#obey me attempted replacement au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherrylovelycherry · 2 months ago

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𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and a pain au chocolat."

Insolence and control

pairing. Sunday x gn!reader cw/genre. angst, argument, some slow burn, TW(abuse), first time slap, criticism, synopsis. his control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves. full menu note. something short to keep up with the language heh.

As the Family's spokesperson with a hectic schedule, Sunday is arguably the busiest person in Penacony. His workday often extends beyond 15 hours, occasionally reaching over 19 hours. In short, he rarely makes it home, even when he desires to.

On an unusual Tuesday, he manages to arrive home before midnight—a rare occurrence. You casually sit on the living room couch, watching TV until you hear the front door open. It's Sunday. You promptly rise from the couch and assist him with the briefcases in his hands.

"It's okay, Y/N. I can manage them," he declined, visibly exhausted as expected.

You persist, attempting to take the briefcases from his hands, but his demeanor suddenly changes.

"I said it's fine! Can you just fucking leave me alone?!" he shouts, his voice strained. His sudden temper leaves you questioning what has come over him.

You freeze upon his unexpected outburst. His usual composed self was now replaced with a completely different aura.

Sunday drops the briefcases on the floor and takes a step back, averting his gaze. His breathing is heavy, as if he's holding back. The outburst was seemingly triggered by seemingly minor interaction.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted," he says, trying to regain his composure. He's still avoiding eye contact with you, but then his expression suddenly shifts to one of surprise.

His eyes widen slightly upon realizing something.

"Are you…wearing one of my shirts? A hint of irritation laces his tone as he finally looks at you, examining your appearance. You're wearing one of his work shirts that you had borrowed.

You nod, a bit confused by his reaction.

"I missed you—"

You thought he wouldn't mind you borrowing his shirt.

Although hey, he'd never found out you were using them, until now.

He grits his teeth, the irritation in his voice evident, but his eyes remain fixated on the shirt.

"Take it off." he says, his tone firm.

Your heart skips a beat at his command. The shirt suddenly felt too tight.

You look at him, searching for a hint of humor, but you're met only with his intense gaze.

"But why?" you asked, managing to push the words out of you, despite the growing knot in your stomach.

With a great notorious irritation on his face, he spoke again.

"Because you're going to dirty and wrinkle it."

You look down at yourself, noting that the shirt is barely wrinkled and clean, contrary to his statement.

However, the tension in the air was palpable.

You tried to protest, not understanding why he was making such a big deal about something so trivial. "But this won't - "

Before you could finish, he silenced you, his voice filled with irritation and authority.

"Don't argue with me. I said take it off. Now."

But oh right, he wanted to always have everything controlled and in place.

You hesitate, torn between obeying him immediately and questioning his unreasonable demand. But his stern stare leaves no room for argument.

Slowly, you lift the hem of the shirt, preparing to take it off.

However, the moment the shirt slides halfway up, revealing the midriff, he abruptly grabs your wrist.

His touch is firm, his grip preventing you from going further.

"Change in the bedroom, not here," he said.

He released your wrist but recorded your other hand before leading you towards the bedroom, his demeanor still emanating tension and irritation. You followed behind, still trying to wrap your mind around the situation.

Once inside the bedroom, he went to the closet to put on slightly more comfortable clothes.

You stood by the bed still puzzled, wondering why he was so upright about this. It was just a shirt.

But anyway, you approached your side of the wardrobe, to take out your own clothes and put it on.

Once you finish changing, you turn around to find him sitting on the bed, still visibly agitated.

Once you finished changing clothes, you left his shirt on dirty clothes.

You sighed and turned your body towards the bed, he was sitting there.

As you approach, he pats the bed, motioning for you to sit next to him. You comply, taking a seat next to him. The air in the room was thick with tension, each moment of silence felt uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath before turning his gaze toward you. His eyes were filled with frustration.

He spoke, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation. "Do you know how long I've been working this week?"

You replied, a hint of guilt in your voice. "I know. It's been incredibly busy for you lately."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I've been working non-stop, sometimes not even coming home till midnight. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically."

You moved your gaze to his face. Dark rings under his eyes were visible, evidence of his tiredness.

He continued, venting his frustration. "And what do I find when I finally get home? You, wearing my shirt as if it's nothing."

His voice rose, the irritation in his tone evident again. "That's not just some random shirt; it's mine. It's supposed to be clean, pristine, hanging neatly in my closet. Not being casually worn and wrinkled on you."

"I'm sorry," you replied, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration. "I just missed you, and I thought you wouldn't mind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You've been living here, in my house, with me, for how long? You should know not to 'borrow' my belongings."

The tension in the room was escalating quickly, and you found yourself feeling defensive.

"It's just a shirt, Sunday," you said, trying to stay calm. "I thought you wouldn't mind."

He shot you a stern glance, irritation evident in his gaze. "It's the principle, not the shirt itself. I have specific ways I want things organized and kept in order."

His control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves.

"I wanted to feel closer to you, that's why I wore it. Is that such a crime?" You said.

His jaw tightened at your response as he shot back angrily, "You could've done that in a different way; not by disrespecting my belongings,"

His control started to leak out of him completely. The outburst was not only about the shirt, but the frustration built up during the week, from his stressful work to the lack of time you both had for each other.

He paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "I expect more from you, especially as my partner. You should understand and respect my boundaries,"

"Boundaries?" you replied, the frustration in your voice evident. "Is it really about boundaries, or is it about control?"

You were starting to lose your patience.

"I do respect your boundaries," you added, your voice starting to rise. "But there's a line between having expectations and being ridiculously controlling. And right now, it feels like you're being the latter."

Sunday's eyes narrowed, clearly not appreciating being challenged. He retorted, "I'm not being controlling; I just have high standards, and I expect them to be met. You know exactly who you're living with."

His voice grew more frustrated. "And instead of understanding and appreciating that, you're questioning me, and accusing me of overstepping boundaries. I demand a certain level of order and respect. Is that really too much to ask for?”

"Are you serious right now?" You snapped back, your frustration reaching its peak, "Of course it's too much to ask for! You're acting as if this is all my fault. You're being completely unreasonable,"

"I can't just sit here and take this—this verbal abuse because I wore your stupid shirt," you exclaimed.

The room was thick with tension.

"Verbal abuse?" Sunday's voice rose, clearly offended. "I'm not abusing you; I'm expressing my expectations and frustrations. There's a difference."

He pointed his finger at you, frustration etched on his face. "And yes, it is your fault. If you had respected my boundaries, we wouldn't be having this argument. It's not about the damn shirt, it's about your disregard for my wishes."

You let out a slight laugh in mockery, as you rolled your eyes.

"You know what? Fine, you win, I'm not going to touch your stuff," you said, as you got up from the edge of the bed.

Sunday's eyes followed you, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "Where are you going?"

You replied, "to the living room, i need some space to cool off."

He let out a scoff, clearly not satisfied with your response. "You want space? Fine, take all the space you need. But come back here when you're ready to apologize and accept you're in the wrong."

Your eyes narrowed at his insistence that you were in the wrong. You retorted, "I'm not going to apologize for something that doesn't make sense,"

He clenched his jaw, his tone stern. "You know what, maybe you shouldn't come back until you see reason."

His words stung more than you expected. The implication that you weren't being reasonable made your heart flutter, mixed with the hurt of his cold statement.

You crossed your arms, your voice filled with determination. "Fine, I won't. Consider this a break from your 'expectations and rules.'"

His eyes flared with anger as he responded, "A break from my expectations and rules? You make it sound like I'm controlling, but those boundaries exist for a reason."

He got up from the bed, his voice raised, "And if you can't respect them or me, then maybe we need more than just a break."

The tension between you both palpable, your relationship suddenly hanging on a precipice.

You let out a hollow laugh, the hurt and frustration bubbling up within you. "Maybe that's what we need – a break from each other."

You moved back towards the bedroom door, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'll go stay somewhere else."

His expression hardened, a mix of surprise and stubbornness evident on his face. "You can leave. Go ahead."

You opened the door, your hand gripping the handle tightly. The urge to turn back, to argue further or something, was strong.

"Fine, I will," you said, your voice quiet, almost resigned.

You took one last glance at him, noted his tense stature, and then walked out the door, shutting it behind you with a sharp click.

The sound of the door shutting echoed through the apartment, leaving Sunday alone in the quiet room. He stood there for a moment, his mind racing with frustration and anger.

He ran his hand through his hair, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. He looked down at the floor, the argument still fresh in his mind.

You didn't end up leaving the house, first of all, or know where to stay.

So you stayed in the house, huddled on the couch.

As the hours passed by, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. Sunday still hadn't come out of the bedroom.

You sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mix of emotions swirling within you.

You lay on the couch, choosing to sleep.

You didn't know how much time passed, but you felt someone pushing you a little bit, to make room for the couch.

As you stirred from your sleep, you felt someone gently pushing you on the couch, attempting to make room. You opened your eyes slightly, groggy from the disrupted sleep.

You noticed Sunday hovering above you, a tired expression on his face.

"Move over," he said, his voice softer than before, but still holding a hint of tension.

You shifted slightly, creating space for him on the couch. He slumped onto the spot you just vacated, his presence immediately filling the room with his energy.

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, sighing heavily.

The two of you stay there in silence for a moment, the weight of your unresolved argument still lingering between you. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim bedside lamp, casting shadows on the walls.

Sunday broke the silence first, his voice a low rumble. "You didn't leave."

You looked at him, your gaze meeting his weary eyes. The tension from your earlier fight still hung in the air, but his comment felt almost like an olive branch, a hint that maybe he didn't want you to leave either.

You replied softly, "I didn't know where to go."

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then, after a few more seconds, he spoke, his voice holding a hint of resignation.

"You could have gone to a friend's place. Or a hotel. Anything but here."

You responded, your voice quieter this time, "I didn't want to go anywhere else."

He shifted his head to look at you, your eyes meeting his. His expression softened for a moment, before the tension returned.

He continued, his voice slightly strained, "You'd rather stay here, even after what happened?"

You nodded, your eyes not breaking contact with his. "Yes. Despite our argument, I didn't want to leave."

He inhaled deeply, his eyes still fixed on you.

After another moment of silence, this time you spoke first.

"Couldn't sleep?" You asked, seeing his tired look.

He let out a weary sigh, stretching his tired figure a bit.

"No," he admitted, "I've been tossing and turning in bed for hours."

His eyes searched your face, studying your expression.

"Why is that?" You asked, curiosity piqued.

He shifted his position once again, clearly not wanting to give a direct response.

"The bed felt too empty," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let go of a little 'mhm' while also moving yourself a little on the couch, looking for comfort.

"Then let's sleep," you said, closing your eyes.

There was another moment of silence, this one felt heavier.

Sunday didn't say anything at first, but then you suddenly felt his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

You allowed yourself to intertwine your legs with his, feeling more comfortable so you could sleep on the narrow couch.

You both settled into a rather tight, but somewhat comfortable position on the couch, with your head resting on his chest.

The sound of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his body were strangely soothing, despite the lingering tension between you.

His arm remained around you, his hand gently tracing light circles on your back.

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep again.

The sky outside had started to darken, dusk painting the horizon in hues of purple and deep blue. It was getting late, signaling the end of another workday.

Sunday was still at work, finishing up a few tasks before returning home.

You were sitting on the couch once again, scrolling through your phone when you heard the sound of keys in the front door.

The door opened, and in walked Sunday. He looked weary and tired, exhaustion evident in his gaze.

This time you didn't get up to try to help him, because the last time you did he was too irritated to be kind.

"Hey, sweetheart," you greeted, as you turned your gaze towards your phone again.

He closed the door behind him, locking it as he always did.

He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door, his movements weary.

He turned to face you, his expression revealing his fatigue.

He couldn't help but make a grimace when he saw you sitting there.

"Did you wash the dishes?" He dared to ask, as if he knew the answer.

You immediately felt the irritation rise in you. Despite your attempt at not letting it affect you, his first words felt like another challenge.

You replied, trying to keep your tone even, "Yes, I did."

He walked over to you, stopping in front of the couch.

He didn't seem convinced, as he raised an eyebrow and asked again, "Are you sure?"

His tone was laced with skepticism.

The doubt in his voice made your annoyance flare up even more, the feeling of being constantly questioned and disbelieved by him was wearing thin.

You shot him a look, before answering again firmly, "Yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't lie about something as simple as washing dishes."

He shifted, leaning his arm against the back of the couch, towering over you.

He responded with a dry tone, "And how am I supposed to know? You've been known to forget before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his skeptical gaze with your own. "I'm not a child, Sunday. I'm perfectly capable of doing basic chores, without being questioned and doubted constantly."

He didn't respond and headed to the kitchen, where he saw for himself that the dishes were clean.

But not in the right way.

Or at least that's what he thought.

"Y/N, did you dry the dishes with the cloth for the dishes or to dry your hands?" He raised his voice, from the kitchen, so that you could hear his words.

You felt your frustration rising again. Why was he always so nitpicky about every little thing?

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. "What difference does it make?" You replied, trying to keep your voice even. "They're both clean, aren't they?"

He looked at you, his expression stern. "It does make a difference. One cloth is supposed to be used for the hands, not as a drying cloth for dishes."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The way he was picking on such a trivial issue was mind-boggling.

You retorted, "Sunday, this is ridiculous. It's just a cloth, and it serves the same purpose, right? The dishes are clean."

He shook his head, his expression remaining stern.

"No, it's not just a cloth. The dish cloth is for the dishes, and the towel is for your hands. It's about order and organization," he responded matter-of-factly.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

"Well, I'm going to wash them again and dry them with the right cloth," you said, in a tense voice.

As you approached to start putting the variety of dried dishes inside the sink.

He stopped you with a gesture, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Wait."

His tone was firm, preventing you from moving forward.

"Let me do it. You'll probably just use the wrong cloth again." he declared, his gaze fixed on you.

You let go of an unconscious mockery after his words reached your ears.

"How nice," you said, as you left the kitchen.

You left the kitchen feeling frustrated and annoyed. The fact that he thought you couldn't handle such a simple task as washing dishes felt like a blow to your pride.

You sat back down on the couch again, still see something but trying to control yourself. You picked up your phone, pretending to be distracted, all while feeling his presence in the next room, taking care of 'your mistake'.

And yes, you thought he was just irritated and it would only be the only times he would make those kinds of comments.

Oh, aeons. How wrong you were.

Time after time again, every time he came back late at night, he insisted on criticizing the things you did, from how to fold your clothes, to how you eat.

At this point you were starting to feel frustrated, and of course, you couldn't help but defend yourself, sometimes speaking badly or raising your tone of voice.

It wasn't the best way to speak for you, but it was infuriating for you to criticize everything.

And obviously, he didn't like your attempts at defense and tone of voice.

At this point, you were sitting on the couch, somewhat relaxed not to have Sunday in the living room.

You were now glad that he spent so much time away from home.

The door opened once again, revealing the tired figure of Sunday once more. As he stepped into the room, his gaze instantly focused on you, sitting on the couch. The moment he saw you, a disapproving frown settled on his face.

He closed the door behind him and approached the living room, his footsteps reverberating in the quiet apartment.

"Y/N," he began, his voice stern. "You're sinking into the couch again. It's going to wear it out."

You couldn't believe it.

He was now criticizing how you were sitting on the couch. It was as if everything you did was wrong in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure.

"I'm just sitting comfortably," you replied tersely.

But Sunday wasn't satisfied.

"You're sinking in the couch," he repeated, his tone disapproving. "You know it's not good for the couch, or your back, to sit that way. You need to sit up straight."

His constant criticism and corrections had been wearing on your nerves, and this latest comment was the final straw.

"Oh, for Aeons sake, Sunday," you snapped, your frustration boiled over. "Can you just relax for a moment? I'm tired, I'm just trying to relax."

He didn't take your response kindly. His expression hardened.

"And I'm tired of coming home every day to find you slouching on the couch," he replied firmly. "It's not respectable, or good for you."

Your eyes widened at his words and this time, you lost it.

You stood up, your voice raised and filled with frustration. "Respectable? Are you serious? You're more worried about how respectable I look on the couch than how I feel?"

He was taken aback by your outburst, but stood his ground. "It's about maintaining a certain standard… "

You interrupted him, your voice filled with sarcasm. "Oh, spare me, Sunday. We're not living in some uptight Victorian house."

Sunday's expression tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Watch your tone, Y/N. I'm just trying to help you be more presentable… "

You laughed bitterly. "Presentable? Is that all you care about? My appearance and how it reflects on you?"

Sunday tried to maintain his stern expression, but the tone of your voice was starting to chip at his composure.

You continued, your irritation rising, "You're always criticizing me, finding faults in everything I do. I can't relax without you nagging at me to be 'more respectable' or to do things your way. It's like I'm walking on eggshells every moment you're here."

Sunday clenched his jaw, clearly growing irritated. "You're exaggerating. I just want you to have some basic decency and standards,"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Decency and standards?! Is that what you call it? I call it suffocating and controlling. I can't even relax in my own home without you breathing down my neck, telling me how to sit, how to fold my clothes, how to talk‐"

Sunday interrupted you, his own irritation seeping into his voice. "Because you're not doing it right! Someone has to keep things in order around here. You think the house will magically stay organized and tidy without any effort?"

You retorted, "I'm not saying we need to live like pigs, but there's being tidy and then there's being overly obsessive about every little detail."

"You're making me feel like I can never do anything right, and it's driving me insane."

"It's about showing some self-discipline and self-respect. You're always so slovenly and careless…" He said.

You felt like you couldn't take his comments anymore. "Slovenly?" you replied, your voice filling with incredulity. "I'm not a slob, Sunday. I'm just being comfortable in MY own home."

The tension in the air was palpable. Sunday's irritation was now almost palpable, and he looked like he was on the verge of losing his composure.

"Your 'comfort' is an excuse for being undisciplined," he said, his voice growing louder. "You think because you're at home, you can just relax and do whatever you want. You have an obligation to yourself to maintain a certain standard of behavior and appearance."

'Obligation?'

You snapped.

"Who the hell do you think you are to dictate my behavior and appearance?" Your frustration boiled over. "You're not my boss, Sunday. You're my partner. You're supposed to support and respect me, not nitpick and control every little thing I do. This isn't a military drill, it's a home."

Sunday's own frustration flared up as you stood your ground. "I'm just trying to help you be better. If you'd just listen and take my advice - "

"Oh, so it's 'advice' now?" You interrupted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're not advising me. You're ordering me around like a damn soldier."

"I'm not just supposed to sit idly by and watch you act carelessly. It's my duty to guide and correct you when you're veering off the right path." he shot back, his voice rising in volume.

You couldn't help but use sarcasm again at his loud tone of voice. "Oh, right, right."

"In the process, teach me how to breathe, yes? I'm sure I'm doing that wrong too."

That comment clearly hit a nerve and Sunday's irritation turned into anger.

"You're being sarcastic and disrespectful again," he said.

"Disrespectful my-!" Your words were quickly cut off.

By he stepped closer, towering over you.

"How insolent!" And the moment he spoke, his hand rose above his head.

Just as you were about to retaliate, your words were cut off by a swift and firm slap across your cheek.

The sudden shock left you stunned, your mind spinning for a moment. Your hand gingerly touched your now stinging cheek.

Sunday stood there, his face filled with disbelief. It was as if he was just as surprised as you were by what he had just done. For a moment, both of you remained silent. The air was filled with shock and a tense silence.

You knew Sunday was stern and strict, but this was the first time he had ever raised a hand at you.

The atmosphere in the room was now even more tense. You felt a knot forming in your stomach and throat, fear and anger mixed together forming a confusing sensation.

The realization of what had just happened was slowly reaching your brain.

He slapped you. He actually dared to lay a hand on you.

The room echoed in deafening silence, the only sound was your own breath, which now came in and out rapidly.

Sunday stood there, his hand still slightly raised as if frozen in time.

Sunday's breathing started to quicken as he began to regain his composure.

His eyes widened after realizing what he had done, his gaze fixed on your reddening cheek.

Your own mind was reeling, trying to process this moment. Just moments before, the conversation was heated, but it had never crossed the line into physical violence.

The stinging sensation on your cheek was slowly turning into a dull ache.

You could feel tears start to sting the corners of your eyes, at that point, you couldn't identify whether it was because of the fact that he had dared to do that or because of the sudden sharp pain in your face.

Sunday's expression morphed from shock to something akin to helplessness. He had crossed a boundary that he never thought he was capable of crossing. All this time, he thought that words were enough to guide and correct, but for the first time, he had crossed the line.

He tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was silence.

The tension in the room was palpable.

He finally managed to speak in a shaky, low voice. "I… I didn't mean… I'm sorry, I don't-"

But you were already at the brink of breaking down. The pain on your cheek combined with the emotional turmoil was becoming unbearable.

You couldn't hold it back anymore.

A soft sob escaped your lips, your tears starting to spill down your aching cheek.

Sunday's heart ached as he saw you starting to break down before him.

He captiously took a step forward, his hand reached out towards you, but stopped midway. He didn't know if he should comfort you or keep his distance after what he had just done.

His voice was a hushed whisper. "Please, let me-"

The sight of him trying to touch you after what he had just done sent a shockwave of fear and anger through you.

"Go ahead," you said, trying to get your voice out without any sobbing.

"Go ahead," You repeated, turning your face a little, pointing to your cheek that wasn't hit. "slap me again,"

At no time did the tears stop, practically you spit out the words between cut-down and agitated breaths.

"Surely this is how your 'father' hit you," you said again, with hatred in your tone. "Surely he did the same for you to be obedient,"

Your words, despite being fueled by anger and pain, stung like a dagger through Sunday's heart.

He stood frozen in place, shocked at the comparison you had just made.

Sunday had revealed to you in a previous conversation how strict Gopher Wood was, raising him to be obedient and disciplined. Growing up, there were times him had used physical means to discipline him for mistakes.

He couldn't deny that his upbringing had influenced his way of thinking and acting, but he had never, ever considered crossing the same boundaries Gopher Wood had.

He had never spoken about it with pride, and in fact, he often looked ashamed when he spoke of the times he was reprimanded in such a manner.

He shook his head, voice shaky. "I'm not like him, It's not the same-"

"Isn't it?" you cut him off, your voice quivering with pain and anger.

"Why? Because you love me?" you continued, the tears now flowing freely down your face.

"Because your father didn't love you? That's the difference?"

Sunday clenched his jaw, your words hitting him deep.

You continued, your voice choked with emotion. "If that's the difference, then you're just as bad," your words cut like blades.

"Maybe even worse, because you should know better." you finished, your voice a broken whisper.

The room was once again heavy with silence, the only sound being the occasional soft sob that escaped through your tears.

Sunday's face was pale, a mix of shame and helplessness.

All he could do was stand there, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

The sight of you broke his heart, but the knowledge that he had caused this breakdown weighed heavily on his soul.

He didn't know what to say, how to justify this to you or even to himself.

He just stood there, feeling like a complete failure.

"I hate you, Sunday," you murmured, As you passed your hands across your face, be careful not to dry your tears abruptly, down your sensitive cheek.

Maybe he is a failure.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr angst #angst no comfort #angst #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #sunday #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday angst #sunday honkai star rail #sunday x you #sunday x y/n

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kiyaar · 2 months ago

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Possessed by Light: An AI Tony Exchange CREATOR REVEALS!

POSSESSED BY LIGHT: An AI (Steve)Tony Exchange has come to a close! Thank you to our creators, our cheerleaders, and our esteemed pinch hitter. Here is a masterlist of 13 delicious works (4 art, 9 fic) featuring our sad blue boy. This exchange was designed to generate more comics SteveTony works, so most works feature 616, but we do have 2 Noir works and 1 Ults work! We hope you enjoy this feast and please remember to show your chefs some love in the comments! Works under the cut:

art: Ballet Aérien by @oluka for @tinystark616

Tags: superior iron man, digital art Summary: SIM has taken an interest to AI Tony.

art: PbL: Dissonant Messages by @somekindofsheepl for @mserm

Tags: hydra steve rogers, hurt no comfort, tentacles, sharing a bed, these tags are a mess Summary: Tony has a little bit of a headache. Don't worry about it, everything is fine.

art: artificial intelligence out of time by kenobleeaaarrrgghh for @ayapandagirl

Tags: alternate universe, role reversal Summary: my fill for the AI tony exchange! for the prompt: [noir universe]'s version of AI tony

art: "Error 1610 File not Found" and "Wired to Obey" by badworldgood for @somekindofsheepl

Tags: Possessive Steve Rogers, Creepy Victor von Doom, Victor von Doom Being an Asshole, Cancer, Angst, Fanart , Ultimates, 616 Summary: UltsTony saves himself from the brain cancer by becoming an AI...or so they think. File corruption becomes an issue / AI Tony ends up in a damaged Doombot. Doom may grow attached, Steve is not happy once he finds out.

fic: no happy endings by @mserm for @kiyaar (8.8k)

Tags: choose your own adventure, POV second person, unhappy ending, everything feels wrong and nobody is ok Summary: AI Tony's greatest fear is that he'll be replaced by flesh-and-blood Tony. What will he do to stop it? That's for you to decide.

fic: hold me (like it's the last time) by @tinystark616 for @ralsbecket (3.8k)

Tags: hydra steve rogers, pining, angst with a happy ending, getting together, fix it, I mean first I made it worse and then I fixed it, sad AI tony, alternate universe - canon divergence Summary: Hydra Cap attempts to convince AI Tony to stay with him with promises to make Tony real. Tony wants to be real, but he wants the real Steve back even more.

fic: You don't have to be a ghost here amongst the living by @ayapandagirl for badworldgood (3.2k)

Tags: secret empire, existential crisis, transhumanism, artist steve rogers, modeling, timeline what timeline, AU - canon divergence Summary: AI Tony Stark struggles with identity and Steve offers a novel approach to the problem: modeling.

fic: Imagine Being Loved by Me by @ralsbecket for @rowantreeisme (2.5k)

Tags: established relationship, touch-starved, frottage, pining, references to depression, implied/referenced alcohol abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, ambiguous/open ending Summary: He lifts his hand, fingers hovering just over the slope of Tony’s nose and side of his cheek, blue light washing over it. There’s a hesitation there, in Steve’s eyes, as he inquires, “Can I touch you, or…?” Tony can guess what Steve doesn’t have the heart to finish: Can I touch you, or will I pass through you like you were nothing?

fic: body and mind and sun by @dirigibleplumbing for @oluka (5.2k)

Tags: secret empire, hydra steve rogers, AI tony stark, AU - canon divergence, transhumanism, body horror, body modification, angst, dark, forced intimacy, ambiguous/open ending Summary: Steve's engineering team insists that learning Stark's secrets is a waste of time. What can he offer Steve that they can't? Hydra has a spy in the resistance. They are on their way to completing the Cube. What more could he want? He wants Tony.

fic: do iron men dream of warm flesh? by ves.larkinson for @dirigibleplumbing (21.1k)

Tags: Transhumanism, Comic Book Science, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, action/adventure elements, Coming of Age as an AI, Attempt at Humor, Philosophy, Existentialism, Time bullets, Identity Disability (sort of), tony is de-coma'd just before steve is de-HYDRA'd, Queer Themes, Civil War, Amnesia, Guilt, Betrayal, Post-Marvel Comic Event: Dark Reign (2008), Post-Marvel Comic Event: Secret Empire (2017) Summary: The artificial intelligence called Tony Stark is in it way over his head. The “real” Tony Stark is isolating himself, trying to ignore his part in the Civil War and the Dark Reign that followed it; and Steve is falling into guilt over his part in the Secret Empire. Tony has no history, and his human counterpart has too much. Somewhere between them, there might be a way forwards—for all three of the men in this shitshow.

fic: fate, commitment by @rowantreeisme for kenobleeaaarrrgghh (40.5k)

Tags: Edwin Jarvis, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, World War II, Comic: Iron Man Noir (2010), Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Nazi Germany, Pre-Slash, Time Travel, Espionage, Canon-Typical Body Horror Summary: Cell fate commitment: the process through which a stem cell becomes committed to it's final state, and the means through which this is determined through genetics and molecular signalling.

fic: Similitude by @winnifredburkle for ves.larkinson (1.5k)

Tags: BDSM, armor kink, dubious consent, selfcest Summary: Tony gives AI Tony control of an Iron Man suit. For sex purposes. It doesn't quite go how he expected.

fic: Eidolon by @kiyaar for @starvels (22.9k)

Tags: established relationship, threesome - f/m/m, intellectual strap sucking, a dead celestial is sometimes a home, consent issues cockwarming, electroplay, secret empire, civil war II, canon compliant, angst, alcoholism, wistful flesh hunger, transhumanism, not-a-fixit, unfixit Summary: "What if we fucked," Carol says, "and we also fucked Steve." "I don't know if I can take that kind of rejection right now," Tony says.

You can view all of the works in the Ao3 collection here. You can join the endless AI Tony conversation in the 616 Steve/Tony discord here. And, as always - you can thank your creators by circulating their work and leaving comments and kudos on ao3!

#aitonyexchange #possessedbylight #616 #stevetony #capiron #stony #superhusbands #ai tony stark #tony stark #iron man #captain america #steve rogers #fandom event #fandom exchange #masterlist

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turquoisesea01 · 2 years ago

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Obey Me Alive Lilith AU

General knowledge that Obey Me give us that I decided to keep!

- The youngest and beloved sister of her six brothers

- Real close with Beelzebub and Belphegor

- Gets scared easily

- When angry, it’s difficult to calm her down

- Fallen for a human man when visiting the human realm

- Caught for attempting to changing her human lover’s lifespan by taking the forbidden fruit

Lilith Survive The Great Celestial War/ Fallen Angel Lilith

- Lilith moved a bit trying to dodge the arrow, it struck on her arm. Caught her off guard she fell.

- Her white feathers turn black as horns painfully grew out of her head.

- During her fall, she can only think about her human lover and her brothers. She never get the chance to give the fruit to him nor have the knowledge if he was cured or dead. She feel ashamed of her self for dragging her brothers into the war

- And here’s the thing, since Lilith has survived the war in this AU, Lilith and Mc are NOT related!

Life in Devildom /Demon Lilith/ The Celestial Catalyst

- After the war, Lilith shut herself out once she has her room in the House of Lamentation, isolating herself from her brothers. Couldn’t bear to see their face without feeling guilt. Too scared to see them .

- She felt that her brothers resent towards her for being the catalyst of the war.

- She hasn’t come out of her room ever since unless her brothers all went to sleep, she’ll roam around and grabs food and drinks to take it to her room.

- Usually shut herself in her room painting and reading.

- Until centuries and years has gone by, she discovers video games and anime. She grew curious after listening to her 3rd eldest brother, Leviathan, rambles about a series called “The Tales of the Seven Lords”.

- Ever since then, she becomes obsessed with video games and anime as well!

- Just like Leviathan, Lilith is a hikikomori

Online Persona : MidnightXSirius

- Lilith became attached to the Internet that had made herself an online persona, she goes by MidnightXSirius

- She started as a TSL fan page account, gushing and commenting about her favorite characters!

- Until later on she discovers about digital art!

- She then made an alternate account for her to post her artwork, wether it’s fanart or original artwork! She then later became a freelance artist! (Now she can use her money instead of Lucifer’s—)

- She also owes a gaming channel! Too embarrassed to show her face, she rather kept her face and voice hidden. She edited her videos through text to speech, replacing her voice which require heavy editing!

First Encounter

- After Lucifer led MC back to their room, Mc couldn’t help but to be curious about the staircase. They couldn’t sleep. How could they not? Their curiosity is eating them alive! And so they wait until they get out of their room. However just before they can get to the staircase

- Some light noises can be heard from the kitchen, their curiosity had now turn to the kitchen. What was that? Would that be Beelzebub?

- Sneaking their way to the kitchen, they took a peek and saw a figure, rummaging through the fridge.

- That is not Beelzebub.

- No. This figure appears that they have long hair and Mc recalled that the brothers don’t have any longer hair.

- A thief? Is this person stealing food?!

- What the hell are they going to do? They can’t tell Lucifer about that! He’ll get suspicious about why they’re not in their room!

- And certainly they can’t ask Mammon. They’re not close and it seems that Mammon doesn’t like them, not even considered to be an acquaintance!

- Asking the rest of the brothers are out of the question! They’re not comfortable with talking to them!

- With no options, MC took a deep breathe and entered the kitchen sneakily.

- Well it seems that Mc realized that their stealth wasn’t good because the floor creak.

- The figure quickly lifted their head up, in a high alert state, they look everywhere until their sight is on MC.

- With the refrigerator open, the dim light shows the mysterious figure. A person with a feminine face, dark skin with moles adore their face. The color of their hair was uncertain due to the light but it’s seems more of a greyish color with a hint of blue

- Blueish greenish eyes widen in shock at the sight of MC. “Eek!!” Shutting the door of the fridge quickly, the mysterious “person” scrambled their way out through the kitchen

- Mc stood there dumbfounded, they’re relief that they’re not attack.

- Looks like they’ll have to ask Mammon in the morning…Goodness gracious…

Hello hello! Yoshi here! Hope you guys enjoy the little blurb of Mc and Lilith’s first encounter! :D!

#obey me #obey me fandom #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #obey me dating sim #obey me brothers #obey me lilith #om lilith #alive lilith au #alive om lilith au #lilith obey me #lilith #also lilith and mc are not related in this au #obey me nightbringer #obey me au

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greetingfromthedead · 3 months ago

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7. Hurricane

Series: Mermaid!AU Depth of Despair

Pairing: Vash x GN!Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the love on this series! It is truly incredible to see all the nice comments and the likes. Love you loads! ❤️❤️❤️

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

You heard your name, and that can only mean one of your own has tracked you down. You turn around to see the man with the serpent's tail, someone who has leaned far into what you are supposed to be, a monstrous creature bordering on becoming a legend even among your nest.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asks, and you recognize the threat in his voice.

"Nicholas," you press out, beginning a sentence you have no idea how to continue.

"Never mind. I will deal with you later." He says and turns to look at Vash. "Blondie. Come here."

You turn around again to look at the frozen man whose eyes are focused on Nicholas as he takes a step closer. This is bad. The merman behind you is many times more powerful than you; his voice must carry so much of the curse, that Vash could never stand a chance against it. He will have no choice but to be enamored and obey. He will walk into his death. You stand at a crossroads. Do you let it happen and hope it will blow over and you get to live on even as Vash falls victim to a cruel fate, or do you fight against it. If you try to save Vash again, there will be no escape for you anymore. You will be seen as a traitor and treated as such.

"No! Vash, come to me!" You almost yell, lacing your voice with as much glamour as you possibly can, hoping for a miracle as Vash is just a step away from the edge of the deck.

To your astonishment, Vash's gaze moves to you, and he looks surprised. There is no hint of the usual lightheartedness in his face—no smile or glimmer, just a nearly empty stare. You pull yourself up and reach out your hand toward him. The initial startle in his gaze is replaced with something else, like a tender recognition, but everything happens too fast to linger on that thought. He bows closer, and you grab hold of his red coat, pulling him with you. He falls to his knees, his hands keeping balance on the edge of the plank, as you back into the water. Even through the murkiness of the river, Vash sees as scales appear up to your collarbones as you get submerged, slits form on your neck for gills, and when water closes in over your face, your ears change into fins, the human eyes turn catlike, the color of your irises spreads, and the pupils turn into slits. Your mouth is still agape as it fills with water, the harmless looking teeth turning into rows of sharp razors with fangs long and pointed enough to keep any victim from escaping. More scales appear under your eyes and cheeks, giving you a beastly appearance as they make your features look sunken in. Your hold on the red coat is tight as your fingers elongate and your nails turn into powerful talons, digging themselves into the fabric of the garment, and Vash plunges into the water with you.

His eyes are wide as he watches you; bubbles escape his mouth, not in a silent scream but almost like he is too shocked to realize he is underwater. You feel shame rise up within you, knowing that you can no longer hide the truth about yourself from him, but for now it doesn't matter. You have to get him to safety. Saving him from the clutches of your kin is the only thing that is of any importance to you as of now. You already drag him away along the river, hoping that the murky waters will hide you from the monster on your tail like it hid him from your view. You pull Vash closer by the collar, his hands clamping on to your arms, but you lean closer still, pressing your mouth to his in your desperate attempt to help him. Your sharp teeth draw blood from his lower lip in the hurried kiss, and you taste it on your tongue. Under other circumstances, all of it would play out differently. Even the nearly irresistible taste of magic would test your will, but right now, your head is only filled with fear.

"Breathe!" you command him, as his blood gives even someone as weak as you total control over him.

You see the bubbles stop as his chest rises, filling his lungs with water. He doesn't sputter or cough; his eyes widen even further in surprise as, instead of drowning, he begins to breathe underwater. That is the power of a mermaid's kiss, the fabled dream of many seamen.

You rush down the stream, keeping your arms tightly around Vash as you pull him along and keep him safe from the debris on the bottom of the river. You have no time to look at him or analyze his expression, and you fear you will never be able to look at him again. You don't want to see his fear, his horror, his pain. You feel his embrace, he keeps himself latched to you as you make your way at breakneck speed towards the sea. You cannot tell if Nicholas is following you or how close he is behind you. All you can think about is getting Vash as far away as you can. You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, propelling you forward.

The water becomes clearer as you make your way into the salty sea, leaving the river behind. You slow down for just a moment, considering your options, and then keep rushing towards the open ocean, into deeper waters to be hidden by the vastness of the kelp. You slow down when you start to struggle to see past the swaying of the plants, and with that, you release the vice like embrace on Vash. He lets go as well, and instead you take his hand as you slowly keep going, unable to look him in the eyes.

Vash doesn't complain as you drag him along; he doesn't put up a fight; he just paddles with his feet and uses his free arm to propel forward. He stops, as you do, on the verge of the last kelp that swim around him with the currents of the ocean. As you notice the shadows moving through the dark water, you pull him back into the kelp forest, both to avoid being seen and to keep him from seeing what lurks in the dark. But you're too late.

"Were those… children?" he asks quietly after a few long minutes of silence. You nod solemnly, the weight of the truth sinking in. You are afraid of what comes next.

"Is it possible… that I recognized one of them?" Vash's voice sounds hollow and haunted.

"Do you really want to know?" You reply to him quietly, still looking away from him. Perhaps it would be better to tell him. To make him afraid. It would be easier if he hated you and everything to do with you. It would keep him safe; it would keep him away.

"Please. Tell me." His tone is so soft as it reaches your ears. The sound moves almost magically; it is so clear, and you hear the pleading in it.

"Yes. It could be that you recognized one of them. Maybe even more if you got a better look." The words feel vile in your mouth, like poison tainting your happiness.

"How?" Vash continues, his hand squeezing yours.

"It is very rare for a merfolk to be born, so to avoid extinction… we create our own." Each word is like a fishing hook stuck in your throat. "Turning an adult takes a lot of magic, and finding the necessary… parts is hard too. Children are easier."

"So those are human children?"

"Were. They are no longer human, they aren't even merfolk yet; they still have to transition; not all of them will make it." You want to bite your tongue. For so long, you have desired to talk to Vash, to tell him about the misconceptions he has about you, and to ask about him. You've longed to use your voice for a while, and now that you can talk to him, you have to tell him about horrors most humans would never want to think about. "But yes, those used to be regular human children."

"How did they get to be merfolk?" Vash asks slowly, emphasizing every word, but he doesn't sound angry, disgusted, or afraid—just empty.

"Sometimes children play on the docks and fall in when nobody is looking. They perish and get swept away by the current because people are careless." A tremor appears in your voice. "And sometimes mermaids snatch them from the beaches when their parents have their backs turned. The siren song works on them too. My kind will drag them into the depths and drown the kids themselves."

You release the grip on his hand, but instead of letting go, he squeezes tighter.

"Is that what the stories are about? Sirens luring fishermen into the sea to turn them?"

"No. They are lured in to be eaten or to be fed to those in need of magic." You go very quiet by the end, but you know he can hear you.

"Is that why you brought me here?" Vash asks just as quietly after a moment of silence.

Your head turns towards him, finally looking at him, and to your surprise, he looks back, his bright blue eyes gaze into yours. You can't quite place the expression—something between surprise, understanding, and hesitation—but you can't really see fear in it.

"No! I would never!" You pull away from him, and his hand releases yours. You can't blame him for thinking that. If anything, you should enforce his doubt and fear, but you can't bring yourself to do it. You want to protect him, not hurt him in any way, but you can't do the former without the latter.

"Then tell me more," Vash says gently, and once again, you are at a loss about what could be going on in that head of his.

"We mend the dead; we fit them with a tail and stitch them up with a curse. We resurrect them as one of our own, but as they wake, they lack a will of their own. They are just mindless creatures, driven by instinct alone. Their only drive is to consume magic, as without it, their life force will run out, the curse will vanish, and they will die once again, but this time without a second chance. That's what the children currently are. They follow Nicholas as he has a lot of magic; they want to consume him, but they are no match. That merman is among the most powerful our clan has; in a different time, he would be a leviathan by now, but he is limited by the secrecy we must uphold for our own safety. He protects the changelings; they pose no threat to him; all they do is stalk him compulsively." You turn away your gaze, unable to take any more of Vash's unchanging expression. "For a changeling to truly turn into one of us and gain back consciousness, they need a lot of life force. To spare our own kind, we drag humans into the depths to feed the children. Unless we consume your kin ourselves."

This is the gist of it—the bare minimum, at least. Times have changed, and so have the ways of living. Before ships carried cannons and humans wielded guns, merfolk saw any vessel as an easy target. The oceans used to be ruled by your people, many of whom gained enough power to turn into giant leviathans, sea monsters that could sink a whole ship by themselves. Now your numbers are dwindling, and your once-mighty civilization is facing extinction. You have betrayed your own kind by telling Vash all this, and there is no turning back. You realize you're stretching the truth; you became a traitor a long time ago. The moment you saved him from the shipwreck, you sealed your fate, and your blooming affection for a human only made it worse.

Everything feels so heavy in your chest, like stones dragging you down. You remind yourself that this is for the best and dive towards the bottom of the sea. To your surprise, you hear Vash follow, but he is a lot slower than you. The water is clear enough as you glide along the bottom, looking at the pebbles collected there. Occasionally, you pick one up, turn it in your hand, and throw it back.

"What are you looking for?" Vash asks as he finally catches up.

"I am looking for a hag stone," you respond simply.

"What's that?"

"A stone untouched by human hands, polished by the waters and has a hole in it. They are good vessels for magic. If you find one, don't touch it; just tell me." You reply without pausing your search.

It doesn't take too long for you to dig through a pile of pebbles and shells to find one, and you look for your next ingredient. The kelp seems like a fine option, but not durable enough. You need something better. Without looking at Vash's face, you scan over his mantle and spot the braided leather cords cinching together one of the sleeves. Quickly, you snatch it from him and untangle one of the strips. It's the perfect width.

"What are you doing?" he asks as he watches you.

Without giving him an answer, you dig your sharp teeth into the palm of your hand, drawing blood, and he lets out a concerned gasp. You don't have the will to wonder why he's so worried about you. Instead, you press the stone into your injured hand, squeezing it tight as you whisper some ancient words to it. As you unfurl your fingers, most of the red bleeds into the water, but some of it sticks to the tiny crevices of the pebble. Quickly, you string the cord through the hole to seal in the curse, and the bleeding also stops.

"There is only so much I can do," you say as you look at the stone hanging in the water. "I am weak; most of my kin hold power much greater than me, and this will only protect you from those who are at my level or below."

You swim around Vash, resting the hag stone on his chest as you tie the leather cord behind his neck.

"Wear it, and you will be safe from at least my glamour. Don't take it off." You warn him. "I will bring you back to shore. Stay away from the water as much as you can. Be weary. Remember what lurks below the surface. Don't get hurt."

Before he can say anything, you grab him, hugging him tight from behind as you head back towards the shore. You feel his hand grab hold of your arms, and he is more relaxed than you would have guessed given the situation. His legs are spread apart, and despite the coat, your tail has enough room to propel you towards the familiar bay. You keep low, hidden in algae and between reefs as much as you can, but you see nobody else—no threatening shadows, no sneaky tails.

You approach the beach where you dragged Vash to the very first time you met him. In knee deep water, you let him go, sitting him up and pushing away to give him space as he starts coughing up the salty seawater from his lungs. It is still raining. You look at him and see his eyes move toward you. The magic that turns your voice into a siren song and enhances your beauty no longer applies. For the first time, he has seen you for who you truly are. He keeps sputtering and gasping for air, liquid dripping from his mouth as he clutches his throat.

"Stay away from the water!" you remind him again. "Goodbye."

With that, you turn away, leaving him in the shallow water as you return to the depths. You look around to make sure nobody is here to follow him, and disappear with painful sorrow in your heart. You hope he will be safe, even though you have put him in danger with everything you have done so far. His death would be on your hands, and that's a monstrous deed you cannot bear the thought of.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

You can check out the Depth of Despair Masterlist for more info.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

#trigun #fanfic #fanfiction #vash the stampede #humanoid typhoon #plant boi #x reader #writing

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ibrithir-was-here · 1 year ago

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Been a while since i've written for this au! But here's a drabble going off of this post for Corinthian Bros.

“Please don’t cry”

The plea sat heavy on the Corinthian's tounges, sliding down his throat and catching, like a clot congealing blood he couldn't dislodge. The memory of the last time he'd begged--that long ago night in Berlin-- rose up and added to the sour taste of despair curdling within him. He wanted to wash it out with the sharp sweet tang of fury and defiance.

But that defiance was precisely what had gotten them both here in the first place.

“I’m sor-sorry,” The Kid choked out, wiping furiously at the red tracts streaking down his face, the bloody smears making his shaking form look even more undone.

“ Don’t be sorry either” The Corinthian said, sliding through the nothingness they'd been placed in over to where the Kid sat, curling into himself as though that would keep his sobs locked down, unable to escape.

Just like them.

The Corinthian reached his arms around the Kid's shoulders and pulled him close, tucking the blonde head under his chin, feeling the tremors of his younger counterpart rattleing his smaller frame, and squeezing him tight as if the embrace might help settle them.

(If anyone had told him a year ago he'd be trying to comfort his replacement while they both faced almost certain Unmaking--well that person would have ended up like all the rest of his victims he supposed. Only much faster and with a lot less "messing around" beforehand.)

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, I was the one who got us into this mess”

But the Kid shook his head at this, pushing away slightly to look up at the Corinthian, eyes still red and shiny with bloody tears barely held at bay.

"I was the one who messed up, if I had just been better at—”

“It’s not your fault Kid, alright?" He said sharply, regretting the bite in his tone as he saw the Kid flinch. He pulled the young nightmare close again and went on, softer now, but determined to make him understand.

"It’s mine. I should’ve known better than to provoke his high and mightyness by trying to cut and run again, especially after he laid out pretty explicitly what would happen if I did. ”

Not that he'd ever had any idea of actually obeying Dream's instructions to stay out of the Waking World. He'd just hadn't planned on his escape attempt being made so soon, or having it hinge on trying to keep the Kid clear of the results of Dream's displeasure.

Of course his efforts had thrown them both right into the thick of that.

Maybe he really was poorly made. He'd screwed things up for both of them. Both by getting caught and by…by not teaching the Kid well enough to take his place.

"I will admit the new Corinthian has not filled his role as I'd wished. Some adjustments may need to be made as such…"

He'd know what that meant, and he wasn't about to let the Kid get unmade, not if he could help it. He'd made a b-line to the Waking as soon as he'd overheard Dream expressing his disappointment.

( Maybe there was just something wrong with the whole design of him, The Corinthian, that had poisoned the chances of the Kid before he'd even tried. Maybe they'd both been doomed from the start.)

“What’s gonna happen now?”

The Kid's whispered question pulled him from his despairing reverie. He hoped she was getting her money's worth at least.

“ I dunno” He admitted.

Another stifled sob. Another quick squeeze of the shoulders.

“ I’m gonna make sure nothin’ happens to you though, you're gonna be ok"

It felt like an empty promise, in this empty place between existence and annihilation. But he'd do his best to keep it. He owed the Kid that much.

"But he was so angry," The Kid choked out, shuddering at the memory of the Lord of Nightmare's fury when he found them trying to flee. Well, when he'd found the Corinthian trying to pull an-- even then-- still reluctant to disobey Kid after him.

"Once more you seek to undermine me Corinthian?! After against my better judgment, I granted you mercy, a chance to keep your place in existence, and yet you still seek to set yourself against my will?"

Dream had held both their fates literally in the palm of his hand, and when the Corinthian had tried to stab that hand once again--never mind how well it had or hadn't worked last time--Dream had simply cupped his other great hand over them, like trapping a pair of insects, and they'd found themselves here, in limbo, awaiting their lord's decision.

"He's angry at me, not you" The Corinthian said, praying it was true.

"But you were trying to help me! " The Kid cried, piercing directly into the heart of the argument with all the skill his function invoked.

"I've lost you your second chance! I took your place and I wasn't even good at it and I-I've ruined your life--"

The Corinthian seized the Kid's shoulders, hauling him up so that they were staring face to face, eye-teeth to eye-teeth.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to my life!"

The Corinthian's voice was a rumbling growl, echoing around the emptiness as he pushed every ounce of conviction he had into that admittance.

"And no matter what happens next, I don't regret a minute of having you in it, ok?"

He gave the Kid a small shake, trying to push the understanding of just how much he meant his words into him. "Ok?"

" E-even when I accidentally stabbed you during practice?" The Kid rasped half a laugh escaping from him despite his efforts to hold it down.

It was a pale reflection of the Kid's usual deflecting snark, but it was more like him than he'd been in the hours, days, since they'd been sent here, and the Corinthian couldn't help but grin back.

"That was an accident?" He said, feigning disappointment, "And here I was thinking you'd actually managed to get one up on me"

The Kid gave him an indignant smack on the arm, the Corinthian faked returning a cuff to the ear, and then the Kid was in his arms again. Not crying anymore, but holding onto him like a lifeline, face pressed into his chest, fingers gripping his jacket till the knuckles went white. The Corinthian held him back just as tightly.

"No matter what happens kiddo, we'll be together, I promise"

Then the sky split open.

Light flooded into the darkness, blinding them both with its intensity. When their sight returned, they were kneeling at the bottom of the stairs, in the throne room of the palace, and Dream himself was standing above them.

"Let us begin"

#my writing #Corinthian Bros AU #it does work out and Dream tells them he wasnt gonna unmake Cori 2 he was just saying he didn't seem to be enjoying the full role #so they end up sharing it and Cori 1 does the gorier dreams #after serving some time doing community service for trying to break parole and taking 2 with him #the sandman #the corinthian #the second corinthian #dream of the endless #sandman netflix

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stargirlie-sharon · 1 year ago

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RCP Experimental Origins AU - Character Bios

this "fanfic"(?) is written in the perspective of jin's father (guess what i still haven't thought of a name for him 😃). this will just be about how he views the robocars and will be revealing some traits about them.

Opening application...

Loading 0%...

Setting up files...

Getting data...

...

Loading 100%.

Loading completed.

Robocar Subject Notes. (001 - 004) (planned for more subjects to be made).

Subject 001

Vehicle type: Police car.

Gender: Male.

Behavior: Very quiet and seemingly confused about most things, but obeys orders and cooperates with experiments well. Cares for his fellow subjects and often tries to calm down 002 whenever he's acting up. So far has good behavior.

Risk of being dismantled: Unlikely.

Subject 002

Vehicle type: Firetruck.

Gender: Male.

Behavior: Seems to be the strongest robocar we have. Has tried multiple times to break out from his testing room and escape the lab, so the staff has needed to reinforce his room with stronger material and install bars. Has shown aggression towards staff, but has yet to attack a member directly. Has the worst behavior out of all the subjects.

Risk of being dismantled: Likely.

Subject 003

Vehicle type: Ambulance.

Gender: Female.

Behavior: Caring towards the other subjects, especially 004. Acts like a maternal figure to him. Surprisingly respectful to staff members like 001, unlike the rest of the robocars. Has shown signs of fear towards staff during experiments, so it's clear that they intimdate her. However, all signs of fear cease when staff interacts with 004, and she shows protectiveness for him. Complies with experiments well.

Risk of being dismantled: Unlikely.

Subject 004

Vehicle type: Helicopter.

Gender: Male.

Behavior: Has attempted to fly away from staff members when an experiment is about to be conducted with him. We have needed to confiscate his propeller on most occasions because of this. A mindset of that of a child, and is mentally fragile. His conpanion subjects are like maternal/older sibling figures to him, especially 003. Has once tried to escape the lab with 002, but has obviously failed.

Risk of being dismantled: 50/50 chance.

"Mr. [REDACTED], Subject 002 is trying to escape again! Orders?"

"Ah.. just leave him be in his room. We've already reinforced his room anyway."

"Sir! The bars are already being quite damaged!"

"... *sigh* Okay, try to shut him down for a little while. Use whatever things you can find that can restrain him, and while he's out, replace the bars with stronger ones."

...

"Hey- hey! Calm down, 002! They're going to shut you down soon!"

The police car did as well as he could to hold back 002 from escaping, 001 was just barely holding him down. He knew if he kept this behavior up any longer... who knows what could happen. The firetruck was about to be sent to his testing room, and he snapped.

"I don't care, I need to get out of here!" The firetruck did his best to get out of the police car's grasp, but he was already using every bit of strength to hold 002 down.

"No! You need to stay calm, you've kept up this behavior for long enough, just imagine what those humans could possibly do to you if you try to escape again!" 003 exclaimed, clearly worried and afraid for 002.

"I- I'm scared..." The young helicopter gripped onto the ambulance's arm tightly, not knowing what to do.

002 looked at 004, his gaze softening. "...I'm sorry. I just- I- I'm tired of being stuck in here all the time."

"Hey, it's alright. All of us feels like that anyway, you're no different." 001 says reassuringly. "Come to think of it... these subject names we have don't exactly roll off the tongue."

"Huh? What do you mean by that?" 003 asks, tilting her head in confusion.

"What I'm trying to imply is that these names that we've been given don't exactly feel right to me.. to me, it makes us feel like we're nothing but toys. What if we give ourselves our own names?"

"You know, that's not a bad idea.."

...

(A/N sorry i was gonna write down the part where they give themselves their names but i got lazy, im sorry shshsh)

#robocar poli #robocar poli au #robocar poli experimental origins #robocar poli roy #robocar poli amber #robocar poli helly #alternate universe #au #robocar poli fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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trashland-llamas · 8 months ago

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-> Fic Masterlist <- (Fandoms A-G | Fandoms H-Z)

Harry Potter [Original series, FBAWTFT, Marauders]

Soft-Spoken; Theseus Scamander + Reader who struggles with compliments [GN]

Eye of the Storm; Theseus Scamander x Veela!Reader [GN]

Blasted Minotaur; Theseus lulls the reader to sleep with the story of Theseus & the Minotaur [GN]

Nobody’s Fault but my Own; Molly finds a letter Percy wrote to Fred after his death

Dear Freddie; the letter mentioned in Nobody's Fault but my Own

Piss Off; Ron x Draco; Draco only knows how to flirt by pissing the other person off

Marauders Headcanons + some Lily & Regulus sprinkled in

Regulus & his Hufflebuddy [GN]

Dysphoria’s a bitch, huh?; Regulus Black helps to protect other trans students at Hogwarts

Belly Scratches; Headcanons around how Padfoot reacts to belly scratches and how the Marauders lean into it

Pack Animals; Remus is one of the lycanthropy specialists that Enid's parents sent her to

Meow?; Regulus discovers Remus' secret and decides to help in his own way by becoming an animagus himself

Grrrr?; Regulus asks out Remus on a date, revealing that he's the black cat shadowing the Marauders. Sequel to Meow?

Succor; Remus renounces his magic until Regulus shows up with a job proposition

R.A.B; Sirius, after leaving home is surprised to find his brother on the Knight Express

Hermitcraft SMP

Na-Scar; Retired nascar driver! Scar helps train Grian to win a race/bet against Mumbo

JJBA

How the Stardust Crusader react to y/n being trans

I’m Small: Jotaro discovers that Reader is an age regressor [Male]

Mimicry; Jotaro & Reader have a relationship akin to Wreck It Ralph & Vanellope von Schweetz [GN]

Allergens; Reader finds out Jotaro’s allergic to cats [GN]

Toi, moi, un rendez-vous?; Reader learns French so they can ask Polnareff on a date in his native tongue [GN]

The Artist’s Muse; Y/n discovers what Noriaki spends so much time drawing [Fem]

Kuroko's Basketball

Doge; Kagami's fear of dogs get in the way of y/n's service dog so y/n takes it upon themselves to help him with said fear [GN]

Marvel

Serpentine; poem about Loki

MCYT Adjacent

I’m Home Again; Dad!Corpse

NWTB

Rivets; My attempt at making one of those Youtube egos

Obey Me!

Bah Bah Black Sheep; Mc has a nightmare where they're the sheep character in Catherine and die trying to complete the obstacle course. Waking up, they go seek their beloved demon. [GN]

Astronomy themed nicknames Belphegor calls Mc [GN]

One Piece [anime, & live action]

Red Bottoms; Strawhats + whether I think they can successfully walk in heels

Strawhats + reacting to reader cupping their face [GN]

Strip Poker…but w/ Peppers?; Sanji and Zoro compete for y/n's affections over a sinister game of strip poker, suggested by the cook [Fem]

Do You Have a Light?; Sanji & Zoro react to Reader smoking for the first time [GN]

Take It Off; Zoro catches trans! reader over-binding [Male]

Stoic; Reader goes to Sanji for comfort after becoming fed up with Zoro's methods of comforting them [Male]

Could Just Eat You Alive; reader agrees to being Sanji's meal [Fem]

Relaxed, Squishy. Flexed, Hard; Reader asks Sanji while drunk why his muscles are so squishy [GN]

Moth to a Flame; Sanji jumpscares touch-starved reader with touch [Male]

Feel My Heartbeat Beat Beat; Soulmate au where Sanji can sense reader’s heartbeat [GN]

Ohhhhh Waaaaitttteerrrr; Reader is a customer at the Baratie & has to tell Sanji their order turned out wrong [GN]

Vignettes; Vignettes revolving Sanji and Reader's sex life [GN]

Cramps; Reader has PCOS and finally experiences cramps. Not knowing how to deal with them, they confide in Nami [Fem]

Sweet Treat; Where Reader is the type that doesn't want for anything...or where Sanji takes this personally and coaxes them into making a request for the menu [GN]

Nice to Meet Ya; Reader accidentally bumps into Sir Crocodile while buying groceries. Crocodile offers to buy a replacement as an excuse to talk to them more [GN]

Avoidance; Strawhats + s/o who avoids eye contact like the plague

Needy Little Thing; Reader is clingy and wants to cum. Or where Zoro takes care of them. (Fem]

Warm Summer's Day; Ace comes across a sleeping Reader. Thing is it's summer yet they're still using a winter duvet. [GN]

He Loves Me. He Loves Me Not; Sanji not knowing how to court men, accidentally causes some gender dysphoria for y/n [Trans Male]

Ouran High School Host Club

Two Peas in a Pod; Mori-senpai x reader who like him, doesn't talk a lot [GN]

Outlander

Pineapple…on Pizza? Why?; Oneshot about Jamie trying pineapple pizza [GN]

Resident Evil

Cat Eyed; Reader helps Vendetta! Leon apply his eyeliner [GN]

Tiddies; Reader coerces Leon into letting them play with his tits [GN]

That Girl is Poison; Reader attempts to poison Leon [Fem]

Everyone Grows Old; Reader’s self-conscious about their gray hairs, Leon comforts them [GN]

Food Guarding; Leon adopts dog hybrid! reader who deals with food guarding as a result of previous abusive owners [GN]

Sidemen + Troops

Mrs All American; Hcs bout Reader being an American [GN]

Mom Friend; Reader makes breakfast for the Sidemen crew [GN]

Fruit Gushers; Trans male reader is on their period [Male]

Welcome to Jackass; The bit/scene from Jackass 4.5 where Steve-O tries advertising his condoms by filling them w/ sewage from his RV but insert the Sidemen instead

Scary Dog Privileges; Sidemen's reaction to y/n having scary dog privileges [GN]

Hey, Catch!; Reader has dyspraxia [GN]

I’m Not Angry Anymore; Cal falls asleep to Harry singing

Friendly Neighborhood Poltergeist; a poltergeist starts following Lux around [Fem]

Fat, Funny Friend; Behz consoles reader after finding them broken down after a particularly bad day [Male]

Who Let the Dogs Out; Reader's trying to reel in their dog or where Ethan thinks they're catcalling them

When the Sun loves the Moon; Harry's had a crush on his next door neighbor y/n for a while but has been too much of a chicken to talk to her until Simon encourages him to invite her over [Fem]

Touch Starved Harry

Caregiver; JJ & Simon are Reader's caregivers, Reader's an age regressor [GN]

Why So Sad?; Simon accidentally scares y/n while they're already regressed, making them further regress into headspace and JJ takes care of them. Sequel to Caregivers. [GN]

Absolutely Stunning; Simon tries on lingerie for JJ

Dad; 4x the Sidemen called Josh ‘Dad’

Enthralled; Tobi doesn't let Reader do work related stuff during their movie night [GN]

Stranger Things

Barbie; Y/n beats Munson at his own game of name 3 songs

What’s Wrong with my Speech?; Reader goes w/ Eleven to speech therapy

We Bare Bears

Stuffies; Ice Bear notices y/n’s beloved stuffy finally needs to be replaced [GN]

Wednesday

Pack Animals; Remus is one of the lycanthropy specialists that Enid's parents sent her to

Studyblr?; Tyler finally finds the time to strike up a conversation with a regular, y/n, an infamous studyblr blogger on tumblr

X-Men

Mother-hen; Reader w/ mother-hen vibes or Logan who slowly warms up to Reader’s attempts to take care of him [GN]

Kitsune; Kurt Wagner x Fox/Kitsune! Reader Hcs [GN]

Cancels Out; Rogue discovers Reader's mutation while giving them a tour of the school. Reader's able to nullify other mutant's abilities [GN]

#masterlist #masterpost #fic masterlist #mcu #obey me #opla #outlander #ouran host club #resident evil #sidemen #stranger things #we bare bears #wednesday netflix #long post #hp series #jjba

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blooming-violets · 2 years ago

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Creature Like Me || Chapter Two: Not Friends

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Two Warnings: physical, mental, and emotional scars from being tortured, eluding to male sexual slavery (non consensual), miscommunication resulting in attempted brief, unwanted touch

[link to chapter index]

“My name is Aylin. I am a hunter but not to you. You no longer belong to these sadistic people. Now, you belong to me.”

Something shifted behind his defeated eyes. A subservient, placid look replaced his broken expression. He gave a silent nod.

She took a deep breath, centering her floating, terrified thoughts back inside the safety of her brain. She could do this. She could handle the next few hours. Her mind was made up. She was going to steal Peter from his pack of captors. This was her idiotic plan.

If all else failed, plan B would involve putting a bullet in the back of his head. There were always other options.

“Okay,” she nodded back. “Let’s go.”

Aylin strode over to one of the covered windows and grabbed down the dingy blanket being used as a makeshift curtain. She tossed it over to the nude, cowering man.

“Use that to cover yourself until I find you some clothes. I don’t need you running around naked. You’ll draw unwanted attention if we come across anyone.”

He immediately obeyed, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and hugging it close to hide himself from view, “Where are we going?”

She paused on her way to the door. She didn’t actually know. She wasn’t thinking that far ahead. Her plan was haphazardly thrown together. If she thought about it for too long, the bullet option would start to seem more appealing.

“Somewhere safe,” she spun around to face him. He hadn’t moved from his prison cell between the bunk beds. “Here are the rules that I expect you to follow. I will keep you safe as long as you do what I say, when I say. From the looks of you, I think you need protection. You’re not going to get very far in your state. Don’t lag behind or else I’ll be forced to chain you to me. I doubt you want to be in chains again. The final rule, the biggest of them all, absolutely no turning into a wolf. If I even catch a hint of you shifting, I won’t hesitate to put you down. Right now, I am your protector. Not your enemy. Unless you start to shift. Got it?”

Peter nodded, heavy lids giving a slow, squinting blink in her direction, “I couldn’t turn even if I wanted to. Can we get going? I can’t stand for very long. I feel…dizzy…”

Aylin watched as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his legs gave out.

“Shit,” she hissed, flinching at the sound of his body hitting the wooden floors. “God damn it.” She hurried over to his side and knelt over him, gently tapping his cheek, “Hey! Wake up! We don't have time for this.”

He gave a quiet groan, eyes fluttering open. He was weak but alive.

“Good,” she breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure why she felt relieved. His death would make everything easier and set her back on the right course. “There you are. Try not to die on me, ya? I need you around for a little bit longer. Let’s get you to my car. You can rest in the back seat. Can you stand?”

Peter responded with nothing but labored, shallow breathing. His sad eyes stared up at her, trying to study her face through his blurry vision.

“Peter?” She whispered, repeating her question. “Can you stand?”

The corner of his chapped lips tugged into the smallest of smiles at the sound of his name, one he hadn’t heard spoken to him in a long time. His hoarse voice hardly stood out above the pounding rain, “Why won’t you kill me?”

Aylin’s eyes flicked to the open door then back to her hostage. It was only the two of them here. Despite being in such a close proximity to a werewolf, she felt at ease. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not until he got his strength back, at least. For now, he was weak and malleable.

“I already killed someone today,” she answered honestly. “I did what I was supposed to do. I don’t see the point in ending you when you could be useful.”

“And after I’m done being useful? What then? Will you finish the job you started?” He kept the tiny smile hidden under his scruffy beard but she saw it peaking through.

She licked her lips and nodded, “Most likely, yes.” There was no point in lying. When she was done squeezing him dry of all the information he held, she would kill him. That was her duty to her guild. That was her one purpose in this world, to kill werewolves.

His smile grew, “Good. I’ll hold you to it.” Peter struggled back onto his feet, rewrapping his blanket around him, and stumbled to the open door. “Let’s get this over with then.”

Aylin followed quietly behind, a hand hovering over her gun, and keeping a careful eye on the back of his head should he try to run.

He gripped tightly onto the railing, nearly sliding down the length of the wet, rotting stairs, and staggered barefoot into the dirt path. He paused to take in his surroundings, flinching at each rain drop that hit his face. She watched in soft curiosity as he tilted his head back, the falling water washing over his dirt streaked face, and filled his lungs with the soggy, forest air. It was probably the first time he had tasted fresh air since he was locked up. A desperate, unhinged laugh fell from his lips. The sound circled around her like a warm hug. She couldn’t tell if those were tears or raindrops rolling down his gaunt cheeks. A look of heavenly bliss settled over his sickly features. A ghost of a smile flashed across her own face at the sight of the freed man before she quickly wiped it away. This was not a time for celebrations.

He was not her friend.

He was simply going from one place of captivity to another.

“Follow this path to the left. It will bring us back to the main clearing,” she ordered him.

She thought it would be best to keep him in front of her instead of behind. Sergei’s guild rules rang in her head. They had been branded into her brain since she was a child. Never turn your back to a wolf. Never trust a wolf. Never listen to a wolf. Never befriend a wolf. Wolves are not to ever be trusted. They will lie and manipulate whoever they can to get what they want. Sneaky, vile, horrible creatures who need to be wiped out. Werewolf genocide was the only option. The only true way to have peace.

Peter opened his blanket, holding it out against his back, so he could feel the cold rain on his skin. His eyes were closed, head still tilted back, and a soft smile on his face. He shuffled off in the direction she said, quietly laughing to himself, or sobbing, she wasn’t sure. It was hard to think that he could possibly be manipulating her right this very second. All she saw was the genuine excitement of a captive man allowed to walk free.

Or, as free as her leash would allow.

He hesitated in his hike when he came across the slaughtered body of his own kind still laying where she fell. His head cocked to the side as he studied the dead wolf.

“You did this?” He asked, glancing behind him, sizing her up. He looked mildly impressed. “Tiny, little you?”

“No, she was struck down by a vengeful god,” the sarcasm and annoyance dripped from every word. She would hardly consider herself tiny or little. Her body was thick, muscular, and strong. A warrior’s body. Maybe she was a hair shorter than average but certainly not tiny. She hated being referred to as such. “Keep moving, asshole.”

He held up his hands in defense, “Alright, jeeze, I’m goin’. I just wanted to see exactly who I’m working for. Does that make you a vengeful god then? Is that how you see yourself?”

Aylin ignored the mocking tone of his question, not wanting to engage with him any more than necessary. The sight of Sierra made her pull her crossbow back off her shoulder. It was a warry sight. The rain had washed away most of the blood. Her long snout hung open, ivory fangs as thick as her two fingers poked out from under her lips. Her dark fur had been soaked through by the rain and a muddy puddle was forming around her body. It reminded her exactly what she was dealing with. Peter was no man. It didn’t matter how weak he was. He was still a monster. She paused to load another arrow into her crossbow, aiming it at Peter’s back.

He turned when he heard the arrow lock into place, raising his brow, “Have I finished my usefulness to you already? That was faster than I anticipated.”

Aylin refrained from rolling her eyes, keeping her face hardened, “Better safe than sorry, wolf. Keep walking, I didn’t tell you to stop.”

His shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh and turned back. As he shuffled onward, he spoke, more to himself than to her, “I liked Sierra, you know. She didn’t ask for any of this. She was nice. A bit full of herself but she had a decent heart.”

Her heart.

“Shit,” Aylin mumbled under her breath. She was supposed to cut out the wolf’s heart and bring it home with her. It was part of the ritual. There wasn’t any time. That would involve gutting an animal, breaking through her rib cage, and digging around in her goopy slush until she found what she was looking for. She couldn’t have her back turned to Peter for that long. He would take advantage of that situation without hesitation. It was in his nature to strike when her defenses were down.

She should just kill him.

If she came back heartless, Sergei would consider this hunt a failure, even if she claimed she slain her beast. He would need the physical proof. She had never failed at anything in her life. What would her guild think of her then? She was meant to be one of the best young hunters. They were counting on her. The thought of them looking at her with disappointment filled her with dread.

Her chest felt tight.

Sergei wanted a protégé. He wanted someone to mold into a future version of himself. He wanted it to be her but what did she want? She had no idea anymore. This was the only life she knew. She was afraid of failing him, afraid of failing herself.

Lost in her growing anxiety, Aylin stumbled face first into the hard back of Peter as he stopped short, “What the f-”

He whipped around and held a heavy hand against her mouth, silencing her with a harsh, “Shh.” His eyes sparked to life. It was the most alert she had seen him. “We’re not alone.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as his words sunk in. She took a step back, becoming more attentive to her surroundings, and raised her bow, eyes scanning the dark treeline. Every crunch of a twig or rustle of a bush drew her sights.

“How far away is your car?” He whispered.

“It’s-” What if this was a trick? What if he was manipulating her? This could be his plan for an escape. She didn’t see anyone, didn’t hear anything. She couldn’t sense the same danger he claimed to feel.

“Hey,” he hissed, pulling her attention back to him. “They are coming. They know something is wrong. They are about a mile out and can cover that ground in roughly two minutes. We need to move.”

Tricks or not, he was right. The longer they hung around the camp, the more at risk they were. Once Sierra’s pack found out she was dead and their captive was gone, they would be ready for a fight. She couldn’t take on an entire pack by herself. It would mean a certain death.

“Keep going straight ahead,” she ordered, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “Hurry.”

Peter broke out into a sprint. She easily stayed directly on his heels as they ran towards the clearing. From far off in the distance, a high pitched howl shot up into the sky. It was followed by an echoed symphony of similar howls.

He hadn’t been lying. The pack was on their way.

Aylin picked up the pace as they barreled out into the open.

“Up that hill to the left!” She shouted to him. “My car is on the other side!”

Peter made a sharp turn and darted towards the hill. He made it about halfway up before the mud gave out under his feet. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees, and clutching at his chest. She scrambled up beside him, ready to leave him behind to get ripped apart if it came down to it.

“Get up,” she pushed him. “Keep moving.”

His face was turning a sickly shade of green. His eyes rolled in their sockets. He was barely able to keep standing. The run was too much for him. She wasn’t sure if he was going to make it.

The barrage of angry snarls were growing nearer. They had reached the Whispering Pines. They had seen the aftermath of her visit and they were out for blood. The hunt was on. This time, she was the prey.

“Peter, get up!” She cried.

Aylin slung her crossbow back onto her shoulder, giving up easy access to her weapon for the sake of helping him, choosing to risk her life for his. She grabbed onto his arm and yanked him back to his feet. The blanket fell from his grasp, getting caught in a gust of wind, and blowing back down the hill. She didn’t care. They had to keep going. If he didn’t get up, she was going to leave him.

He did his best to stumble beside her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders as a crutch to stay upright. Just as they crested over the hill, the pack of wolves burst into the clearing. She refused to stop and assess exactly how many were on their tail. Her car was straight ahead. She’d never loved the sight of her beat up, dent covered, 87’ Toyota Corolla more than when she was running for her life towards it. It became a beacon of safety. An escape. Her only way out.

She could hear the wolves ascending up the hill. They were faster than her. She wouldn’t make it without diverting their attention. Aylin shoved Peter forward, turning around, and grabbing the gun from her hip. Now was the time for power, not stealth.

“Get in the back seat! Door’s unlocked!”

She planted her feet firmly against the ground, gun raised steadily with both arms, ready to shoot the first furry monster she saw. The large head of a wolf appeared over the top of the steep hill, sleek white fur and glowing amber eyes, was exactly where she aimed. The gun went off without hesitation, the bullet piercing right between those golden orbs. A flurry of yelps from its friends followed as the blood splattered wolf went limp and rolled back down the hill. It was enough of a distraction for her to have time to finish the run to the car.

She leaped over the hood, seeing Peter already in the backseat, and ripped open her front door. She thanked her own blessed hindsight for leaving the doors unlocked and the keys in the ignition for an easy exit.

The car rumbled to life and she slammed on the gas, sending them jerking forward. In the rearview mirror, she watched as an enormous black wolf stood hunched over in the middle of the darkened, rainy road. The beast's eyes seemed to glare directly back at her reflection. It didn’t follow, only watched, heavy smokey breaths puffing out its salvia coated jaws. A chill settled over her at the unnerving sight and she focused her attention back on the road. She had a sinking feeling this wouldn’t be the last she saw of that wolf.

Aylin let out a long, low exhale. Her hands were shaking as they gripped the wheel. Tears clouded her vision. She came too close to death for her liking today. She would have never been able to take out an entire pack on her own. They would have shredded her into pieces.

“You don’t have to worry. They’re not following,” Peter’s voice cut through her rising panic. He spoke as if he could sense her fear. “They’re choosing to stay with Lorina. You killed her, if you’re wondering.”

She wasn’t. She didn’t care what happened after she shot.

She took another shuddered breath, trying to expel her anxiety, “You know all their names? Even when they’re in wolf form?”

Peter nodded, she watched him through the mirror as he slouched against her seats, “Yeah. I know everything about them. That’s why you took me, remember? For information?”

“Right…right…information. ” She steadied her breathing. After a few moments of quiet, she decided to ask her first question. “Who’s Kateri?”

When Peter failed to answer, she glanced back in the mirror. His head was lulled to the side of his shoulder, his body curled up against the door, and his eyes closed. Through parted lips he gave soft, wheezy breaths. He had either fallen asleep or passed out.

Aylin set her sights on the road in front of her, wondering how the hell she ended up with a naked, unconscious werewolf in her back seat. A quiet chuckle slipped out of her at the thought. She’d gone insane. She’d lost her mind. Sergei would be appalled if he ever saw her like this. She’d have to keep Peter away from the guild. They wouldn’t care for her hostage idea. They’d kill him without hesitation before she could even explain her plan. Or worse. If she wanted to give the guild the upper hand of eliminating an entire pack, she would need to keep Peter safe from both the werewolves and the Silver Colts. He was her secret.

Once she found out everything he knew, she would put an arrow through his eye, and everything would go back to normal.

“Earth to Peter. Wake up. We’re here.”

He snapped to attention with a loud snort, wild eyes darting around the confines of the car, and a panicked look settling on his face.

“I wasn’t sleeping. ‘M sorry. I was listening,” he mumbled, apprehension evident in his tone.

Aylin frowned. She turned around in her seat to look back at him. He had been out cold for the entirety of their two hour drive.

“You’re alright,” she offered, a hollow, vain attempt at comforting his uneasiness. “You’re not with those people anymore, remember? You’re allowed to sleep if you need it. We’re at our first stop.”

She nodded over her shoulder out the front window to the motel they were parked in front of. It was the safest place for them tonight. No one would know them here.

“I already went in and got us a room. It’s the one right in front of us.” Aylin dangled the key from her fingers and tossed it back to him. His arm shot up to snatch it out of the air. He hadn’t even been looking in her direction when he caught it. Even half asleep and groggy, his reflexes were still remarkable. “I think you should go in first and take a shower. You need it. It’s about two in the morning so I doubt anyone will notice you walking naked a few steps from the car to the door. Just be quick.”

Peter nodded. His hand hovered over the door handle, staring expectantly at her, like he was waiting for verbal permission to leave her sight.

“Go!” She urged him. “I’ll follow you in a second.”

He did as he was told and jumped out the door. Aylin watched as he ran through the rain towards their room. He struggled with the key for only a moment before the door opened up and he disappeared inside. She was doing her best not to stare for too long at his naked form. Even a monster deserved some dignity and privacy to his own body.

When the door closed in front of her, she slumped back against her seat with a sigh. She was tired from the drive. The adrenaline from being chased had worn off. Her body was starting to ache. It was begging for sleep. Her early morning conversation in the woods with Sergei already felt like a lifetime ago. She wanted to curl up in her own bed, in her own home, and forget this entire situation she had put herself in.

Instead, she forced herself up, and ducked out into the rain. Puddles formed over the badly paved and cracking parking lot. The flickering, red neon lights standing tall above the rundown building reflected the word “MOTEL” off the watery ground. This was the first safe place she thought to stop. The silence of the drive gave her enough time to better form her plans. She knew where she was going to bring Peter tomorrow. There would be no working shower there so this provided the opportunity to actually get himself clean. They could rest for the night, get themselves sorted out, and then be on their way in the morning.

Aylin jogged over to the trunk of her car, head ducked down from the chill of the rain, and lifted the latch. She had packed some much needed items when she prepared for her hunt. Her homemade first aid kit sat in a large, clear storage box. Next to it was a small bag of extra clothes and some overnight items. Her mother warned her that she might be bloody or hurt by the time she finished the hunt so she needed to be fully prepared. Grabbing both the box and the bag, she tucked them under her arms, and slammed the trunk closed.

The motel was nothing to be amazed by. It hardly cost her anything for one night which was good because money was the one thing she hadn’t thought to bring. The room’s cheapness was reflected in the décor. A faded red, shag carpet covered the floors. The shag had lost its fluffiness decades prior and now gave off a scummy, unwashed appearance. A single overhead bulb was all that currently lit up the small room. It cast greenish yellow shadows over the peeling wallpaper. Aylin crossed the space to switch on a table lamp perched on the scuffed side dresser next to the bed. She opted for a single bed room as it was the cheapest option. She didn’t plan on sleeping much anyway. Peter could rest while she sat at the round table tucked into the corner of the room and worked on finalizing her plans.

The sound of the shower turning on drew her attention to the closed bathroom. She hoped Peter could find a little bit of respite under the warm water. She might be a hunter but it was merely a means to an end. She didn’t think the wolves needed to be tortured before their demise. Some of her guild thought differently. A lot of them had loved ones who had been a victim of a werewolf attack. Whether that was the reason that drew them to join the Silver Colts or a result of their joining, some hunters really wanted the wolves to suffer for their existence, believing that death was too easy.

Peter looked like he had suffered enough for one lifetime.

As long as he cooperated with her questioning, she would make his inevitable death as painless as possible.

Aylin dropped the first aid kit onto the end of the bed and unzipped her bag of clothes. She pulled out a pair of dark gray, fleece jogger pants. They were her favorite lounge bottoms and the thought of having to share them with Peter annoyed her, but he needed something to wear, and this was his only option. The extra top she packed was a simple, white camisole which she doubted Peter would fit into or want to wear. The joggers would have to be enough.

She laid them out on the bed for him and plopped into a stiff, floral patterned armchair by the table. There were questions she should be thinking of to ask him and half baked plans to finalize but all she could do was lay her head on the cold surface and close her eyes. She hadn’t even removed her jacket yet. Her pants were soaked through from the rain, her hair had fallen out from her ponytail and hung in wet strands over her cheeks, her socked feet sloshed around inside her boots. A hot shower sounded amazing but she’d rather give her spare clothes to Peter. She wouldn’t want to shower then have to get back into these dirty, wet ones. She could wait until tomorrow when she finally got back home. She let herself rest, dozing off, until the sound of the bathroom door opening jerked her up onto her feet.

Peter sheepishly emerged from the other side, a cloud of steam following him out the door. He wore a white towel around his waist and ran a pruny hand through his long, shaggy locks. When he shook his head, water droplets flung off the ends and haloed around him. He reminded her of a dog after a bath.

“Who knew there was an actual person under all that grime?” She forced a smile and walked over to him, tossing the pants into his hands. “Those are for you. They’re mine so they might be a little short on your legs but it’s better than a towel. I’ll find you something nicer to wear when we reach our final stop.”

He blinked a few times, gazing down at the pants like he’d forgotten what clothes felt like.

His sights focused back onto her, “These are yours?”

She struggled to read his expression and gave a silent nod.

“You’re giving them to me?” He looked lost inside of his own mind. Confused. Nervous.

“Yes? Is that okay?” She was starting to feel as confused as he looked. They were just some old sweatpants. The way he cradled them in his hands made them seem like they were prized jewels.

Then, that same placid, subservient look she saw cross his face back in the cabin settled behind his dulling eyes. It was like she was watching what little light he had left drift away into the dark. He carefully placed the pants back onto the bed, his shoulders sagging, and his head bowing.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Without giving her any warning, Peter pulled the towel from his hips and dropped onto his knees in front of her. His hands reached out to grab for the hem of her pants, trying to tug them down her legs. Her heart shot up into her throat in a panic. As he fumbled with trying to take them off, she slapped him hard across the face, stumbling away from his hold and crashing into the opposite wall.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She cried. “Stop!”

Her hand automatically reached the gun still attached to her hip. She pulled it from the holster, cocking it, and pointing it at his forehead. Her breath was heavy as she glared at him in horror.

Peter frowned, looking perplexed. Disoriented. He didn’t seem fully present. Still, she refused to lower the weapon between them.

“I-” he stuttered. A hand went up to cup the reddening mark blooming over his cheekbone from her slap. He was struggling to process what had occurred just as much as she was. “Don’t you-…you…you gave me something.”

Aylin gave him a bewildered expression, responding with a breathless, “What?”

“You gave me a gift. Don’t you want me to thank you for it? I thought…” His voice trailed off, a rejected darkness shadowing his face. “That’s what she always wanted. That’s what I’m supposed to do when I’m given something...”

Aylin let what he was saying sink in, the realization of the situation becoming clear. She released her held breath and closed her eyes, allowing her body to relax. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. He was conditioned to believe that kindness was transactional. It was becoming more and more obvious what the pack was using him for. He was trained to service those around him. She let out a huff and put her gun down, tucking it back where it belonged. The threat was over.

“No. I don’t want that.” She tried to push away the residual panic still electrifying her skin from his actions. She tried not to blame him for it. It wasn’t his fault he’d been traumatized and kept as someone’s pet. He was doing the only thing he’d been trained to do. His survival instincts had kicked in.

“Put those pants on, sit on the bed, and don’t move,” she ordered.

Aylin turned around as he did, hugging her thin jacket closer to her chest. No one had ever attempted to touch her like that before. Consensual or otherwise. She couldn’t control the fast flutter of her heart or the nerves tumbling around in her stomach. He had scared her. She would have preferred if he burst into a giant wolf rather than whatever the hell he had just attempted to do. He had caught her off guard and she didn’t like that. She felt weak, like she had lost the upperhand.

When she heard the creak of the mattress, she turned back around, hardening her face so as not to show him how rattled he had made her, “New rule. Do not touch me. Ever. Got it? I am not one of those animals. I’m not a deplorable beast void of morals. I don’t play by their rules. If I give you something it’s because I want you to have it. Not because I want something in return. Especially not whatever the fuck you were trying to do. Understood?”

He nodded, resembling a scolded child, shame clouding his vision. She almost felt bad for him.

“It’s not your fault. Just don’t do it again,” Aylin grumbled, shoulders finally relaxing. She wanted to change the topic and never talk about what happened. “So, uh, how long were you locked up for? Because it seems like it was a long time. You clearly need to be deprogrammed.”

Peter shrugged, giving a soft sigh, his voice a mere whisper, “I don’t know. What’s the date?”

“I guess it’s past midnight, so it's April 11th.”

“What year?” he asked. He was refusing to look in her direction, keeping himself blocked from her gaze with his wet curtain of hair.

“...2017.” She hesitated, watching him process that information.

“A little over two years, then.” He cleared his throat, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. “I wasn’t always in the cabin though. I think I’d only been there a few months. Maybe more. Maybe less. Time is something you forget exists after a while. Everything blends together.”

Aylin chewed on her bottom lip, thinking things over. All she could feel now was pity. She felt sorry for pulling a gun on him.

Even if he was a terrible beast.

“Can I brush your hair?” Her question came out of nowhere. It wasn’t even something she’d been expecting to ask but she’d been staring at it since he left the shower. It reminded her of Sergei’s untamed, long mane of hair. She didn’t want to associate the two with each other.

Peter gave a slow, hesitant nod, still avoiding her eyes. He looked like he was only agreeing because he was afraid of her.

She reached for her overnight bag and pulled out a brush, trying to keep her voice pleasant, “Why don’t you sit at the table?”

He pushed himself up and headed in that direction, keeping a wide, respectful berth from her. Once he was seated, she stood behind him, looking at the damage to his hair. It was full of thick tangles that matted together into one big clump in the back.

“Okay, I’m going to start brushing it now. I’m going to touch your head,” she wanted to give him a warning before she did anything. It seemed like the respectful thing to do for someone who was traumatized to the touch of others.

Aylin placed her hand on the top of his scalp, watching him jump at the touch even with the warning. She waited until he relaxed again before gently running her fingers down his hair to collect a small handful in her palm. Then she started to brush out his snarled ends.

“What were you doing before they captured you?” She asked, trying to make small talk and still get information on this broken creature.

Peter sighed, settling further into the chair, “I was on my own.”

“Do you have a…pack…or friends…family or whatever it is you werewolves do?”

He was silent for a bit before finally giving his head a small shake. She couldn’t see his expression but she watched his shoulders tense up. Her question had struck a nerve.

She let it slide for now, not wanting to upset him further, “Who was that white wolf that I shot? Laura, I think you called her.”

“Lorina,” he corrected her. “Lorina Dodson.”

“Yeah, whatever, what’s her deal?”

He shrugged, “She came from a wealthy family. That’s where they got the money to buy the summer camp. She was their personal piggy bank. I think she killed her husband and got away with it because she was rich. She wanted an adventure. Found it in a pack of wolves. She wasn’t born one. She convinced them to turn her.” He paused then added. “She was particularly fond of beatings. That’s all I really know.”

Aylin’s eyes traveled down to his bare back as he leaned forward. The scarring looked even worse now that he wasn’t coated in layers of dirt. She paused her attempts at brushing out his matted hair to graze her finger down his back, tracing over his scars. He shivered under her touch.

“Did she do these?” She whispered.

“Most of them, yeah,” He sighed. “She had a lot of anger issues and didn’t always play well with everyone else. When she’d get frustrated with them, that’s when she would come and visit me.”

Aylin locked her jaw, an unfamiliar anger clawing up her throat, “Then I’m glad I killed her.”

She tossed the brush onto the table, ready to put their current topic to rest, “I don’t think I can untangle your hair. We should just cut it off.”

“We?” He turned in the chair to look back at her. It was the first time since he tried to take her pants off that he allowed himself to do so. The second they made eye contact, he quickly turned back around, head down.

A coy smile flashed across her face at his nervousness. He was rather sweet. She didn’t mind having to share a motel room with him.

“Well it’s your hair. I’d do the cutting but you’d give the go ahead.”

He reached up to run his hand over the back of his head, “It is really long, huh?

Aylin dug through her first aid kit and pulled out a pair of small, sharp scissors. They weren’t meant for hair cutting but they would have to suffice.

She held them up, “What do you say? You ready for a new look?”

He was very handsome under all that hair, she decided.

It wasn’t the best cut job she had ever seen. She was not a hairdresser but it was better than before.

His hair sat tighter against the sides of his head while still having some decent shaggy length on the top. It was even starting to curl a bit as it dried. The matting was all gone, which was most important.

Aylin sat perched on the side of the bathtub while he sat cross legged on the tiled floor in front of her. Clumps of hair lay scattered around him. She ran a hand over the top of his head to fluff up the drying, dark locks, satisfied with her work.

He looked like a proper gentleman now. Well, almost.

“I think you look great,” she said proudly. “Will you let me trim your beard next?”

Peter scooted around to face her, “Do you want to?”

“It’s not up to me. It’s your beard.”

He considered her statement, mulling it over, “If you want to, you can.”

She couldn’t help the amused smile that lit up her face, “Do you want that, Peter? You’re allowed to have your own opinions.”

He gave a hesitant nod, “Okay. You can cut it.”

“Come here,” she ushered him closer.

Taking his scraggly beard between her fingers, she carefully started snipping, her attention focused on the job at hand. It wasn’t until she was finished with the first side of his face that she noticed the way he was staring.

Peter’s eyes had gone soft. His breath was shallow and relaxed. He gazed at her with a look of curiosity, awe, and appreciation, like he couldn’t quite figure her out but was enjoying her company.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

Aylin raised her eyebrows, pausing from her trimming to lock eyes with him, “For what?”

He swallowed, shame casting over his face, “For before. I didn’t mean…I-I didn’t want…I shouldn’t have tried to touch you without asking. I thought…that’s what you wanted…”

She responded with a heavy sigh, dropping her hands to her lap, “I forgive you. I don’t know exactly what they did to you, or what they made you do, but you don’t have to do that anymore. All I want from you is information. That’s it.”

“And then you’ll kill me,” he stated.

She hesitated. Her stomach ached for some unknown reason. She didn’t want to think that far ahead. She’d rather stay in the present.

“Yeah. Then I-” she took a deep breath. “Then I kill you.”

A sleepy smile flicked over his lips, “Looking forward to it, boss.”

“Give me your face. I’m almost done.”

He leaned forward, closing his eyes, to let her finish.

If he wasn’t the creature from her nightmares, she might actually enjoy being around him. He was sweet. Handsome. Gentle. With a freshly cleaned, trimmed exterior, he was beginning to look more human. She had to keep reminding herself that this was not a friendship. They were never going to be friends. He was only acting this way because he was malnourished and severely traumatized. If he was at full strength, he would be a deadly weapon, a monstrous force to be reckoned with. He wouldn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into her flesh and tear her apart. They were natural born enemies.

“All done!” She announced. “It’s a bit patchy in parts because I don’t have a razor but I can see your pretty face now. Do you feel better?”

Peter blushed at being called pretty and ran a hand over his scruff with a smile, “I forgot what it felt like to be clean. Thank you.”

“You should go look through my first aid kit on the bed. I bet your knees could use the attention. You could throw some antibiotic ointment on them and then patch them up. There’s gauze and tape in there. A bit of padding might help them not hurt as badly if you have to kneel down. I’ll clean up the bathroom while you do that.”

He stumbled up onto shaky legs. Her joggers only reached to his mid calf but they hung loose around his waist, even with the strings pulled tight. He could probably use a decent meal too. Maybe they could stop somewhere in the morning.

When she finished sweeping up his hair with her hands, she dumped it into the trash, and slipped out the door. Peter was carefully sticking gauze pads over the raw, worn down wounds. He lifted his head to smile at her when she entered the room. She found herself smiling back.

They were not friends.

“We should get some sleep, too. The sun will be up soon enough and we have to be out of here by eleven.”

He nodded, rolling down the pants, and tidying up his mess.

Aylin flicked off the lights, letting the room fall into a quiet darkness, “You sleep on the bed. I’m going to finish up some things. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.”

Peter glanced between her and the bed, frowning, “Are you going to sleep?”

She shook her head, lying, “Nah, I’m not tired. You get some rest. I know you need it.”

Slowly, he crawled up to the pillows, curling himself into a tight ball over the covers. His body tensed then sluggishly relaxed. He hadn’t felt the comfort of a bed in years. Despite his weak attempts at trying to fight it, sleep grabbed him within seconds. His body was too tired, too broken, to resist the temptation of a soft bed in a safe place free of his chains.

Aylin gave a quiet sigh, watching him enviously, and wishing she was in her own bed. She leaned against the door leading to the outside. Even with all the locks in place, she felt nervous. She wasn’t sure how well wolves could track. She didn’t know if they were already hunting them. Sitting in front of the door felt safer. If it dared to open, she would be the first to know.

After only a few moments of her body relaxing, she fell onto her side, curled up on the old carpet, and dozed off.

The sunlight sneaking through the curtains painted her closed eyes with bright, warm light. It pulled her from her slumbered, dreamless state. She hadn’t even remembered allowing herself to fall asleep. Her body had taken over and forced her exhausted mind to rest. Yesterday had been the longest day of her life. She was glad that it was over. A new day was dawning.

Aylin yawned, giving a big, satisfying stretch. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and forced herself to sit up, taking note of the pillows under her head.

She was on the bed.

She scanned the room for Peter, finding him sprawled out and softly snoring on the floor. His back was pressed against the door exactly where she had been resting.

The vaguest memory of being lifted while she slept crept into the head. She remembered how warm he was, how strong his arms felt wrapped around her. She remembered feeling safe.

He had switched spots with her, giving her the comfort of the bed, while he took the floor. He broke the no touching rule but she could forgive him just this once.

At any point during the night, he could have ran. She was so out of it, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed him leave. She would have been powerless to it. He could have escaped. He could have been free.

He could have left her, doors unlocked, and vulnerable while she slept. Completely defenseless.

But he didn’t.

He stayed.

Her heart lurched at the realization. Somewhere inside his beastly brain, he felt a loyalty to her. She had saved him. She had broken him from his chains. She had been his protector, killed for him, and didn't leave him behind. He was returning the favor by staying. He knew it would end in his death but he still stuck by her side. There were worse things than death, he knew that all too well.

They weren’t friends.

But they weren’t enemies, either.

They were something else.

Something in between.

[Chapter Three]

🌒A reblog will automatically put you onto the chapter three tag list. If you enjoyed what you read, please leave a comment! It would make this writer very happy and more likely to continue writing.🌔

A/N: Thank you to @liz-allyn for inspiring, like, half of this story. Even if it happened a while ago and she might not even remember but it still lived in my head forever thanks to you.

Tag List: @dinosun @sordidfairytale @moonyslove78 @sincericida @raindropstearsandtea @leleleea @folkloriansoul @apollomoonlive @aliceherenot221bts @briseisgone @lazyxsquirrel @its-crystalli @fav-fanficssss @ms-wild-card-56 @wanderlustaflame

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taechaos · 4 years ago

Text

Rightful Punishment

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!reader

synopsis: You do Jungkook's assignments in exchange for his affection. You don't even perform as well in your own subjects, but you don't care because all you want to do in life is make Jungkook happy. But it gets complicated when he gets a bad grade because of you.

genre: drabble, smut, college au

warnings: degradation, dubcon, exhibition

word count: 1.4k

"Hurry the fuck up," Jungkook grunts in your ear as you try your best to write the conclusion for his essay. He took you to the library before his Literature lecture when you told him you weren't finished with his assignment, and he keeps pestering you in a hushed voice because of his limited time.

You don't take Literature, but you're dealing with the pressure of his grades for him.

"I'm almost done," you whisper as you skim over the contents of the long text that you stayed up scribbling because Jungkook's professor is a man from the older generation when online documents weren't a thing. It's a pain in the ass, but you don't dare complain. When you're confident that you've summarized your - his conclusion in perfect detail, you brightly grin and show it to him. "I finished it!"

He doesn't bother reading it and only runs his eyes over your handwriting to make sure it's intelligible. "Good girl," the corner of his lips tugs upwards in satisfaction when he makes out your analysis of some short story.

"Can I have my kiss now?" your eyes gleam with hope as you shyly look up at him. He's hovering over you with a hand on the back of your chair, knees bent to see you work better. He shortly pecks your lips and pats your head before walking off with your essay secured in his hand as he starts to read it without bidding you farewell. Your heart flutters as you watch him leave, your fingertip grazing his lingering kiss on your lips.

You do Jungkook's assignments in exchange for his affection. You don't even perform as well in your own subjects, but you don't care because all you want to do in life is make Jungkook happy. With the blessing of having academic smarts, you waste it on a man who only loves you when you give him what you need.

That detail doesn't sink in your head, because it doesn't matter.

Your heart aches when you have to admire him from afar. He doesn't allow you to interact with him in public unless he's delivering you a pile of work, which is every two weeks.

But it's different this time. Your face lights up when you're sitting on a bench outside your campus with a few friends and you notice Jungkook angrily stomping in your direction as he throws away a torn piece of paper on the green grass.

A smile graces your lips as you raise your hand to wave at him before he yanks on your wrist and pulls you out of your seat to drag you away. The sun is shining down on the both of you, and you're enjoying his bruising grip on your hand while birds chirp happily in the background. You're in bliss and you resist the urge to close your eyes until he's dragged you into an empty spot under the shade.

"You stupid fucking bitch," he spits as he pushes you against the wall. "That essay you gave me was bullshit! Are you playing me?"

"What?" you panic as your lips part. You hate seeing Jungkook upset. "But I-I worked so hard on it-"

"Hell you did," he grits, "I got a fucking C minus. I kissed you for that essay, only to get a C?"

"I'll rewrite it!" you instantly compromise in an attempt to please him, "please let me do it again. I promise I'll get you an A this time!"

His most common grade: A plus. Jungkook wants to become a paralegal without working a day in his life, and you're so willing to be taken advantage of that he doesn't even feel bad. The only form of appreciation you receive is a kiss or praise.

"He's not accepting retakes," he grumbles with a subtle snarl. "It's only 5% of my grade, so he thinks it doesn't matter." He scoffs at the audacity of the professor and you. "Get on your knees."

You stop scowling at the ground out of disappointment in yourself at his command and immediately obey. Your eyes grow wide when he starts unbuckling his belt. "What are you doing?"

"Shut the fuck up," he orders as he unzips himself. "I'm putting you to use, you dumb whore."

Your heart pounds as you convince yourself that you deserve the insults he throws at you; you did something wrong. He's just giving you the rightful punishment, you think when he shoves his cock inside your gaping mouth. Your scalp stings when he grips your hair to stop you from moving as he thursts in and out of your cavern. A gag rips out of you at his harsh movements when he sinks his length down to the hilt and his balls smack against your chin.

"Can't even do one fucking thing right," he snarls as he sharply breathes in and out through his nose. "Gonna fuck your brains out if you even have any."

He starts groaning when you swirl your tongue around him, disregarding your brimming tears and aching jaw. "Keep doing that," he demands while panting, and you wrap your lips around his length as he keep thrusting into you with your tongue desperately licking the underside of his shaft. "Fuck, yes," he moans under his breath.

"I thought about replacing you," he reveals while running his fingers through your hair as his hips begin to stutter. "Find someone smarter who can get one good fucking grade."

The tears you held back start streaming down your face as your heart sinks. You grow more desperate and hold onto his thighs, rubbing them up and down and pull your mouth away. A string of saliva connects you to the head of his cock as you whimper, "please don't. I'll do better, Jungkook, please!"

"I told you to shut up, didn't I?" he growls as he yanks on your hair and you whine at the pain. "Make me cum and I'll consider keeping you."

You start nodding frantically and swallow the pleads that beg to erupt from your swollen lips. You know what to do when he nods at you without moving his hips, so you start to pleasure him with your hand on his balls and your tongue teasing the slit on his tip. Your other hand pumps his throbbing length, and you moan to please him further. You're so needy, so desperate to make it up to him, and he knows it; he gets off on it.

He knows you love him with all of your being, but he doesn't realize that loves you just as much, if not more. He just wants to use you, and you're not doing yourself any favors with how feverishly you're sucking him off.

It resounds in his ears, all the noise you're making in an effort to satisfy him. You don't even care you're in a public space, and it turns him on to the point of sighing at the thought of fucking you in front of everyone.

"Go faster, don't you even know how to suck a dick properly?" he taunts and you take his balls in your mouth as your hand pumps him swiftly. You know he's reaching his high as his breaths become more audible, and you return to his tip to leave kitty licks. He's groaning at how feverous you are, and it's not long before cum begins to ooze out onto your tongue.

You lap it all up as he continues to release in your mouth while moaning breathily, loudly. "Shit, shit, shit," he hisses when he grows sensitive, bordering on overstimulation, and he pushes your head away to stroke himself to spurt out all of his cum.

You try your best to catch all of it, but a few drops land on your face and you collect them all with your finger. When he's finished, he holds himself up by leaning on the wall you're pushed up against. You're staring at his jaw and the way his chest inflates with each breath from under him. You swallow all of his release and it tastes slightly bitter on your tastebuds.

After he collects himself, he adjusts his pants and buckles up without saying anything.

"A-Are you going to leave me?" you meekly ask, but he doesn't reply. Only when he walks away as if nothing happened do you feel the pain on your knees that scraped against the cement from the force of his thrusts. You wipe the spit on your mouth when you take in your surroundings. A few students pass by you in the alley, only a few feet away from your campus.

Even though he humiliated you, you still love him and with a dull ache in your heart, you hope he doesn't leave you for someone else.

And you can't help but yearn for another lesson from him.

#bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut

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drippingviolets3 · 2 years ago

Note

(Sorry for the SUPER long paragraph)

PLEASE!!! ONE DATE CHAPTER WITH VIVEKA,, ITS 4aM AND ALL I CAN THINK ANOUT IS HER HAVING A ROMAN NOSE AND BEJNG ALBINO,, anyway i’ve been thinking,, what if satan and lucifart were like,, idk just them trying to spend time with Viveka,, i feel like satan would catch her interest with his cool mannerisms and intelligence even if it’s for like two minutes,, oh my god i’m just imagining passive aggressive satan towards mc because he’s trying to impress Viveka and her shutting it down right away and the rest of the very itty bitty respect for him shrivelling away,, blowing into the cold wind,, and they take her sick rabbit Yew with them on the sick epic date (not actual date because the relationship hasn’t happened yet) maybe going to hang out at Madam Screams and RUNNING INTO LUCIFER WHO WAS DOING ERRANDS?!?!!? And BOOM he tries impressing her with HIS mannerisms and intelligence and its just the first scenario again and it’s so goofy i’m sorry it’s 4am and i am so,, the brain rot is happening

You mad fucking genius YES OFJSKWNFONSLMFLSM

I honestly started b.s-ing a chapter because like, it’s been months and I REALLY need to focus on feeding my OM followers (sorry yall, danganronpa and Genshin have taken over my head 😭) but THIS. IS. PERFECT.

It isn’t moving too fast into the plot and can build up (or in Mc and the brother’s cases, down) relationships and I get a chance to maybe dump some Viveka lore-

Also, Lucifart is golden 😂

#violetta’s rambles #obey me attempted replaced mc au #obey me attempted replacement au #obey me viveka #obey me au #obey me #I GOT WRITING INSPO LETS GOOOO-

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years ago

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GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.1

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

ch.2

Beautiful artwork was created by @starstruck-loner! THANK YOU SO MUCH SWEETIE I LOVE IT!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Snow freckled the chilly January day lightly, like powdered sugar over a freshly baked pastry, sticking to each layer effortlessly and creating a blanket that completely covered the woods and the cabin nested between the trees. The atmosphere was still and stiff, like frozen icicles that were not going to start dripping any time soon. The air was bitter and unwelcoming, which was probably why no living thing was outside today. Today was the perfect day to burrow and sleep and keep warm with your own body heat.

A crack through space-time cut through the air. The crushing of tiny ice particles followed as two twelve-year-olds ran, one chasing the other, as the time-tape was heating up and buzzing. “This thing is getting hotter! Hot! Hot, hot, hot!” Mabel attempted to save her palms from burns by bouncing the tiny machine between her hands.

“What are you doing?!” Dipper demanded as Mabel bounced the tape-measure too hard and her twin reached a hand to catch it. He managed to catch it perfectly, like an athlete catching a baseball, and then was gone in a flash of baby-blue lightning.

Mabel’s eyes widened in sheer panic and she held her arms as a gust of wind blew and nearly froze her to her core. It felt like her skin was being pricked by mean sewing needles. She looked around wildly for her brother, for him to come back to this time and place immediately, because surely he would use the time machine to come back, but seconds ticked by and she was still alone.

Puffs of smoke decorated the wintry scene as she held her shivering body and looked at the shack. It wasn’t as colorful and welcoming and loud as the shack Mabel remembered, but she made herself consider that it was because there was no big sign or tourist-y things, and it was winter. Then a light turned on, the hall if Mabel remembered her summer home correctly, and the door opened.

The hope that Mabel had in her chest of seeing her great-uncle was gone, and replaced with fear and confusion. This man looked very much like Stan, though much younger, quite chubby and youthful, wearing a black t-shirt and blue plaid pajama-pants. He had the same face as a young-Stan, but with a more pink than orange nose, a cleft chin, fluffier hair that reminded Mabel of her’s when it was short, and different glasses.

Mabel didn’t know what to do or how to react or how to feel. People change a lot when they age, sure, but this much? It was possible this person wasn’t Stan, but who else would look so similar to him and live in this house? Maybe this is the guy who lived here before Stan, and they just happen to look very similar. This is Gravity Falls, and though she and Dipper were still new to the town, it was a weird place where something like this could happen.

It also came to Mabel how odd the situation was for the man: a little girl was standing in a sweater and skirt outside his house in the winter. Would he try to send her home? She had no home to go to. She didn’t know what year this was, but if it was a time Stan didn’t live here, it must have been way before she was born, maybe even before her parents met. She was stranded.

But the man looked at her sympathetically and he seemed kind and worried. He grabbed a trenchcoat and called gently, “Hello. Are you okay?”

Mabel bit her lip. His voice was definitely not Grunkle Stan’s. A gust of wind made her shiver and her teeth chatter, and the man stepped into some slippers and walked up to her, draping the trenchcoat over her shoulders. “There there, that’s a very nice sweater, but it doesn’t seem to be keeping you warm, is it?”

“N-No.” Mabel shivered. “I… I used breathable yarn for…” She stopped. She was going to say how she used breathable yarn for the warm California weather, but she decided not to.

“You used?” The man repeated, rubbing her shoulders to try to make the trenchcoat work faster. “You made this?”

Mabel saw his excited grin and she smiled nervously. “Y-Yeah. I knit sweaters.”

The man bent his knees in front of her and studied her sweater. She held out an arm so he could see and his brown eyes sparkled. “That’s very impressive! I love sweaters!”

Mabel gasped happily. “C-C-Can I m-make you one?!”

The man looked taken back, but chuckled and stood. “Of course, but first let’s get you warm. How does hot chocolate sound?”

“Y-Yes, p-p-please.” Mabel shivered, and allowed the man to walk her into the house.

It was scaringly like the Mystery Shack, but so much was different. It was the same layout, the same house, but there was so much that was different. A coat rack stood by the door, holding a white lab coat with black rubber gloves in the pocket, some safety goggles like the ones in Mabel’s science classes, and Stan’s fez. Mabel stared at it. Well, okay it probably wasn’t Stan’s fez, but it was a maroon fez with a golden fish and a black tassle.

There was a wood-burning stove alive in the living room, with a small box full of wood by it and a tiny stool. Instead of Grunkle Stan’s armchair, there was a red-velvet couch, a large writing desk, and the room was decorated with books, desks, papers, and jars and experiments. It was all strange, but warm and cozy with the fire going.

Mabel smiled as the man pulled out the tiny stool and gestured for her to sit by the stove. She obeyed and the coat was removed from her shoulders, but quickly replaced with a dark-green blanket.

“There, do you mind warming up here while I make your hot chocolate?” He asked, draping his trenchcoat over his arm.

Mabel shook her head and held her cold hands in front of the stove. “Thank you.”

The man smiled. “You’re welcome.” And he turned and left for where Mabel knew the kitchen was.

Sitting alone and feeling better as her body was getting warm, Mabel thought it all over. This man was clearly not her Grunkle Stan, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nice or couldn’t help her. Any minute Dipper was going to come back for her, but until then she had to stay where she was. That’s what grown-ups told her to do if she was ever lost. Stay where you are until you’re found.

By the time Mabel was very comfortable, the man returned with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, and handed one to the girl. “Here you are, my dear.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mabel sipped and hummed in delight as the man sat on the floor next to her.

“You’re very welcome.” He sipped his drink and added, “Now then, I have to ask, what were you doing out there? Did you get lost?”

Mabel’s face dropped and she nodded. “Uh, huh.”

“Hm, very well. That can easily happen when playing on a snow day.” The man said with a smile. “Why don’t I call our parents and we can arrange to have you back home safe?”

Mabel swallowed nervously. She bit her lip, looking down at her mug. She didn’t know what to say to that.

The man looked at her and noticed how scared she was. “Is something wrong?”

Mabel looked up at him, was met with a kind face, and whimpered, “I can’t call them.”

The man smiled sympathetically. “I’m sure you won’t get into too much trouble. Maybe a little, but it’s for the best to call them so we can get you home soon.”

Mabel shook her head and squeezed her stinging eyes shut. “They’re… not around.”

The man’s face dropped as Mabel scrubbed at her eyes. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Mabel only replied with a sniff and she sipped her hot chocolate.

“Is there someone I can call for you?” The man asked. “I’m sure there’s someone out there worried about you.”

Mabel bit her lip. “M-My brother… He’s still out there…”

“Is he lost, too?”

Mabel shrugged.

“Well,” The man held his cleft chin in thought. “I’m sure he’s out there looking for you. Perhaps then you should wait here until he comes here, and then we can send you to your guardian.”

“It’s just us.” Mabel muttered. “Just us.”

The man smiled. Mabel hoped he believed her brother was much older than her, or at least old enough to take care of her. That way she wasn’t really lying, just letting this man believe what he wanted to believe. Nothing wrong with that. “Okay. Still, you may stay here until he finds you.”

Mabel sniffed and wiped her nose with her sweater sleeve. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me Ford.” He said and held out a hand to her.

Mabel smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Mabel.”

“Mabel, huh? That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thanks.” She looked down at their hands and her eyes widened. One, two, three, four, five, s-...

Ford pulled his hand free, his cheeks reddening as he sipped his hot chocolate, but Mabel was grinning at him happily and she gasped with joy, “You have six fingers?!”

Ford blinked at her, reminding Mabel of a startled owl, and he cleared his throat. “Um, y-yes. It’s a birth defect.”

“Nuh, huh! It’s cool! Can I see, please?” Mabel sat her mug on the floor by her feet.

The researcher didn’t like people staring at his hands, but this young girl wanted to look, it appears, in admiration, so Ford hesitantly gave her his hands and she held them lovingly, her eyes sparkling like stars.

“Wow! That’s neat! No wonder your hand shake was so friendly! It’s a whole finger friendlier than normal!” Mabel was then reminded that Dipper’s journal had a six-fingered hand on it.

The girl’s eyes widened as she wondered if she was meeting Dipper’s idol. It was possible. The journal Dipper had dated it in the 80s, and Dipper said that the author mysteriously disappeared. As exciting as it was to meet the Author of the Journals, all it did was put Mabel more at ease. If anyone can help her, he can.

Ford laughed and gave her hands a soft squeeze. “I like you! You’re weird.”

Mabel grinned, distracted from her thoughts and grateful for it. “I like you, too, Ford!”

#GF #gravity falls #fanfiction #timestuck au #ford and mabel bonding #MORE SWEATER-TWINS BONDING #ford pines #mabel pines #time travel

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kookingtae · 4 years ago

Text

in character (m)

pornstar!yoongi

→ scenario: Yoongi is one of the best porn stars in the industry; everyone wants to work with him at least once in their career. But what you don’t expect to feel for your co-star is the desire for something more than what’s written on the script.

alternatively: actor au where yoongi plays a burglar who breaks into your house and has his way with you.

→ word count: 5.7k

→ warnings: dom yoongi, rough consensual noncon, breath play, dirty talk, degradation, a lot of slapping, language, face fucking, choking, size kink, cock warming, predator/prey, sadism, unknowing cuckhold, ur tied up, just pure filth tbh

→ a/n: this was previously posted on a side blog of mine, which i’ve since deactivated and reposted here! so if you’ve seen this before, no u havent ♡

“Take it.” Yoongi hovers over your kneeling form, his member held in his hand as he forces it between your closed lips. “Take my fat fucking cock in your mouth like the little slut that you are.”

“Mmm, can’t,” you mumble a muffled reply, turning your head side to side in an attempt to avoid him. You half heartedly tug at the rope restraining your wrists behind your back even though you know they won’t break loose. “It’s t-too big.”

He lets out a dark chuckle. “Come on. Be a good girl and make it fit.” He finally shoves his way into your mouth, his salty precum coating your taste buds as you welcome the warm, velvety soft flesh of his length against your tongue. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt deep within your throat and your face is pressed against his abdomen, the feeling of his happy trail tickling your skin.

“Swallow,” he demands and you do as you’re told. “I want to feel you choking and gagging around my cock.” He tilts his head back with a groan as your throat tightens around his length. “Ah fuck, atta girl.”

You struggle to pull away again before he finally relents this time. A big gulp of air fills your lungs when your mouth is empty, air freely filling your lungs before your windpipes are suddenly constricted again as he wraps his hand around your throat

“Did I say you could stop, bitch?” He hisses before grabbing the base of his shaft and slapping his dick against your cheeks multiple times. The flesh bounces against the supple skin of your lips, leaving a smear of saliva in its wake before his hand then finds your face for a light slap. He backhands the other side for good measure, eyes lighting up in sadistic pleasure when your slack lips give way as a hole for his dick again.

“Cut!”

You’re instantly brought back to reality. Set lights that were once dim now brighten and the sound of idle chatter from stage crew fill the background. Yoongi releases his fist’s firm hold on your hair to step away as if he hadn’t just been abusing your throat mere seconds ago.

“You alright?” He asks softly as he watches you take in a deep breath.

You nod and flash him a weak smile while you try to quell your racing heart. The urge to wipe your tears is overwhelming, though even if your hands were free you couldn’t give in because the mascara streaming down your face would smear. Instead you turn your attention to the director who stopped the scene.

“Yoongi, I’m going to need you to be a little more rough,” the director speaks from his seat behind the camera.

“More rough?” His brows shoot up to his hairline.

“You’re supposed to be a burglar who has broken into this house and taken Y/N hostage—of course more rough.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to you as if silently checking to make sure you‘re okay with this. When you manage to offer him a small smile and nod your head, that seems to be the confirmation he needs.

“Alright,” he replies.

You’re careful not to move so not to cause issues later on when they edit the shot. “Can I get some water?” You call out.

A crew member comes over with a bottle of water, holding the top to your lips and tipping it back so that you’re still able to drink with your hands bound behind your back. The cool liquid is soothing on your strained throat, and when you let out a hum the crew member removes the bottle and ducks back behind the camera.

“How is everything that I’m doing?” Yoongi turns to you once your mouth is free. “Any discomfort? Complaints?”

You gently shake your head. The difference between Yoongi on and off camera is still astounding; this man is a great actor. “Everything’s fine. Please, don’t worry about me. I can take it.”

Yoongi arches his brow, an almost impressed expression adorning his features. “You must be pretty tough then if you can handle all of that.”

You shrug, your eyes finding his with a gleam as you reply, “I like it rough.”

Before he has time to respond, the director is calling for places again. You quickly clear your throat and mentally prepare yourself for the scene ahead while Yoongi gives his dick a few good pumps before an action! fills the room.

It’s fascinating watching him snap back into character; what was once concern in his eyes is now instantly replaced with predatory satisfaction as his hand finds its way back into your hair at the crown of your head, the tip of his still-leaking cock pressing against your slack lips.

“Now fucking take it,” he grits before roughly shoving it into your throat. “Take it like the whore you are.”

A loud gagging noise leaves you at the sudden intrusion, though the sound only seems to urge him forward as his fist tightens its grip to set the pace of your movements while he holds his hips still and roughly tugs your mouth up and down on his length. You let out another lewd noise whenever you feel his tip hit the back of your throat, though you still manage to hug your lips around his shaft with each motion.

“Ah, good girl. You like choking on my cock?” He slaps your hollowed cheek with his free hand and marvels at the way your skin turns red under his touch. “Yeah? Choke on it, slut.” His hand then finds your nose and squeezes so that he’s holding your breath and the only purchase you have is his member fucking your throat.

Your vision ebbs at the edges from the lack of oxygen filling your lungs, tears now fully streaming down your cheeks to purposefully smear the non-waterproof mascara you’re wearing. Your body starts to involuntarily panic as it struggles for air, and it’s only when your knee subtly nudges his ankle three times—the agreed upon number prior to filming which means you’re at your limit—that he finally releases his hold on your nose and lets you fall back with a staggering cough.

Relief floods you as you take in a deep breath of sweet, sweet air. The director hasn’t called cut so he must’ve liked the stunt, which means that Yoongi never leaves character as he watches your display with sadistic pleasure.

“So fucking pathetic. I bet that pretty little mouth of yours has never been fucked like this, hm?” He grips your chin between his fingers and drags his thumb across your bottom lip before forcing it between your lips. “Suck,” he orders.

You have no choice but to obey, wrapping your tongue around the digit and hollowing your cheeks.

Yoongi chuckles darkly. “Look at you. You’re so cock hungry that you’re willing to suck off any part of me. Desperate slut.” One of his hands snakes down to your breasts as he grabs the flesh in a tight grip, groping a couple times before giving them a few slaps and admiring the way they bounce beneath his touch. His thumb then finally slips from your mouth only to find its way around your throat and use the hold to pull you up on your knees again. “If you’re so desperate then you’re going to gag on my dick until I blow my load all over that pretty face of yours, yeah?”

You let out a whimper, playing the facade of a scared hostage as you shake your head pleadingly.

A resounding smack fills the air as his hand finds your cheek again in a harder slap this time, and you can feel the wetness pool between your legs as he manhandles you so that your back is flat against the floor and his hands are holding you down.

“That wasn’t a question. Be a good girl and take what I give to you,” he rasps as he angles his hips over your lifted head and begins fucking your face with quick, precise thrusts. Each assault makes another lewd gagging sound leave your mouth as you have no choice but to take the rough onslaught.

He throws his head back in unabashed pleasure as a loud moan leaves his lips, not even looking at you anymore as his hips continue to buck in chase of his high. He’s using you as a sex toy for his pleasure without a second thought, and you can’t deny the way arousal rolls within you at the sight.

After a few more moments of this your sore throat throbs and your wrists begin to ache as the rope digs into your back, and it’s only when your thigh nudges his three times that he seems to come to and pulls himself out of your mouth.

You cough while struggling a bit to sit up. Yoongi seems to notice this and helps you back to your knees before he’s suddenly picking you up entirely and throwing you on the bed as if you weigh nothing.

“Enough of your mouth. I’ve decided I wanna feel that tight fucking cunt around me instead.” His eyes are dark, dangerous as they watch you like a predator stalking its prey, and you find yourself gulping in equal parts fear and excitement.

“W-wait, please–“ you remember the script enough to whimper, though even you know the acting is a lie as your mouth grows dry when Yoongi crawls over you.

“Shut the fuck up!” He hisses before giving your bare pussy a punishing slap. It’s hard to miss the string of liquid arousal that chases his fingers, and he sneers down at you with a condescending tilt of his head. “I knew you were a fucking slut. Look how turned on you are from a stranger tying you up and having their way with you.” He spreads his fingers apart to show you your wetness before he’s reaching forward and shoving his fingers between your lips. “Taste yourself. Taste what I make your body feel.”

The heady flavor of your juices is peculiar on your tongue, though you take what you’re given with big eyes as you stare up at him, your gaze holding for longer than planned as you find yourself unable to look away.

And it’s after a few moments that he suddenly lurches forward and presses his lips to yours in a hard, passionate kiss. You let out a moan of surprise—you hadn’t been expecting that—before your lids are fluttering shut and you’re completely melting beneath him. His tongue is needy as it pushes past your lips to hungrily lap up the taste of both of your arousal mixed together in the caverns of your mouth.

The sensation has you seeing stars, and you let out another groan of pleasure before your back is involuntarily arching to press your chest against his, wanting to feel more of him.

“Cut!”

You hardly even register the director’s voice through the hazy fog of your mind, and it isn’t until Yoongi pulls away that you open your eyes to see the lights and cameras around you. You blink to adjust your eyesight and almost reluctantly turn your head on the mattress beneath you to look at the man in charge.

“There is no kissing in this script.” He holds up his phone to wave the downloaded file that contains this scene’s directions as if to reiterate his point. You were both emailed a copy of the script before you accepted this job. “It’s too intimate. And Y/N, you can’t act like you like what’s happening to you.”

Your cheeks heat up slightly at him calling out your obvious desire that you were trying but failing to contain. “I got it,” you call back half-heartedly. When you face forward again you‘re met with Yoongi’s eyes gazing down at you.

His expression is unreadable, a mix of emotions you can’t comprehend at the moment. “Sorry,” he mouths apologetically since he had been the one to kiss you in the first place.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset, regardless of the director’s criticism.

“Action!” He calls from his seat to start the scene where Yoongi left off removing his fingers from your mouth.

He gives your pussy another slap if only to get back into the rhythm of the scene’s tone, and your body quivers at the sudden sensation.

“No, don’t–“ you try to squirm away from his touch, though the fight only seems to make him angry as he suddenly grabs your body and throws you forward over his lap.

“I told you good girls take what they’re given!” He scolds before a hand slams down over your bare ass, the sting causing you to yelp in surprise. He continues this a few more times, each slap reverberating through the room and leaving a growing red mark on your skin. “Do you like being punished? Wanna be punished by my cock?”

“No–!” You try to shake your head when he’s suddenly shifting you down so that your face is hovering over his erect member.

“Shut the fuck up and put that mouth to good use,” he growls, gripping the base of his shaft and aligning it with your mouth. Because you’re lying on your stomach your head has nowhere to go but down, and he takes full advantage of that situation as he snaps his hips up so that his cock is being forced down your throat with each thrust.

“Such a good fuck doll. Instead of robbing this house I might just steal you and use you as my personal sex toy,” he groans with a toss of his head, his cock unable to leave your mouth due to the position.

You carefully breathe out of your nose for air as you curl your tongue around his length, inexplicably still wanting to pleasure him despite the situation. Each sound of satisfaction that falls from his lips adds to the growing ache of lust in your core, and when your lower half squirms in an attempt to relieve some of the tension this catches Yoongi’s attention.

His hand finds your ass again in a series of quick slaps, each motion cupping the lower cheek and causing your pussy to quiver in anticipation from his fingers being so close to where you want him most. His palm then smoothes over your reddened skin, admiring his blooming artwork before his touch finally settles between your legs.

“Ah, you put up such a fight but your body responds so well.” A curse escapes under his breath when his middle finger slides between your lower lips.

You let out a muffled whine around him, his hips ceasing their movement to instead explore your body so that you’re now warming his stiff cock with your throat.

“You’re such a good cock warmer,” he muses down at you, swiveling his hips for good measure so that his erection swirls inside you.

The action causes you to gag, a sensation that he likes if the involuntary groan is any tell, but the sore pain in your throat is quickly forgotten when he suddenly pushes two fingers inside you.

“Holy shit, you’re tight!” The words leave his lips in pure surprise that cannot be faked.

You wish you could see the genuine reaction on his facial expression, but instead your eyes squeeze shut at the sexual relief that fills your core from finally having some part of him inside you. Oh, how badly you want to beg him to keep fingering you, to cry for his cock and bask in the pleasure he’s giving your body.

But alas, you can’t. You have a part to play.

And so you rock your hips back and forth in what is meant to look like an effort to force his fingers out of you when really you’re just riding them for relief.

Yoongi seems to be in awe above you, and you don’t even have to nudge him three times to make him lift you up off his dick and onto the bed.

You pathetically gasp for breath once there’s nothing obstructing your airways, not realizing how badly you needed oxygen until you’re finally able to breathe properly.

“Enough of this. I’m fucking that tight little cunt right this second.” His tone is dark, determined as he stands on the floor and drags you to the edge of the bed. “On your knees,” he barks coldly.

You resist the urge to desperately obey him, instead fighting back fearfully until he finally manhandles your body into the position he wants you with your ass in the air and your face pressed into the mattress.

“Stop, y-you’re too big!” You start to protest once you feel his tip breaching your walls.

He instantly smacks your ass as punishment. “Sex dolls can’t talk. I’m gonna stretch you so much you rip in half on my dick if that’s what it fucking takes.” And with that he slams into you full force without a second warning.

Despite the scene at hand, Yoongi is a good, smart guy. He has a reputation in the porn industry for being the man every person wants to fuck at some point in their career. His resume is vast and his experience shows in his technique. You’re assuming that’s how he knows you don’t need anymore prepping when it comes to taking his full length and girth; thankfully he doesn’t comment on it out loud, but you’re embarrassingly wet. Like ‘it feels like you’ve already orgasmed twice’ kind of wet. Which is why there’s no hesitation on his part to bury into you to the hilt, and the fake cry of pain that leaves your lips is actually a very grateful cry of sheer, undeniable pleasure.

“Fuck!” He cries out immediately, his hips stalling as they press flush against the heated skin of your ass. “Shit, you’re squeezing around me like crazy. About to milk my cock dry if you don’t stop.”

His voice is breathless, strained; you can tell from your line of work that he’s trying to hold back from finishing too early. Not that you can blame him, what with the way you spent all of foreplay glued to his dick. Still, this being the wildly popular Min Yoongi and all, you can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell within you at his words.

“Cut!” The director suddenly calls, though neither you nor your co-star move. “Yoongi, do you need a minute? We can cut the footage later if you want to wait until you’re ready to start again.”

“U-uh, yeah, just a sec.” It’s interesting how much his voice wavers now that you have a break without the pressure of the camera filming a continuous take.

You glance at him over your shoulder as best as you can with the side of your face in the sheets and your wrists still restrained behind your back. “Anything I can do to help?” You ask.

“N-no, you—don’t move,” he quickly warns as if any motion whatsoever would cause him to blow his load right then and there.

For some reason it causes your heart to flutter with endearment.

So you simply nod your head and settle back down against the bed, the sensation of him essentially warming his erect cock within your walls not helping any as you can feel your slick arousal now dripping down your thighs.

“And... action. Take your time and whenever you’re ready you can start back up again,” the director calls out to him.

Yoongi briefly nods from behind you, and it’s after a few deep breaths from him that you start to feel movement inside the deepest parts of you. He rubs his hips experimentally against your ass to test the waters before finally rolling them in a slow, meticulous motion.

“Shit, I wouldn’t have wasted time on your mouth if I knew you had a pussy like this,” he curses softly as the repeated action starts to gain momentum.

Your skin is slick with precum and sweat where your bodies meet, though you’re unable to stop the moan that tumbles from your lips as his thrusts speed up and the sound of slapping flesh fills the room.

It isn’t long before what was once caution and hesitation transforms back into the rough tone of the script now that he’s not afraid of finishing early. He gives your ass a few loud, stinging slaps before his hand reaches down to grab a fistful of your hair and yank you up. You cry out, your torso now completely lifted in the air due to the strong grip he has on you.

“That’s right, I knew you could take my fat cock. You were just whining like the little bitch you are, huh?” He grits his teeth and slips his hand from your hair to the knotted rope that binds both of your hands together. Your scalp is thankful when he chooses to hold onto that instead while he steadies your body for his relentless pace.

“Ah! No, fuck, it’s too much–“ you barely remember to scream out your lines through the endless waves of pleasure he’s assaulting your body.

“Did I say you could speak?” He growls before dropping your hands so that your chest falls back against the mattress again. There’s only a beat of silence while he grabs your abandoned panties on the bed before he’s unceremoniously shoving them into your mouth. “Now shut the fuck up. I don’t wanna hear you unless you’re crying over my cock.”

And so loud endless sobs tear through your throat, the sound muffled from the soiled fabric in your mouth as he grips your hips so tightly you‘re sure his fingertips will leave bruises and he yanks your body up and down on his length.

“Fuck, gonna keep your messy cunt as my own personal pocket pussy.” Dirty words tumble from his mouth as he loses himself to the pleasure your walls are giving him. “Gonna fuck you every single day.”

You hear the sound of a door closing from somewhere within the house you’re using as a set, and you know that means the scene where your supposed boyfriend comes home is now happening.

“Mmmm!” Your eyes widen as you attempt to speak, in the middle of spitting the panties out when Yoongi suddenly leans forward against your back and shoves them back into your mouth before slamming a hand over your lips to keep them there.

“Oh, is someone home?” There’s a sadistic, devilish glint in his eye as he speaks against your ear, his hips continuing their rutting. “Let them see. Let them see how much of a pathetic whore you are creaming all over my cock.”

The new angle causes him to hit another spot within you that has you crying out in pure ecstasy, tears steadily streaming from the corners of your eyes as your vocal cords vibrate with every muffled groan against his palm.

You hear the sound of your fake boyfriend walking up the stairs, and that’s Yoongi’s cue to pull out and tug you to your feet by the knotted rope at the juncture of your wrists. He roughly shoves you against the closed door with his chest pressed against your back so that you have nowhere to move.

“Mmmm!” You moan frantically again when you feel his cock push back into you, and it’s all you can do to shake his palm from your mouth and spit out the panties between your lips before your boyfriend stops to knock on the door.

You spare a panicked glance back at Yoongi only to see him smirking sardonically at you. “Answer,” his twisted words curl around the tightening coil in your core.

You frantically shake your head. There’s no way you can do that without getting caught!

At your refusal he shoves you against the wall even harder this time, his free hand wrapping around your throat to hold your gaze on him. “I said, answer. Let him hear how I make you feel.” He pivots his hips up in a particularly heavy thrust that had a cry of pleasure falling from your lips—one that catches the ears of your waiting boyfriend.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay in there?” He calls out in concern before turning the handle.

Your eyes widen as Yoongi tugs on your wrists so that you’re stumbling back a couple steps and the door has enough room to open, though you quickly peek your head out so that your fake boyfriend can’t see that you’re naked or that Yoongi is currently ramming his cock into you from behind.

“H-hey babe,” your words stumble as Yoongi starts back up with a relentless pace, one hand holding onto your knotted wrists for leverage so that he can bounce you back and forth on his dick while the other hand smooths down the bare expanse of your back.

Your boyfriend’s eyes instantly widen in concern. “Are you crying? What happened, are you feeling okay?”

When he starts to step inside, you quickly shake your head. “N-no, no don’t worry. I was just uh—I was taking off my makeup. I feel good.” At that moment Yoongi uses his hand on your back to push down on your spine so that you’re leaning forward even more, the new angle causing him to hit a sweet spot deep within your walls. “I feel so good!” You involuntarily cry out.

There’s no way this stunt would ever look believable in real life. But that’s the beauty of porn.

Yoongi suddenly slaps your ass and you stumble, your hand instinctively trying to fly to your mouth to cover your whimper. Though because your wrists are bound, you’re unable to stop the sound of pleasure that hangs wantonly in the air once it falls from your lips.

Alarm springs to your boyfriend’s features. “What was that?”

“I-I just stubbed my toe,” you lamely fumble for the script’s poor excuse.

He nods and you listen to him ramble about his day, mostly stalling for time so the cameras can catch the glory of this unknowing-cuckold moment. You supply distracted hm’s and uh huh’s until he finally says he’s going to the kitchen.

“I’ll be there in a bit, babe,” you call out as he walks away, and the second the door shuts Yoongi shoves you against it again and holds you there with his body, never missing a beat as he continues to slam his hips into you from behind.

“What’s wrong, babe? Don’t want him to know what a little slut you are?” He snarls into your ear, the pet name falling sarcastically from his lips and making your stomach flutter. His skin is slick with sweat where your bodies meet and the heat from your heavy breathing clouds the air between you with lust. “It took everything in me not to open the door and show him whose cock has been stretching this fucking cunt of yours.”

Yoongi doesn’t waste a second tugging you back to the bed now that your interruption has left, though instead of throwing you face down like before, he positions you on your back this time with your ass at the edge of the bed while he towers over you.

There’s something about this position that feels more intimate—maybe it’s because you can stare straight into his eyes this time when he fucks you. But one slap of your tits as he suddenly thrusts his cock back into your heat and you know he’s still in character.

“Ah!” You cry out, the quick intrusion making you see stars.

He doesn’t waste time building his rhythm as he starts back up at the same frightening pace as before, and the hand that’s groping and abusing your breasts slides up your chest and clamps down around your throat, using his hold to yank you up and down on his length again.

“You finally ready to be a good girl? Done whining about taking my fat cock?” He chuckles darkly as you struggle to breathe, fresh tears starting to prick at the edges of your eyes over the black stains streaking down your cheeks.

Just when you’re about to nudge him three times, he releases his grip on your windpipe to instead travel up your jaw and hook his fingers inside your open mouth. His fingers curl behind the back of your bottom-row teeth, holding you there while he fucks into you and uses your holes as a means to get himself off.

“Look at you, so pathetic and submissive beneath me. The perfect sex doll.” His gaze never wavers from your big eyes while he speaks, and before you can register what’s happening he’s suddenly leaning down and spitting into your mouth that he’s forcing open. “Swallow,” he orders.

It’s embarrassing how quickly you obey. Every second that passes is spent reminding yourself that you need to remember your script rather than act on impulse.

But that’s proving harder and harder to do now that Yoongi’s face is so close to yours.

You resist the urge to lean up and kiss him. Your director already scolded you once today; you don’t need him calling you out again. Though you might not have to endure this facade that much longer, because soon your co-star’s hand is snaking down between your legs and finding the bundle of nerves that instantly sets your body aflame.

You have no choice but to take what he’s giving you, and the onslaught of pleasure mixed with the mental image of everything happening is too much for you to handle.

Which is why his growl of “cum,” in the shell of your ear is all it takes for you to lose it on his cock.

“Fuck,” the word falls from his lips with a low, throaty groan. He stands upright again and tosses his head back, both hands returning to your hips as he drags your pussy even faster on his length so you ride out your high while he desperately chases his. “I didn’t think it was even possible for you to feel any tighter—shit, your pretty pussy is gonna make me cum.”

The sounds of pleasure leaving his lips turn short, breathless, until finally you feel the sudden sensation of milky white cum flooding your insides. It’s warm and leaves your body feeling full, satisfied when he eventually pulls out to admire his seed dripping from your cunt.

He bends down to get a view up close, and without the haze of lust clouding your movements you actually feel embarrassed by his thorough inspection despite everything that just happened. If it wasn’t for the dizzying lethargy that’s starting to settle over your body and a need to end the scene, you might’ve tried to squirm away.

“Clench,” he suddenly orders, his thumb dragging up your inner thigh and entering your abused pussy again as he stuffs his seed back inside of you. “Don’t let it drip out. I want you to remember the feeling of my cum filling you up when you talk to your precious boyfriend.”

You shudder at his touch against your sensitive mound, though thankfully he doesn’t linger as the director calls cut! and the scene ends.

The hum of background chatter fills the room again, and it takes you a moment to blink from your daze and realize what’s happening. You can’t move from the bed even if you wanted to.

Yoongi is instantly at your side untying your wrists, his touch careful and gentle compared to the harsh way he was handling your body just moments prior. “Hey, you okay?” He sits down by your side and runs a soothing hand over your hair, your back. “I’m sorry if I went too far a couple times there. They said they wanted me to be more rough, so I–“

“It’s fine, really,” you hum in reassurance when you eventually find your voice. A sigh of relief leaves your lips once your wrists are finally free of the constricting rope, and you rub and roll them a few times to ease the stiff ache in your bones. “I never nudged you because I was uncomfortable. I just needed to breathe,” you chuckle amiably.

A soft smile finds Yoongi’s lips, and he slowly reaches out to give you enough time to pull away if you want to until the pad of his thumb is tenderly swiping the mascara-stained tears from your cheekbones.

The contrast makes you dizzy. It’s like night and day, his actions not even a minute ago compared to his actions now. His sexual range leaves your heart aflutter and you don’t know why.

“Shit, you have marks on your hips.” He runs a hand over the curvature of your side. A shiver shoots down your spine at his feathery touch. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get that into it.”

The tantalizing motion of his fingers seem to put you in a trance before you finally find the strength to sit upright, though the sudden movement makes you wobble a little off balance. He quickly wraps his arms around your back to steady you and then leans back against the bed frame.

You let out an exhale, your stomach rolling at the intimacy of the interaction. You’re now cuddling with Yoongi, and the cameras aren’t rolling anymore. Does he do this with all his co-stars after a shoot?

“You don’t have to apologize,” you murmur, swallowing before admitting your next words. “I got into it too. It was so difficult for me to act like I didn’t want it.”

Yoongi leans back in surprise at your words so he can get a good look at your face, though it‘s in that moment while the two of you are gazing at each other that his manager calls his name. You can’t help but notice the reluctance in his movements as he parts from you, eventually getting up and putting on his robe behind the camera.

You sigh, giving your legs a bit more time to rest until your manager calls you over as well. What’s happening? You’ve left a shoot satisfied before, but never yearning for more. Was the sex really just that good? Or is it something more, something that has to do with the boy with dark eyes and fluffy black hair staring back at you from across the room?

Whatever it is, you find yourself suddenly a little too excited to see Min Yoongi again.

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greenshirtimagines · 4 years ago

Text

DragonWhisperer!Kaminari x DragonPrincess!Reader

A/n: When a coward accidently finds out he can control dragons, and steals the heart of a total babe.

Honestly, I liked where this was going at first and now I don't know.

*Depictions of violence and attempted murder

(Bakugou Fantasy AU) (Tamaki) (Masterlist)

Word Count: 5.5k

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!”

To say that Denki Kaminari was down on his luck would be a bit of an understatement.

After his lifelong dream being shattered, getting kicked out of his village, and walking for weeks through the forest after getting lost, he didn’t think it could get worse.

Unfortunately, Lady Luck was not seduced by his charms.

The only thing that could possibly make his situation worse would be death, and as it turned out, an opportunity was right in front of him.

Or rather, right behind and above, chasing after him.

‘A DRAGON? A FREAKING DRAGON???' He thought to himself. ‘I thought they were just myths!’

He ran, gasping for breath, desperately trying to get away.

Suddenly, a very high wall came into view. “OH COME ON, SERIOUSLY?” He screamed. ‘That thing’s going to be impossible to get over!’

He looked to the sides, hoping he could run around it, but the wall continued spanning for as far as the eye could see.

“This is it. This is where I die,” he whimpered, finally reaching the wall. He looked up, and met the sapphire eyes of the dragon. In one smooth movement, it began its descent, swooping towards him.

In a final burst of horrific fear he shrunk back, closed his eyes and screamed, “STOP! PLEASE, JUST DON’T EAT ME!”

A sudden gust of wind knocked him off his feet.

“AHH!” His eyes shot open, and he fully expected to see the jaws of the beast about to devour him.

Instead, he noticed the dragon standing completely still in front of him.

“Huh? Uhh, aren’t you going to eat me?” He asked in a timid whisper, confused as to why it was just staring at him. ‘Is it toying with me? Wait, maybe I should just run-’

But before he could take off, the dragon snorted, and slowly shook its head.

H u h ?

“Wait wait wait. Did you just… shake your head?” Kaminari asked in complete shock.

Once again it snorted, but this time it slowly nodded.

“Woah, whaaaat?” Kaminari’s brain slowed to practically a halt. His disbelief, confusion, and stupidity were all merging and overwhelming him.

“Soooooo, you can understand me?”

“You're obeying him?!”

“WHAT?” He screamed. “YOU CAN TALK? AND YOU’RE A GIRL? BUT YOU WEREN’T EVEN MOVING YOUR MOUTH! Oh. My. Gosh. Can this dragon speak telepathically to me?”

“No, you fool, I’m speaking to you.”

Kaminari slowly turned around, coming face to face with the tip of a sword.

But he also came face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. You. What beautiful angel had come to him? With beautiful shining (h/c) hair, and fierce (e/c) eyes, he almost fainted at your beauty.

Wow… what was this cold sensation coming from his neck? Was it excitement? Or some new, strange feeling he had never felt before?

No… no wait… it was the sword.

“Hey, cutie,” he nervously flashed his signature megawatt smile at you. “What’re you doing with that? Those things are dangerous, you could accidentally hurt someone, princess.”

And suddenly, he was being shoved against a tree with the whole blade pressed against his throat.

“How did you know my identity?!” You screamed, glaring at him with a force he’d never seen before.

“Huh? Hey wait! Don’t hurt me! I was just kidding around!” The awe he had felt upon seeing your beauty was quickly being replaced with fear. “Wait, does that mean you’re an actual princess? I didn’t know, honestly!”

You scoffed. “You really expect me to believe you? After you came all the way to this kingdom? After using your powers on the dragon? After calling me by my title? I know you’re up to no good.”

Panic was welling up in him. “I’m innocent, believe me! I don’t even know how I stopped the dragon! I didn’t even know they existed. I don't know you either! I-I’m sure I’d remember the face of someone as beautiful as you,” he stammered out.

Your anger only seemed to increase. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, you fiend.”

‘Think, Denki, think! This chick is literally gonna kill me if I don’t find a way out of this!’

“Uuumm,” he breathed, “I… I have powers, don’t I? You’re all alone here. I definitely would’ve used them by now if I really was a bad person, right?”

You faltered. ‘That is a good point… but still.’

“All right,” you said, “tell the dragon to go to sleep.”

“What?”

“Do it! Tell her to sleep.”

Kaminari hesitantly looked at the dragon. He didn’t even know if he really had powers. ‘Please, let this work,’ he begged.

“G-go to sleep. Right n-now, okay?” He asked the dragon.

The dragon glared at him, but the glare only lasted so long before she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

“Now then,” you looked at him, and slowly drew the blade from his throat to his back, “let’s go to the palace, shall we? Try anything suspicious and I won’t hesitate to attack and call for help.”

“O-okay, sure thing, I won’t do anything, I promise. But uh,” he asked, dreading the answer, “why are we going to the palace?”

“I’m the princess, remember? The palace is where I’ll interrogate you.”

“Wow…” was all Kaminari could say. He was speechless. Inside the wall was a world entirely new to him. Ginormous buildings extended high into the sky, made of strange colored, shining material.

It almost looked exactly like the scales that had covered the dragon…

‘D-did they skin them alive? Is that what they’re going to do to me?’ He cried internally.

Had he really just postponed his death instead? Had he traded a quick death for something even worse?

Before he could continue thinking of awful ways you could possibly kill him, he was being sat down in a chair.

Guards appeared, holding rope in their hands.

“Guards,” you said, your tone now calm, “don’t bind him. And leave the two of us alone.”

The guards exchanged looks. “But,” one of them began, “it wouldn’t be correct for us to leave Her Highness with a potentially dangerous criminal.”

Your eyes shifted to those of the man who had spoken. “I can handle him myself. Or do you doubt me that much?”

His eyes narrowed, and the mood became much more strained. “No, of course not, Your Highness. We’ll do as ordered.”

“Good.”

The guards left, leaving just the two of you.

Kaminari gulped nervously. What would happen now…

“What is your name?” You asked.

“O-oh, my name is D-Denki Kaminari.”

“And where do you originally come from?”

“From the Land of Lightning.”

“And why did you come here?”

“Like I said, I didn’t even know this place existed. I got lost in the forest and wound up here.”

“And why were you in the forest?”

He looked down. “I- I decided to leave my village.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I just… wasn’t happy there.”

You stared at him for a moment, not saying a word.

“One more question,” you said, brushing past his previous statement, “Are you willing to do whatever it takes to prove your innocence?”

“Y-Yes! I’ll do anything!”

You smiled slightly. “Good. Denki Kaminari,” you rose from your seat, approaching him, “you will accompany me on a journey to the Spring of Nanaba, and when we return and you’ve proven your innocence, I’ll repay you accordingly. Now, I must go and prepare. We leave first thing in the morning.”

“Wait, what?”

Now, Kaminari said he was willing to do anything to prove his innocence, but did it have to be this?

Going on a trip alone with a babe was a thought that made him excited yet nervous, so going on a trip alone with a babe that could kill him at any moment made him a little more than just nervous.

Not to mention, you two were in the sky.

The sky.

It was a miracle that he managed to stay on the dragon, and not throw up either.

What was also a miracle, was the happy look on your face. You looked so different from earlier. Pure joy lit up your eyes, and suddenly, you weren’t some scary lady about to kick his butt, you were just a young girl, no older than him even, enjoying her life. You really looked at home in the sky. You looked… even more beautiful.

Which probably wasn’t the right thought to be having at the moment, but hey, Kaminari was just being honest.

“Denki,” you turned around, looking at him with a smile, “tell the dragon to swoop down and do a flip.”

“What?! Are you crazy?! We’ll die!” He yelled. Maybe the scary lady was back.

“Of course we won’t! Just hold onto me! Trust me, I've been doing this since I could walk!”

“No!”

“I thought you said you were willing to do whatever it takes to prove your innocence!”

“Ugh, you really have to play that card? Fine,” he whined.

“Saphira,” he told the dragon, “c-can you happen to swoop down and do a f-flip- WOAH!”

Before he had a chance to even finish your request, Saphira was upside down and flipping through the frigid air.

You were quick to wrap his arms around your waist, and you screamed with exhilaration.

“Isn’t this fun?!”

“NO! IT’S NOT! I THINK I’M GOING TO BE SICK!”

“Denki, you must learn to live a little!” You grinned. “Just feel the wind through your hair, isn’t it amazing?”

“I… guess it does feel kind of cool,” he admitted. "If you ignore the fact that I could easily plummet to my death."

“It'll be even cooler if you look down. It’s worth it, I promise.”

“What?! I can’t do that, it’s too scary,” he cried.

“Don’t worry,” you reassured him, “I’m right here. I promise, I won’t let go of you. Not for a second.”

Maybe it was the gentle look filling your eyes, or the sweet smile that crossed your face, but you really did look like an angel. And Kaminari felt that he could trust you. So slowly, but surely, he tilted his head down to look at the eart below.

“Wow…”

It was amazing.

It wasn’t so much the view that shocked him, but the sheer vastness of everything. There was so much land spanning everywhere, and of course Kaminari already knew that, but it was different actually seeing it. And all he was seeing was just a tiny fraction of how much earth there really was.

Down on the earth, there were so many people going about their lives, unaware of the people who roamed the skies. He could have been one of them. But he was here, with you.

He didn’t know where this journey would take him, or why he was chosen, but surely, this was the start of something new.

“Do you realize now why I wanted you to look down?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

All it took was a glance, and his life was changed.

“LET GO OF ME!”

Denki shot up, hearing you scream.

The two of you had stopped to rest for the night in a glade. You had told him that although the dragon would be sleeping, she would still be able to sense any attackers. What had gone wrong?

He scrambled to his feet, panicking and about to call Saphira when he noticed you, being dragged by all the hair you had.

By Saphira.

“Hey! Bad dragon! Stop! Put her down, right now!” He commanded.

She stopped in her tracks. They stared at each other for a good twenty seconds before she finally huffed and dropped you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, scrambling to your side.

“Denki,” you breathed, staring at him, “that was the first time you spoke so firmly to Saphira!”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I guess that’s right. But I wasn’t really scared of her at all,” he said, smiling smugly.

“That’s definitely a lie.”

“You could’ve at least pretended like it was true.”

“My people tend to be very blunt and straight to the point. You’re lucky I’m one of the more relaxed ones.”

‘I wouldn’t really say that…’ he thought to himself.

Then, the importance of his deed hit him.

“Hey, wait a minute, I just saved your life! You totally have to trust me now, don’t you?”

The corners of your lips quirked up the tiniest bit.

“Oh, I already started trusting you a while ago.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes. You had multiple opportunities to kill me, but you never took them. And besides,” you added, “you just seem like a trustworthy person. Although of course I couldn’t just listen to my instincts when I first met you. I had to know you wouldn’t be putting the people in danger.”

“I guess you’ve got a point. It’s a relief knowing that you trust me now.”

A thought occurred to him. “Was this all just a test, then? Do we get to go home now?”

You frowned slightly. “No, I really do need you for this.”

He hesitated a moment. “What… what exactly is ‘this’?”

You looked him in the eyes, seeming to be searching for something.

Finally, you sighed, and began speaking. “We need to head to the Crystal Meadow and the Spring of Nanaba. And I need your powers too.”

“Why? What even is the ‘Crystal Meadow’ and the ‘Spring of Nanaba’? Why are my powers or whatever so strange? If you guys live with dragons, why do you need me?”

“The Crystal Meadow is a field covered in flowers made of minerals. The Spring of Nanaba is a hot spring whose waters have medicinal values.”

“Minerals? Medicinal values?” The truth was finally starting to come together. “Is someone you know sick?”

Your face clouded over in sadness. “Yes, my mother. She’s been sick for a while now, but no medicine has been able to cure her. This is a last resort, recommended to us by a doctor who came all the way from the other side of the continent. The medicine is made using powder from a Crystal Rose, water from the spring, and a few tears from a dragon.”

“Tears from a dragon…?”

“Yes, tears from a dragon. But dragons don’t cry. Only in times of excruciating sadness they may tear up, and we don’t want to make the dragons suffer like that.”

“But then what about the castle?” Denki asked, remembering how the castle and many other buildings were covered in dragon scales.

“The castle…? Oh. Don’t misunderstand,” you said, your gaze growing sharp. “My people have been living in harmony with dragons for centuries. We would never harm them like that. Those scales are from dragons who have already died. When dragons pass away, their bodies disintegrate, but their scales stay intact. We take the scales, and by incorporating them with our architecture and art, we make sure that those dragons are never forgotten.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, not failing to notice how serious you had grown over the subject, “it just seems a bit different from an outsider’s perspective.”

“I understand,” you said, “I’m sorry too if I came off as too angry. It’s just that we have such deep bonds with them.”

“If you guys have been living with dragons for so long then, why don’t any of you have my powers? And how come nobody even knows they exist for real?”

You sat down, leaning against a tree. “It’s a long story.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep soon anyway.”

“A few centuries ago, the population of our kingdom was much larger than it is now. Back then, people with your ability, the ability to command dragons with a single word, were common. Some people used their power for good, but others only abused it. There came a point where a large group of ability users banded together, and launched an attack on the neighboring kingdom. It was a horribly bloody war. Many people from the neighboring kingdom were killed.”

“That’s terrible,” Kaminari said, horror etched onto his face.

“It was, but the bloodiest part of the war was yet to come. The neighboring kingdom launched a counterattack, as did those who used their ability for good. Even other kingdoms, who viewed us as a threat joined in. Many, many people died. When the war was finally over, the majority of those with the special power had been killed. Despite all this, the neighboring kingdom, and all others surrounding us, were still wary of us. They decided to close the doors to their kingdoms, and we closed ours. That’s why the wall is there. And after all these years, people with the special ability have practically gone extinct, and we have to train and bond with dragons manually, no matter how difficult it may be.”

“Then why do I have it?” He asked.

“There were some people who fled the kingdom, and lived quiet lives in others, pretending to be from different kingdoms. As long as nobody found out where they really came from, they could live peacefully. It’s very probable,” you said, looking at Kaminari, “that you are a descendent of an ability user, who either left the country and survived, or sent his offspring to a different kingdom so they could survive.”

“That’s… a lot to process.”

“It probably is,” you chuckled. “I needed you to provide me with dragon tears, but also to help me with Saphira, who has a tendency for rebellion. I needed her because she is the strongest dragon we have. Will you still aide me on my quest?” You asked, staring hopefully at him.

“Of course I will!” He exclaimed, taking you by the shoulders. “I’ll do whatever I can to help your mother! She doesn’t deserve to be suffering, and neither do you. This is my power, and I’ll use it to help others the best I can!”

You were speechless. How many times had anybody ever so passionately agreed to help someone? To help someone they didn’t even know?

He must be an angel.

“Thank you, Denki,” you said, almost tearing up. You quickly flopped onto your side. “Let’s just get some sleep, okay? The night is still young, so we should get as much sleep as possible.”

“Alright, good night, (Y/n),” he said, laying on his back.

“Good night, Denki.”

Neither of you noticed the tender smile on each other’s faces, but you both felt the tender emotion beginning to stir in your hearts.

“This is it, Denki,” you said, your breath catching in anticipation. “We’re here.”

Crystal roses sprouted from the ground. The sunlight reflected off the flowers, casting blue and purple light over the land. It was as magical as the dragons.

Denki had Saphira land on a soft patch of grass near the Crystal Meadow, while you immediately jumped off and began running towards it.

“Hey, wait up!” He called, running after you.

“This has to be one of the most magnificent things I’ve ever seen,” you remarked, “and I’ve spent my whole life living with dragons.

“My Lady,” Kaminari bowed, pulling a rose from the ground and holding it out to you.

You stared at him wide-eyed, mouth agape.

He almost considered taking it back, until you blushed lightly and accepted it.

“If this is your way of trying to woo me,” you mumbled, “it’s not bad”.

You had said it so quietly, but he still heard it.

“R-really?” He stuttered. “I- I mean, of course it is, I am pretty charming, after all. And it’s just common sense that the pretty rose befits the pretty lady.”

“Anyway,” you turned around, tucking the rose into a satchel you had placed on Saphira, and trying to hide your flaming face, “now that we have the rose, let’s head to the hot spring. It should be no more than a mile from here.”

“Hey, hold up,” Denki said, reaching out to stop you, “don’t you want to see the view for a little while longer? It’s really special, and who knows when you’ll get to see it again.”

“I guess you’re right,” you agreed, “but just for a few minutes. After all, after this we can go back.”

The two of you sat, enjoying the view of the meadow. A warm, content atmosphere settled between you two.

As you sat, you recalled the interrogation back at the castle, and how Denki had said he wasn’t content in his village. Underneath the fear this situation had caused him to feel, he seemed like a happy person, so why wasn't he happy at his home?

“Denki,” you called out softly to him.

“Mhm? What is it, princess?” He addressed you teasingly.

“Why were you unhappy in your village?” You asked, hoping he wouldn’t become upset.

He looked away, seeming uncomfortable.

“Never mind,” you hurried to say, “I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t-”

“No, it’s okay. You trust me, and I trust you,” he said, sounding firmer than he ever had before. “The truth is… I didn’t leave the village. I was pretty much kicked out.”

“You were?” You asked in disbelief.

Denki? What could he have done?

“You see, I was training to be a knight, but I was definitely kicked out from there.”

You hated to think this, but Denki did seem like he wouldn’t quite fit in as a knight.

“I was kicked out because I was too weak, and too cowardly,” he said, his voice and face turning melancholy. “I was too dumb, too. All my classmates were so much better than me. I just had no place there.”

Poor Denki…

“And when I returned to the village, everyone knew about my failure to become a knight. All my former friends dumped me, and nobody wanted such a disgrace around. They ended up telling me to leave, that’s why I ended up in the forest.”

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was staring down at the ground, but you knew he was probably lost in his memories.

You gently reached out to him, and placed your hand on his cheek.

He flushed, confused. “(Y-Y/n)?”

“I don’t think they had any right to kick you out, but I understand how you feel.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “No offense, but how could you, (Y/n)? You’re a fierce dragon princess and-”

“And I’m hated by my people.”

“What?” He pulled away, looking at you in shock.

“I’m not just doing this quest to save my mother. I’m doing it to redeem myself.”

“Redeem yourself? For what?”

“I have a sister.”

“A sister? Since when?”

“Since forever. Listen, the point is, our kingdom doesn’t have the same tradition most do for choosing the next heir. While the next in line is from the royal family, you have to fight each other for the throne. Whoever wins gets to inherit the kingdom.”

“So you had to fight your own sister? That’s not really fair. Ruling a kingdom isn’t just about physical strength.”

“I know,” you muttered, “but it doesn’t matter since my sister’s so smart anyway. She ended up beating me, and so she’s the Crown Princess. Although there is no penalty for losing, many people see it as dishonorable. The people view me as the weaker princess, but if I heal my mother, I can also regain their approval. That’s why I understand you. We’re both trying our best to be better, after watching our goals fall through.”

“(Y/n)... thank you,” Denki said, leaning forward and embracing you.

Your heart raced from his touch, but you barely even noticed. All you really registered, was how glad you were to have found him.

After spending a few extra minutes at the meadow, the two of you headed to the Spring of Nanaba.

You walked ahead, holding a canteen to hold the water. The spring itself was very large and very beautiful. It made you wonder what else was out there in the world.

“Did they have hot springs in your kingdom, Denki?”

…

“Denki?”

You turned around, wondering why he wasn’t responding.

He wasn’t there.

“Denki? Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny,” you snapped.

Not a single sound was heard, and you felt fear rising up within you. Your hand automatically went to the hilt of your sword.

A rock tumbled from down the hill, and you lifted your gaze up.

“DIE!”

A man wearing a mask came from above, aiming his sword down at you.

You barely managed to jump out of the way.

The man swung at you, and you blocked his sword with your own.

“Who are you?! Tell me what you’ve done with Denki!” You demanded.

“The Dragon Whisperer will be coming with us. He will be of use in curing the queen,” he said.

What? “Don’t tell me you-”

“Plan on taking the credit? Of course, princess,” the man said. “We’ll kill you, force the Dragon Whisperer to supply us with the tears of the dragon, and then we’ll save the Queen. We’ll be heroes, and we’ll be rewarded as such. The best part is that everyone already views you as a weakling, so it’ll be no surprise that you died on the journey,” he sneered.

“Tch, I don’t care what you think you can do to me. I don’t even care about you. All I care about is your accomplice, who I’m assuming went after the Dragon Whisperer.”

You shoved the man back, and kicked him in the stomach before he could react. You grabbed the sword he dropped, and you were about to knock him unconscious when,

“DEATH TO THE UNWORTHY PRINCESS!”

‘There was another?!’

Before you could turn around, a force came crashing into your back, and you were thrown into the hotspring.

Which might not have been a problem, but because you were taught to master the air you were never taught to master the water…

“Mmf!”

As Denki walked a few paces behind you, a pair of arms came from behind and dragged him away.

He tried to call out, but his mouth was covered and his arms were pinned painfully behind him.

His attacker dragged him quite a few paces away before throwing him down on the ground, pressing his face to the grass and keeping his arms pinned.

Having his mouth free, he growled, “Who are you? What are you going to do to (Y/n)?” Denki himself was almost surprised at the ferociousness in his voice, but the thought of you getting hurt set his blood boiling in a way it never had.

“I’m not sure,” the man told him. “I’m not the one taking care of her. I’m here for you.”

“What do you want me for?”

“We want you for your services, Dragon Whisperer. We just want a few tears from a dragon, that’s it.”

“If you followed us all the way here… and you want dragon tears…”

“That’s right, we have the same goal as the weak little princess. However, in our plan, she is only an obstacle.”

“Don’t you dare do anything to her!” Denki screamed.

He wondered if he was too far away from Saphira to call out to her for help.

“If you don’t want us to do anything, just help us,” the man coaxed.

“No… that would be betraying (Y/n).”

“Then I guess she’ll just have to enjoy a nice, long soak in the hot spring,” the man laughed.

Denki’s blood ran cold.

The hot spring?

“You know,” the man continued, "dragons are animals of the sky, not the sea.”

Were they going to drown her?

“I won’t let you hurt her!”

‘Never. I may have been the weak one at the academy, I may have been kicked out for lacking all the qualities that a knight should have, but I’ll never let them hurt (Y/n)!’

Turning his head around as much as he could, he bit the man’s finger.

“AH! What are you-”

The second the man’s hand left his head, he smashed his face into the man’s head.

In shock and pain, the man briefly let go of Kaminari’s arms, and he took that moment to knock his attacker unconscious and slip away.

He sprinted to hot springs, making it in time to see your hand disappear beneath the water.

“(Y/N)!” He screamed, plunging into the searing hot water head first.

He grabbed you and hauled you and himself onto the ground.

You immediately started coughing up water.

“(Y/n)! Are you okay? Talk to me!” He begged.

“I-I’m okay, Denki. Th-thank you for going after me. What… what happened to you?”

“Some masked guy snuck up on me, and told me he wanted my ‘services.’ He called me the Dragon Whisperer, too, which is a really cool title. Too bad it came from such an awful guy,” he deflated a little.

“Thank you for saving me.”

“Well, I had to. And I guess it wouldn’t really be the first time either, would it?” He laughed.

“B-but, it’s different t-this time,” you said.

“Huh?” His face grew confused. “What do you mean?”

“Last time, you saved me from Saphira because you knew you had the ability to do so. But this time, you faced a guy who you knew nothing about, and you managed to get away. Denki,” you said, “I don’t believe you’re as weak as you think.”

His face grew warm as he laughed awkwardly. “Wow, I guess I really do have some hidden strength, huh?”

“I guess so,” you smiled. “I suppose we should get back to Saphira.”

“Oh, right! What if those guys went after her?”

“Trust me, she’ll be fine.”

And she really was fine. Your attackers had gone after her, but she had already taken care of them, and their passed out bodies laid in a small heap.

After grabbing the third man, who was still unconscious, you decided to unmask them. Although you already had an idea of who it was.

Sure enough, they were low level guards from your kingdom.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)? It can’t feel great to be betrayed by members of your own kingdom,” Denki said, looking after you with worry in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you muttered, “I sort of expected this to happen one day anyway.”

“It’s not fair that you have to live like this,” Denki mumbled.

“Whatever, the important thing is getting back to the palace and giving the medicine to my mother,” you stated.

“I guess you’re right…” he agreed, but still not sounding entirely convinced.

It didn’t matter, you told yourself. All that mattered, was finally going home.

“So,” Denki’s voice sounded from behind you, “what are you going to do next?”

The two of you had arrived at the palace, and managed to get all the ingredients together, hoping that you would finally have the cure for your mother. You had also handed your attackers to the guards, and said you would deal with them after your mother’s treatment.

“It really depends on whether the medicine helps my mother or not,” you answered. “If she doesn’t get better, I suppose that’s it for me.”

“That’s really stupid.”

Denki’s uncharacteristically angry voice surprised you.

“What do you mean? This is my last chance at saving my mother and redeeming myself. If I fail, I’ll only be an even bigger disgrace.”

“I know that you're the princess but even so, why should you care?” Kaminari insisted.

“But they’re my people.”

“But since when have they cared?”

His retort stopped you.

“You fought for redemption, even though you have nothing to redeem yourself of. Should you really have to suffer even though you did nothing wrong? It’s not fair that you stay with people who immediately turn on you the second you make a mistake. It’s not fair you deal with an attempted assassination. We’ve been through almost the exact same situation, and you said the villagers were in the wrong for pushing me out. If you’re going by that logic, shouldn’t the citizens be in the wrong too?”

Kaminari finished his passionate outburst breathlessly. His gaze was the most intense you had ever seen it.

“You should stay with people who’ll care about you no matter what mistake you make.”

“And who’ll do that?” You asked.

“You know I will,” he told you.

In one fluid movement, he took you into his arms, and pressed his lips to yours.

Even if you had become the crown princess, you never imagined yourself falling in love with someone. You had never thought you would find someone and want so desperately to stay with them.

But Denki had changed everything, and as your lips finally parted, you knew you wanted him by your side.

“But where will we go?” You asked.

“Anywhere we want to,” he replied.

“And the dragons?”

“Honestly, I’ve gotten pretty attached to Saphira. We should take her with us. Why not explore the world? We both know we’ve only seen a small part of it,” he smiled hopefully at you.

You’d been born in a cell, and you always thought that the only people who mattered were the ones who lived outside the bars. But you’d been caged long enough.

Why live for the people who didn’t care about you? Why live for people who hurt you? Why not live for the one you truly mattered to? Why not live for yourself?

“First, I want to see what’ll happen with my mother,” you told him, “but no matter what happens, I’ll stay by your side, Denki. Wherever it may lead me.”

Every dragon must learn to spread its wings and fly. And when a dragon finally finds its mate, they stay together for life.

#denki x reader #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #denki x reader fluff #kaminari x reader fluff #kaminari x reader angst #bnha fantasy au #kaminari x you #kaminari x y/n #bnha-x-reader #mha-x-reader

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dracosaurusrex · 4 years ago

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Kintsugi: Imperfectly Perfect (Draco x Reader)

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.”

- Tiffany Ayuda

Summary:In which Y/N teaches a broken Draco Malfoy how to mend himself and embrace the scars that haunt him.

Wordcount: 10.3k

Genre: Angst/Fluff; Postwar AU

Warnings: Descriptions of depression; self-degredation; sexual themes but no smut

A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing a postwar AU. I was always afraid of doing so out of fear that I would mistakenly portray Draco, but I guess this can be a rite of passage in a way aha. With that being said, here’s my attempt! I hope you like it :D Feedback is very much appreciated!!

The sound of an alarm clock breaks the peace that had manifested within the darkness of the room. One eye creaks open, followed by the other, and a body raises itself to greet the day.

The boy lifts his sheets gently, allowing the cold air to engulf his skin, to wake him, to pull him into the reality of yet another morning.

The pads of his feet are the next to awaken as he hoists himself out of bed, meeting the frigid floor beneath him. He plods across the expanse of space, only to take notice of his reflection in the mirror.

Draco Malfoy, once boisterous, prideful, loud, and arrogant, had been reduced to a shell. One that lived by drifting through the motions of each passing day. It showed through the dark circles apparent under his eyes, the frown that resided on his lips, and his overall gaunt appearance. The thrill that was once characteristic of his youth had spilled through his cracks, leaving him empty and seemingly unrepairable; and no other perspective of his experience could convince him otherwise.

The second wizarding war took too much from him so early on. It started with his father, the man he had ardently looked up to, who he desired so much to please. Lucius’s arrest put the young boy on the forefront of the Death Eaters’ activities, placing an unbearable weight on his shoulders. From that point on, it wasn’t long until the mischievous smile left him, only to be replaced with panicked eyes, increased stress levels, and absolutely no peace of mind. The boy had his entire life on a tightrope, constantly pulling strings to survive.

The result of such was the immense realization of guilt pooling from the sights of Hogwarts in shambles, the lifeless bodies of those he was once acquainted with, and the shame of literally walking away from it all.

Nightmares were also frequent visitors. Besides those that embodied remnants of the war, Draco was almost always confronted by the tauntings of his wrongs: the way he poorly treated others, his stuck-up sense of superiority, the foul slur that he once used so freely--they all haunted him with no end, and all he wanted to do was take everything back. The boy has so often degraded his character since then, describing himself with words such as ‘worthless’, ‘loathsome’, ‘putrid’--the list goes on. He carried his beating heart as though it was dead weight, wanting so desperately to discard the regret that compounded on itself through the years. He was broken, and had no hope of being fixed.

It was also needless to say that the family dynamic had changed for the Malfoy’s; especially since they often stayed within the confines of the property. Narcissa had been diligent in eradicating the place of all things that harbored any signs of Voldemort’s occupation--opening curtains, tending to her garden, changing up the plans for the interior design. Lucius, on the other hand, often occupied himself in his study, simply abiding by the plans for change that his wife had made. He still invested in his social connections, actively making donations to charities and hospitals that had been established as a result of the war. The act helped shed some light on their image, however any interaction that was to be made with the world outside was done through Draco as representative of the family name.

Fortunately, he managed to keep his mind silent in the mornings. As he walked through the vast hallways he would take note of the way light had poured into the manor, admiring the charm that it brought to its nooks and crannies. The quaint atmosphere that was characteristic of these corridors were peaceful, and managed to calm his thoughts albeit temporarily.

As soon as he entered the dining room, Narcissa beckoned him to sit with her and his father.

“Draco, darling, come have some breakfast.” Without much response, he obeys, taking the spot across from her. She placed his favorites on a platter, and observed him as he nibbled on the food in front of him. After several minutes of silence, she pulled an ivory-colored envelope from the pocket of her robe and slid it to him. With food still mounted on his utensils, the boy glanced at the gold details that embellished its corners.

“We’ve been invited to an art gala hosted by the Ministry. The details are inside.” She said.

“I’ll be sure to be in attendance, mother.” He confirmed before resuming his breakfast. The woman casted a worried look at him before turning to Lucius. Things could never go back to the way they once were.

The art gala was held on a Saturday evening, and Draco found himself standing in front of a finely decorated building. An air of aristocracy and luxury loomed within the environment--it was an energy that he had been surrounded by all his life. Large columns aligned its front. A red carpet stemming from the entrance had been rolled out, sweeping along a flight of stairs. Familiar faces of esteemed socialites were seen making their way up the steps. Banners had been hung, indicating the gala and a live auction as highlights of the day’s events.

His only job was to engage in civilized conversation, connect with other high-standing figures, and expand the family network. Simply put, he was there to look pretty.

The feeling of dread overcame him at the thought of immersing himself in socialization. With a begrudging sigh, he straightened his back, briefly smoothened out his suit, and adjusted his cufflinks before trudging up the stairs. Eyes tracked his every step. Despite his emotional wellbeing, the boy still managed to clean up well, creating a facade to those around him. He didn’t bask in the glory, though. He knew he was handsome, he knew he was wealthy, but looks and money were no longer sufficient enough to help him tend to the emptiness he felt on the inside.

The gala itself didn’t begin until 6:00 PM, which was in an hour. Therefore, in hopes to kill time, Draco aimlessly walked through the art displayed for the auction to be held later that night. He carefully observed the numerous crafts with great scrutiny. Paintings were created with much detail--many of them embodying styles from the varying art periods. Sculptures paying great detail to the human body littered the main floor. Hand-crafted furniture were set on display as well, showcasing elaborate ornaments and designs. Mother would like these. He thought. He continued plodding across the exhibit, typically stopping for a mere minute for every submission before walking away.

It was when he took sight of a humble set of ceramics that he actually stopped to stare. The collection consisted of bowls and pots ranging from small to medium sizes. However, what caught his attention were the traces of gold that coursed through their shapes. They took the form of cracks, which looked too beautiful, too flawless to be such--he couldn’t comprehend them ever being broken at all.

“Do you like them?” A light voice startles him from his thoughts. Standing next to him is a bright-eyed girl whose face he vaguely remembers.

“Y/N Y/L/N? What are you doing here?” He dismisses her question and looks at her with disbelief laced through his voice. The girl was in Ravenclaw when they were still in Hogwarts. Due to the difference in houses and friend groups, there was rarely any interaction between them. Nevertheless, he’s heard countless praises for her artistic talent even as a student, therefore reserved a tinge of respect for her reputation.

“Draco Malfoy! It’s been such a long time!” She beams at him. A breathy laugh escapes him as a polite smile settles on his lips.

“Definitely has been. Were you eyeing this set as well?” He glanced back at the ceramics, contemplating on bidding for them in the auction. The sight of them evoked a warm, admirable energy within him, as though they called for his presence.

“Heavens, no. I actually made them.” Y/N took notice of the way he glanced at them, and shyly rubbed the back of her neck. The boy turned to her with eyes widened in awe of her brilliance—the smile of politeness immediately transitioning to one of sincerity.

“You made these? They’re beautiful!” The comment brought heat to her cheeks.

“Draco, please. You flatter me so.”

“I’ll be taking these home without a doubt.” He reassures her. In the moment that he says so, he immediately takes notice of her appearance. Her hair was slicked into a low bun. Her makeup gave her a pleasant dewy look. Gold accessories accentuates her deep emerald evening gown, which only emphasizes her curves as it flows down her body. He couldn’t recall her ever being attractive when they were students—she had always been clad in blue. But, tonight proved that green was definitely her color.

“You look lovely, by the way.” He complimented as his eyes glossed over her. She bit her lip in response to the butterflies that formed in her stomach.

“You always had a way with words didn’t you, Malfoy?” The melodic laugh that she produced, in turn, caused his heart to skip a beat.

“I admit I was a prat, but I’m not joking around this time.” The girl let out another giggle before placing her hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze.

“I think you look rather dashing yourself. Unfortunately, though, I have to get going. I’ll see you around?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Draco watches Y/N’s figure as she walks away. Before she goes any further, she looks over her shoulder and says, “Good luck with the auction!”

With a small wave and smile, the boy is left in a lighter state.

The gala came and went with Draco thoroughly exhausted from the copious amounts of socialization. Questions regarding connections to his father were asked, business cards were exchanged, and flattery and compliment was a common occurrence amongst these interactions. Nevertheless, the boy’s energy especially drained from the intensity of the auction that occurred towards the end of the night. All the art pieces were valuable and beautiful, however it was only then that he realized that he wasn’t the only one drawn to Y/N’s work. Competition for the highest bid was at an all-time high as number paddles were desperately raised for every price announced. His heart clambered in his chest as the thought of keeping the ceramics seemingly slipped from his grasp.

“Highest bid for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any takers?” The auctioneer announces. Draco waits for a second to see that no one has raised their paddles. Within the next, he lifts his own confidently.

“We have a bidder for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any more bidders? No?” At this point, adrenaline coursed through his veins, beads of sweat had formed and fell, and the grip on his paddle tightened, leaving marks on his hand.

The auctioneer proceeds to announce the final countdown, “Final bid for 80,000 galleons! 1, 2, 3, sold to Draco Malfoy!” Relief overcame him while congratulatory praises were given by those nearby. He catches Y/N’s gaze from afar, and throws her a wink, signifying the resolution for the chaotic night.

As attendees began to file out of the building, the boy waited in the hall to collect his reward, filling out the form that confirmed the amount he had to pay. With his attention drawn to the slip, he fails to notice Y/N’s presence beside him. She looks over his shoulder, eyes widening at the amount before looking away to suppress the smile that threatens to form on her lips. She never really gave much monetary value to her art before; each one was produced as a product of passion and love. However, the expression that it first brought to Draco’s face, in addition to the amount of effort he put in to attain them, reassures that her work will be well taken care of. She momentarily stares at his broad shoulders before gaining the courage to speak.

“Congratulations!” She says, startling him once again. He takes a second to collect his breath before looking up at her.

“Do you plan on giving me a heart attack, Y/L/N, or is it in your nature to be overly enthusiastic?” The shameless smirk she has on her face, prompts him to release a chuckle. He stands up straight as soon as he signs the piece of paper, engaging his line of vision with hers.

“The way you respond is not my fault, Malfoy.” She answers, playfully shoving her index finger towards his shoulder. He grabs her wrist, and the warmth from his hands, accompanied by the flirtatious gleam in his eyes, prompts her to cast the same expression. She shoots him a coy smile before he releases her from his grasp.

“Would you like to accompany me to the front?” He asks.

“That’d be lovely.” The pair approaches the stage where the volunteers greet them both. They present his items upon confirmation, and proceed to wrap each bowl individually. He lifts one of the unwrapped pieces to his eyes, examining the gold details.

“How’d you manage to pull this off?” He asks, impressed by her craftsmanship.

“It’s a technique called ‘kintsugi’. I learned it while living in Japan for a while after the war,” She says, reaching her hand out for it. He gives it to her.

“You know, these pieces were never supposed to be auctioned off in this gala,” She explains as she delicately traces the lines, “They were so damaged. You can even consider them to be broken beyond repair,” Draco observes as she lifts it to her eye level.

“But obviously, when pieced back together—with all their cracks emphasized by the gold—they have much more value and beauty,” Y/N gives it back to Draco, and he takes it gingerly.

“However, It took a long time for it to come out that way. When you examine the piece before its repair, the first thought in mind would be to discard it. After all, why would anyone bother mending a broken bowl?” She meets his eyes once again.

“These cracks would typically be considered flaws, but at the end of the process the piece is still whole—I’m still whole. They mean a lot to me, and helped me heal from the war and all.” Her line of sight drifts towards the end of her statement, yet the boy catches himself appalled by the passion in her voice. He didn’t expect her to speak so openly, yet the words that flowed from her mouth touch him in a way he can’t comprehend. For once he feels a glimmer of hope budding within. For once, inspiration meets him, and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling she effortlessly provided.

“I’ll make sure to take great care of them.” He says with much sincerity.

He places the piece back onto the table, and turns back to Y/N to see a sweet smile on her lips.

“I have faith you will.” A knowing look is shared between them--one that makes both hearts flutter in longing to see each other again.

“Do you think we can keep in contact? If it’s alright with you that is. I’d like to become more familiar with this art technique.”

“The Slytherin prince wants to keep in contact with me? Consider me wooed.” Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles at the old title. Before he could respond, she speaks again with more seriousness, “I don’t usually accept visitors in my studio, but I’ll make an exception for you. You can come by sometime, if you’d like.”

A genuine smile appears on his lips for the second time that night. Out of all the individuals he exchanged contacts with, she by far had been his favorite. He ensured to send her an owl to confirm their meeting, hoping to do so some time next week.

As they part, she turns back one more time, and calls out to him, “Draco,” The sound of his name perks his head upward

“You should smile more. It’s a lovely sight.” Before he could see her face erupt in a blush, she apparates away. With his new belongings in hand and an obvious grin, he too returns to the manor, feeling elated for the first time in a long while.

It was nine o’clock by the time Draco apparated home. Narcissa immediately took notice of his change in aura much to her relief.

“How was the gala, dear?” She asks.

“Quite pleasant this time around, if I’m being honest. I won these at an auction.” Draco stated as he props the box on top of a table. His mother approaches him, attention drawn to the objects when he reveals the contents inside.

She gasps, “Oh my stars, they’re beautiful.”

She picks one up delicately. The expression she had on her face was very much identical to the one he sported when he came across them the first time.

“I knew you’d like them. The artist was a fellow classmate of mine at Hogwarts.”

“Oh? Who is it? I would like to see more from this artist.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Quite brilliant she is.” Mother’s instinct told Narcissa that this girl had her son taken aback. She saw it through the pleasant expression that graced his facial features, which contrasted greatly to the gloomy air that usually accompanied him. Furthermore, there was a decadent tone in his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile present when her name rolled off his tongue. She decided to probe a little bit more.

“House?”

“Ravenclaw.” He responds.

“Very fitting. The craftsmanship in her work is amazing,” The woman’s eyes marveled at the gold.

“How is she?” She asks. The question catches the boy off guard.

“Pardon?”

“How is she doing? Has she been okay since the war?”

“We didn’t touch upon it too much. Although, she mentioned that creating these has helped her heal.”

“You mean to say that these were broken at one point?”

“Precisely. She mended them.” At this point, Narcissa was quite taken by the girl as well.

“You should invite her over one of these days. I’d love to have a cup of tea with her.” Draco quirked a brow at her.

“You’re not going to ask about her blood status?”

“I would’ve known she was a pureblood from her last name, but times are changing aren’t they not?” Narcissa flashes a tightlipped smile towards her son, to which he responds with a nod of understanding.

“I’ll be going up then. You can keep that one mother. You seem to take a liking to it.” Draco turns on his heel at the end of his statement, carrying the box of ceramic goods under his arm. He wouldn’t acknowledge that times are changing. However, tonight has been the only instance he had felt his life shifting —from the way he reunited with Y/N, to the way his mother spoke. It was a step forward to redemption, and he felt a little more willing to see where it would go.

The boy sat on his bed, deep in thought. With moonlight shining upon him, he delicately traced the golden lines that streaked the small bowl in his hands. Then with much hesitation, he rolled up his left sleeve and began tracing the blaring curves of the mark that stained his porcelain skin. Its presence resembled shackles that have been chained to his ankles, and the weight of the memories caused him to grimace. However the budding warmth that had seeped within him soothed the negative sensations. Heart palpitations of regret transformed into those of hope. Furthermore, recollection of the girl’s words rang through his mind. It led him to wonder if piecing himself into something better would ever be a viable reality—a dream so tempting to pursue that he brought himself to his desk to start a letter addressed to her.

Y/N awoke to a tapping noise on her window. With heavy-lidded eyes, she peeks through her curtains only to be met by an eagle owl. Its wide orbs stared directly at her, and attached to its beak was an envelope. She recalled the conversation she had with a certain platinum-haired boy from the night before, and immediately jolted upward, pushing the window open to let the animal in.

“Do you belong to Draco, love?” It perches itself on her shoulder, and drops the envelope into her hands. A wax seal presents itself with an ‘M’, confirming her inquiry. She opens it with much carefulness, and pulls out the letter inside.

Y/L/N,

How does this Thursday sound? 5:00?

The girl chuckled at how straight-to-the-point he was, while her mind flitted back to their school days. She had always felt neutral about him. In contrast to popular belief, she didn’t think he was quite bad. Despite the harshness behind his actions, his eyes always maintained an undertone of fear. Upon the revelation that the boy was indeed a death eater, the title itself wasn’t what stirred her. Rather, it was the incomprehensible experience that she could merely picture him going through. She was there when he crossed sides. She was no stranger to the distraught look on his face--fear had overtaken him even in that moment. He might’ve been flawed, but it wasn’t without reason.

A cry from the owl broke her out of thought. “Impatient are we?” It blinked in response. Not wanting to keep the bird waiting any longer, she pulls out a piece of parchment and begins to write a response to the letter.

Y/N inserted the parchment into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the owl only after she gave it a treat. As she watched it take flight from her window sill, she contemplated more on the boy. ‘Kintsugi’ the art of broken pieces and precious scars. As thoughts of him lingered, she began to wonder if how he fared ever since the war had drawn to its close. Before she knew it, she carried along with her work, totally occupied with the image of him in mind.

Draco’s heart beat like a drum when he skimmed through the contents of Y/N’s response. The feeling of nervous excitement erupted within his stomach up until the moment he stood on her doorstep. Besides the instances in which he’d gone out for his parents, it had been a long while since he stepped foot outside for himself. He took sight of the sheet of clouds that blanketed the sky, the small plants that were scattered on her porch, and the movement of the curtain as wind blew through her open window.

Mere seconds of waiting were filled with more self-doubt as he tugged on his left sleeve, clenching his forearm soon after. Not much could be guaranteed from this meeting. For all he knew, this might’ve been a one a time thing. However, such thoughts were casted aside once he was greeted with Y/N’s glowing smile.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you!” She stepped aside to let him in, “Please come in.”

The boy greets her, and looks around her small space. He indulges in the glimpse of her expressive decor--somehow they represented the life that she had built and created for herself over time.

“Darling, your jaw is going to fall off,” she chuckled, “Come, the studio is in the back.” The girl gestures at him to follow her, and is met with a small building stationed behind the main house. The image of shelves fills his view upon entering. On them were stacks of cracked ceramic—some in large pieces, others in small. Towards the far corner of the room was a pottery wheel, and opposite from it was a small gas kiln. In the middle was a table space with various tools, brushes, lacquer, and gold. The room was as neat as it could be, much to Draco’s surprise.

“This is me.” Y/N turns around with her arms spread out. She then proceeds to pull a stool out for the boy and urges him to sit. He does so, and she stands in close proximity to him, leaning on the table for support.

“I was actually working on a piece before you came.” The girl points to her current project—a vase whose cracks have already been bound.

“What’s the process like?” He asks

“It’s much longer than you think. I learned how to do it the traditional way in Japan, and I haven’t deviated from it ever since.” The boy quirks a brow.

“You mean to say that there are faster methods?”

“There are, however it’s the process I appreciate the most I suppose. Mending takes time after all.” Y/N, who had been looking down at her feet, glances up at him to see his brows furrowed inwardly.

“Don’t you get impatient?” She nods in reminiscence.

“I used to in the past, but all things worth anything take time, right?” They stare at each other for a moment. Draco, who has longed for the feeling of redemption, looked into the pure intent within her eyes. The silence prompts her to slip a small smile at him.

“How about you, Draco Malfoy? How have you been?” There it was: The question that he could never answer (not truthfully anyway). Despite being in the center of all his thoughts, he hadn’t developed the courage to face them properly. He was stuck in a routine of living that provided a false sense of security. However, the present brought him to the realization that he had never been secure--not with himself.

“Not as good as what people see at face value.” He said simply.

“I never would’ve thought. Although, I suppose it just shows that we can never truly judge others, huh?”

“Yes, definitely.” He allowed his view on her to linger before speaking again.

“I actually wanted to see the way you worked.” It was her turn to quirk a brow at him.

“And why’s that?”

“To see the mending process.” Y/N remained silent as she analyzed the longing look in his eyes. His silvery orbs conveyed volumes of a history that was left unspoken.

He continued, “I want to believe that broken things can be mended.” The determination in his eyes reminded her of why she began learning kintsugi in the first place. Behind the determination was hope that longed to be born to fruition.

“I have one condition,” she said. His eyebrows arched in response.

“You can watch me, but you have to do some mending yourself.” She stepped away at the end of her statement and reached for something on her shelves. When she came back, she grabbed the boy’s hand, and placed a small bowl in his palm. It was a simple piece--still intact--taking on a warm, grey sheen. He looked at her with confusion, only to be met with seriousness.

“Kintsugi begins when something breaks, and it focuses more on the beauty of the process rather than the outcome. That being said, it requires a lot of patience and acceptance.”

“I’m not an artist, Y/N. It won’t be perfect.” The girl takes hold of his other hand, and cups it within hers firmly.

“It doesn’t have to be, Draco. The process belongs to you. You just have to trust yourself.” She said earnestly with her grip on him tightening. The warmth from her hands emanated through his skin and into his chest. She stood so close now, her head tilted upward to meet the uncertainty on his face. It made him feel vulnerable, but he stared back into her eyes with much resolve. It was an answer as it is.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile and stepped away from him.

“I want you to drop that bowl. You don’t have to smash it, just let it fall.” Draco shifted his glance and looked at the bowl hesitantly. After a couple of seconds, he releases his hold, and allows the piece to slip from his fingers. His eyes were trained on it as it fell through the air, meeting its fate with a shattering sound. The bowl that was once intact was now in pieces on the floor, eliciting a familiar ache within him. It had split into five--a large one, one medium, and three more that were much smaller that comprised the object's rim.

As he bent down to pick up the pieces, a new wave of ambition overcame him. Each chip was picked up with much mindfulness, with responsibility, with purpose. When he stood up again, he began to perceive them as a reflection of himself, and gently placed them on the workbench.

Y/N, who witnessed the entire scene, smiled when Draco turned to face her. Her lips were pulled up gently, sweetly, and it evoked rosy feelings inside him. The boy eyed her as she went back to the shelf.

“How do you feel?” She asked. Her back was turned to him as she reached for another bowl.

“Light.” She smiled at the sound of his response. She returned with a teal-colored bowl in hand. Following his previous actions, she dropped it, allowing the sounds of shatters to fill their ears once more.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“You think I’m going to make you do this alone?” The girl bends down as she gingerly picks up the chips of ceramic from the floor. She proceeds to clear out the table, leaving only the utensils to be used to start the process.

“The materials I use are already here, but we’ll be working only with the lacquer for today.” The two set off to organize their pieces, hearts becoming more aware of one another as time passes on. After everything got sorted out, she demonstrated layering a coat of lacquer to the edges. Draco examined the way the smile instantly left her face, only to be replaced with a focused expression. Her eyebrows lowered, lips in a firm line, sights fixed on the ceramic. He also noticed how languid her fingers were in handling each piece with care.

The solemnity of the sight is broken as she parts her lips to speak again, “Did you know that the lacquer is toxic?” He shakes his head when she spares him a glance momentarily before setting her gaze back onto the chips. “It’s toxic when wet, therefore much care needs to be taken when you lay it on the edges.” She then takes the smaller pieces and proceeds to add lacquer on them as well.

“However,” She continues, “as it dries, it hardens and mends the bowl perfectly.” She attaches the pieces together, and lifts the bowl carefully to show him. The boy stares at her flawless handiwork--the cracks reveal themselves as mere lines, seemingly invisible to the naked eye.

“Strange, right? A substance that was once toxic is used to mend. When it dries it restores the product to perfection, and loses its toxicity.” Draco simply nods. It was a hard concept for the boy to grasp, but her words tickled a corner of his heart. How could something so bad be used to restore something that was once whole into perfection? He gazes at his own project while Y/N sets hers down carefully.

She passes the materials to him, observing as he gingerly takes the brush in hand. He dips it into the pool of lacquer, raising a glob of it up from the bottle.

“You don’t need too much, just enough so that the brush is covered completely.” She reached out to grab his hand, to demonstrate what she had meant. After realizing their closeness, however, she turned a shade of pink and stepped back. Draco tried his best to hold back his smile, but failed miserably.

“I’m s-sorry.” She stammered. He chuckled at her.

“Nonsense, I’m all for this form of instruction.” He said teasingly, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Don’t mind me, just concentrate.” She ordered. Silence loomed, but smiles remained on their faces. Draco continued his work, emulating the way she coated her edges. He gripped each chip firmly while his eyes trailed the movement of the brush. Each second spent felt like darkness was being extracted from within, leaving him light and solemn. With much caution, he then pressed them together, and watched as the product adopted its once flawless form. With an approving look, Y/N explained the proceeding steps, immediately noticing the relaxed expression that had settled on his features. Deciding to take a break, the two embark to the main house to relax.

“Since we have to wait a while, is there anything you want to do? To eat?” She asked as they entered the room. The question, however, was left unanswered due to the sighting of a familiar looking uniform. Hung on her wall was a Ravenclaw robe.

“You still have it?” He asked, pointing to the article of clothing with his chin. She chuckled and pulled it off it’s hanger.

“Yeah. I found it a couple days ago, and thought I’d try it for old times sake.” She slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the boy through a series of flashbacks from his time in Hogwarts. He recalled passing her by the hallways, getting small glimpses of her sketches, even seeing her vibrant personality shine with her friends.

“You know, I always thought you looked better in green.” He said approaching her.

“You think so?” He nodded.

“It’s a shame that we never really talked much. I think we would’ve been good friends.” She said in response.

“You think so?”

“Well besides the bullying, yes. I don’t think you’re as bad as people portray you to be.”

“You give me too much credit, Y/L/N.”

“Maybe you deserve a little more credit than you were granted.” This sparked more warmth within the boy. As she ordered food for delivery, Draco took a seat at her table, his gaze locked on her with the robe still propped on her body. His thoughts drifted as he imagined what might’ve happened if he did befriend the girl. How different would he be if he had her for company? How close would he have allowed their friendship to become? His mind began to wander and he ruminated on the what-could-have-beens, most especially the effect that his receiving of the dark mark would have had on her. His fingers flitted to his arm and rubbed the portion of fabric that covered his mark.

Y/N sat across from the boy, immediately noticing his dazed look.

“What’s on your mind?” She inquires. The boy broke off from his thoughts and refocused his attention to her.

“Just thinking about the past.”

“What of it?” She asked. He looked at her with slight reservation in his eyes.

“How different things would be if we were friends.” Her thoughts lingered on the possibilities for a while before she abandoned them completely. Only one realization came into mind:

“Well, we’re friends now. Perhaps everything that happened in the past was needed for us to meet like this.” She slid off her robe and propped it back on the hanger.

She continued, “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now belongs to us.”

In that moment, a switch flipped in Draco’s mind, and he knew those words would stick to him for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t a chance at redemption that he yearned for--the conversation he had with her made him realize that the chance had always been presented to him--rather it was company. Genuine company. The one that opened their arms for comfort, the one that offered understanding when he couldn’t offer some to himself, the one that provided reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t need to elaborate. Her words conveyed her intent clearly, her eyes blazed with firmness, confidence, and faith in him. The boy closed himself off for way too long out of the fear that he’d be rejected once again. The anxieties that had resulted from the foul glances, derogatory statements, and prematurely formed accusations towards his family locked him away to the only source of comfort that was available to him--himself. How was it possible that he made it through on his own all this time? He barely held on to a thread, and as he crumbled further, so did his grip. And when the grip was no more, he fell into the hollowed body that he was. He allowed his darkness to swallow him, to control him as he mindlessly drifted with each passing day.

Until now.

Right now, in the stillness of the room, in the comfort of her dining table, in the presence of her worn out Ravenclaw robe, the thread had reconstructed itself. It presented itself as the small smile that softly graced her lips, the scent of clay that lingered on her hands, and his bowl that sat solemnly streaked with cracks in the workshop behind the main house.

“I suppose you’re right.” The boy showed a smile of relief, which prompted the girl to reach out for his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Here’s to our friendship!”

There were very few things that Draco cherished in his life: his family and his solitude. As weeks flew by with Y/N’s company, however, he found that his heart was beginning to create space for her as well. It began subtly with the way he silently observed her actions. She catered to each of her pieces with the same amount of dedication--every detail incorporated with mindfulness, with care, and intention. She exerted a similar effort when it came to guiding him. Every step in the process was taught with much patience. Her soft hands would graze his own in attempts to correct his form, to stabilize his shakiness, and to relieve him of the tension that came with his perfectionistic tendencies.

-flashback-

The sound of Draco’s uneven breaths made themselves aware in Y/N’s presence. She had left him alone to tend to his project and herself to her own. Muscle memory led her to scrape off the excess traces of lacquer from the cracks, while the boy fixed his concentration on sanding the surface of his bowl smooth. Scratching noises filled the air, and only became more amplified as minutes ticked onward. It was unfamiliar to the girl--the action itself shouldn’t have required much energy. With a brow arched upward, and her gaze directed towards him, the sight of furrowed brows and tense lines fill her view, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“You’re going to break the bowl at that rate, Draco.” The boy unclenched his jaw and gave Y/N an exasperated look, increasing the volume of her laughter.

“I told you I won’t be perfect.”

“What is it that you’re having trouble with?” Y/N asked, as she made her way to his side of the table.

“Some of the excess just won’t budge from its place.” Draco huffed in frustration. She removed the bowl from his grasp, and examined the object. On the other hand, he takes the liberty to step closer to her, his face peering over her shoulder. The heat emanating from his body distracted her, which she responded to by immediately returning her attention to the remnants that resided on its cracks.

“It helps to focus on one spot at a time,” She grabs the crumpled piece of sandpaper laying on the side, and connects its surface to the porcelain. He watches as she uses minimal yet focused motions to scrub at the excess. Slowly but surely the residue clears out, revealing a clean, crisp line. “See?” She turns her head to the side only to be met with his in such close proximity. His breath softly brushes against her skin. His silvery orbs dive deep into her y/e/c ones. The pulses of their heartbeats ring through their ears, and the concentration shifts from the demonstration to one another.

It’s the apparent flush staining his skin that has her pulling away.

“Why don’t you try?” She nervously asks. Y/N hands the bowl to the boy, and observes as he attempts to emulate her actions. With motions still stiff and choppy, she finally takes his hand into hers.

“Relax, Draco. You need to be patient with it.” With slender fingers wrapped around the back of his palm, she guides his grip with focused and particular motions. The repetition engrains itself into his muscle memory, and he quickly gets the hang of it. He exhibits relief with every remnant removed. In return, she releases her grip and looks at him with a satisfied expression.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. With perfection constantly being expected of him, the feeling of humility that comes with being a beginner is foreign. He had always been pushed into the limelight--the weight of his family name designates the image of flawlessness, elegance, and poise in all that he did. No room for mistakes. He was required of only the best. So, when he looks at her and gazes at his hands, a genuine smile spreads on his lips.

The expectation for perfection may have taunted his past, but the realization of his commitment in giving his best brought out a clear sense of victory despite the imperfect process that had been associated with it.

Some days are tougher than others. The nightmares make it difficult to get through the night regardless of how infrequent they became. It always resulted in him waking up, broken into a cold sweat. Goosebumps peppered his skin, the hair behind his neck stood straight, and he would gasp for air. With regret once again overcoming him, a weight forms in his throat--it’s impossible to go to sleep now. Moreover, the fear for the lack of a peaceful slumber keeps him wide awake until sunrise, and there is only one word that shouts at him in the back of his mind.

“Mudblood.”

“You filthy mudblood!”

The sayings are coupled with the memory of his back pressed onto the cold, wet, bathroom floor. He could recall the stinging sensations that pricked his body, the sight of blood seeping through the white fabric of his uniform, and the energy that was draining from his spirit. It was the lowest he has ever been--mere moments away from what could’ve been his end. Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. There was no one for him to turn to--the warmth of his mother’s arms was so far away, the act of shedding tears was sacrificed to protect his family, and the fact that he was already repulsive in the eyes of others caused his hope to plummet. There wasn’t anyone who he could call his true friend--one he could confide in to relieve the burdens he had faced.

But there was Y/N. The erratic heartbeats that rang against his chest subside when he remembered the firmness within her voice as she cheered for their friendship. The sparkle and reassurance that was displayed within her eyes tickled his heart in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. The soft touch of her hands reminded him that he wasn’t alone. The patience in her voice reminded him that despite all of his shortcomings, there was always hope for change.

It was then that he’d pluck himself out of bed, and take hold of the ceramic piece that laid prettily on his desk. With deep breaths, he ran his fingers through its golden streaks, allowing the chilled sensation to calm him down. His eyelids would flutter close, and he’d envision her soft smiles, her chipper personality, and the passion that was expressed through her eyes whenever she worked. He’d recall the worn-out Ravenclaw robe hanging on the wall of her dining room, and remember that she was there. She believed in him. She had given him a chance. With his mind set to ease and the morning sun illuminating through the fabric of his curtains, Draco picked up his own broken pieces, and binded himself with the faith she had as the lacquer to keep him together.

Narcissa and Lucius had noticed subtle changes in the boy. A peaceful light had returned to his silvery eyes, the frown that graced his lips began to fade with time, and the tension that he held in his joints loosened. He treaded the halls with his back upright, his vision trained straight ahead--each step filled with more purpose than the last. They didn’t make it known to him, but the sight brought them much joy.

It was a cloudy day when Draco returned to Y/N’s workshop. This time around, however, there’s much more uncertainty and nervousness within him as he stands in the midst of her working.

Earlier that morning, Narcissa mentioned hosting a ball within the manor (something that hasn’t been done in forever). Invitations were sent out already, the RSVP list continues to grow, and the property itself has been decorated to exhibit its new grandeur. Of course, he agreed to it--slightly concerned about how they’d be perceived--but he was more thrown off by his mother’s only request:

“Please bring Y/N with you, Draco. I’d like to commission her for a piece.” In his mind that translated into, “I want to meet the girl you’ve been constantly visiting.” He knew his mother wasn’t against her. He was more worried about how Y/N, herself, would respond.

The familiarity of her focused expression surfaces, and it attracts him much more than it has before. Her hands are nimble, and she moves fluently. Her hair was tied into a low and messy bun with loose strands framing her face. Her appearance now was much different than their first meeting at the gala, yet his mind went back to that night--picturing her beauty in her deep emerald green dress. With his feelings for her more clarified, he feels his heart beat at the thought of her touch, moreover the thought of his touch on her. Would she even return his feelings?

“Draco, are you alright? You’ve been staring this way for a while now.” He takes the opportunity to test the waters.

“I needed to ask you something actually.” He goes around and pulls a stool to sit on, meeting the level of her gaze.

“And that is?”

“My mother asked for you,” He said, fumbling with his fingers, “My family is hosting a ball, and she wants you to come--she wants to meet you.” He notices the way her eyes widen at the sound of his announcement.

“I’m sorry. Come again?” Draco released a soft chuckle before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a decorated envelope with her name printed on the front.

“This is yours.” She takes it from his grasp gingerly and brushes her fingers on the fine embellishments. Realization hits her when she skims across the familiar letters of her name.

“I’ve imagined many things in my life, but they certainly don’t come close to this. Wow, imagine being invited to a Malfoy ball.” Her words flowed out with awe, softening his heart. He reaches out, and tucks one of the loose strands behind her ear. The action forces her to look into his eyes.

“She’s taken quite a liking to your work.” His smile brings out one of her own.

“I’m honored.” She starts to beam, “I should go dress shopping soon.” Her eyes remain transfixed on the information given on the actual invite itself.

“I think you’d look beautiful in anything you decide to wear.” It was meant to be a thought--meant to stay in his head--but it came out, and now the girl felt her face get hot. She covered it with her hands, while the boy just looked up at the ceiling to avoid her gaze.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He says.

“It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine then why are your hands still covering your face?”

“Why are you still looking up?” Draco, lowers his chin and pulls her wrists away.

“I’m not anymore.” When the words leave his lips, and his eyes meet hers, he becomes aware of the amount of peace that he attained since meeting her again. In some way, the silence that fills them is overtaken by the messages that their gazes send to one another, both containing gratitude and affection.

“So will you come with me?” He asks.

“Definitely.”

Y/N paced back and forth while many aristocrats stepped into the manor with much poise in their step. She didn’t mind formal events when it came to art, however, this case felt entirely foreign to her realm of comfort. She wasn’t from a wealthy family nor was she pureblooded either. Surely the end of the war had initiated a shift in change, but the significance of blood status still persisted in some even after. Nevertheless, she made herself present. With much resolve and a false sense of confidence, she stepped into the entrance of the building.

The foyer was bustling with chatter--many attendees stood with glasses of champagne in hand. Still in an awkward stature, the girl takes a look around. The ceilings were decorated with crystal chandeliers. Velvet curtains were pulled to the side, exposing massive windows. Arches, columns, even the walls were covered with ornamental carvings. Every single aspect portrayed luxury. Whenever Draco visited the girl, she discarded his association to wealth and solely focused on him as a person. Because of this, the realization that the boy actually had some coin in his pockets hit her like bricks.

Draco, who had kept his eyes locked on the girl, chuckled to himself. She stuck out from the crowd with her eyes widened in awe. Not to mention her attire. Her hair was kept straight down with golden clips holding it tucked behind her ear. Furthermore, she was dressed in a champagne mermaid gown speckled with beads and embroidery, which flourished outwards and into a sheer fabric decorated with similar details. Her neckline plunged into the middle of her abdomen, yet her shoulders remained covered with long sleeves that wrapped themselves fittingly around her wrists. She truly had the tastes of an artist.

He quietly made his way to her as she continued to gawk at the room. “Your jaw is going to drop, darling.” He whispered in her ear. The feeling of large hands planting themselves on her waist caused her to let out a small yelp, pulling her out of her daze. She let out a breath of relief when she turned to see Draco’s face.

“You scared me.”

“You were gawking at the walls.” Y/N rolled her eyes, and briefly skimmed him from head to toe. Heart skipping at the way his suit had admiringly framed his shape well. She giggled at the sight of the snake brooch that embellished the collar of his jacket.

“Always a Slytherin, aren’t you Malfoy?” As she brushed her fingers along the details of its design, Draco reached for her hand, and held it by her fingers. She could only stare as he lifted it higher to press his lips on it. Butterflies were felt everywhere.

“And a charmer.” She added. They shared a quick laugh before being interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Standing before them was Narcissa, who beamed at the sight of her son with the girl beside him.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I admire your work, dear.” The older woman stuck her hand out, which the girl shook firmly.

“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” The delight in her voice emitted a welcoming energy, loosening the nerves that Y/N felt early on.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Narcissa.”

“It was no problem at all, dear. I’d actually like to speak to you regarding a commission later on tonight. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course! I’m honored you’d even considered me.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sweet smiles and gazes were exchanged between the two women. After casting a knowing look to her son, she departs from the pair, disappearing into the crowd.

“Draco, I’ll have you know that I can’t dance to save my life.” He snickered at her confession, already letting the comfort between them settle in.

“It’s alright. Let’s walk instead.” With arms hooked, Draco begins leading her away from the bustling room and into a secluded hall. Mounted on the walls were paintings of his predecessors. He introduced each patriarchal figure to her, starting with Septimus. Her vision plastered itself to their features, mentally discerning the traits that Draco inherited. After a while of walking and conversation, they finally got to a family portrait. Depicted on it was a younger-looking Lucius and Narcissa, and seated on his mother’s lap was a young Draco himself. Y/N unhooked her arm from his, and approached the painting. She concentrated on the little boy. He had bright eyes, a toothy grin, and flowing platinum locks. His hand gripped firmly on Narcissa’s, and his small legs dangled over her dress. He was the only one smiling in the painting, and it warmed your heart knowing that the artist decided to keep that detail in.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He asks, stepping close. He hesitantly snaked his arm around her waist, hoping that she didn’t mind. She looked up to him and smiled, stepping even closer to him.

“You were so small.” Draco scowled slightly. However, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the way she looked at the portrait with adoration, allowing his foul expression to fade.

“Well that was painted when I was seven, so it’s no wonder I was small.” His sarcastic remark caused her to roll her eyes again, softly slapping the hand that was planted on her. He glanced at her and squeezed her side tighter, pulling Y/N even closer to his body--his warmth increasing the amount of butterflies that rose in her stomach.

“When I walked in earlier, it completely slipped my mind that this was your house. That you grew up here.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, genuinely interested in her response.

“Everytime you came over, I only saw you as Draco. Not as Draco Malfoy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and heir to the Malfoy family name.”

“Please elaborate.” He commands, his heart now racing.

“You’re more than the expectations held for you. You came with commitment to learn about a process that you were genuinely interested in. You grew with your mistakes and your frustrations. That experience was you, and you alone.” She couldn’t help but reveal that admiration she had for him through her voice.

“I thought it was amazing.” She whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. He did, however. In turn, he grabbed her hand and led her further down the hallway and into his room. Y/N stood there confused at his sudden action. Her eyes then begin to widen at the sight of him removing his suit jacket with her mind drifting to rather dirty thoughts.

“Draco, what are you-”

“I didn’t think it was possible.” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“What do you mean?” Draco looked into her eyes, before shifting his gaze to his left sleeve. Her line of sight follows him as he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls the fabric up, revealing his dark mark. She gasps.

“I didn’t think it was possible to mend myself.” It didn’t take him to say much for her to finally understand that he didn’t intend to do anything dirty. It was the opposite of that. He was making himself vulnerable to her.

“But you showed me how.” He said, completing his statement. Tears brimmed her eyes upon the realization of the reality he had to live. The blaring mark that took away his innocence screamed against his pale skin. It screamed of the pain, of loneliness, and the many many long sleeved shirts he must’ve worn to keep it hidden away.

“If there’s anyone amazing, it’s you, Y/N.” The tears that had built up fell as she furiously shook her head.

“No, Draco. It’s you. It’s all you.” She took his arm delicately into her hands and pressed her lips on his dark mark. Draco felt his eyes well up in tears, while her own spilled onto his skin. Every kiss that she peppered seemed to paint over his scars, his cracks with gold. The feeling of emptiness dissipated in her presence, only surrounding him with warmth that he had yearned to keep.

“I’m thankful for you.” He whispers. Y/N couldn’t hold herself back at that point anymore. She released his arm from her grip, and held his cheeks within her fingertips, wiping the moisture that managed to fall from his silvery orbs. She, then, slowly lifts herself using her tiptoes, and scans his face for a moment before pressing a sweet, short kiss on his lips. It was gentle, much like her. It was patient, much like her. It was filled with faith, hope, and concern--things that she hadn’t been able to express to him in words, yet was felt through her kiss. Draco closed his eyes at the sensation. When she parted from him, he cupped her face with his hands, and drew her close once more. A sigh escaped her as she felt all the emotions he managed to keep in. Each press conveyed a level of appreciation that the boy had never thought he was capable of showing.

In that moment a memory of a shrill shout fills her mind, and she stops so suddenly.

“Weren’t you struck with sectumsempra?” She asks with her brows furrowed towards him. His lack of response confirms her curiosity.

“May I?” Her fingers trail to the top of his shirt as she makes her request. Knowing what it is she wants to see, he nods, prompting her to carefully undo the buttons. Her hands tremble as she makes her way down, revealing the scars that resided on his body. She pushes the fabric over his shoulders, and begins tracing each one--much similar to the way he has done with the golden cracks on her bowl. She slowly lowers herself and starts placing kisses where he has been struck. With her hands gently fastened to his sides, her lips linger in one area before transferring to another. He finds comfort in them--it was as if each sensation reassured that he was loved. As she travels upward, she plants a kiss on his jaw, and a final one on his own. With it she expresses a message dedicated only to him: I believe in you.

They separate and bask in the moment by holding each other’s gaze. After a while, Draco wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into a tight embrace. He nuzzles his nose on the crook of her neck and kisses it, while she runs her hands up and down his bare sides. His left hand then finds its way to her jaw, tilting her face upwards. He proceeds to nip the expanse of her neck, making her head fall back to grant him more access. The hand that was wrapped around her waist travels downwards to her hip, grips it, and presses her body against his.

“Draco,” she moans.

“Hm?” She doesn’t respond. She finds herself completely intoxicated by his lips as he moves from her neck, her sternum, and to her exposed abdomen. Instead, she laced her fingers into his hair and pushed him closer to her skin.

The pair was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.

“Young master! Are you in there?” It was a houself. Draco presses a finger to his lips, signalling to remain quiet.

“I don’t think he’s there, we should check elsewhere.” Light footsteps were heard fading into the distance, eliciting a light laugh between the two. Y/N looks into his eyes once more, and kisses him one last time.

“Should we go?” He responds with a small ‘yes’ and kisses her forehead. As he buttons his shirt, the girl plods across his room, fascinated with its luxuriousness as she takes in the details. One of them causes her to gasp, however. She walks with her throat choking up at sight of the familiar bowl that was placed on his desk. It was hers. She lifts it gently, recalling their first conversation at the gala. The golden scars remind her heavily of the boy behind her. As she traces them, warm hands rub against her sides before snaking around her waist once more.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Y/N laughs at his question.

“I suppose it does.” She says as she weaves her fingers into his. The boy takes a moment to stare at the bowl ahead.

“When you said that Kintsugi helped you heal, I wasn’t quite sure to believe you or not. But, going through the process was more than enough to make me understand why.”

“You truly are amazing Draco Malfoy. I won’t let anyone tell me you aren’t.”

“Even if my past is completely flawed?”

“Your past made you into who you are right now. What we have is ‘now’, and ‘now’,” she sets the bowl down and faces him, while her hand caresses his cheek. “...‘now’ belongs to us. Now you are amazingly, wonderfully, imperfectly perfect.”

Epilogue:

The sound of Y/N’s words rung in his mind as Draco found himself standing in the middle of her workspace. With a firm grasp on the brush handle, he dips the bristles into the gold liquid, allowing the excess to drip back.

He takes a deep breath, and allows the solemnity of the room to fill him. Many thoughts overtake him in the moment, but only one makes itself prominent to him, resilience. After going through the binding process himself, he pridefully lays down the gold over the cracks on his bowl--each one portraying the imperfections of his past.

A/N: Hi! If you made it this far, I want to thank you so much for reading! There’s a bit of inaccuracy in the last bit, but besides that I hope I brought much light to the technique in general. I hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is very much appreciated :D

Tagging:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt @littlethie @amithatemo

Link to the taglist is on my masterlist :D

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco lucius malfoy #tw depression #tw self degredation

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