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at-wicks-end · 4 months ago

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a soul of determination | two

john wick x reader undertale au ; idiots to lovers <3 bored out of your mind, you drag your best friend, john, to go on a hike with you on mount ebott. who cares that it's a supposedly haunted mountain! those instagram pictures won't take themselves. until, of course, you fall through a hole, dragging him with you. ...whoops?

chapter notes: after a weird encounter with a flower, toriel leads you and john into the ruins. john finds toriel sus and does some self-reflection?? this is unedited.

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ii. ruins

This is a strange day, John thinks to himself as he follows you and a goat… monster further into the Ruins. While there have been more dangerous, stressful days in his life, such as the day of his first mission, or the first time he had met with Gianna D’Antonio for a bodyguard stint, he’s not sure he has ever been in such a strange situation. If it weren’t for the slight ache in his left knee (damn thing never healed quite right after a tumble down some stairs), he’d be inclined to believe that he was either dead or in a comatose state and this was just some strange dream his mind had cooked up.

Walking through the doorway leads the three of you to a foyer, with twin staircases leading up to another doorway, this one with creeping vines surrounding it. Everything seems to be covered by deep purple bricks, which while appearing to be maintained somewhat, reveal the passage of time with every crack that has appeared. Toriel walks up ahead, her dress rustling with every step.

There’s a pile of red leaves in between staircases and something glowing. John narrows his eyes. Is that a star?

You appear to be staring intently at it too, your eyebrows furrowed. “Huh.”

“Any idea what that is?” He says quietly. Toriel had no reaction to it at all when she walked past it.

“Nope,” you murmur, seemingly mesmerized. As if in a daze, you step closer to it, reaching out to touch it. John waits with bated breath for something to happen, but you only turn back to him with a disappointed expression.

“Nothing happened.” You frown, walking back to him. “You try it.”

Never one to say no to you, John steps forward to touch the star. He waits for his hand to make contact with something solid, but instead he feels a wave of warmth wash through him. The ache in his left knee disappears and he feels strangely determined. Determined to do what, he doesn’t quite know. In any case, he reports his findings to you as you both head up to the doorway where Toriel waits.

“I didn’t feel anything warm.” You muse. “My hand just went right through.”

Toriel smiles warmly as the two of you walk up the staircase. “Come, young ones. Allow me to educate you both on how the Ruins operates.”

The three of you walk into a smaller room (still aggressively purple), with six white tiles laid in a pattern on the side. There is a line of lighter purple right in the middle of them, passing two tiles. Before John can even ask what they’re for, Toriel walks over the tiles not touched by the line and pulls a lever. The door on the other end of the room opens with a soft groan.

“The Ruins are filled with puzzles,” Toriel explains. “Ancient fusions between diversions and doorkeys. One must solve them to move from room to room. It would be best to familiarize yourselves with them.”

“I see,” John replies, trying not to let his confusion show. You, on the other hand, turn to John with an expression of what the fuck?

“Head into the next room with me and I will show you more of these puzzles.” Toriel smiles before walking through the door, leaving you and John to follow her. Upon noticing a worn signage by the doorway, John halts to read it.

“Only the fearless may proceed,” John reads. “Brave ones, foolish ones—both walk not the middle road.”

“Well that’s ominous,” you remark. “Must be a hint for the puzzle.”

John turns back to the tile puzzle Toriel had solved earlier. The tiles in the middle, the ones right on the lighter purple remain unpressed. “Guess so.”

For the next few puzzles, Toriel leads the way, solving most of them for the two of you. She only steps back for what she deems “safer” puzzles, which can be solved by just pressing switches. The deeper Toriel leads you into the Ruins, the more confused he is. The Ruins are no doubt old, but it appears to be taken care of. However, other than Toriel and Flowey earlier, there appears to be no one else in the area.

He’s content to let you take the lead in puzzle solving, stepping back and watching as you step on tiles or pull levers with Toriel’s guidance. He is not, however, oblivious to the way Toriel’s smile seems to falter whenever she looks at him for too long. It doesn’t take a genius to see she doesn’t trust him.

John doesn’t particularly mind. He doesn’t trust her or this place either.

It isn’t until Toriel introduces the two of you to a training dummy that John bothers joining in the conversation.

“As a human living in the Underground, monsters may attack you,” Toriel says seriously. “You will need to be prepared for such situations.”

The training dummy looks different from anything John has seen in his life. It doesn’t look anywhere near human. In fact it looks a bit like a character you’d shown him before. Snoopy? Except this has no face and no ears or limbs. It’s worn out and stitched in certain areas.

“Would one of you like to step forward?” Toriel says, looking at you directly. John doesn’t like that one bit.

“I’ll do it,” he says firmly. Lord knows he’s done more than fight a dummy.

“Ah! Very well then, young one.” Toriel beckons him to step closer. “When you encounter a monster, you will enter a fight.”

John stands just before the dummy, staring at it intensely.

Toriel continues. “Your soul will be exposed, and you and the monster will enter a different plane temporarily. There, you will have to fight.”

“A fight?” You repeat worriedly, looking at John. “A bit dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Worry not.” Toriel smiles. “When you are in a fight, strike up a friendly conversation. Stall for time; I shall come to resolve the conflict for you.”

“That’s unwise,” John replies, a hint of annoyance.

“It’s kind,” Toriel corrects. “Violence is unnecessary in the Underground, and monsters are not as strong as humans. The right thing to do is to spare your enemy when you get the chance.”

John wants to argue back but decides against it. Fine. He’ll play by the rules.

Stepping closer to the training dummy, he instinctively brings his fists up. Should he punch it? That what he would normally do, but in a heartbeat, he finds himself in a black void again. A maroon heart glows in his chest, and the training dummy is stark white before him.

Right. Toriel said to strike up a conversation.

“Hello?” John says hesitantly. The training dummy merely stares back at him, and the world flickers back into existence.

You’re staring at him with wide eyes and he raises an eyebrow. Toriel, on the other hand, looks pleased.

“Well done, John.” She smiles. “Now, I think you are both ready for the rest of the Ruins.”

“Thank you,” you reply, moving towards John. Your palm rests just on the small of his back, offering him a tidbit of comfort. John leans towards you ever so slightly.

“For now, I must attend to some errands,” Toriel continues. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out an ancient looking brick phone, one that has certainly lived past its prime a long time ago. “Here. Use this phone to contact me if you need anything, alright?”

You accept the phone, staring at it bewilderedly. “Damn. How old is this phone,” you mumble to yourself.

“I would like to discourage you from leaving this room, given that it is quite dangerous to wander around. There are many puzzles I have not been able to maintain as nicely as I would like them to be…” Toriel trails off before continuing. “However, I cannot stop you. If you truly feel that you must leave, I only ask that you keep in mind what I have taught you.”

“Alright,” John says quietly. Toriel looks at him pointedly, before sighing deeply.

“Very well,” she says reluctantly. “I will leave for now. Try not to leave this room.”

With that, Toriel rounds the corner and disappears from view. You immediately turn to John, waggling your eyebrows. “We’re totally not staying here, are we?”

The corners of John’s mouth quirk up. “I suppose not, if you have something to say about it.”

“Alright.” You chuckle. “Let’s give it a few minutes before we leave though. Just to make sure the coast is clear.”

The two of you head to a corner in the room before sitting down, your knees just touching each other. Not for the first time today, John found himself at a loss for words. There were a lot of things not adding up in his mind, but he couldn’t piece them together quite yet. One thing was for sure, however; he didn’t trust Toriel.

He is used to getting certain looks from other assassins. Majority of them looked at him with fear, envy, or respect. Some looked up at him, and some looked down on him. In any case, John could at least hazard a guess as to why they reacted to him in that way. His reputation of being the boogeyman, an emissary of death, or lo spettro often meant that others had preconceived notions about him. It never affected his work negatively, and so he paid no mind to the whispers surrounding his name.

Toriel, however, is a different story. A mere two hours ago, John had no idea that she even existed, and she had no idea who he was either. So why did she look at him with such wariness?

John glances at you briefly. You’re still leaning back against the wall, your eyes closed as you breathe in deeply. Toriel looked at you with a smile at all times, her expression sometimes bordering on affection. Meanwhile, Toriel looked at him with barely concealed suspicion.

“I don’t trust Toriel,” he mutters.

You blink. “Huh?”

“I don’t trust Toriel,” he repeats. “Something’s strange.”

“Is it the fight thing?” You lean towards him. “I thought that was a bit weird too… she can’t honestly be expecting us to wait for her to resolve things right?”

John nods. “I find it hard to believe that violence is unnecessary in fights.”

You hum in response, fidgeting with your fingers. “She seems nice enough, but the flower from earlier was…”

“Insane?” John suggests.

“Sure,” you snort. “I was gonna go for not as nice, but that works too. Just makes me wonder how the other monsters would be, if there are any.”

Another silence falls on the two of you. John stretches his legs out, subconsciously rubbing his left knee. The ache has slowly begun to make its return after walking for so long.

“There’s gotta be an exit somewhere, right?” You say hopefully. “I know there are a lot of caves in Mount Ebott. We’re bound to find our way out eventually.”

“I hope so,” John replies. “We still have food and water in—”

Right. The bags had been left behind on the foot of a tree right before both of you fell.

Your enthusiasm wilts slightly. “Fuck, I forgot about that. Guess we should go look for that, then.”

He breathes in deeply, nodding. “Yeah. We should get going.”

The two of you get up, much to the complaints of John’s aching joints (was thirty five already old? Winston always said he was still in his prime, but right now his back begged to differ.) As the two of you dust off your clothes, neither of you notice a golden yellow flower observing both of you from a distance.

“Interesting.” Flowey smiles sinisterly. “This is going to be very interesting.”

author's note: the fanfic author curse has hit me, i fear... after the wisdom tooth fiasco, uni starts this week for me which means i'll be busier. don't worry, i'll still do my best to update every one or two weeks! reblogs and comments are much appreciated <333

#john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick #keanu reeves #undertale #john wick fluff #man... i should really get around to making a masterlist for this huh #and for my works in general

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imagine-darksiders · 1 year ago

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Eden's Heir, chapter 3.

A Way Out

Words: 6219

Summary: You're not on Earth, and that truth is as devastating as it is implausible. You have to get out of this Void. But there's only one demon who can offer an exit. Unfortunately for you, there's also a certain Horseman who' deems it necessary to keep you close, for curiosity's sake.

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There is very little dignity in fear.

When allowed to fester, even the tiniest pinch of it will start to bulge and swell inside you until it’s too large to be contained by the churning walls of your stomach. So, instead, it spreads through your bloodstream, eating up the space inside you like an infection as it strips away reason, humanity, and even hope.

Especially hope.

You’re not proud that the unexpected knowledge of your true whereabouts sends you into an immediate downward spiral of terror, but in the absence of any better ideas, you think it’s at least a little justified that you promptly stagger away from the otherworldly beings, drop to your backside on the cold, hard ground, gather your knees to your chest and proceed to come apart right there in front of an honest-to-goodness demon, and two Horsemen of the Apocalypse…

You’d always heard that wedding days are enormously stressful, but this is just ridiculous.

You’ve retreated to the precarious edge of Vulgrim’s plateau, not close enough that you’re worried about accidentally toppling over into the misty void, but at least far enough from War, Strife and the leery merchant that at least a diminutive fraction of your unease is lifted.

The blood on your arm has already dried to dark, crackling flakes, and it’s through unseeing, bulging eyes that you stare at the raised line of flesh wrapped in an arc over your forearm.

There’s one startling realisation plaguing your mind more emphatically than any other.

This isn’t Earth. This isn’t Earth.

A whirling onslaught of fresh, new terrors start to haunt you, terrors you’ve never even had to think about until now. You can’t find a voice for all the questions that clutter your mind. And you don’t pay much attention to the set of watchful, amber eyes that have remained glued to you ever since you stumbled dazedly over to the fringe of the floating platform.

Strife is abuzz with questions of his own, questions he’d readily bombard you with were it not for the vacant stare you’re currently aiming at the wound his brother left across your delicate flesh.

Grimacing, the older Nephilim twists himself sideways, keeping one eye on you and the other on War and the demon, both of whom seem more eager than Strife to turn the conversation back to other matters. Namely, business.

“Now then,” Vulgrim announces, clicking the tips of his long, curved claws together in eager anticipation, “I think it’s safe to assume you boys haven’t come here just to have me confirm the identity of this lost, little human…”

War’s lip curls unpleasantly, as if the mere act of even speaking to the merchant turns his stomach. Vehement, he growls, “Our work doesn’t concern you, demon.”

But Vulgrim, ever discerning, simply draws his mouth upwards to reveal the gleaming maw of fangs that sit crookedly behind his lips – a mocking reflection of War’s sneer.

“Oh, but it must,” the demon drawls knowingly, “Why else would you be here?”

War’s expression further twists as if he’s tasting poison on his tongue, and Strife has to stifle a smirk.

Drawing himself up a little closer to the demon’s height, War bites out, “Samael sent us here…” Trailing off to look Vulgrim up and down, he narrows his eyes and adds, “Maybe it was to collect your head.”

Far from threatened however, the conniving demon merely raises a single, slender finger and wags it back and forth in a manner that sets War’s teeth on edge.

“Ah ah ah~” he admonishes, “Careful, Horseman… Show the right temperament and I can be of… service to you. But first, you must be of service to me.”

Strife has to resist the urge to throw his head back and groan. He probably ought to have seen this coming a mile off.

Can’t spend five minutes in the presence of a demon without them angling for a favour…

War, it seems, has also cottoned on to the merchant’s less than subtle hint.

The Horseman’s armoured shoulders almost double in size as he bristles angrily, spitting, “The Council does not negotiate with demons. If you try to take advantage of them-“

“-And by extension, us-!” Strife chimes in.

“-Then there will be consequences.”

His latest threat complete, War narrows his ice-blue glare up at the hovering demon, who, to his dismay, only barks out a dark, mocking laugh and spreads his gangling arms out wide, as if to invite the Horseman to carry out the Council’s apparent ‘consequences.’

“Your Council has no power here,” Vulgrim drones, eyes as sharp as a whetted blade, “This realm is mine, and therefore subject to my rules. If anything were to happen to me, it would certainly prove tragic for you. You’d be trapped here in the void. For all of eternity.”

Strife’s trigger finger twitches of its own accord. He loathes that the demon has a point.

Just then, from the corner of his gaze, the eagle-eyed Horseman catches the rapid movement of your head snapping upright.

Curious as to what’s drawn you from your catatonic state, Strife swivels his helm in your direction, perking up when he sees you clambering awkwardly to your feet, struggling to move your puffy skirts aside.

He’d welcome you back to the present, but your stare is fixed with disconcerting precision on the demon floating behind him.

“Wait, wait a second,” you fumble out in a rush, taking a single, daring step closer, your cheeks still glistening with tears, “What did you say? Y-You’re the only one who can get me out of here?”

The mention of an exit… The hint of an escape…

A tiny flutter of hope drifts free of your soul and you latch onto it with greedy hands, like a child snatching at a butterfly, desperate.

It’s the only force in the world that could lure you closer to the titanic Horseman and their implausible acquaintance. That first, tentative step turns into several more, though you’re quick to freeze in place when three pairs of eyes flick in your direction, sending a rush of adrenaline racing up your spine.

You’ve never felt more like prey in your life.

The demon’s stare especially unnerves you. It seems to eat right into you like acid, hungry and all-consuming. His mouthful of teeth holds your focus as he lifts blackened lips into what you can only assume is a terrible grin.

“Now do I have your attention?” he asks smugly, tossing his gaze back over to the Horsemen, neither of whom give you the impression that they’re as hopeful about the latest revelation as you are.

After a moment, War bunches his hands into fists and tears his eyes from you, turning to glare down the merchant instead. Strife’s attention, however, remains locked on you for a further second before he too throws a dark look up at the grinning Vulgrim.

A shaky breath gushes past your lips once you’re no longer in their sights. It feels as though you’ve just been released from a cast of stone. For just a moment, you spare an absent thought to those Greeks of ancient myth who stared down the legendary gorgon, Medusa. You think you might finally understand, at least a little, what such a fate must have been like. The power of a predator’s gaze is not to be underestimated; it seems.

Vulgrim is still leering right back at the Horsemen with an awfully superior smirk plastered across his cragged jaws, a look that has Strife’s jaw clenching.

“Patience ain’t my brother’s thing,” he growls, “Or mine, now that I think about it… So, whatever point you’re trying to make, make it.”

The demon’s smirk shrinks at the curt tone, but nonetheless, he inclines his head and begins to explain. “Fine. The Lords of Hell are forever in conflict,” he says, “They seek power. Control… Lucifer and Samael most of all…”

You can’t help yourself from jumping in with an embarrassing squeak of alarm. “Lucifer!?” you parrot, once again earning their attention, “A-As in, like, the Devil? Satan!?”

In the span of a second, Strife’s irritation at Vulgrim lifts to make way for amusement at your interruption. “You know another Lucifer?” he quips, grinning down at you from behind his visor, “Big guy won’t be happy someone’s tryin’ to steal his thunder.”

A wave of anxious heat surges up the back of your neck and you throw a hand up to curl trembling fingers around a fistful of hair. “Oh my god!” you blurt, chest heaving, “Is this Hell!? Am I in Hell right now!?”

In response, Strife lets out a rough snort whilst Vulgrim merely offers you a shake of his great, ghastly head. “I’m afraid not,” the demon laments, casting a morose glance at the void surrounding his lonely plateau, “Sadly, Hell is several planes south of this one.”

For several, arduous seconds, you can do nothing but stare up at him in incredulous silence as your brain chugs along slowly, attempting to wrestle with the bombshell that not only does the Devil purportedly exist, but so too does Hell itself. You’re looking right at a demon, after all. It would stand to reason that a place of perdition exists too.

In contrast to the magnitude of the knowledge you’ve just been made privy to, a thin, rasping, “What?” is all that creaks out of your throat.

The question is answered by a low huff from War, who fixes you in his stern glower and rumbles, “This does not concern you, human.”

Gulping, you retreat a step back, almost tripping over your dress in the process as your eyes flit up to the broadsword strapped across the behemoth’s back. Your mouth dries at the very fresh memory of what he’d done to you the last time he paid you any attention.

Unbeknownst to you, Strife’s ears twitch at the click of your heeled shoes on the stone, and the catch in your breath.

Folding a pair of heavily armoured arms across his sizeable chest, he too takes a step away from War before ambling sideways, parking himself stubbornly between you and his brother like a living, breathing blockade. “Hey, come on. Lay off,” he retorts, jutting the chin of his helm out at War, “She’s just as lost here as we are.”

Just like that, the younger Nephilim’s expression shifts, his hardened expression lifting to a quizzical look that he aims at his brother, as if even he hadn’t expected Strife to come to your defence.

Still, despite his surprise, he’s quick to recover his wits.

You, in the meantime, can only stare agape at the armoured expanse of a back suddenly standing in your way.

“We are not lost,” War insists, furrowing his brow, “We’ve just been waylaid.”

“On the contrary, Horseman…” Vulgrim’s slimy tone encourages War’s expression to darken even further. Raising a slender finger into the air, the demon continues, “You are both precisely where you need to be.”

With a quiet scoff, Strife shifts his weight onto the opposite leg, throwing Vulgrim a nasty glare. “Figures you’d know more than you’ve been letting on…”

You almost jump a mile when War gnashes his teeth at the merchant and booms, “Out with it! You know why we were sent here. I demand that you tell us!”

“Demand…” Vulgrim clicks his tongue derisively, but after a moment, he concedes to heave his shoulders into a shrug and rolls his green eyes towards the foggy void above him. “Oh, very well,” he sighs, “Samael sent you here because he has learned that Lucifer is attempting something… unexpected.”

The mention of the latter’s name nearly sends you scampering back to whimper at the edge of the abyss.

Plainly oblivious to the nausea churning in your guts, Vulgrim continues, “He is extending a hand to his enemies, Horsemen. Offering something very desirable in exchange for their…. cooperation.”

“And Moloch is one of those enemies,” Strife hedges, though his tone indicates that it’s far from a question.

Suddenly, Vuglrim drifts backwards, a move that has you ducking into the shadow of the metal titan standing with his back to you, but the demon pays your flinch no mind, simply folding his lanky arms across his chest and cocking a sly grin down at Strife.

“Ah, nothing in the world is without cost,” he tells the Horseman, voice dripping with pompous bile, “If you wish to know more, we must enter into an agreement. You recall that I asked you for a favour?”

Now, up until today, you’d been of the entirely sane opinion that demons only existed in the pages of story books, or behind the screens of televisions and computers. But if there’s one thing you’ve learned from pop culture that could apply here, it’s that striking a deal with a demon would be about as sensible as sticking your head into the jaws of a starving bear.

The Horsemen, it appears, share the very same sentiment.

Strife tilts his helm to send a hostile glare up at Vulgrim, and you could swear you hear something that sounds so much like thunder rumbling away inside his chest.

Even still, War’s objection is far louder than his brother’s.

Peeking around Strife’s side, you observe as the larger Horseman’s entire body goes taut and rigid with sudden animosity, and he begins peeling his lips apart to bare a set of gleaming, white teeth. The animosity, though it isn’t directed at you, still draws the blood away from the surface of your skin, leaving you several shades paler than your typical complexion.

Vulgrim, in contrast, either doesn’t notice the dramatic shift in their demeanour, or he simply doesn’t care.

Bold as brass, he presses on. “A precious artifact has been stolen from me,” he laments with a roll of his wrist, “I sought Samael’s assistance in the matter, but…” Trailing off, he regards the pair of bristling behemoths with a glint in his sharp, green eyes. “Perhaps,” he adds thoughtfully, “You could recover it.”

Dead silence pervades the void for a long, awfully uncomfortable length of time whilst you send fleeting glances between each of the Horsemen, up to the horned demon, and back again.

“Know what?” Strife pipes up without warning, dropping a hand to rest casually on the barrel of a pistol, “At this point, I’m more interested in killing you than helping you…”

Such a nonplussed hint at murder throws your heart up into your throat, and you blanch, gaping incredulously at the spiked, black hair jutting from the Horseman’s helm.

You’re starting to deduce that Vulgrim must be used to such threats. How else could he stare down a man with a gun that size without flinching?

“That would profit neither of us,” he deadpans. Then, raising his voice to an enticing lilt, he adds, “It’ll be worth your while~!”

Strife’s shoulders jump with a sceptical grunt.

“It’s true!” Vulgrim retorts, “I give you my word.”

“Oh! Your word?” Strife echoes sarcastically, “Well, why didn’t you say so! We’ll do it!”

Blinking, the demon quirks a brow ridge. “Really?”

“Sure!”

Everyone, yourself included, stares at Strife in silence for a time, each of you expecting him to throw his head back with a laugh and tell Vulgrim that he’s joking. But as the seconds tick by in which Strife merely peers up at the demon without a word, you start to get the impression that he is not, in fact, joking.

After it becomes clear that his brother isn’t about to rescind his offer to actually help the merchant, War bodily whirls about to face him and scoffs, “You can’t be serious?”

Strife’s metal shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Look at where we are, War,” he mutters, swinging his mask in an arc to take in the void around you, “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Cowering behind him, you nervously cast a glance around his elbow again to see War’s face screw up beneath his crimson hood, ice-blue gaze flitting sideways to throw a look out at the darkness beyond the platform. With each passing second, you see his eyebrows knit closer and closer together, forming a solid line of white hair upon his strong forehead.

Though he’s loathe to admit it, War can see the sense in his brother’s words.

If they are to leave this place and continue their mission for the Charred Council, they’ll need the help of a demon to do it.

Spitting a Nephilim curse that would have Death reprimanding him with a smack around the head, War snatches his glare to the opposite side of the plateau, steadfastly refusing to meet Strife’s eye.

Sensing the Horseman’s acquiescence, Vulgrim’s toothy maw stretches into a too-wide smile, showing off fangs that glint like knives when they catch the murky light.

“Hah,” he declares triumphantly, “I will provide a serpent hold for travel.”

“A serpent hole?” you whisper under your breath.

You’ve heard of worm holes before, but serpent holes?

Frankly, you find it hard to conjure up the effort to actually care what kind of holes he’ll be providing.

If this ‘serpent hole’ means a way out of this place and back to that drab, terrifying church, you’ll take it.

“Well, all right.” Strife declares suddenly, and before you can move, the massive, metal man steps to one side, revealing you in full to the eyes of his brother and the demon. “Vague mission. Unknown dangers. Undetermined reward… What’s not to love?”

In response, War grunts, and then, to your dismay, his gaze lands on you, and you’re once again rendered stuck, pinned beneath the heavy weight of his preternatural glare.

Even with a demon hovering close by, it’s War’s attention that leaves you feeling the most exposed. The fresh, pink scar on your arm begins to itch.

“What are we to do with this human?” he mutters to Strife, who plants his hands on his hips and tilts his helm at you, not unlike how an inquisitive bird peers at something shiny.

“Just a suggestion,” Vulgrim cuts in eagerly, “You could leave her here.”

Letting out a fierce gasp at his words, you recoil from the salivating demon as if you expect him to pounce at any moment.

“Yeah, no,” Strife retorts for you, “Nice try. But that ain’t happening.”

Somehow, War’s perpetual frown manages to grow even more severe as he snaps, “You’re not suggesting we take her with us?”

You have to admit, you concur with the hooded giant. You’re not a fan of Strife’s idea either, even if it does mean getting out of this god-forsaken ‘void.’

Exhaling roughly through his nose, Strife hunches his massive shoulders and replies, “Why not?”

“Because this human is none of our concern!”

“So… what? You’d rather just leave her to be eaten by tall, dark and gruesome over here?”

Vulgrim hums a note of disdain as Strife jerks his chin in his direction.

Staring at his brother, War’s expression turns calculating, reminiscent of the way he looks over battleplans and strategies before a fight. “You’re being awfully insistent about this.”

“Oh, come on, War!“ Strife groans, slumping his shoulders and throwing his head back dramatically, "You’re not even a little curious? Don’t you wanna know what we were fighting for? This human is one of the reasons the Charred Council ordered us to murder our-!”

“-Do not dwell on the past, brother,” the enormous Horseman suddenly cuts him off, his nostrils flaring wide as he scowls down at his sibling, a warning hidden just beyond bared teeth, “The Charred Council gave us new orders. They are all you should be concerned about.” Throwing you a suspicious glare, he adds, “This… human is a distraction we cannot afford.”

“Hmph.” Eyes narrowed to razor-thin slits, Strife folds his arms petulantly across his silver chest and mutters, “Sounds like a distraction is exactly what you’re lookin’ for.”

Leather bracers strain with an ominous creak as War’s fists clench slowly at his sides. “What was that?” he challenges.

Giving his shoulders a nonchalant shrug, Strife just flaps a hand at his brother, as if to casually waft away the larger Horseman’s aggression, “Nothin’. Nothin’…”

Growling, War snaps his head towards Vulgrim, who has done little else but hover nearby with his eyes trained eagerly on the brothers and their quarrel, looking thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.

“Are you waiting for an invitation, demon!?” he snaps, “Summon a portal.”

Blowing out a hefty sigh, Vulgrim throws his hands up compliantly and swivels around in midair until he’s facing the centre of his raised dais, grumbling incomprehensibly under his breath as his wings give an agitated little flutter.

Impatient, War simply huffs, growing still when the back of his neck begins to prickle. There are eyes upon him that aren’t his brother’s.

With a sudden shift, the Horseman twists his head sideways and anchors it in your direction, subjecting you to an undeserved glare from beneath the lip of his hood.

Choking on a gasp, you drop your eyes to the floor near your feet quick as a flash. You’re so focused on not meeting the gaze of the crimson-clad giant that you fail to notice his brother boring a hole into the side of your head, regarding you with a pensive expression.

Obviously, leaving you here isn’t an option. Not least because frankly, he has way too many questions.

But he needs War on his side.

So, breathing a sigh, he raises his head to meet his brother’s eye and tries a different approach. “What about the Balance?”

And just like that, War’s body goes tense at his brother’s soft question. The haunting, blue stare you’ve found yourself caught up in starts to falter, drifting away from the pink scar running over your arm and moving towards the older Horseman. “Strife…” he begins tiredly.

There are very few beings in the Universe who could claim to know War as well as his brother. But one doesn’t have to know War deeper than surface level to see that honour and duty are among the youngest Horseman’s chief principals.

“The Council said Lucifer’s plotting humanity’s downfall as we speak…” Strife continues, unhurried.

Blinking rapidly, you forget your terror of War for a second and throw your head up again to blurt, “I- He- He’s what?”

“And these little guys-“ Strife jerks the chin of his helm at you, staring hard at the younger Nephilim. “-Are integral to the Balance.”

He doesn’t miss how War’s lips tighten into a thin, displeased line.

‘Gotcha.’

Though he knows his brother would have no way of seeing it behind his helm, Strife holds back the triumphant little smirk that tries to angle across his mouth. Just to be safe.

“You’d protect humanity,” he presses, knowing full-well that something is about to go ‘clunk’ in his brother’s mind, “But not a human?”

Lo and behold, no sooner has he asked the question than War’s steely countenance drops by a fraction – A fraction so negligible that only the sharpest eyes would be able to spot it.

It just so happens that Strife has the sharpest eyes in the Universe.

By his own claim, sure. But still.

“I don’t know what’s more concerning,” War grunts, shaking his hooded head, “The fact that you listened to what the Council said. Or the fact that you actually have a point.”

Strife stares hard at his brother for a long moment whilst you give them both a look of abject horror, pulse jumping in your temple.

“Woah,” the older Nephilim utters at last, “Did you just admit that I have a point…? Can I get that in writing?”

Slipping his eyes shut, the largest Horseman inhales deeply through his nose and exhales a breath in a noisy rush through his gritted teeth. “We’ll take her,” he concedes at last.

Straightening his back, Strife innocently asks, “What?”

“We’ll take her.”

You’d probably throw up at the declaration if you weren’t so irrationally concerned about staining the wedding dress.

Eyes as cold as tundra frost turn their attention onto you.

Fittingly, you feel the blood in your veins turn to ice.

“Human,” he growls, “You’re coming with us.”

“I-I don’t… want to…?” you croak weakly.

Slinging his chin sideways, Strife asks, “You’d rather stay here with this guy?”

With an audible gulp, you throw a glance at Vulgrim, only to find his gleaming, green eyes peering down at you hungrily.

Recoiling, you pull a face and send a beseeching, watery plea to the Horseman. “I-I just want to get out of here.”

“There, see?” Strife exclaims, jabbing a thumb down at you and grinning up at his brother, “She wants to come with us.”

Aghast, you immediately start to sputter, “That is absolutely not what I meant!” The courage it takes for you to return your gaze to the looming demon is astronomical. Raising a trembling hand, you gesture floppily at him and add, “He said he can make a -a snake hole for you guys! Can’t he make one for me as well?”

“It’s serpent hole,” Vulgrim corrects with a tut, still turned towards the centre of his platform, yet he spares you a glance over his sinewy shoulder, ebony horns shimmering in the sickly light.

“Whatever!” you screech, panicked at the mere fact that he’s addressing you, “Just pick a hole, open it, and let me go home! Please!”

“Ha!” Strife barks.

Struck by the sudden urge to scold his brother - though not quite understanding why - War shoots a scathing glare at Strife before returning his attention to you again. “The only ones with the power to send you to Earth are the Charred Council,” he explains.

“Then take me to them!” you try to demand, but the squeak of your voice is frustratingly prevalent. You imagine you’re no more intimidating to these beings than a mouse is to a lion.

“Listen.”

You leap out of your skin, literally clutching your pearl necklace as Strife speaks and shifts about on his feet to face you.

“Let me tell you something right now,” he says, “There are exactly two ways to get a summoning from the Charred Council.”

Taking a heavy step towards you, he raises the first two fingers of his right hand, counting them off as he starts to explain, “The first, is if they have a new mission for us.” He drops his middle finger, wagging his remaining digit at you. “And the second, is if we finish a current mission. And seeing as we’ve just started this one…” Trailing off, he tips his chin down, peering at you expectantly, observing in silence as your expression slowly begins to crumple.

‘Shit… Can all humans pull that face?’ he grimaces to himself, ‘Might be more powerful than they look.’

In the end, War puts words to what you’ve just realised.

“We will not be summoned to the Council until our mission here is complete,” he grunts.

The weight of his words drops into your stomach, sending the whole organ plummeting down into your shoes. Wringing your hands, your thumb brushes over an abnormal band of metal resting at the base of your third finger.

Wetting your lips, you lower your eyes to the sizeable diamond engagement ring sitting prettily on your left hand. Ever so briefly, you’re struck by a memory, of the first time you showed your father the ring that Cain had given you. You almost had to call the nurse into his hospital room because he laughed so damn hard and nearly tore out his drip.

‘He trying to marry you or buy you?’ he’d wheezed after a raucous guffaw, clutching your hand with skeletal fingers, his knuckles so swollen and arthritic, the only thing you could bear to do was look away. The guilt of averting your eyes haunted you until you fell asleep that same night.

You have to clench your eyes shut with vicious force to banish the memory. You can’t think of him right now, laying there, all alone with a tube in his arm and the grimmest of prospects waiting just a few weeks down the line.

“H-how long will it take to finish your mission?” you bleat, feeling the suffocating fist of helplessness closing around your heart.

You have to get back…

“Dunno,” Strife shrugs, “Depends how much more demon bullshit we gotta take care of… Though considering recent events… I’m not hopeful for a quick resolution.”

“But I need to go home!” you bleat, twisting your fingers around a handful of your dress’s tulle, “You don’t understand – Dad’s last chemo appointment is tomorrow, a-and I’m supposed to be getting married, like… like right now!”

“I have no idea what you just said, but it all sounds very important. Which is all the more reason to get this show on the road.” Turning to face the demon behind him, Strife claps his palms together twice and barks, “Hey, Vulgrim. Serpent hole. C’mon, look lively!”

The merchant sneers, grumbling as faces the centre of his platform once more, spreading out his palms.

You give a start when a pulse of… something sours the taste of the air around you, turning dry, musty breaths into thick and acrid gulps that seem to slide across your tongue with each inhale. Instinctively, you cover your mouth.

Wind whips your veil up into a flurry of white fabric. With a graceful whirl, it blows forwards and you have to throw a hand up to catch it, sweeping it back away from your face as you stare agog at the spectacle forming in front of you.

In a word… it’s… beautiful.

In a lot of words, it’s also incredibly bright and shit-inducingly scary. It isn’t natural to see magic, not outside of a children’s birthday party or a heavily edited video online. Your eyes take it all in – the circle of azure light that swirls to life in the ground before you. Where there was once a patch of dull, grey stone, now there’s a pool – not of water, but of something that moves and flows just like it.

Your mouth hangs open as Vulgrim lowers his arms and drifts back with a beat of his vestigial wings, away from the serpent hole.

“It’s all yours, Horsemen,” he declares, bowing with a grandiose sweep of his hand, “Oh, but before you go – Do be careful. The keeper of my artefact will be, ah… less than pleased to see you.”

“No one is ever pleased to see us,” Strife grumbles, wincing at the bitter undertone that shines through just a little too brightly for his liking. Clearing his throat, he gruffly adds, “That’s kind of the idea.”

They’re Horsemen now. Dreaded enforcers of the Charred Council… Hated. Despised.

“War?” Strife brusquely addresses the larger Horseman, gesturing towards you with a jerk of his head.

Throwing his brother a heated glare, War takes a begrudging, booming step in your direction, quaking the ground beneath your feet.

You’re nearly sent toppling ass over teakettle in your haste to back-peddle away from the armoured behemoth, launching your hands out in front of you and blurting, “Woah, woah, woah! Hang on a moment!”

You very nearly faint on the spot when, against all odds, the Horseman actually pauses midstride, a single, ivory brow quirking to peer at you expectantly. You’d have thought that nothing short of a tank could make someone his size hesitate.

Sliding his gaze smoothly between the two of you, Strife has the gall to tip his helm to one side and ask, “What’s the matter, Princess?”

‘Princess’ indeed. If he wasn’t the size of a skyscraper, you’d have half a mind to smack him with your bag. As it is, you doubt the satisfaction of striking him would be worth the painful death that’d surely follow such an insult.

“I’m… I’m not going anywhere with him.” You point accusingly at War instead, though you swiftly drop your finger after he gives it a look that suggests he’d like to cut it off.

“Oh, come on, he’s not as bad as he looks,” Strife prods encouragingly, “Is this about your arm?”

Incredulous, you gape up at the Horseman for a moment before pursing your lips with a shrug, as if to compose yourself. “No, actually, I just don’t particularly like his attitude- YES OF COURSE IT’S ABOUT MY FUCKING ARM!”

“He healed it up afterwards!” Strife replies brightly, as though you’re both having a friendly debate about the weather. If anything, judging by the upward curve of his luminous eyes and his jocular tone of voice, you’d almost wager that he’s actually enjoying your little back and forth.

One of your eyelids twitches, and you have to take a moment to think of something coherent to say, but when you open your mouth, the only word that leaps out is an incredulous, “What!?”

“And besides,” Strife breezes over you as if you’d never spoken, “I’m sure he’s very sorry. Right, big man?”

Pressing your lips together dubiously, you follow Strife’s pointed gaze up to his brother, who leers back at you with his stony face set like a dark thundercloud, his chest quaking around a resonant rumble.

You can’t imagine this beast has ever apologised for anything in his life - if he’s even had the inclination to.

Trying to swallow past a lump of nerves, you glower mistrustfully at the handle of the broadsword jutting over War’s shoulder, and declare, “He can be as sorry as he likes, but he is not putting me on his shoulder!”

Pursing his lips, Strife blows out a whistle, lifting a hand to scratch idly at his jagged, ebony hair. “Well,” he shrugs, “You’re comin’ with us either way. So… You wanna step through the portal yourself, or what?”

“… Hard. Pass.”

“Oh…” His gaze darts to the ground before he flicks it up to you again, one eye squinted halfway shut. “You sure?”

“Am I sure I don’t want to be carried through a mystical worm hole by the same brute who nearly cut my arm off not five minutes ago?” you clarify, subconsciously cradling the aforementioned appendage in your opposite palm, “Yes. I’m sure.”

Something of a standoff ensues between you and Strife, the latter of whom squints down at you for several, perturbing seconds, his hand still clasping the back of his neck. Another few beats pass, measured by the steady ‘thump,’ ‘thump,’ ‘thump,’ of your heart pounding in your ears.

Sadly, the relative peace only lasts another second when Strife allows his hand flop back to his side, raising one, silver shoulder into a shrug and announcing, “All right, suit yourself!”

“Suit my-wah!?”

Without warning, the Horseman takes a sudden, lurching step towards you, and before you can back-peddle clumsily out of range, two enormous, metal hands launch out to catch you around the waist, fingers spread widely enough to envelop your heaving ribs.

Struck by a sense of déjà vu, you waste no time in bunching your hands into fists and slamming them furiously down on top of Strife’s gauntlets, succeeding at nothing beyond hurting the heels of your palms. All the same, you dig right down into the bottom of your own, personal well and manage to scoop out enough drops of courage to holler, “Don’t you dare!”

With the same effort you’d use to lift a porcelain doll, Strife simply hoists you up into the air – still kicking and flailing – and slings you over his armoured shoulder. You land with a hard jolt of pain, followed by a yelp when something sharp jabs into your stomach.

“Should’a gone with War if you wanted a comfier ride.” The Horseman curls a cumbersome arm across the seat of your dress, pressing down the layered tulle and securing you in place much like his brother had not too long ago.

“You can’t do this!” you shout, “This is-! I mean, i-it’s kidnapping!”

Strife barks out a sharp laugh as he steps up beside his brother, and together, they peer down into the blue, swirling vortex that roars with dark and ancient energies, beckoning them in.

“Kidnapping?” he parrots, deliberately jostling you on his shoulder to get a squeak out of you, “Nah, nah, nah. If anything, this is a rescue. You don’t wanna know what Vulgrim’d do to your soul if we left you here.”

Half draped over the titan’s spine, you twist your neck to the side and meet the eerie merchant’s emerald gaze. Perturbingly, you can’t quite tell if he’s grinning at you, or if he’s displaying his thrawn fangs in threat.

You shudder, and that terrible, insincere smile stretches wider.

“Ironically, she may be in less danger here than she will be in whatever demon-infested pit he’s sending us to…” War points out.

“Eh, probably.” Raising a boot into the air, Strife takes one, long stride forwards into the portal, feeling the ground fall away below his feet as his matter begins slipping towards another plane of existence. Before he disappears entirely however, he twists his helm over a shoulder to catch your wild-eyed stare, throwing you a lopsided wink once he meets it.

“But comin’ with us is gonna be way more fun.”

#Darksiders #War x reader x Strife #Darksiders genesis #Vulgrim #fear #angst #innuendos #suggestive

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phoenix-flamed · 1 year ago

Note

Their last argument still left her mostly irritated with her husband, and she glared at him from across their shared bedroom, how he sat at the table and leaning over the maps -- as if his plan would become any less absurd if he only stared at the map hard enough.

Anabella crossed her arms in front of her chest and hissed under her breath.

There was something that aggravated her more than their argument and his presence in their room: The raising heat in her veins. A familiar twitch. She pressed her lips into a fine line.

Curse this body.

"Kiss me, Elwin," Anabella demanded. Of course, it would be more than just a kiss, but she would not tell him. Surely he already knew.

Disagreements were par the course in any relationship, or so Elwin had always assumed. Their arguments never went further than heated words and angry gestures, and to him, that was far more telling of their union in terms of stability than the presence of the arguments was. Besides -- their situation was... unique, to put it simplest.

He and Anabella were, after all, the current rulers of the duchy. Of course their responsibilities, the shared weight upon their shoulders, added more layers of stress to their marriage. Their differences in opinion on matters pertaining to the nation and its people weren't surprising, either; though they ruled together, they were still two individuals, with their own sets of views, experiences, feelings... Everything that any other human possessed as, well, a person.

All of that was to say that Elwin paid little outward attention to his wife's less than subtle ire, which was pelting him in the head repeatedly in the form of her unwavering glare. And yes, he could, like always, feel her eyes on him, by this point having memorized their look. The sharpness to them, the way her eyelids scrunched ever so slightly closed to narrow her gaze, and the dark shadow that cast across the beautiful coloration of her irises, from an excess of displeased emotions welled up within her.

In the end, it was her command -- an equally as familiar one in these situations -- that gave him pause and finally had him raising his head to peer across the room at her. This, too, was expected, and it was always something that he counted on happening, like clockwork between them. It didn't mean that all was forgiven -- but it did mean that it was a start, a step in that direction. They would argue, go their separate ways, then come back together and exhaust their frustrations in other, more intimate methods, and in doing so -- at least on his end, rekindle their bond enough that they could afterwards proceed to the apologies and thorough discussions to gain better understandings of their respective stances. From there, they would either find new perspectives or compromise, or agree to disagree.

The smile that graced his lips, permeating every bit of his features, was one of quiet warmth and the faintest hint of amusement at their routine. His stolas quill was placed aside, the notes he had been taking down regarding alternate routes for mobilizing their soldiers set aside along with it. The Archduke rose from his chair without a word, and, maintaining that silence, crossed the space between them to slip his arms around her waist, holding her and bringing her in close against his body.

First, lips pressed fondly against her forehead. They trailed downward to her own pair, pressing against them, in contrast, with more fervor. Elwin didn't need to speak -- they both knew how the other felt, and what the other wanted, and he was more than happy to oblige.

#Audiences #Verse: Bastion of Tradition #creatrix-mea #Elwin vc: we can make up by holding hands :)#also oh my god I am so sorry this reply got so oddly longer than intended

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that-dinopunk-guy · 1 year ago

Text

The Isani District

I wrote this story mainly because A, I wanted to do something with the area in which it's set, and B, because even though I'd decided before writing this that the character Gina Herodias was pansexual (in our terminology, she probably doesn't identify as that due to cultural reasons) I hadn't really done anything to illustrate that in-story so I just said fuck it and gave her a girlfriend.

This story is also noteworthy in that it makes weebs canon in this setting.

From the diary of Cameron Runnels

Kulig’s Isani District reminds me of my visit to Siinao three years ago, only bigger, brighter, more crowded, and much friendlier. Which, I suppose, makes them not very similar at all. The vibrantly dressed and decorated people, the clashing smells of various Isinic foods, and the jangling din of music make for an experience that almost borders on sensory overload at times. The narrow streets and cramped alleyways twist and turn almost at random before opening onto wide open avenues and courtyards, every one of them a surprise. I’m glad I have Gina here to guide me, because I don’t think I could find my way out of this place on my own; in the newer, more modern parts of Kulig things are usually laid out in neat grids, but the city’s older sections are more random and organic as though someone had simply dumped them out of a giant bucket and left them where they landed.

I’m surprised by how much shade there is here; the local architectural style utilizes so many eaves, overhangs, and raised walkways between buildings that I often find us walking in darkness, even this close to midday. This effect is further magnified by all the plant life the district’s residents have brought with them. Trees line the courtyards and the wider streets, potted plants hang from the sides of buildings, vines and ivy grow thick on almost every available surface, and green even bursts up from the ground where the old streets have cracked and crumbled enough for opportunistic seeds to take root. All this greenery provides ample nesting sites for birds and dactyls, and everywhere I turn I see them flitting through the air or foraging on the ground. Leave it to the Isani, I think, to bring the jungle they love so much with them into the middle of a city on the prairie.

On the way down here Gina had filled me in on the history of this neighborhood and others like it. Over the last century many of Kulig’s residents began to abandon the oldest parts of the city for the more modern areas, leaving the largely vacated old districts to become enclaves for immigrant populations. Since then they’ve become home to Garacani, to Saum Geronese, to Hamur, to Hahn Gar, Iasou, Kranomians, Su-Latene, and any other ethnic group not able or inclined to assimilate into the general populace. Nearly a hundred years ago the Isani had established themselves in this particular section, and as more and more began to trickle in from the jungle it almost became a city unto itself.

Most of the streets here are so narrow here that cars are not allowed, forcing us to leave Gina’s jeep on one of the public lots outside and proceed on foot. While this does give me the opportunity to take in more of the sights at a slower pace, it also comes with its own hazards. More than once I need to step lively to avoid the big black, red-faced hornbills that patrol the streets here, preying on insects, lizards, and handouts from their human neighbors. The locals keep them around for good luck, Gina tells me; a habit picked up from the Samara tribes. I didn’t ask for this information, though I do find it interesting.

As we walk, I’m pleased to see none of the intertribal conflict here that made my visit to the Cassowary Valley so eventful in the worst way. All around us I see Isani with wildly differing tribal markers and tattoo styles talking, trading, laughing, playing, and generally peacefully interacting. I mention this to Gina, and she nods and smiles. She says her people are more adaptable than many, often including themselves, give them credit for. Clinging to age-old grudges in a place like this, where neither side could avoid each other and both were subject to laws that tended to frown upon their traditional method of conflict resolution, had been abandoned long ago in favor of amicable coexistence. Though, she does concede a few steps later, the ease with which the district’s Isani population adopted a more open-minded attitude may have had something to do with the simple fact that anyone willing to leave their jungle in the first place would probably have been more inclined towards going against the grain of mainstream Isinic society anyway.

“Why don’t you live here?” I ask as we cross a courtyard where children are tossing food to stray dimorphodonts. “This place seems perfect for you.”

Gina laughs and shakes her head. “I was tempted at one point, believe me,” she says. “But crowded places like this aren’t for me. Me, I need wide open space, I need a horizon. I stay here too long, I’m liable to have an anxiety attack.”

The four-story building that we eventually come to is largely indistinguishable from those around it, built in the same thick, blocky style as the others with its embellished façade obscured by erosion and vines. An outer stairway leads to a verandah running around the building’s second floor, where we arrive at our destination. The door opens at Gina’s knock, and I’m surprised to see that the woman who answers is not Isani but Hamur. She looks to be about Gina’s age, with a round face, dark almond-shaped eyes, and bronze-colored skin. Like other Hamur women, she wears a traditional cloth-and-bamboo headdress covered in silver metal disks, glass beads, and colored tassels. I know the trapezoidal piece at the back of the headdress signifies what subtribe she belongs to, but I don’t know enough about the Hamur to say with any certainty which one that is. Her bare arms are covered in tattoos, but unlike the stark monochromatic patterns of the Isani hers are quite colorful, with bright flowers and koi fish on a dark green background. I recognize the style as that of Dio, and wonder if she has any Diojin ancestry or if, like many back home in Pika, she just enjoys certain aesthetic aspects of their culture.

The woman smiles and bids us to enter, and as Gina steps inside she puts her arms around her and they kiss. Sure enough, Gina introduces the woman as her girlfriend, Shaiyo Oka. I’m a little ashamed to admit that it does take me somewhat by surprise to see that Gina is dating a woman, but I remind myself that’s just my Pikan upbringing; as open-minded as we like to consider ourselves today, until a few short decades ago same-sex relationships were outlawed in Pika and we still have a long way to go before that stigma is washed away for good. The Isani, on the other hand, don’t seem to have ever particularly cared about the gender of one’s romantic partner.

“So, the legendary Cameron Runnels,” Oka says as we move to the apartment’s main living area. “I finally get to meet the woman I’ve heard so much about.” My grasp of Tenrec is still pretty basic, but I can still detect the teasing edge in her tone.

“Should I be denying anything?” I ask, with a glance in Gina’s direction. She shrugs, and Oka shakes her head.

“Oh, it’s been nothing but praise,” she assures me, before asking us if we’d like anything to drink. We both answer in the affirmative as we sit down, and when she disappears into the kitchen, I take the opportunity to look around the apartment. While the building was clearly built before the days of electricity and indoor running water, at some point such necessary modern amenities had been installed. The combination of centuries-old architecture and modern technology lends the place a quaintly anachronistic charm, which goes well with Oka’s apparent preference for antique furniture.

I briefly catch myself wondering how much it must cost to live here, before reminding myself of where I am. An old place like this surely qualifies as basic housing, and as such all costs would be covered by the Samaraland government. While they still have to pay for things like food and furniture, anyone living in basic housing not only doesn’t need to pay rent but also doesn’t need to pay for their water or electricity, those services being paid for by taxes. Though the political pundits back home rail against such systems, saying they simply breed lazy citizens who don’t want to work, I haven’t noticed any particular trend towards indolence among the people here. If I’ve noticed anything in my time here so far it’s that Samaralanders generally seem pretty happy and relaxed, which I suppose is understandable knowing that whatever happens they don’t need to worry about being homeless or without power and water.

“Let me guess,” Oka said as she comes back with two bottles of cheap local beer and a can of soda and sits down beside Gina on the couch, “she hasn’t told you much about me.”

“Not really,” I say apologetically as I accept the beer. “I think she mentioned something about seeing someone, but that’s about it.”

Oka laughs at glances sideways at Gina. “Yeah, I’m not surprised, I feel like I’m her dirty little secret sometimes.”

Gina just rolls her eyes as she cracks open her soda. “Excuse me if I don’t broadcast every detail of my love life,” she says, and Oka grins and elbows her to show she’s just teasing.

“Well no getting out of it now,” I tell her. “How’d you two meet?”

“Through Arenaria,” Oka says, before Gina can answer. “Well, she didn’t really introduce us, she just happened have Gina with her when she came to buy some kanab from me.”

“You sell kanab?” I ask, and I guess I don’t hide my nervousness very well because Gina laughs.

“You can relax, it’s legal here,” she says, while Oka looks between the two of us like she’s missing an inside joke.

“Kanab is illegal in Pika,” Gina explains, and Oka nods in understanding.

“Oh yeah, it’s perfectly legal here, it’s fine,” she says, before continuing her story. “Anyway, Arenaria comes over, with this…stunning specimen in tow,” she says, taking Gina’s hand in her own, “and I just had to know more about her.”

Gina stares at the floor as her face turns red, and Oka laughs.

“So of course I started stalking her,” Oka says, and Gina nods.

“Yeah, didn’t I catch you digging through my trash a few times?” Gina says.

“Oh, I did more than dig through your trash,” Oka says, and it’s clear she’s gotten off the story and is now just bullshitting.

Before this exchange can go any further Gina turns to me. “Anyway, yeah, we ran into each other a couple more times, and then she asked me out.”

I nod, thinking back to how awkward Gina had first seemed back when I’d first met her, before she began to warm up to me. For as confident as she can be, Gina doesn’t really strike me as the type to make the first move. “Yeah,” I say, “that sounds about right. How is Arenaria, by the way?” I ask. I haven’t been in touch with her as much as I have with Gina, though last I heard her band was gearing up for another tour.

“She’s good,” Gina says, nodding. “She’s been busy, but she’s gonna try to make it over here later.”

“Oh, great,” I say, smiling. “I’d hate to come all the way up here and not see her too.”

“Fat chance,” Gina says with a laugh, “when I told her you were coming to visit she just about lost her shit.”

Considering Arenaria’s aggressively enthusiastic attitude that doesn’t surprise me, though to hear that she’s that excited to see me again does warm my heart.

Later on, when the relentless midday heat has lessened, we move up to the roof of the apartment building. Like many roofs in the Isani district a greenhouse has been erected up here, and Oka informs me that this is where she grows her kanab for sale among the local populace. Despite knowing it’s perfectly legal in Samaraland, I still feel a rush when I see it, like I’m doing something I shouldn’t just by being near it.

There’s also a charcoal grill set up on the roof, and I’m told that when Arenaria arrives we’ll be having a cookout up here. Until then, we sit down in folding camp chairs with our feet propped up on the raised edge of the roof, continuing our conversation and taking in the view across the city.

“So what do you think of Kulig so far?” Oka asks me.

“I like it,” I say. “It’s hot as hell, but I like it.”

She scoffs. “If you think this is hot, come back in a couple months when the Dry sets in,” she says.

“Ah, you know what, I think I’m good” I say, and Oka nods.

“Smart,” she says.

“I like the Dry,” Gina says with a shrug, and Oka reaches over and squeezes her hand indulgently.

“And I’m not holding that against you, babe,” she says condescendingly, and Gina gives her a withering glare.

I’m just starting to ask Oka how she came to live in the Isani district when Arenaria Shokrit comes stomping up the stairs to the roof and loudly demands to know “where the bitches at.” I stand to greet her and she grabs me up in her arms, lifting off my feet and spinning me around in a crushing embrace; though she’s lost some muscle tone in the three years since she left her tribe’s militia, she’s still as strong as I remember. She enthusiastically demands to know how I’m doing, how long I’ll be staying, what I’ve been up to, and who knows how many other questions as Gina rearranges our chairs and sets up the grill and Oka heads down to get the meat we’ll be cooking.

Arenaria really seems to have settled into the rockstar lifestyle, at least in terms of her appearance. Her black hair has been cut to about shoulder length and then styled into thin spikes that stick out at all angles from her head, making her look a bit like a walking morning star. I can’t help thinking it looks a bit ridiculous, though knowing Arenaria that may be the point. When I’ve answered all of her questions to her satisfaction, she gives me an update on her own life. “World tour, baby!” she shouts, throwing up her arms. “Well, sort of, we’ll be doing shows in Kranam, Mene, Amsant, Pika,” she elbows me when she says this, “Dio, Garacania, and Saum Geron.” She exhales loudly, as if listing all those countries was an immense physical undertaking. “I think anyway, I might be forgetting a place or two. And not necessarily in that order. Anyway, we leave in a couple weeks and I am excited.”

“Well congratulations,” I say, “I’m really happy for you. It looks like your dream really took off.”

“Like there was any doubt” Arenaria says smugly, and I see Gina roll her eyes behind her. “You live in Ninevut, right?”

“Right,” I say.

Arenaria nods. “You should come to our show! I could probably get you in, you can come backstage and hang out with us.”

“Tired of your bandmates hogging all the groupies?” Oka asks teasingly, to which Arenaria replies with a blunt yes.

I nod and say I’ll think about it. To be honest, I’m not exactly in love with the idea; I love Arenaria to death, but I’m not a huge fan of progressive metal. Or any variety of metal music, really. Still, it’s not every day one gets to go backstage at a concert, and I’ve been curious to meet the other members of her band. I’m not gonna be a groupie though, I say, and Arenaria lets out a disappointed groan.

As we eat, we watch a dark line of thunderclouds advance on the horizon. Even from this distance, we can see lightning flashing within and arcing between the clouds, and Gina and Arenaria are smiling in anticipation of the coming storm. “That looks like it’s gonna be a good one,” Gina says around a mouthful of ground hopper. “Hopefully it’ll last a while.”

“That last one was such bullshit,” Arenaria grouses, “everybody was talking about how this nasty storm was coming in, the sky got all yellow and creepy, and then it barely rained for like five minutes ‘cause most of it passed right by us.”

“Well, it looks like this one won’t miss us,” Oka says, turning to Gina and me. “You guys might wanna get going, if you don’t want to get caught in it.”

Gina looks at her girlfriend, then at the approaching storm. She sticks her jaw forward in a gesture that I’ve already learned means she’s thinking something over, and then she shrugs. “I think we’ve still got some time,” she says finally. “Better safe than sorry though, I guess. I don’t mind getting caught in the rain, but I don’t know about you,” she says to me.

“I don’t mind it, but I’d still like to avoid it if I can,” I say.

At the implication that we might be leaving soon, Arenaria makes a loud disappointed sound and leans into me. I try to say something to comfort her, but my words dissolve into laughter as she presses in so far that she threatens to knock me out of my chair.

“She’ll be staying at my place for another week,” Gina tells her, “you can just come over sometime if you want.”

Arenaria nods, her face partially buried in my shoulder, but I think she’s made herself fall over onto me so far that she’s having trouble getting back up without making things very awkward.

Once we manage to get Arenaria righted, and her hair fixed, we bid our fond farewells. I tell Oka it’s nice to have met her and she tells me likewise, and Arenaria picks me up in another hug and deliberately swings me around so my legs smack into Gina’s side. The wind is starting to pick up as we reach the street, and the air is noticeably cooler with a slight touch of dampness. The sky has darkened considerably by the time we arrive back at Gina’s house, and when I step out of her jeep onto the driveway the air feels heavy, almost electric. Thunder rumbles as we cross the yard to her front door, and soon after stepping inside I can hear the first raindrops pattering outside.

Gina slides open the back door and steps out onto her patio, and I join her. We stand there under the awning and watch the rain, looking out across the back yard to the shelter belt beyond. Without a word she sits down in one of the plastic lawn chairs she keeps back here, and I take the other. The storm increases its intensity, the air thick and cool and damp, and I think to myself that this has been a good day.

#dinopunk #writing #my writing #fantasy writing #fiction #short fiction #short stories

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homeimprovementway · 11 months ago

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How to Perfectly Fold a Flag for a Striking Shadow Box Display

Fold a flag for a shadow box by following these steps: Start by laying the flag flat on a table, then fold it in half horizontally so that the stars are facing down. Fold the bottom striped edge up to meet the top edge, creating a rectangle with the stars in the upper left corner. Fold the striped triangle (created by the previous step) diagonally, tucking it neatly under the stars. Continue to fold the flag in this triangular manner until it is fully folded into a tight triangle. Place the folded flag in a shadow box for display. Displaying a flag in a shadow box is a powerful way to honor a loved one's service or show patriotism. Whether it's a flag that has been flown during a special event or one that holds sentimental value, taking the time to fold it properly is essential. In this guide, we will outline the step-by-step process of folding a flag for a shadow box, ensuring that it is neatly tucked away in a perfect triangular shape. By following these instructions, you can proudly showcase your flag in a shadow box and preserve its significance for years to come.

Step-by-step Instructions

Learn how to fold a flag for a shadow box with step-by-step instructions. This guide provides a clear and concise method to properly fold a flag, ensuring it fits perfectly in your shadow box display. Preparing The Flag For Folding To begin folding a flag for a shadow box, it is important to ensure that the flag is clean and free from any dirt or debris. Start by finding a clean and spacious area to perform the folding process. Also, make sure you have an appropriate size shadow box to accommodate the folded flag. Here are the step-by-step instructions for preparing the flag for folding: - Place the flag on a flat surface, making sure it is spread out completely. - Inspect the flag for any loose threads, tears, or damages. If you come across any, gently repair them with a needle and thread to prevent further damage. - If the flag is wrinkled or creased, you can iron it using a low heat setting. Be cautious not to iron over any embroidered or printed areas on the flag. - Once the flag is clean, free of damages, and properly ironed, you are ready to proceed with the folding process.

Folding The Flag Folding the flag correctly is essential to ensure it fits neatly into the shadow box. Follow these step-by-step instructions to fold the flag with precision: - Hold the flag lengthwise so that it is stretched out horizontally in front of you. - Starting from the striped end of the flag, fold the lower half of the flag lengthwise over the union (blue field) of the flag. Ensure that the stripes are evenly aligned during this fold. - Continue folding the flag lengthwise in the same manner until the whole flag is folded into a long, narrow strip. Make sure the folds are tight and crisp. - Now, fold the striped corner of the flag (from the opposite end of the stars) to meet the open edge of the flag. This will create a triangular shape. - Continue folding the flag in a triangular manner, alternating folds between the length and width of the flag until only a small triangular portion of the blue field remains visible. - Tuck any remaining loose ends into the final triangular fold to secure the shape. Arranging The Flag In The Shadow Box Once the flag is neatly folded, it's time to arrange it inside the shadow box for display. Follow these guidelines to ensure a visually appealing presentation: - Open the shadow box and remove the backing if necessary. Ensure that the interior of the shadow box is clean and dust-free. - Carefully insert the folded flag into the shadow box, ensuring that it is centered and aligned properly. - If desired, you can use small pins or adhesive putty to secure the flag in place, especially if it tends to shift within the shadow box. - After arranging the flag, replace the backing of the shadow box and secure it properly. Ensure that the flag is not wrinkled or distorted during this process. - Once the flag is securely displayed in the shadow box, gently close the box and ensure that it is properly sealed. - Find an appropriate location to display your shadow box, keeping in mind factors such as lighting and temperature to protect the flag from damage or fading. Folding a flag for a shadow box requires patience and attention to detail. By following these step-by-step instructions, you can ensure a respectful and visually pleasing display of your cherished flag.

Tips And Techniques

Folding a flag for a shadow box is not just about preserving the flag, but also about creating a meaningful and professional-looking display. In this section, we will dive into some tips and techniques that will help you achieve the perfect fold, handle and care for the flag properly, and create a display that honors its significance. Using An Iron For Smoother Folds When it comes to folding a flag for a shadow box, achieving smooth and crisp folds is essential for creating a visually appealing display. One technique that can help you achieve this is using an iron. Here's how: - Start by laying your flag flat on the ironing board, making sure it is free from any wrinkles. - Gently iron the flag on low heat, using a pressing cloth or a thin piece of fabric to protect the flag from direct heat. - As you iron, pay attention to the edges and corners, making sure they are neatly folded and aligned. - Once you have finished ironing, allow the flag to cool down completely before proceeding with the folding process. By using an iron, you can achieve smoother folds, giving your flag a polished and professional appearance. Handling And Care Of The Flag Proper handling and care of the flag are crucial for preserving its integrity and ensuring its longevity. Here are some tips to help you handle and care for your flag: - Always handle the flag with clean and dry hands to prevent oils and dirt from transferring onto the fabric. - Avoid dragging or pulling the flag, as it can cause damage to the stitching or the fabric itself. - When not displaying the flag, store it in a clean and dry place to protect it from dust, moisture, and sunlight. - Regularly inspect the flag for any signs of wear or damage. If you notice any tears or fraying, consider seeking professional restoration or retiring the flag properly. By handling and caring for your flag with diligence, you can ensure it stays in pristine condition for years to come. Creating A Professional-looking Display Once you have folded and preserved your flag, it's time to create a display that does justice to its significance. Here are some techniques to achieve a professional-looking display: - Choose a shadow box or a display case that is of appropriate size and complements the flag's dimensions. - Consider adding additional elements to your display, such as medals, badges, or certificates, to create a more personalized and meaningful tribute. - Arrange the folded flag neatly at the center of the display, ensuring it is not overcrowded and retains its shape. - Use a mount or fabric backdrop to enhance the visual appeal and create depth within the display. By following these techniques, you can create a stunning and professional-looking display that showcases the flag's significance and honors the memories associated with it.

Frequently Asked Questions On How To Fold A Flag For A Shadow Box

How Do You Properly Fold A Flag For A Shadow Box? To properly fold a flag for a shadow box, start by folding it in half lengthwise, then fold it again diagonally to form a triangle. Fold the lower striped section of the triangle over the field of stars, and continue this triangular folding until only the end of the flag is exposed. Finally, tuck the remaining end into the folds to secure it. What Is The Purpose Of Folding A Flag For A Shadow Box? Folding a flag for a shadow box serves as a respectful way to display and preserve the flag. The meticulous folding process symbolizes the honor and tribute paid to the flag and the sacrifices it represents. It also allows the flag to be displayed in a compact and visually appealing manner within the shadow box. Can I Use Any Type Of Flag In A Shadow Box? While any flag can technically be displayed in a shadow box, it's recommended to use a flag that holds special significance. This could be a flag that has been used in a significant event, such as a military deployment or national ceremony. Using a flag with personal or historical meaning adds an extra layer of significance to the display.

Conclusion

Learning how to fold a flag for a shadow box is an essential skill for patriotic individuals wishing to preserve and display their flag. By following the step-by-step instructions provided in this blog post, you can ensure that your flag is neatly folded and ready for exhibition. Remember, proper flag folding honors the symbolism and significance of the flag, while also allowing you to proudly showcase it in a shadow box. Start practicing and enjoy the process of folding your flag with care and precision. Read the full article

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full-of-mercy · 1 year ago

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Joy is hard-won, for all that it sparks like a dynamo, natural as anything. Joy breathes in the beats between side-aching laughter, in the vibration of an embrace streaking across the desert on a questionably appropriate vehicle, in the reminiscence about things that they can laugh about now, arguments they still have, clashes that still grate. They've passed a threshold, threaded the needle, leapt through an open window, and it is infectious. Contagious, maybe. Here or there, it is the warmth of sunlight bundled up in strong arms; it is presence, and it is time, awareness of it, that it might be fleeting.

It affords courage, pouring light into the cracks in a way that they might never have known.

As they ascend the gritty path, Wolfwood's attention angles up to the crags behind the building. But no glimmering glass meets his study--not of a rifle scope, at least, for all that the Guns had plenty of snipers and drew liberally from the Eye of Michael’s roster. Nothing meets the eye but bare rock and acuminated metal, cast-off black ceramic tiles studding sheer walls like animal pupils fixed and dilated and staring.

A cautious, circuitous approach leads them to the only way in.

It looks just like...

“Yeah. It’s what’s underneath that counts,” he whispers without realizing, because it does look just like the one down below, across the salt flats and the basin, and that is by design. A link, familiar to those ferried here, red thread between source and destination, where children were shaped into killing machines. A threat, because those harboring resentment or regret needed reminders of what was at stake, what could happen, who would pay for their hesitation.

Replacements could be procured anytime.

The barricade breaks off easily enough, dry boards like brittle bones.

Inside, the creak of hinges echoes like a living thing.

There is nothing to answer. Nothing at all. No skittering creatures taking shelter in the abandoned eaves, no worms roosting in the rafters or the belfry, as if repressed by something that shivers between the molecules of air, a sucking-sublimating vacuum at the edge of the void. Wisely avoided.

They proceed.

The Eye of Michael never put much stock in filling these chapels with parishioners, and no practicing pastors of actual religion would deign to set foot in these paltry halls. Not humble, but arrogant. The organization preferred to take their pick, shape them into faithful adherents that knew nothing else. The few rows of pews are poorly-constructed, falling apart, stripped ship panels and plastics worn from disuse over time. The rusty cross at the far end looks as though there might only be enough metal left after a good polishing to fashion some nails.

Where Nicholas is uneasy, Vash might hear it in the back of his brain, see it, perceive it; daguerreotype acid-etch, film reel with a feeble projector, tinny strains of a captive song whistling forlornly in the dark.

It only grows more strident, more sickly, as Nicholas knocks the idol off of its pedestal, planting the base of the Punisher in its groove.

The tiny reactor in the cannon’s core pulses, thrums, a signal passing from key to lock.

Behind the altar, the floor recesses and splits with a dusty crack. Mechanisms hum and churn, winching open an armored hatch imprinted with circuitry. The walls are plated silver-striped black, metal inset with dim lights like a runway to a square of white far, far down below. Spiked cold, the air smells of refrigerant, of sterility, of a hermetic seal broken, a chill coalescing and fogging further down the gangway ramp.

"Don't-"

Where did his voice go?

Rasped. He huffs in a breath and tightens his grip on his weapon’s straps, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. The way remains open above and behind them, and further down. The path is a narrow line of sharp grid panels. A rubber strip mere inches wide on either side bridges the gap to smooth decking.

"-don't step off the grate. If you can avoid it. If you have to, jump the gap.” There. Stronger. “They had us walk barefoot. Floors were electrified when they needed. Don’t know if everything’s still on. Sure sounds like it."

Joy runs a wondrous loop. Vash has surrendered to it, to breathless laughter, to grinning so wide it feels like his face might split in half as the stumble-straighten-step their way up to Angelina together. Contact runs a pleasant undercurrent, leaving him to lament the numbing silence that takes its place when they are no longer touching.

“I hate to point this out to you–”

(He doesn’t.)

“– but last time you chewed on my ear to drive we crashed in the middle of the desert and you had to drag my ass to the nearest settlement because I was out stone cold. And then you chewed me out again for entirely unrelated reasons.”

Driving, however daunting it may be and disastrous it has been, does nothing to dampen his spirits when Wolfwood settles in behind.

“I know where to put my hands!” He squints, lips pursed, but follows Wolfwood’s instructions anyhow. Some things are different, and some things remain the same. Chest to back, there are no chances for lost contact. The wind whipping against their faces and the familiar sound of Angelina’s rumbling engine strikes the same chord of nostalgia now as it did when they first set out under a blanket of darkness and twinkling stars. They roar across the landscape and towards the craggy peaks in the distance, leaving a trail of powdered salt clouds in their wake.

With guidance from Wolfwood, they drive up to the outside rim of the foothills that ensconce the Citadel’s entrance.

Vash drops the kickstand after they have come to a stop before a path cutting cleanly through the terraced sandstone. Even at a distance, the sheared faces have been subtracted with surgical efficiency. No burrs have formed along the edges and streaks of diaplectic glass form reflective ribbons through its walls. The evening’s chill still lingers in the shadows and the suns have not yet reached their highest point in the sky. He surveys the surrounding ridges for evidence of activity or habitation as they make their short hike up the path in partial shade.

One way out and one way in. The natural bottleneck formed by the rocky terrain makes this location easily defensible in the same way that it makes them easy to trap. Just because no one is here now does not make it impossible to observe them from elsewhere. Metals are interspersed throughout. Cast-offs from the Big Fall, embedded into the planet’s crust.

Waiting for them at the end of the path, as promised by Wolfwood, is the “abandoned” church. By all appearances, no one has been to this place in some time. Purposeful neglect and natural elements have worn down the materials of its construction, adding to the already vaguely ominous darkness that seems to peer back at them through the gaps. Or that might just be him attributing menace where there is none. Knowing has its own way of haunting the imagination. Vash blinks in sudden recognition.

“Huh. It looks just like…” He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence, because of course Wolfwood already knows. This place had been a critical part of his brother’s ambition. Cementing his stranglehold on power, resources, people, all in various combinations of each other. Vash does not know what exactly awaits them below, what the walls that helped shape the acolytes of the Eye of Michael look like. “Hope nobody’s home.”

#verse: sky's still blue #[ stardate: 0116+ ]#when i open my eyes to the future i can hear you say my name -- angelictyphoon

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sparkbeast20 · 3 years ago

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Missing Hellhound and Human! (MC and Cerberus)

This is part 2 of A human's best friend is a Hellhound

This take place at the end of the Angelic event. and Inspired by the Ao3 fanfic Angelic Desecration by Scarlet_Streak

Summary: After changing back to their normal selves, The brothers come home, only to find out that Henry is the only living thing it the house.

Warning: Swearing, Confuse feeling and emotions, Doubts and Cerbie being a good boy

At the House of Lamentation, the door slam open to reveal a tired Mammon, Levi hide his face who speed walks pass him and head straight to his room.

While the rest of the brothers walk in the house, with Lucifer being the last one and close the door behind him. He leans on the door, then let out a long and drag out sigh, as he unbutton two and slide his hair back.

All of them just want to forget this event all together.

Oddly enough Lucifer saw Belphie not headed to the common room to flop on the couch, but instead head to the direction of your room. It seem that he's determine makeup for lost time while their were angels.

Maybe he should check up you too.

As Lucifer was about to head to your room too, he saw the door to the tomb. And remember how Cerberus acted around him while he was an angel.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

"Cerberus!" Lucifer calls he's hound, but met with a stare from the beast before snarling at Lucifer.

"Apologies Cerberus. Did I upset you in anyway somehow?" but Cerberus middle and left head start barking, with the right head whimpering.

Lucifer wants to comfort the right head, so he try to reach out and pet him, however the right head saw his hand getting. Then he start crying and back his head away from Lucifer's hand.

Lucifer draw his hand back and took a couple step back.

The middle head nuzzle the right head, while the left head looks at Lucifer with narrow eyes and fang showing as he growls.

Then Cerberus turn his back on Lucifer and walk further into the tomb. Leaving Lucifer confuse.

As the week goes by, Cerberus seem start acting aggressive towards Lucifer.

The two head barks at him while right didn't even look at him.

Even offering food, Cerberus just kick it back to Lucifer, and turn his back on master.

Lucifer decided to give Cerberus some space.

Before he leaves, he look back to Cerberus who is laying down

The Middle head just look at him with a stir look, the Left head snarl wanting him out of his territory. But what made Lucifer's heart ache is the Right head who has his eyes close, ears down as he whimpers like we was abandon by his owner and left alone.

Lucifer let out a sigh, and proceed to walk back up the stairs.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Now that Lucifer is thinking clearly and not worried about the bangle. He just realize something.

Cerberus is just being stubborn, why is he scare of upsetting his own hellhound and acting towards his master!

Just thinking about the why Cerberus turns his back on Lucifer, ignoring his call and refusing the food he given to him. Stir up Lucifer.

So he decided to remind his hound, who is in-charge in the house.

He march over to the door of the tomb and head straight down.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Levi curl up in his tub with a blank wrap around him, as he begins to cry his pain away.

He just want to just disappear.

Then he looks up to see, only to see the once great room of Leviathan with shelves filled figuring, manga, and games are now empty.

All the years of collecting them, waiting in line, spading all-nighters and hours grinning through the internet.

All gone in one week.

Levi can't even look any longer, before he start crying.

"Henry! I'm living a nightmare!! why! WHY!!!!"

*Knock* *knock*

"Fuck off Mammon!! I am not in the mood to even talk to you!!!"

"Levi it's me"

"Belphie?" He quickly jump out of the tub and head for the door, open it to see a worried Belphie. Before Levi could say anything. Belphie walks in and start looking around.

"Their not here!"

"Who are you looking-"

"MC! I went to their room for much needed sleep. But when I got there, the room was empty and the same as the last time I saw it."

"Wait, that was before the party at the castle, like three hours ago."

Belphie nodded "I check everywhere, expect our rooms."

"Maybe Asmo or Mammon has them. You know how clingy those two are."

"Levi.... Do you honestly think MC would go to them or those two would go and take them. After knowing how MC is feeling as of late! They doesn't want to do with any of us for the entire week." Belphie was the last one you talk to before going home. Just remember how you sounded, and the way you are visibly uncomfortable during the party.

He won't blame you for calling it for the night.

However he was expect you to be in bed and asleep. Now that he can't find you anywhere in the house. He start to worry.

But then.

"OI! MC where are ya! I need yer help getting back all my stuff back!" As always Mammon just walks in screaming at the top of his lungs. "Hey losers, have any of ya seen MC. I'm been looking for them. Asmo, Beel, and Satan haven't seen them"

Before Levi could say anything, all their D.D.D bing.

Mammon was the first one to pull out his phone, and saw it a group chat from Lucifer.

The Demon Brothers (New) (7)

Lucifer: WHICH OF YOU, WAS THE LAST ONE WHO FED CERBERUS!!

Beelzebub: It was me

Asmodeus: Wow why with the angry text?

Lucifer: Cerberus is gone! He's not in the tomb

Asmodeus: *Shock demon emoji*

Beelzebub: *Shock demon emoji*

Satan: *Shock demon emoji*

Mammon: *Shock demon emoji*

Mammon: Hells no! that thing is lose!

Beelzebub: Lucifer. I only fed him! I didn't even open the back door!

Then Belphie swipe Mammon's phone out of his hand, Mammon protest but Belphie type out a text.

Mammon: Wait, is MC with you Lucifer?

Lucifer: No, I thought their sleeping in their room with Belphie.

Mammon: This is Belphie. I went and saw that they're not in their room.

Mammon: Mammon and I check the house, and there is no sign of them.

Satan: Wait! Levi, is Henry in his tank!

Asmodeus: Why ask that!!!

Leviathan: Yeah, his in the tank.

Satan: Well at least we can rule out hexes or curse that kills or made anything living inside the house

Beelzebub: Maybe Cerberus and MC when out?

Mammon: Impossible! MC knows better to avoid Cerberus at all cost, the beast will tear them to bits.

Mammon: Besides, Cerberus is only listen to Lucifer...

Reading the text stir up mix emotion to Lucifer, he wants to tell them about, how Cerberus is be acting aggressive towards him but it would mean that he lose his hound's loyalty, and he knows that his pride would let him say that.

However if you did take Cerberus out with you, then he wants to know how did you manage to tame Cerberus, while he couldn't.

Lucifer decided send them a text to come to the tomb, so they can think of a plan to find you and Cerberus. And hope that you are safe.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

"Crap! the stress are busy tonight" You mutter as you and Cerberus look down the path and saw the busy stress of town.

You didn't think clearly enough to realize that Cerberus might draw attention, with him being as big as a house.

At first, you thought of making him stay and wait for you here in the woods, so you can buy some snacks. But you thought it won't be fair for him to stay while you are in town.

And lets not forget that you are a human, and going to a street fill with demons that can eat you might not be a good idea.

You groan in frustration and bury your face on Cerberus soft fur. Not able to think of a solution to your dilemma.

But then you hear a familiar voice calling to you.

You look down and saw Little D 2 and 3 waving at you.

"Hey you two! what brings you guys out here?"

"It's our day off! we we're about to head back to the castle, when we saw Cerberus running about and thought that he might've gotten out on his own, then we saw you, and well here we are" no.2 dramatic post while no.3 face palm himself.

You could help but to chuckle at their antics.

"Anyway. What brings you two out and about. I thought you we're enjoying the party with the brothers at the castle" no.2 asks, but you just shook your head.

You really don't want them to know that you're just trying to avoid the brothers as much as possible.

"I left early. I wasn't feeling in a party mood. So I decided to take Cerberus out for the day, to calm both of ourselves." As you say that you start petting each head, with Cer yep at your action.

"Then why stand in the edge of town?"

"Well... I was suppose to buy some food for Cerberus. But I can't go to town with him without grabbing other demon's attention. And I can leave him here and wait for me. It would be unfair for him not to go to town after I promise him that he could come with me"

You can hear Cer little whimper, so you pat his head.

"Hm? why not use a transformation spell on Cerberus. that way he can enter town. without drawing attention"

You blink a couple of times, before beaming at the to tiny demons.

"Right! why I haven't thought of that" when you try to get down, Bee lower his head for you to get down easily. "Thanks Bee."

As you got to your feet you look down to the tiny demons. "So what kinda spell that can work on a hellhound?"

"Oh! a familiar spell! witches and sorcerers use them to disguise their magical pets by turning them into human world pets." just hearing what the spell can do got you all excited, and Cerberus can sense it.

"Okay, can you teach me the spell"

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

"Hi! this is MC, I can't answer the phone for the moment. Please leave a message after the beep. And if this Mammon or Asmo don't go to my room!"

Lucifer groan once he heard the beep from the voice mail. all the while the other brothers are trying reach you with their phones and Mammon is pacing around in the tomb.

All of them are worried to about where you are right now.

"Lucifer is no uses! I already send them 20 text, and they haven't seen any of them!" Levi panics as he start to sweat with worry.

"Then keep trying!"

"Mammon maybe stop bossing us around and actually help us!" Asmo snap back.

"Would you two shut up" Belphie is getting frustrated with the yelling. "Don't you see that MC is trying to stay as far away from us!"

"What are you tryin' to say that this is our fault!"

"I didn't blame you! I'm just saying why MC is not at the house. They hate us" Belphie look away and clenches his pillow.

But before the two brothers can say anything, Satan shush them.

"Shh! quiet!" he looks at Asmo and Mammon, and quickly return to his call. "Sorry about. Can you repeat what you just said." Satan immediately put his D.D.D on speaker.

"Satan would you mind tell your brother to get his hellhound and your human! I heard from some of my workers that they saw them at the park. Their just scare if the human can't handle that beast and accidentally let that thing lose!"

"Of course. I'll tell him right away" Satan ends the call and looks at his brothers, who are both in shock and fear.

"Did he just say that MC is with Cerberus.... AT THE PARK!"

"Are they insane! they can't handle him! He'll maul them to death!" Asmo falls back into Beels arms.

Suddenly a strong surge of demonic aura resonated from Lucifer.

"That human is in a world of punishment once I get my hands on them" Lucifer quickly grab his coat and drape it over his shoulder and march out of the tomb, with the brothers not far behind him.

They all hope that you have a good reason to leave the house with Cerberus.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

You call out to Cerberus and try to see through the cloud of smoke from the spell.

Then you heard barking, but it wasn't as loud or as deep as Cerberus's regular barks.

As the smoke clears, and saw three dog figure emerge from the smoke.

Your eyes widen and you let out a surprise gasp, as soon you saw Cerberus change or rather spit into three dogs.

One is a Pitbull, the other is a Rottweiler and the last one a Doberman.

Then you look down to the the little D's with a shock look on your face.

"Ooh! the spell works!"

You couldn't answer no.3. You're still stunned that you made Cerberus into three dogs.

Then you remember the day that Luke and you took care of Cerberus while he was under a curse, all the while you two though that you we're just looking over three regular dogs.

Suddenly the Pitbull jump on you, causing you to fall your butt. Then he start licking your face, making you laugh.

Then the Rottweiler run up and circle around you, with the Doberman walk up and sat in front of you.

As the Pitbull settle down, and run to the right side of the Doberman, and the Rottweiler sat on the left.

Once you clear your face from the puppy kisses, you compose yourself and look in front of you.

"Cer?" the Pitbull barks, stand and ran a quick circle before seating back down "Rus?" The Rottweiler barks, then you look at the Doberman "Bee?" and he just bow to you and immediately sat back up.

You brought your hands to your mouth and awe at your spell, you felt so happy and proud about this, in fact that you are so proud that you you open your arms and call them to you.

they all perk up and rushes toward you and start cuddle and nuzzling to you then you quickly wrap your arms around them and gave them a big hug squeeze them tightly.

"You three are so cute! You three look so great, you can't even tell that you were one big hellhound" Cer and Rus barks in responds while Bee nuzzle his shout on your cheek.

"Well I guess that you can take them in town, and have no one suspect a thing." You look over the three dogs to see no.2 and no.3 smile at you.

"Yeah, and it all thanks to you two"

"Is our pleasure! whelp we're heading back to the castle. Hope we get to see each other again in the castle, MC" The two little D's wave, and you wave back. "Oh! remember the reverse spell we thought ya!" You gave them a thumbs up to sure that you got it. And with that the Little D's head back leaving you with three lovable dogs.

"Okay guys, just let me use a spell to make sure no one recognize me when we head into town." You close your eyes and begin to chant a transformation spell.

While that goes along, your D.D.D starts ringing with Mammon contact on the screen. But again you choice to ignore it. As soon as the spell is complete you and the three dogs can finally head down to town without worry about getting notice by any demons.

Tagging: @hobin-gnoblin

Note:

If there's grammar or spelling error, please let me know.

And yes! the reason I choice does three breed of dogs for Cerberus's disguise is because they are the most misunderstood breed of dogs. (and I love those breeds) I was going to make Bee a Pomeranian, because it would be funny for the alpha to be a small breed. But decided to the scary but loving doggos instead.

And the reason I choice Pitbull for Cer is because it kinda nod to the Pixar short Kitbull

#obey me #omswd #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me cerberus #obey me little d #obey me reader x the brothers #obey me angst/fluff

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zuluc · 4 years ago

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summary: how the genshin boys give hugs

characters: childe, diluc, kaeya, razor, venti, xiao, xingqiu, zhongli

style & genre: bulleted & written; fluff

warnings: none

notes: a self-indulgent fic for my birthday yay, i hope you guys enjoy this I just really want a hug but it’s hard to see friends right now 🤧🤧

Childe

sometimes a side hug or quick embrace; sometimes not because there are days he never wants to let you go

his outward persona is lost because he trusts you

once his arms come around you, you feel like the life is being squeezed out of you, in a good way of course

there are still traces of his past he has yet to share but he wants you to know how much you mean to him

Paimon had stayed behind to finish that chop suey Su Er'niang offered you both. You finished your share, giving some to your companion, and you left to sight-see around Liyue.

It’s different from Mondstadt and there were quite a bit of things to get done here for your journey. Your feet take you to the stairs leading up to the Wanwen Bookstore and you hope no one has bought out the book you wanted to finish.

Before you could take a step upwards, someone grabs your wrist and pulls you into a small alley. You hand comes up to summon your sword but then your vision is obscured by a head of copper hair. You gasp when his arms tighten around your torso while he heaves a sigh beside your ear. He lets go after a few seconds and you can see the smile on his face.

“Just a recharge,” Childe winks and turns around to get back to what he was doing.

Diluc

he gives the type of hugs that hold so much emotion that he hides from the public

his body runs warm and appreciates when you snuggle further into him when he has you

his hugs are never quick and he likes to take his time, his hold tight enough to make you feel safe but loose enough to allow you to leave if you so wish

rarely initiates them but will take full control when you’re in private

You could tell when the work he had was becoming too much for the night. The annoyance tainted his handsome features and you just wanted to take it all away. Diluc worked hard, everyone knew that, but he was only human.

You give him the letter Jean wrote out and proceed towards the door to get back to your own duties. Your name rolls off his lips and when you turn around to look at him he’s gesturing for you to get closer. When you’re mere inches from his desk he stands up and places one hand on your back and the other on the back of your head, burying his face into your neck.

The temperature outside was chilly and his naturally warm body contrasts to how you felt prior. You can feel him frown against you when he feels how cold your skin is.

“Will you be coming back tonight?”

Kaeya

he gives you many hugs, anywhere and at anytime

there isn’t a day where you never receive one and if that every happens, the next day will include even more

will almost always lift you off your feet and/or catch you off guard; he likes to keep you on your toes

even when you’re just standing around waiting for another mission or watching the sun set he’ll hold you close against his side

He’s late. Again.

You finished off the last of the slimes around Starfell Lake with little to no damage to yourself, luckily, but someone was supposed to assist you to get the job done faster. You look around for any more enemies before kneeling down and dipping your hand into the water. It was cool against your skin, relaxing you after the day’s work. But it might have been just a bit too peaceful.

A force pushes you forward and you close your eyes to brace for the inevitable impact into the water. You wait a few seconds before realizing that you are still very much dry, but there’s something blocking you from lifting your arms. Kaeya chuckles behind you as you lightly hit his arm, hugging you tight.

“I got you,” he says with a smile.

Razor

he’s an awkward hugger, mostly because he doesn’t know how these things work as well as that he doesn’t want to hurt you

he doesn’t know where to put his hands and they usually end up against his sides before he realizes that he makes you think he doesn’t like them

when he gets more comfortable, his hugs are gentle and soft

he grew up with the wolves and these types of things just didn’t happen, but you make his heart soar

He’s taking a casual walk in Wolvendom to reflect on what Lupus Boreas had told him only days ago. He wasn’t a wolf, he was human, but he couldn’t accept it so quickly. His mind wanders and he doesn’t hear the steps, or rather running, behind him. It’s only until you jump on his back that he realizes.

You knew that he was thinking about what happened and you wanted to return as fast as you could to check on him. You slide off his back and he gives you a forced grin. Razor avoids your gaze but you place your hands on his shoulders to square them towards you.

He appreciates your presence and he wants nothing more than comfort, hands twitching at his sides. You’re aware of his little signals and smile when you hug him tightly. He closes his eyes and breaths in your calming scent while hugging you back with care.

“Thank you.”

Venti

there’s a sense of happiness once he hugs you because it just makes you feel lighter and free

there seems to always be a slight breeze about him and you can feel it brush your face when you rest your head on his shoulder

he comes and goes but never forgets to hug you before and after he returns to see you

his hold can range from very loose to holding on just a bit tighter

Venti left a month ago and you knew that’s just how his way of life was. He was never one to stay place for too long, much like the wind you would say. You yourself were someone who likes to travel around, but everything always brought you back to Mondstadt.

You stand overlooking the city at “your usual place,” as he liked to call it, for some peace of mind. You sit on the edge of the statue’s outstretched hands and lean back on your hands to take in the view. A soft breeze passes by you and your ears pick up a quiet sound behind you. You smile and stand up, immediately wrapping your arms around him.

His own naturally fall in place behind your back and a light laugh escapes his lips. It was nice to see you again, as always.

“Missed me?”

Xiao

he used to be so stiff when he first started hugging you as he never had physical contact with anyone

being you, he warms up and learns how to properly hug someone

will have a hand behind your head because he wants to make sure that every part you of is against him

he’s very protective of you in general and it gives him a peace of mind knowing he can keep an eye on you in this way

You’re sleeping, sitting in his lap with your head resting against his chest as he sits on the balcony of Wangshu Inn. You came to him only a few moments ago and it was clear that you took the time to clear out nearby hilichurl camps due to the small scratches and bruises you had on you.

Xiao narrows his eyes at more of the culprits across the water on the little islands, making a note to do something with them later. You mumble in your sleep and he looks down to see your brows furrowed. He cups your face gently and smooths his thumb over your cheek which causes your face to return to it’s peaceful state and you move closer to him.

It was surprising that he fell for someone. You made your way into his life so unexpectedly and now he just wanted to take care of you. And he wouldn’t change a thing.

“Rest well.”

Xingqiu

very proper hugs because they are reciprocated in with the same energy, or even more, than the ones you may give him

he has no problem in giving you hugs away from prying eyes

he would usually whisk you away onto adventures with him with a promise of them

will get flustered when you hug him while saying just how much you appreciate him

You’re amused at the way he presents himself to others and talks to them as expected of him. Xingqiu was known to be mild- and well-mannered as his mischievous side was hidden from those not so close to him.

You both manage to escape the party, standing beside each other as you look up into the night sky. He feels less restricted with you and he takes this opportunity to lace his fingers through yours. You give him a fond smile and return to staring at the stars.

An idea pops into your head and you let go of his hand, him giving you a questioning look before he is brought into a hug. Xingqiu blushes at the suddenness of your actions but returns it nonetheless. His eyes keep diverting to the house so you have to reassure him that no one can see the both of you.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Zhongli

he enjoys hugging, contrary to what most might think

he likes the intimate feeling and being close to someone he loves in such a sweet way that can be done anywhere

he will never deny you of the affection and if you initiate it he will go through with it no matter what

he’s always looking at you paired with a soft smile on his face whenever he has you in his arms

Zhongli’s voice pierces the quiet as you both take a stroll outside of Liyue. He’s telling you of its history and old traditions that have disappeared throughout the years, but you’re becoming tired due to the sound of his voice.

When you’re out of sight from the guards at the front gates you give a slight tug to the end of his coat sleeve. He stops in the middle of his story and sees that your eyes are growing weary. You keep your hold on his sleeve until you pull yourself to rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes and content with the sound of the night as you’re against him.

He holds you close, making sure that you’re not actually asleep as it would make for a very interesting walk back. You tell him that you’re just resting your eyes for a few moments and that he can keep talking. That you love the sound of his voice. Zhongli places a kiss to your forehead as he continues, adoration for you clear in his eyes.

“Now, where was I...”

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hopeandharmonizing · 1 year ago

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Head hangs in hover and tail remains at rest as Briar waits, patient, though she has far less time to spare compared to Salem. She does not unsettle from silence, the world never stilled even when voices would. The woman breathes, she can hear that much through the cracks of wreckage not finished crumbling, the bare basic of a living being. Leather-covered legs shift so slightly, redistributing weight, no burden on her. Briar understands the importance of rests between beats, to emphasize the vibration of carefully crafted words.

Briar does not waste hers, and yet the sound drifted off, lost to the shadows.

Oh, what a conversation they could engage, if only Salem had taken the hook and led it there. If only she weren't so used to having no one but the voices in her own head to talk to. Briar cannot defend herself from being shot down within the echo chamber of someone else's mind. Though it tells her this much in the end: if Salem does not open the door to other possibilities than her own thoughts, and if she is lonely, and angry, and hungry as the grimm countenance she bears, without pride, then she moves about the world out of balance.

The she-wolf aches over it, leans in and listens closer. Her semblance proceeds with its prowl, perhaps not so unlike a beowolf stalking about and discerning predator from prey from pack, and the perfect timing for fight or flight.

And suddenly fur stands on end at a disruptive wave through the air, Briar's blood pressure spikes as her heart drains into her belly, just like muscles on a pale face no longer hold their expression. Even silence can change its tone, restful to oppressive. The rise and fall of ancient breath slows to a pause from the crushing emotion of a single question.

Dammit, that all played out backwards. Empathy meant for mere acceptance, and the challenge meant to answer. She-wolf huffs.

So there it is - the curling in, the walling off, the pushing back. But the stitches woven around Salem's weak points do not hold quite as tight as she thinks.

Like a seam ripper, the first thorn sticks.

The half-angry irony cast towards her in narrowed red eyes suggests the woman knows it, and could nearly guess the answer to her own question.

"Briar," she-wolf sits up straight and pronounces, "Briar Rieka. I assume you are Salem." and at this point, that is all she assumes to know. But her parents and her brothers and her whole village always called her curious from birth. Ravenous for the world and any scraps life threw her. From beneath a table to the top of Briar's own brambled pedestal, that world keeps breaking open further than someone so grounded in their roots had ever thought.

She follows the current thread, digs in, unwilling to let the subject change yet.

"You get used to it after awhile, right? The loneliness. It helps you learn yourself, when that's all you have. And if you can do that, then the grimm," marigold eyes trace along scars clawed and bitten into her skin between and below the ink on her arms; faded. She had always thought it as simple as starting to carrying more hope than despair in her heart, so they left her alone, but...? "...they act different too."

Excited gaze turns up again, her tail even flicks awkwardly, absolutely unappalled by the scene still surrounding them. Too good at spotlighting, maybe. "Well, that's how it went for me, anyway. ...What was yours like?"

The importance of pride; the impetuousness of youth. Her lips part around a flicker of real humor, though from any other throat that lancing, voiceless release of breath could not be called a laugh. Pride before destruction, and arrogance before a fall; is there any emotion more self-defeating, or more venomous when it twists to bite the hand that feeds?

She let it seduce her but once, and for her arrogance that world had died: first in fire, then in darkness and the cold of ages. Even still, she is the butcher’s knife held to Remnant’s throat, pitted and rusting with the blood of millions and whetted by the brittle ego of a god who would break before he bends—and break him she shall, in the end.

Better to writhe shrieking and humbled in the dirt than kneel chained before the altar of pride. Better to taste the poison of humiliation and learn humility than let oneself wither for fear of being made small; there is always something greater.

She sloughed her pride away long before this world began: she would sooner die than exhume it.

Salem lingers where she stands, palm pressed flat to the broken back of the wreck, and casts a wry glance at her new... acquaintance. One cut of a similar cloth as Arthur, as Cinder; bold enough to speak from conviction where most would seek to appease.

Honesty does inspire a measure of ease. She dislikes the groveling.

More curious is the inquisitive feathering of the woman’s aura against her skin, crisp as the bite before snowfall and—one corner of her mouth lifts, ever so faintly—proudly unsubtle. Perhaps in this case the daring comes from an uncommon familiarity with grimm, then; she wouldn’t be the first faunus to stumble into an echo of that long-forgotten kinship.

Among beasts and monsters indeed.

Sounds lonely, the woman says; and all trace of emotion wicks away in an instant. The bare smile flattens; her gaze shutters as every seam in her body pulls carefully taut.

For a long, crawling moment, Salem waits. Fanatic defiance and terrified pleading are the more frequent reactions, by far; mercenary interest, tiresomely common; sycophantic reverence, not so rare as she would like. Overtures of… sympathy… or other such pointless appeals to emotion occur only in the confluence of brave moral idealism and complete ignorance of Ozma’s sordid little quest. But they do follow a dependable script: one demanding no meaningful participation from her.

…So the unfolding silence rattles her. Cinder’s emerging talent for scorching new holes into old theories aside, Salem does not often feel perplexed these days. It takes a few minutes to digest, all while she stares in absolute stillness.

At length, she unseals her lungs and collects the breath to say slowly, “Less than you… imagine. I have known loneliness before.” Her hand spasms, piceous claws skittering over metal. The tower. Her deterioration, after. The doubt behind their eyes. She exhales. “I have my grimm.” And, eyes half-lidded: “You haven’t told me your name.”

#( digging up old bones || etruatcaelum || salem )#( i don't need no dog tag / my name is on my back || ic )#i don't think this is where you were going with the beasts and monsters and cages #but all i can picture is setting them free and getting a bunch of familiars for it #sdjhfkj

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360iris · 4 years ago

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The Invitation (Young!Lucius Malfoy x Reader)

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut! Alcohol comsumption. Finger fucking, overstimulation. Vaginal penatration. Daddy kink, subspace mention. Oral giving and receiving. Pure filth.

Word count: 3,469

Summary: Gryffindor!Reader gets invited to the Slytherin party of the year by her nemesis, Lucius Malfoy. Fun times follow.

A/N: @thotbutpurple mentioned my first piece not having enough smut. I hope I delivered! Quite proud of this one, worked on it for nearly a week.

Admittedly, Lucius had caught you under the perfect circumstances. Equal parts tipsy, horny and momentarily separated from your friends.

Slytherin house had decided to throw another one of their infamous party’s brimming with free booze and food catered by the school’s house elves.

Over the years, you, like countless other students, had heard the tales of their untamed nights. Admittance being through invite only; of which were handed out secretly and strategically.

Up until yesterday’s events, you had resigned yourself to the fate of never experiencing the grandeur of the self-proclaimed Slytherin Elite.

Friday, February 10th, 1978

Cutting off poor Frank Longbottom who was usually your lab partner in Potions, Lucius Malfoy, slips into the seat to your left with a low and harsh, “Find another station, you gormless Muppet.”

At this point, it was your natural reaction from hearing his voice, to let out a disgruntled sigh paired with an annoyed eye roll.

“What do I owe the displeasure of being in your cologne drenched presence today, Malfoy?” You jabbed, in a soft but clearly inconvenienced tone.

His gray irises narrowed as his thin lips quirked up to the side in a laidback smirk.

He enjoyed your pointed jabs. So much so that he would go out of his way, on the daily, to verbally prod you until you couldn’t take being in the same vicinity as him anymore. Your unpleasant interactions with the older boy usually ended with you storming off enraged to go rant to your friends about how much of an absolute cunt he was.

“I come bearing gifts, Y/N. One of which I firmly believe you won’t be able to resist accepting.” He drawled.

Inwardly, you had to admit, this piqued your curiosity however, you decided to mask it by turning away from his irritatingly, attractive visage and towards a piece of parchment Professor Slughorn distributes to the class.

“And this so-called gift is what exactly?” You questioned, careful to keep your eyes trained off of him. A task that was quickly shoved aside when a pale hand slid a single, silver metallic stamp into view. It was no bigger than a galleon. Finely embellished with the words: Salazar Slytherin’s Spectacular Soirée.

Your eyes bulged and mouth gaped as you couldn’t help but snap your head to look at his face once more. “Lucius!” You whispered in absolute surprise.

“That can’t be what I think it is.” You continue after a sharp inhale.

He tilts his head as he takes in your clearly enthralled reaction, not replying to your statement.

You take a moment to compose yourself. Drawing your hands into small fists on the desk and letting out a silent but deep exhale.

You didn’t need to ask why he would gift this to you of all people. Lucius’ verbal prodding had been getting progressively more consistent once you’d entered your seventh year this semester.

Like most girls turning 18, your inherently childish ways had vanished; awkward appearances for the most part altered and morphed during the summer spent away from Hogwarts. Hips slowly filling out and breasts becoming distinguished. Meanwhile, your library of insults to throw at him became more deadly and varied.

You could play his game better than he expected you to now.

You crossed your legs underneath your skirt, steeling your expression. You leaned forward to lay your chin against your right palm and turned your gaze towards him. Making a show of looking him up and down before quietly whispering:

“All this just to fuck me huh, Malfoy?” His face stills and demeanor changes. Tongue-tied by your change of tone.

You proceed with a nonchalant, “Your mind must be plagued with questions of just how pretty and pink my pussy is. I’m right aren’t I, sweetheart?”

You observe his jaw lock in place.

“Do you want to brag to your spineless lackeys about how you were the first one to fuck that cocky, Gryffindor halfblood? I bet you wouldn’t wait to boost over how all you had to do was touch her once, call her a filthy, little mudblood and she’d come like a bitch without a pedigree.”

His eyes darken and fists clench so tightly that they turn whiter than you thought possible for him; as you inwardly muse over if he was becoming horny or infuriated. Maybe it was both, but you wouldn’t stick around to see the outcome. He was a deadly bomb waiting to go off.

Pursing your lips, looking him over once more, you decide to leave him with, “Nice chat. I’ll see you around then, Lucius.”

Agilely, you gather your things. Sauntering over to Professor Slughorn and quietly feeding him a contrived lie about how it’s that time of the month and you didn’t think you’ll be able to sit through today’s lecture; effectively earning yourself leave from the classroom.

As Lucius sits, daftly staring at your back as you make your escape. If he wasn’t previously furious from listening to your small beratement, he most definitely is when he glances down to see the silver stamp invite missing from where he had placed it on the table.

“That bloody minx.” He seethes under his breath.

Having made your speedy getaway and in the clear for the moment, you decide to make a beeline to the Gryffindor common room where you know your friends are spending their free period.

Remus, who is the first to notice you entering the warm lounging area, stands up at your arrival and walks to meet you halfway.

“Y/n, aren’t you supposed to be in Potions right now? Did something happen?” He questions, his brows beginning to furrow. Sirius and James who are seated next one another mid-laugh immediately turn their heads in your direction.

Not stopping your power walk, you reach out and grasp one of his hands and pull him with you towards the boy’s dormitory entrance. “Padfoot, Prongs! Up, up!” You urgently whisper in their vicinity.

Once the door is securely locked behind the four of you, Sirius questions you, “Alright, spit it out. What’s got your panties in a twist this time, Y/L/N?”

You ignore him, haphazardly tossing your book-bag on the floor next to James’ bed; of which you proceed to throw yourself onto the edge of, letting out a cheerful giggle.

“Boys. I’ve just been bestowed one the greatest gifts a Hogwarts senior could ask for. One of which, you lot would have never been able to get your hands on. So you must now bask in my glory!” You jokingly proclaim, yanking off your school shoes before pulling your legs into criss cross-applesauce. Incapable of caring that your underwear is now in the boy’s lines of sight.

“And what is this gift exactly, oh great benefactor?” James questions, sitting on the floor in front you, folding his arms atop your lap and leaning his head forward on them with a fond smile.

Your fingers absentmindedly glide and fiddle through his chaotic curls. “I don’t know, you might not be able to handle the excitement. I fear you might faint from the shock of the reveal!” You continue to jest.

“I best take a seat before you continue then.” Remus grins, plopping down next you on the bed, giving you his undivided attention. This of which, causes Sirius to scoff.

“Dish it already, woman. At the pace you’re going, I’ll be a skeleton by time you finally tell us what the big deal is.” He sarcastically jabs folding his arms briskly. Instead of moving away from the door, he leans his back against it and crosses one leg over the other. His gaze lazily quizzical as you roll your eyes at his apprehension.

“Sirius, you’re no fun sometimes, but if you’re in such a hurry to cum your pants then here it is.” You reply, reaching the hand that’s not currently tangled in James’ hair, to triumphantly pull out a small, silver stamp from the inside of your bra and present it for the group to see.

There are mixed reactions to the reveal.

James scrunches his nose up in mock disgust, Sirius freezes and Remus placing one hand on your shoulder, leaning forward to get a better look. And then the questions begin.

“What is it?”

“Oh, it just happens to be a pass into one of Slytherin house’s craziest parties of the year, James dear.”

“How’d you even manage to get your hands on one of these?”

“Like I said, it was a gift, Remus.”

“Be honest, Y/n. What poor sod did you steal it from?”

“For your information I didn’t have to steal it. Lucius Malfoy just handed it to me for nothing.” You say matter-of-factly at which he first gapes before proceeding to fume.

The conversation that continued from then on took a tiny bit of convincing on your end, but all three boys agreed in the end to come with you. No one in their right mind would let a chance like this go by.

Saturday, February 11th, 1978

“If you think you could pull the stunt you did yesterday and waltz in here today without having to answer to me, you’re gravely mistaken, lionet.” Lucius whispers into your ear and you just happen to be in the mood to challenge him further.

“I don’t think I’ve made even one mistake though, Daddy.” You coo back to him. Batting your eyelashes up at him and with a quick smirk you bring your cup of fire whiskey back to your lips for a sip.

With one hand he grabs your hips and pushes your back flush with the wall behind you. The other reaching under the skirt you’re wearing and pausing right at the hem.

“Prod me one more time, doll. I guarantee I’ll have you crying your pretty little eyes out.” He growls into your neck and this time you openly giggle up at him.

“I thought you knew that’s what I wanted, baby?” was the last thing you drawled out before the next thing you know, he’s dragging you further away from the main party, into a small reading room.

Closing the door behind you two, he leads you to sit down on one of the ottomans in the middle of the room.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Y/N. A small part of your observation from yesterday was correct.” He says undoing the tie around his neck and bunching it up. Before you could question him further, he gingerly stuffs it in-between your mouth.

“Can't risk having anyone hearing the cute little moans you'll be letting out for me. I want all the time I can get from you tonight, lionet.” Is all he offers as an explanation.

Rubbing your thighs together to aid in soothing your gradually aching cunt, you watch as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“I’ve spent countless months thinking of this stupid, fucking pussy of yours and tonight I’m determined to have it creaming all over my cock.” He's gazing at you intensely while his hands are reaching to pull off your undies.

Not being able to actually respond around your makeshift gag, you settle for lifting your hips so he can get to pleasing you quicker.

As the minutes pass, the soberer you become but Lucius’ arousing words continue to sway you into a pliant and silent submission.

Never in a million years did you think you would willing want Lucius Malfoy to fuck you senseless but the closer you get to having him, the more sure you are of it. You pray to Morgana that he leaves your cunt an absolute mess.

Once you’re free from your undergarment, he pulls you by your thighs until your ass is flush against the edge of the couch.

He pushes your knees back against your chest to get full access to your core, “Daddy wants you to keep your thighs nice and wide for him so he can wreck your little pussy, okay?” He questions and you let out a muffled sob of your confirmed understanding.

“Good girl” is all he replies before he gets to work. Spreading the lips with two fingers, he examines just how pink you are down there, seemingly pleased because immediately after, he springs into action.

His mouth cups around your clit, starting off slow and light to ease you into the pleasure before increasing the intensity.

He begins alternating between sucking and lapping at your bud while a single finger makes its way to your slit. Leisurely dragging the pad in your wetness before sliding it inside you, centimeter by centimeter, until it’s gone as far it can go.

Thrusting the one finger in and out until he feels your insides are soaked and loose enough for the next.

By the time you’re comfortablely taking four fingers fucking into you, your arousal is dripping down his wrist and you’re nearing your first orgasm.

“Lu- Lucius!” You manage to drool out through the thickness of his tie, catching his attention.

“Luci- I’m close!” You try to sob out and he responds by sucking and lapping at your clitorus intenser than before. His tongue rubbing just the right angle and you can’t help but let out a small squeal as your body is raked over with a white flash of euphoria.

He eases you through it with softer and softer laps as you squeeze your thighs to your chest with a vice grip. He licks up the remainder of your cum before coming up to remove the tie from your mouth and pull you into an enticing kiss.

As your breathing relaxes, he pulls his lips away. “How was that, sweetheart? Did Daddy make your little cunt feel good like he promised?” He coos, caressing your shoulders to soothe you further.

Fighting to get your words back you mewl, “Mmhmm, thank you Daddy. Felt really good, just like you promised. Do you think I’ve been good enough to have your cock though?” you ask looking up at him through wet lashes. His immediate response is a moan.

How is it that you know just what to say to rile him up? He wonders.

Picking you up, he takes your place on the couch. Pulling off his trousers and underwear, finally freeing his cock, it swings upright against his tummy. Scooting to leisurely lean back, he places you in his lap as you take a minute to admire his member. It’s thick and hard with a raging reddish-pink tip, leaking a small amount pre-cum.

Your core throbs and there’s no way you’re not gonna suck him off before getting him inside of you. Before you can scuttle off his lap however, his hands are gripping your hips. “Where are you going, love? I thought you wanted my cock?” He questions with a smirk.

Of course Lucius would make you beg to suck him off, you think, responding with a desperate moan. You try to lean in for a kiss but a hand flies up to hold your jaw in place. Squishing your cheeks and mouth together.

“Ah ah.” He tuts. “You know what to do, baby.”

You let out a defiant whine and the hand around your cheeks grip tightens.

“Daddy just told you to beg, you fucking whore.” He growled, giving your head a slight jerk back and you melt against him.

Grasping at his shoulders and trying to keep yourself from swooning, you respond with, “Wanna suck your cock, Daddy. Can I make you feel good please? You can even fuck my throat. Let me be a good girl for you.” you whimper through his grip and he just smiles at you before pulling you in for the kiss you wanted.

“That’s all you had to say, little lionet. Come on, let Daddy slide down your throat.” He grins and you practically fly down from his lap to get his penis in your mouth.

Moaning when his pre-cum hits your tongue, you immediately lick up and down his length. Getting as much spit around him as possible before beginning to use your hands to jerk him off. Lapping at his tip all the way to sucking his balls between your lips.

All he can do is whisper softly “Fuck fuck fuck, yes- ah that’s a good girl. My little girl is such a good slut for me.” before you come up to start deepthroating him and then his head is lolled back against the couch, gently holding both sides of your face as his tip hits the back of your throat.

Pulling you off of him by the hair at the nape of your neck, he has to take deep inhales and exhales “I wanna come in you, sweetheart.” He groans, caressing your hair.

Once he’s recovered enough, he lifts you to sit back on his lap, this time facing away from him.

You lean forward grasping his knees while he fingers you to make sure you’re ready to take him. “Alright, Angel.” He groans, licking his newly wet fingers to taste your arousal once more before reaching around to rub slow circles against your clit.

As you slide onto him, leaning your back against his chest, the room fills with your collective sighs and moans of pleasure.

He begins to set the pace, starting with slow pulls out of your heat before using your weight to pull you back down onto him firmly. Experiencing such euphoria that coherent speech begins to elude you. The both of you too lost in the pleasure to say anything other than “Yes, yes, yes! Right there, fuck me!” mixed with slurred moans and sighs.

His fingers rubbing your clit in circles, fastens in pace and soon your second orgasm knocks into you so hard that all you can do is grip his wrist and thigh, convulsing helplessly around him.

As you’re climaxing, Lucius fuzzily notices that you’re squirting. All that can be heard from your lips is a fucked out wail and he’s sure he’s in love.

He’s fucked you through your orgasm and the pleasure is gradually escalating into overstimulation. Your body locking in place as he maintains the same pace, rocking into you.

“Luci- fuck! Lucius!” You’re crying now, thrown deep into subspace.

“Come on Angel, let me give you one more. Think you can manage one more orgasm, hm?” He asks desperately fucking into you like he’s starved of pleasure.

“Can you handle it, babygirl?”

“O- Okay!” Literally sobbing now from the buildup. He’s fucking you like you’ve never experienced before.

“It hurts so good, Luci- you’re fucking me so good!” You cry out, both of you racing towards the end.

One last thrust does it and he grabs you by the waist to bring you down on him. You let a blissed out scream and he’s resting his forehead against your back breathing heavily. Warmth spreading in your stomach as he releases into you. He gives a few thrusts before pulling out.

You’re feeling fuzzy as he cleans your inner thighs and face off. He sprinkles kisses from your legs to your lips, praises peppering your ego.

“You were such a good girl for me.”

“Look at you baby. So pretty.”

“Good job, love.”

“You were wonderful, little lionet.”

Pulling your panties back on for you, he’s pleased knowing his come is still inside you. “Something to remember me by.” He says before pulling you into one last kiss for the night. It’s slow and soft and as your coherent mind is making its way back into your body, you register how tender he’s being.

Pulling back from his lips, you stare into his eyes. “I hope you’re aware that you can’t fuck me that good and expect it to be a one time fling.” You state smiling, fingers grasping at his sides and he laughs.

“I was never planning for it to be, doll.” He replies, slipping a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now run along back to your miscreant friends. I’ll finish cleaning up here.” He pats your butt, pushing you towards the door and with a roll of your eyes, you head out.

After turning a few corners you immediately bump into Sirius who looks over you with a raised brow.

“What?” You ask, pulling back.

“Nothing, you just look like you got fucked into next year though.” He barks out. Laughing his head off, pointing out your makeup that’s missing in action and hair completely unstyled. You elbow him in the stomach feeling suddenly sheepish.

“Shut up and help me find the others. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” And you can’t help but chuckle with him, his laugh being undeniably contagious.

“Whatever you say. I think I saw James challenging some random sod to an arm wrestling match.”

#lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy x reader #harry potter imagine #lucius malfoy smut #lucius malfoy fluff #young lucius malfoy #marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #harry pottr imagines #fluff #smut

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zemosreader · 4 years ago

Text

make believe ⎛ oneshot ⎠

MAIN PAIRING: Zemo x reader.

summary: in a fit of madness, you ask Zemo to be your date to Tony's wedding.

warnings: fake!dating, mentions of past Tony Stark x reader (implied).

word count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

You bounced on the balls of your feet as you went over the argument in your head once more. It was probably the fifth or sixth time you had done so, just this morning, but the invitation to Tony’s wedding was burning a hole in your countertop in your flat and you had to have a response for the RSVP by the end of the week. Better to get this over with now, and then you could move on to someone who might actually say yes to being your date to your ex’s wedding.

It was stupid, it’s not like you had to ask him, but once the thought had occurred to you… you couldn’t get it out of your head. Now it felt imperative. You had to know what he would say. Shaking your head, you laughed softly to yourself, you already knew what he was going to say. It was a fool’s errand to ask him, but here you were, hovering outside of his office, early on a Wednesday morning.

His secretary was giving you the side-eye, but you were here so often, that she didn’t make you leave. That, at least, was a relief. You weren't sure you could stand the embarrassment of being escorted out of his office before you had inappropriately propositioned him. At least if it happened afterward, it would possibly be justified.

“Good morning, Baron Zemo,” his secretary chirped as the whoosh of the lift doors sounded from behind you. You turned and tried to smile at him, but you were sure it came out as a grimace. Especially when he sighed heavily at seeing you.

He nodded at his secretary, but only had eyes for you. “What can I do for you so early this morning?” He didn’t sound pleased to see you at all, and your anxiety ratcheted up.

“Can we speak in your office?” you asked, giving him a tight-lipped smile. His eyes narrowed as he swept them over you so quickly you weren't even sure it had happened. He held out his hand, indicating you should proceed before him into the office and you did so. You weren't sure, but it felt like his eyes may have strayed to your arse. You hoped so. You were wearing your tightest dress today in hopes that it would give you the confidence boost you needed. Or, maybe persuade him. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt, you had decided that morning as you put it on.

The door shut with a soft click and he passed by you so closely, you could feel the breeze of his body. He settled into his seat behind his desk, propping his arm up against the solid, oak desk and indicating you should sit in one of the visitor’s chairs.

You did so, but sat right at the very edge, ready to spring to your feet the moment he said no.

“Well?”

“I… um…” you swallowed hard and looked down at your hands, trying to remember the speech you had prepared.

“Spit it out, dear. I haven’t all day,” Helmut Zemo said sharply.

“WillyougowithmetoTony’swedding,” you said so quickly to your hands wringing in your lap.

“Pardon?”

You took a deep breath and looked up at a spot just over his left shoulder. “I need a date for Tony’s wedding. And it’s stupid and you’ll say no, but will you just pretend to be my date?”

Your entire body braced for his rejection, you were poised to stand, but no rejection came. Instead, he asked when the wedding was.

As if on autopilot, you gave him the relevant details.

Zemo hummed thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over you again. “I’m not sure I know how to pretend to be someone’s date,” he said finally.

That statement startled you enough to actually look at him. You could detect amusement in his eyes, but also interest. You opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out and you closed it again.

“However, if you would like me to actually be your date, I think I could fit it into my schedule,” he added magnanimously. One corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Are you joking?” you asked, completely unable to tell.

Zemo frowned. “No,” he said slowly, “are you? Is there really no wedding?”

You shook your head. “Yes, of course, there’s a wedding… but why would you agree to go with me?”

His face became carefully blank. “Why would you ask me?”

“Because I thought you would say no,” you said in a rush. “I never thought you would agree. I…”

He leaned further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning deeply at you. “Is this some sort of prank?”

“I…” you shook your head, trying to come up with an answer. “Sorry, no it’s not a prank. I got the idea in my head to ask you and then I couldn’t not ask you, but I was convinced you would say no. Why did you agree?” you peered up at his blank face, searching for an answer.

“I’m free on that date,” he replied with a shrug. “It seemed as if you wanted some sort of moral support for your friend’s wedding. Besides, it would upset The Winter Soldier.”

You frowned. You hadn’t thought about how it would make Bucky and Sam feel if you showed up with Zemo. “I— thank you for agreeing, but you’re right, it would anger Bucky. I don’t want to do that. I’m afraid—”

“Ah, you can’t take it back now, my dear,” Helmut said with a smirk. “You’ve asked, and I’ve agreed. It appears I will be your date for Tony Stark’s wedding. Who is he marrying again?”

“Pepper Potts,” you replied, wrinkling your nose. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself from doing it, even though you tried. It was ridiculous, feeling upset that Tony was marrying Pepper, but there it was. And that was the crux of the reason you had decided to ask Zemo.

“The CEO of his company?” Zemo asked with a slight pucker between his brows.

You nodded. “Yes, the very same. But you’re right abou—”

“Well then, I shall have to accompany you,” Helmut said as if the matter was completely settled.

“What? No, you—”

“Are you really going to rescind my invitation? How rude,” Helmut said, lifting his nose into the air and glaring down at you.

You bit your lip. He was right. It would be the height of rudeness to ask him and then uninvite him, but he was also right that it would rile up Bucky. And Tony, your brain helpfully supplied. That was the crux of it. You wanted to rile Tony up. You hoped he choked when he saw who you were with.

“Fine,” you said ungraciously. “The wedding is at two in the afternoon and my invitation allows a plus one. Shall we meet at my apartment?”

He nodded and waved his fingers in dismissal as he began sorting through the correspondence on his massive desk. You frowned at him while standing stiffly and marching from the room. You weren't sure why you asked him beyond knowing that it would annoy Tony. You firmly refused to think about how good he looked last month in that coat of his. Nope, that was definitely not why you asked him.

––––

Six Weeks Later

You couldn’t quite believe that you were actually going through with this. You had barely seen Zemo since you stormed into his office and asked him to be your date all those weeks ago. You had almost hoped he had forgotten all about it, but just yesterday he had sent you a text confirming the time he was to meet you at your flat. Now you were all dressed up and rocking in your heels as you tried to calm your anxiety.

How in the world were you going to explain this to anyone?

How had that thought just occurred to you? Horror filled you as you realized you were going to have to explain this to Bucky and Tony and the rest of the Avengers at some point. What on earth were you going to say? That you and Zemo were dating? Bile rose up just as a knock sounded on your door. You hurried to answer it, your fear and apprehension heavy on your face.

He looked amazing, just as you expected him to and you waved him inside your apartment. It seemed even smaller when he was standing in your living room. You turned away from him and took a few deep breaths. What on earth had you been thinking? Inviting Helmut Zemo to your ex’s wedding had to be the most self-destructive thing you could have done.

“Are you alright?” Zemo asked. You could feel him behind you, your living room suddenly feeling smaller as the tension between the two of you grew.

“I fear I’ve made a mistake,” you said in a small voice. You took a big breath and turned to face him. “I can hardly show up with you on my arm,” you said, refusing to meet his eye. “How on earth would I ever explain it?”

“Explain what?” Zemo asked, taking a step closer to you.

You felt your cheeks warm, he was really going to make you say it, wasn’t he?

“Explain you,” you said. “Explain to my friends and family how I ended up on the arm of Helmut Zemo. The Baron Helmut Zemo. The one who hated the Avengers so much he did everything to destroy them.”

“Perhaps,” Zemo said slowly, “it was less about destroying the Avengers and more about getting even.”

You gaped up at him and half-laughed when you saw the smirk on his face. You couldn’t believe he had just made a joke at his own expense.

“There’s nothing to explain. Two consenting adults are dating. What’s to explain?” He shrugged so nonchalantly, you almost believed him.

“Dating? Now we’re dating?” you asked, your eyes widening. You shook your head. “I’m not sure I can pull off fake dating now too.”

You looked down at your hands, realizing you were wringing them, as you always did when you fretted like this.

Zemo cleared his throat and you forced your gaze back up to his. He had a very calculating look on his face. “Of course you can. You wouldn’t have suggested I ‘pretend’ to be your date if you didn’t think you could pull it off. We can tell them it was a whirlwind over the last few weeks.”

“That was madness,” you shook your head, “asking you like that.”

“So why did you?” he peered down at you and your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. You knew exactly why you had asked him. Your tongue darted out to lick your bottom lip and you pulled it into your mouth, biting down on it gently.

“Why does anyone ask one out?” you whispered, your gaze darting from his, unable to watch whatever emotions would flit across his face at that admission.

“Indeed,” he replied, sounding amused. “Shall we?”

Within half an hour you were across the town, Zemo slid an arm around your waist, holding you close as the two of you entered the wedding hall.

“Steady, there,” Zemo whispered into your hair just as you entered and a group of wedding attendees turned to see who had just arrived. Even from this distance, you could see eyes widening and tongues wagging.

You lifted your chin and Helmut left his palm on the small of your back as you took that first, scary step forward and greeted the guests.

The wedding was mostly fine. You received some looks from the rest of the Avengers but decided that ignoring them was your best bet. It wasn’t the ceremony you were worried about anyway. Nobody was going to track you down and corner you, expressing concern about your choices while Tony and Pepper were saying their ‘I do’s.’

You weren't ambushed until almost an hour after dinner, which you thought showed remarkable restraint on the part of your friends. You weren't even all that surprised by who did the ambushing. Zemo had stepped outside for a minute and promised to return with drinks and you found not just Bucky, but Sharon as well. Oh, well, they must be concerned if Sharon was getting involved.

“So glad you could come,” Sharon said, pulling you into a hug. You may not have ended up both working for Shield, but Sharon always felt like your sister. Bucky reached in to give you a side hug as well.

They dispensed with the pleasantries quickly. “So, Zemo?” Sharon asked, her eyebrows rising high on her head. “He’s a bit old for you, isn’t he?”

You bit your lips to keep from laughing. “Would that be your only objection to him?”

“Ah, well, not that it’s our place,” Sharon stuttered.

“We just want to make sure you’re taken care of,” Bucky said emphatically. You were wringing your hands, almost unconsciously, and gave both of them a tight smile.

“Of course, he has been wonderful,” you replied. Your brain was working overtime trying to figure a way out of this conversation.

A moment later, Zemo slid his hands between your, threading your fingers together and the tightness in your chest eased as your palms pressed together.

“James, Ms.Carter,” he rumbled, with a dip of his head in their direction.

“Zemo,” Bucky replied looking as though he were trying not to sneer, you thought it just looked like he was constipated. “So kind of you to make it to Tony's wedding.”

“Well, how could I say no when my dear asked?” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You beamed up at him, completely unaware of what this looked like from the outside. Perhaps asking Zemo to be your pretend date wouldn’t be the disaster you had been dreading all these weeks.

After the ambush by Bucky and Sharon, the rest of your friends had to make their voices heard. Some were more subtle about it than others. Tony, for instance, yanked you away from Zemo to have a heated debate behind the bar that you were sure everyone could hear. That was confirmed once you'd finally pulled yourself away from him and returned to find people studiously ignoring you.

Steve, at least, was better about it, just asking if everything was alright. Sam wondered, in front of Zemo, no less, if someone had put something in your drink. Strongly hinting that ‘someone’ was Zemo and that ‘something’ was a type of drug.

Zemo was a courteous guest and danced with you just the right amount. When things finally began winding down, the moon was up and it had been dark for at least three full hours.

“How do you feel about leaving?” Zemo asked, his hand straying to the small of your back. You leaned into him, loving the way it felt to do so. Somehow, despite his age, his body felt firm beneath his dress suit.

“I’m ready. Irish goodbye?” you asked, looking up at him.

He smirked down at you. “The best kind, really.”

You slipped out of the hall, hopefully unseen, and Zemo drove you to your apartment. You were glad to kick off your heels and poured a nightcap for both of you. You settled onto the sofa.

“Cheers to making our way through that unscathed,” You said, clinking your glasses together.

“I hope I wasn’t too terrible of a ‘pretend’ date,” Zemo murmured, looking at you over the top of his glass.

“I thought you didn’t know how to be a pretend date?” you asked, tipping your head to the side and trying desperately to hide a smile.

Zemo hummed. “Perhaps not. Shall we go for round two? Perhaps lunch at that new restaurant near my place?”

“Oh, yes, I would love that,” you said with a grin. Zemo put his glass down and lifted your hand, kissing the back of it.

“It’s a date then,” he said a sly smile on his face. Then he stood and was out your door with a, “See you at noon,” tossed over his shoulder.

You leaned back against your sofa, drinking the rest of your brandy and smiling absently at your door. Asking Zemo to be your pretend wedding date was looking like the best idea you'd had in ages.

#baron zemo #baron zemo x reader #tfatws #zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x y/n #zemo x you #zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x y/n #baron helmut zemo x you #baron helmut zemo x y/n

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