Or I can give you a fun quick ride. Your choice."
"I'd like talking to Nesta first more." She hadn't even gotten to see Nesta yet to speak to her friend about this agreement. She understood why. The dynamic between her and Azriel was clear as day. That daddy babygirl dynamic showed them the control he had over her sexually. "I want to talk to Nesta first."Â
Cassian smiled and nodding. His respect for the youngest Vanserra grew, as did his adoration of her, at the respect she was giving his mate. His Ness. "Then let's get this wrapped up so I can fly you to the house, princess."Â
-
The flight to the House of Wind of the fastest she had ever taken. Cassian strolled in the doors, still carrying her. "Ness, I'm home momma!" He walked through the entryway, smiling as he got to the living room. "And I brought a snack."
Lyria waved at her friend, laughing as Nesta began to snicker. "The snack's mate is upstairs in his room. You should leave her here with me and go get him." Cassian set her on the sofa opposite to Ness before bounding up the stairs.
For the 3rd time in under 24 hours, Lyria was under the gaze of a predator waiting to make her it's next meal. Ness moved to the sofa with her. Almost cornering her between the arm of the furniture and her own body. "Don't you just look," Nesta paused, looking her over, breathing in the faded scent of her arousal. "Tasty today?"
She tucked a long red strand of hair behind Lyria's pointed ear. "I've missed you."Â
"I missed you too," Lyria admitted. "I wanted to talk." She became distracted quickly as Nesta trailed a long finger down the column of her neck. She raised a perfect arched brow waiting for her to continue. "About the arrangement."
Nesta's eyes sparkled with something Lyria instantly realized was arousal. "What's there to discuss? You are free use for Cassian, Azriel, and I. The bonds stay open at all times."Â
"What about boundaries?"
"Do you have boundaries, pretty girl?" Nesta began to kiss her throat. "Anything you don't want us to do, you just say the word and we stop." Cassian and Azriel had come back downstairs. Sitting across from them and watching as Nesta kissed up and down her neck, nipping along the way. "What's her safe word, Azriel?"
Her mate was smirking, shirtless in his sweatpants as he leaned back. "It's a color system. Green is good, yellow is slow down, orange for when she needs praise to continue, red for stop completely."Â
Lyria knew she was drenched at this point. Falling into that safe place and haze she always did with Azriel. "Fuck," her mate groaned as sensed it down the bond. "Free use, Nesta." He reminded the oldest sister.
Her hands were squeezing Lyria's breasts, playing with her peaked nipples through the fabric. "Cassian, undress my toy for me."
"Yes, mistress." Cassian pulled Lyria up, forcing her back against his chest. He had started to lift her shirt until Nesta tutted.
"Rip them off of her. She made us wait. She doesn't get fully gentle." Lyria whimpered as Cassian grabbed the tanktop she was wearing and tore it, then her bra, pulling the fabric from her body. "Just the seam of her leggings, they're wet enough." Nesta commanded as she removed her dress. Cassian's hand trailed from her collarbones down, stopping to pinch both of her nipples and making moan. Nesta was bare on the couch, legs spread wide as she began playing with herself.Â
Lyria gasped as Cassian reached her soaked core through her leggings. Both hands tore the ruined fabric with easy. "Play with her but don't let her cum. I want her punished for making us wait."Â
"Of course, mistress." Cassian forced her into his lap on the chair, forcing her legs to be spread wide for Nesta to watch.Â
"What a pretty pussy, Azriel. No wonder you've kept her to yourself." Lyria watched as her mate moved behind her and Cassian.
"You were given an order, general. Do not disobey your mistress. We do not want to have to punish both of you." Cassian's calloused fingers immediately found Lyria's folds, gathering her wetness before circling her clit and making her moan out. "Good boy," Azriel praised. His hand found Lyria's chin, ripping her gaze away from him and forcing her to watch Nesta. "She's been dripping like that for you for several days, Lyria." His mate whimpered. Drool forming as she saw Ness gather her own juices and squeeze her breasts with the other hand. "I expect you to lick her clean when she's done with you, babygirl. Do you understand?" Cassian chose that moment to push a single thick finger into her, making her cry out and wiggle against him.
Azriel watched, a smirk building on his face as he realized slowly they may get to truly punish Lyria. "One," Azriel began to count. Cassian curled a finger into her gspot, and Nesta picked up speed with her own teasing touches. "Two," Lyria's brain was screaming for her to say "yes daddy," but she was too lost in the feeling of Cassian pushing in a second finger, stretching her cunt. "Three," Nesta's smirk had grown feral, her moans picking up as she grew excited about them getting taken to Azriel's dungeon. "Last warning, babygirl. Four," Cassian curled his fingers again, stopping any thoughts she had other than moan and panting. "You asked of this, baby. Remember that."Â
Azriel walked to Nesta, darkness surrounding them first as Cassian chuckled behind her, his fingers still playing in her sloppy cunt. "I can't wait to see you, dripping, chained, and bruised by my mate." He whispered as he kissed her neck. "Be a good girl and cum for me. Cum on my hand, princess." His palm pressed down on her bundle of nerves and she screamed Cassian's name. He groaned at how tight she became, at how her sweet cunt milked his fingers as her release coated his hand.Â
He took his fingers from her drenched core, raising them to her mouth. "And you've broken two rules." A deep timber came from behind them and Lyria stiffened her eyes going wide as Cassian pushed his fingers into her mouth and gagged her. "I hope you mentally prepared for this, angel." And darkness surrounded them.
#acotar#acotar x reader#azriel acotar#azriel#azriel x reader#cassian acotar#cassian x reader#nesta x cassian#cassian x Azriel#nesta x azriel#nessian x reader#nessian x oc x azriel#nesta x cassian x reader x azriel
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Handy Tools
For some people, an afternoon spent blasting across a desert on a hoverbike with the passenger behind them wrapping tentacles around their waist would be a charming date. For me, it was a work day, and our delivery was about to be late.
I yelled over the wind, âAm I going too fast for you?â
Murâs voice was muffled against my shirt. âIâm just glad I donât have to steer at these speeds. Keep going.â
I went faster. Now that Iâd been officially trained on the hoverbike, I was going to enjoy every opportunity to use it. Especially since it turned out that most of my coworkers didnât actually like seeing the scenery flash past at breakneck speeds, with the wind in their hair (or lack thereof).
Their loss. I caught some air going over a low sand dune, and allowed myself a whoop of joy. Mur didnât hold on any tighter, but that was because he had all his other tentacles suctioned onto the bike. Nobody stays in their seat like a Strongarm whoâs properly motivated. He reminded me of cats Iâd known who spent trips to the vet with their claws sunk into whichever soft surface was in reach. All that was missing was the yowling.
A gust of wind buffeted us sideways, but the bikeâs auto-balance function kept it upright. With a thought for how much I would have liked that kind of technology in my childhood bicycle, I steered us back on track toward the distant buildings on the edge of the desert. The plan had been for our client to come meet us at the spaceport, but something had come up on their end, and they still needed the package in a hurry. Luckily for all involved, it fit in the storage compartment of our courier shipâs speedy little hovercycle. And I was happy to deliver it at high speed to a building that the ship couldnât land near.
Eventually weâd be weaving through city streets and Iâve have to slow down. All the more reason to make up time with the high speeds now.
But of course it couldnât be that easy. As I crested another rise, a herd of small things on the ground swarmed toward us out of nowhere.
I swerved hard, but no luck; there were far too many to avoid. With the wind behind them, they flowed under the hoverbike and onto its lower parts, where a bunch of the round little whatevers stuck fast.
The bike coasted to a stop, despite my efforts to urge it faster. The rest of the things ghosted merrily away, looking more like inanimate objects blown by the wind than like living creatures. Dozens of them were stuck to the bike.
Mur swore loudly in his own language, a series of rippling pops that sounded like someone going to town on a bunch of birthday balloons. Which seemed pretty appropriate, actually.
âWhat are these?â I asked, turning off the engine. They looked like little sand-beige balloons with leaves at the bottom. Were they plants?
They were.
âA muddy problem is what they are,â Mur said, loosening his tentacles and opening the storage compartment. âSeed pods famous around here for gumming up electronics by getting stuck where they shouldnât. You canât just pull âem off; you have to pop them.â
I got to my feet, careful to keep my legs away from the things. âAre they dangerous to touch?â
Mur climbed halfway into the storage compartment, digging with his tentacles around the package. âNo. Just hard to puncture. Where is the toolkit?â
I had a sudden memory of our shipâs mechanic saying something about borrowing it while I was talking to the captain about the delivery. Uh oh. âI think we left before Mimi put it back.â
With an angry tentacle slap against the bike, Mur dug faster. âThereâs got to be something pointy in here. Maybe in the medkit?â
While he pulled that out and sifted through the bandages, I got a closer look at the seed pods. They reminded me of pufferfish: a little spiky, and rubbery when I poked one. Oddly enough, it didnât stick to my finger, just the bike. Seeds rattled inside.
Further pop-swearing told me there wasnât anything particularly sharp in the tiny medkit. Mur shut it with a snap and looked around at the desert. âSee any sticks?â
I did not. âThereâs probably something at the town, but thatâs a bit of a walk. Are you sure we canât just rip them open? Are they toxic to bite?â
âDefinitely donât bite them,â Mur said. âIâve heard stories of what those seeds can do to a digestive system.â
âBy hand, though?â I tried to pinch one, but it was like trying to tear open an over-inflated kickball. Thin material, just without enough give to dig my fingers in. A pushpin would have done it. I kept trying anyway. âI see what you mean.â
Mur started tugging at various parts of the hoverbike. âAnd of course we canât take off a sharp metal bit without tools either. And neither of us have claws. What around here is pointy?â
âWell, I almost have claws,â I said, looking at my fingernails. âMaybe I could bite one into a point. Or actuallyââ The nail on my middle finger was the longest. I dug a thumbnail into the corner and ripped the end off, then handed the tiny crescent to Mur. âIs this sharp enough?â
âWhatâs this?â He took it in his tentacle, surprised.
âFingernail,â I said, waggling my fingers. âMine are soft enough to tear off pretty easily. Itâll grow back.â
Mur blinked in surprise but didnât comment. He just grasped it firmly with his most dexterous tentacle, and popped a seedpod with it.
âHooray!â I said as seeds rained down and the pod deflated. To my surprise, it promptly detached from the bike as well.
âWe might just be on time after all.â Mur started popping with a vengeance, swarming over the bike to get everything within reach.
I sacrificed another fingernail â ring finger this time â and joined in. Between my long arms and his maneuverability, we soon had all of the troublesome things collapsing onto the sandy ground.
I wondered briefly about the biology at work; maybe the outer surface of the pods would decompose into nutrients for the seeds. But then Mur was climbing back onto the seat, and we had other things to worry about.
âIâm going to make sure that toolkit goes back where it belongs the moment we get back,â Mur said. He opened the storage compartment and dropped the fingernail inside. âKeeping these, though. Gimme the other one.â
I handed it over with a smile and got back into place while he shut the compartment. The bike started as if there had never been anything wrong. I was a bit curious about that too, but figured it was something for Mimi to figure out when he gave the bike a checkup later.
After we delivered our package, that is. I kicked it into high gear, and with Mur holding on for dear life, I blasted off across the desert once again. The wind in my hair felt great.
~~~
These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.
Shared early on Patreon! Thereâs even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.
The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadnât thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but theyâre too much fun to leave out of the second).
#my writing#The Token Human#humans are weird#haso#hfy#eiad#humans are space orcs#some stories start with a problem#others start with a solution#then I have to think up a problem for it to solve#time for more fun and games with unorthodox fixes!
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