#out of all the people he never expressed distaste for the other Colors

[windrunnered]

my next hot take is that cassius was a good person the whole time and was just trying to do right by the people he loved and were told care about him most in the world

[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི ₊˚ 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. itto x fem reader already burdened by your small chest, a rumor you happen to overhear makes you reluctantly ask your dear older brother for a helping hand.

warnings ꒱ྀི incest. reader has smaller breasts. tit sucking + minor worship ﾉ wc ꒱ 2k ﾉ 18+ ﾉ I wanted to write a haithy and wrio version as well but da wordz were not coming. can’t believe im writing for dis silly oni omg . . but enjoy pls <3

“don't be so crude, you idiot.”

it doesn’t take much to discern the confusion from his expression. itto had a range of maybe three emotions.

other than his overwhelming display of pride and exuberance, there’s always room for his dumbfoundedness. he’s frequently addled— his face constantly knitted together while his mind searches endlessly to find the answer, at least the one he thinks you want to hear, but he never really does.

“what ? you said you wanted me to help, right ?” he shrugs.

you narrow your eyes.

“I know what I said but you didn’t have to word it like . . . like that .”

like some animal, you want to say but instead you look at your brother in distaste.

too many times you find yourself struggling to accept the gap in your relationship. most people often make the wrong assumption of you being the older sibling and you have to begrudgingly correct them that no, you are in fact the younger and smarter sibling.

why couldn’t he tell that you’re already embarrassed enough as it is ? why do you have to spell it out and add to the duration of your suffering. by now, your cheeks are practically inflamed.

“how else do I ask ? oh , should I add the please ?” he pauses.

“show me your tits, please.”

he offers you a dopey smile of triumph. he’s proud of himself, thinking for once he’s finally appeased you, but he couldn’t be more wrong. so so wrong.

you’re aggressive with your sigh.

you were too smart to ask him of all people. you’re way too intelligent to believe in silly rumors and baseless gossip, but they tangle in the mire of your thoughts.

“if someone sucks on your breasts, they’ll grow !”

“huh ? no way. where did you hear that ?”

it was two women in passing, just talking and having a laugh and yet you can’t stop yourself from just wondering.

you’re not blessed like your brother. the oni towers over you, well over six feet. a mantle of bulging arms, broad shoulders, and thick thighs. he’s as big and intimidating as it gets but that aura quickly dispels every time he opens his mouth.

you on the other hand are thicker in other places, your chest, however . . . not so much.

you look down pathetically and think about all the colored tube tops that just didn’t fit you quite right.

what did you have to lose ? you’re pride maybe. you’re just as prideful as your brother, maybe even more, but the soft slopes of fat poking through your shirt mock you. they remind you that maybe you can afford to throw your ego away. temporarily.

you whine as your patience wears you thin.

murmuring a quick prayer to archons to have them spare you from further embarrassment, you bury your doubts in the back of your mind.

“I hate you.”

you lift your shirt quickly, just ripping the bandaid off.

you expose your breasts to the cool air and to surprised vermillion hues.

the longer he stared, the more you wanted to hide. of all the array of emotions you’ve seen, ( three ) you can’t pinpoint this exact one. it’s new to you. it borders on unbridled warmth, but then after a few seconds of your nipples perking from his gaze, it dithers. . . and then he fucking squints.

“so small.”

there’s a beat of silence and it takes that brief moment to even register that you did not mishear him. you’re not sure what you expected.

itto certainly isn’t the brightest and his emotional intelligence is nearly non-existent, and still, you’re taken aback by his talent to be consistently unaware.

you feel awkward and vulnerable in the middle of the room. you bared yourself to him, your insecurity right to his face, and the only thing he could do was confirm that you are indeed a small-chested oni. it shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

you liked to think you could handle the truth just as much as you bluntly dished it out, but this time you couldn’t.

a flash of white-hot anger runs through you at his audacity. you yank your shirt down eager to hide in your room and cry about your humiliation. you’ll write his name in big stupid letters in your fuzzy-covered journal and call him a big fat meanie. i for idiot, t for trashy , t for terrible, and a big fat o for obtuse.

“asshole !” you scream.

you can tell he’s surprised by your outcry. you glare at him hoping that he would turn to ashes on the spot, but unfortunately, he doesn’t.

he’s too busy panicking. he’s struck with the startling realization that he’s messed up again and that you were pissed.

so many times you’ve stomped your pink heels in anger and strutted away, mini skirt riding up with every step you took. and each time he reacts the same.

he tries to fix it.

he’s quick to react, immediately reaching for you in urgency. “w-wait wait wait wait ! where ya’ going ?”

“ oh, don’t you dare touch me you, oaf ! you think I don’t know that they’re small already ? why would you say that ?! “ you pull away more than desperate to increase the distance from him.

“hey hey hey. calm down, baby sis. m’not making fun of you.”

it takes his hands resting on your shoulders and the worried look in his eyes to make you come to a stop.

you lick your lips and take a shaky breath.

he’s right.

itto is many things but never a bully. he’d never say anything purposefully mean, no matter how much you bad-talked him. he’s kind and loyal but unfortunately, all the brains just happen to go to you .

“I didn’t mean to make ya feel bad,” he says sheepishly. “jus’ think they’re cute, that’s all.”

he releases his grip on you to scratch behind his head, eyes flickering to your chest again. a blush colors his face to a shade of carnations.

you’re a sweet girl with an unfiltered mouth that would bend to no one, not even to the archons themselves. and you were tearing him apart with that pout and your pretty nubs peeking through the fabric of your shirt.

he’s your big brother and he angered you quite a lot but, never deliberately. but this time he’s determined, for once he wants to ease your worries and not add to them.

he stands a bit closer brushing away a saltine tear that regretfully falls.

“If ya still want me to do it, I will. I think . . . it could work if I just do it hard enough.”

you don’t answer him but you don’t think you need to.

he searches your eyes trying to find any sign of disapproval. itto remains unsure, he’s never good at picking up on the small nuances of your emotions and so he tugs at your shirt in uncertainty.

still angry and embarrassed, you look up at his stupidly handsome face and relent.

“jus’ do it you big dummy.”

like everything else you expect him to handle you roughly. to rip your shirt and bite and suck at your nipples until they bruise under his touch, but he does the opposite.

his free hand travels around your sternum at first, surprisingly gentle. his fingers are soft when they circle around your breasts, tenderly flicking the flesh to watch them jiggle. he thumbs at your wide areolas, tracing the tiny bumps in complete fascination.

you grow uncomfortable at how intimate it felt. his eyes are blown wide, drinking up the sight of your tits rising with each shuddered breath.

“d-don’t play with them. jus’ hurry up n’ suck .” you leap at the opportunity to break the tension, but somehow you’ve made it worse.

as soon as the words leave your mouth, he responds just as fast. it nearly knocks the wind out of you when his mouth latches onto your breast.

they’re small but there’s so much flesh , so much chub that itto can’t stop playing with. his tongue laps at your left mound, licking underneath it, licking around it, and sucking at all the fat he can fit into his mouth. he’s noisy, grossly so . he groans and curses each time he has to detach his mouth from your nipple to come up for air.

“pretty tits taste s’good, “ he slurs. he can’t form the words, not when he’s desperate to fondle your breasts with his slippery tongue.

itto squeezes you so tight, it nearly hurts but you couldn’t dare tell him to ease up. there’s something hard rubbing on your lower stomach and you're scared to even dare to think about what it could be.

he slowly drags his rough flesh up and down your mound, shivering when your nipple grazes his appendage. his fingers grope at your waist and hips, palms nearly enclosing your smaller figure.

“f-fuck , you’re tiny. m’not hurting you, am I ?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak, terrified a moan would spill instead, so you shake your head.

he’s over two feet taller than you, pressing you into a corner and he has to remind himself that you’re his little sister. his dainty, spit-fire little sister who’s tits he’s currently mouthing on to rid her of her troubles.

he’d suck long and hard hoping your already perfect tits would someday be perfect to you. he wants to make you proud and show you he’s not just some rowdy oni. he’ll kiss and suck as long as you needed him to.

he tucks your nipple back into his mouth, puckering around the flesh like a sour candy.

you’re as pillowy and as delicate as he remembers. he almost forgot how he sinks into you. how his firm stomach settles into your soft one and he’s painfully reminded that his erect cock has been slowly rutting against you.

sucking your tits was riling him up. it was making him act in that brutish way that you hated, but he was trying so hard to keep from lining his cock with your opening and milking your cunt dry.

the oni has to pull away to gather himself. he takes the time to marvel at his work.

your right bosom is drenched in spit, puffy and swollen from his ministrations. he smiles.

“It looks bigger already, don’t ya think ?“

“shut it !”

another insult dies in your mouth as you're still catching your breath. an oni’s nose is extremely sensitive and you wonder if he could smell the arousal fermenting between your thighs.

“let me do the other one okay, baby. don’t want them to be uneven right ?”

“w-wait itto maybe we should s— eek !”

you need another moment of reprieve but you don’t get the chance. he puts the other tit in his mouth, tongue greedily flicking against the nub which tears a squeal from your lips.

itto is confident his methods will work just as sure as he’s about to blow a load in his pants.

“gonna suck your tits until they fatten up. isn’t that right, little one ?”

you mewl at the pleasure and the softness of which he utters a name he hasn’t called you in years.

“s-stop talking so much ! just be quiet and and —hnnn— stop teasin’ !”

he continues his assault on your chest, cock chubbing against his pants.

“m’sorry,” he slurs. “can’t help it.” his groans are fanning against your chest while he drools on your sensitive peaks. “let nii-nii take care of you . . just relax f’me. . . just take it.”

he’s hard. cums crowns his tip as he keeps conjuring up thoughts of wiping his cock over your tits, rubbing the head around your puffy brown nipple.

you smell good, you taste better and itto for once doesn’t care if you think he’s gross. he wants to milk your tits and suck until they become sweet little prunes , just so he can make it better.

your panties grow sticky as his sucks grow rougher. even if your breasts didn’t jump up a cup size you think that maybe this was worth it. to have him close, to have him drool and worship your tits and feel his cock straining against you.

his eyes closed, still nursing on your teat sweetly. your hand buries itself in his thick mane that draped over his shoulder smelling faintly of your shampoo.

it silently encourages him to keep going, leading to both of your undoings. the hand running through his hair tugs on his roots but then suddenly stills.

you see a brief flash of something and you gasp.

“itto why on earth is your dick out ?”

“can I put just the tip in ? please?”

[ddejavvu]

heyy!!! saw u were looking for outsiders requests and lemme say, MY OBSESSION WHEN I WAS YOUNGER WAS INSANEEEE!! so u get me??

anyways, what abt a cutie lil fluff drabble where dally is mean to everyone but reader and is super protective over them? and maybe like the other guys make fun of his soft spot for r?

anywhore love ur writing cutie!

send me requests for the outsiders!

i'm so glad you get me <33 everyone in my class made fun of me for how much i liked the book but also i kind of deserved it because i was loud and proud about it. i can barely call it bullying because i totally asked for it

--

You've never been naive about Dallas's reputation: his name's always the first people spit out when something suspect happens in town. But you'd never seen him get quite so worked up before- not the way he does when Two-Bit gets a little too extravagant with his gestures mid-anecdote and sends beer flying out of the neck of his bottle dangerously close to your cream-colored cardigan.

"Hey, hey- hey!" You barely register Dally's sudden snarl before a hand locks painfully tight around your arm, yanking you sideways and out of the line of fire. You gasp, more from the shock than from the spill, but Dally's hand is gone before it can do any damage and you're left to rock slightly on your feet from the momentum.

"Damn drunk, throwin' your beer around like that." Dally sneers, "Jesus, man, can't you just sit still for once? Gotta wave your damn hands around, makin' stupid jokes- you almost flung it on her-" He swivels to face you, "-on her pretty sweater." Dallas lets the words fall off of his tongue like he knows they're ridiculous coming from him. They're clipped, staccato sounds as he brushes a stray piece of fuzz from the shoulder of your clean cardigan.

"Damn, Dal," Two-Bit whistles, "Sor-ry. Y/N, your sweater okay?"

"It's fine." You pipe up quickly, your voice sweet to both placate your simmering boyfriend and make up for the harshness of his words, "Really, none got on my sweater. Nothing got on me at all."

"Just cool it, Dal." Darry watches with a guarded expression where he's perched at the table, and you're sure if it had been anyone else in the town, Dallas would have turned on his heel and shown him how cool the edge of a blade could be. But instead Dallas merely scoffs, muscling you over a few more steps away from Two-Bit with the sharp point of his shoulder and guiding you to sit on the corner of the couch.

"'Thing was probably stupid money." Dallas looks sideways and down at your sweater with faux-distaste, like he hadn't just been defending its honor with as much violence as he could get away with, "Soakin' it with beer would have killed you, huh?"

You could have washed it. Sure, it would have been unpleasant to sit in for the rest of the night, but the stain wouldn't have been permanent, and any lingering smell could have been covered up with perfume. But Dallas seems flighty, like an animal desperately trying to cover its exposed underbelly, and you lean against his shoulder instead of jabbing at his soft spots.

"Mhm. Thanks, Dallas." You hum, admiring the way your cream-colored cardigan wraps around the cool black leather of his jacket when you take his arm in your grip, "Glad you're here to watch out for me."

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 56: Jessica's Soiree

Previous > Masterlist > Next

September 1905

tw: mind control, dehumanization, slavery, blood drinking, assault

Fitz couldn't stop fidgeting with his mask. He'd adorned both his and Lex's masks with as many sequins and feathers as he could fit, procured under protest by Lex, who insisted that neither of them should stand out.

Ever since he'd given in to his desire for Lex, life had become far more interesting and rewarding. As soon as they had realized there was no need to pretend to be aloof, they spent the night entangled in each other more often than not, an arrangement that suited Fitz just fine. Fitz draped himself across Lex's lap while reading, allowed himself to be held close to the vampire's chest while sleeping, distracted Lex with his hands while he played the piano, accepted blissful shoulder rubs accompanied by cold lips trailing down his neck.

Fitz felt more comfortable with himself than he had in a long time. Lex seemed greatly cheered by it, as well, despite his dangerous ongoing quest to enthrall hunters weighing on his mind. He smiled more, spent more time with his music. He never seemed to miss an opportunity to run his fingers through Fitz's hair or nuzzle into the nape of his neck, looking at Fitz as if he was the eighth wonder of the world, a sight Fitz never tired of.

Tonight, though, Lex was more nervous than he'd been in some time. "You really don't have to accompany me to this, Fitz," he said. "It's going to be unpleasant, and you may see things you'd consider distasteful."

"How many people ever get the chance to attend a vampire's ball -- well, and still be in their right minds? I couldn't possibly miss it. Besides, don't you want to show me off in front of everyone?"

"No," said Lex firmly. "As much as I'd love to display you to the world, vampires' envy is a dangerous thing. If any vampire there dare lay hands on you -- well. Try to be careful, for both of our sakes, will you?"

Fitz grinned. "You know me. I'm always careful."

They arrived at the ballroom a little past nine. The masquerade ball was an annual affair run by several old and fashionable vampires of the city. According to Lex, anyone who was anyone in vampire society was expected to be there, and bring their high-class thralls with them as though they were prized pets at a dog show. Fitz was eager to see what the upper crust of vampire society was like, and untroubled by Lex's warnings. He knew how to conduct himself at a ball, and had an unusual appetite for the distasteful. Lex seemed like a sensitive soul for a vampire, so to speak, so Fitz found it hard to take his warnings completely seriously.

Lex only hesitated slightly before pushing the door open. The ballroom was full of mingling vampires dressed in expensive, dazzling costumes, a sea of rainbow colors and intricate lace and ornate embroidery and glittering gemstones.

It didn't take long for Fitz to see the distasteful sights Lex had warned him about. Scanning the room, he saw that while some thralls were walking beside their masters freely, like he was, many more were entrapped in some obvious way. They were dressed in costumes as elaborate as their masters', with bindings made of silk ribbon and golden handcuffs encrusted in jewels. All of the thralls' costumes revealed their necks, and most revealed much more. Most were kneeling beside their vampire masters, looking demurely at the ground or staring blankly into space as the vampires laughed and talked. There were a few humans chained to the wall, with dazed expressions and fresh wounds on their necks. Fitz watched as a vampire approached one and sunk her fangs in, realizing that these humans were the refreshments.

The sight of the enthralled humans should have repulsed him, but he couldn't fight the confusing swirl of feelings in his heart as he watched a handsome young man, wearing only shorts and and a jeweled leash, gazing up at his master with entranced adoration. The thought of serving Lex so completely was terrifying and enticing in turn, and Fitz had to look away.

"Welcome, esteemed sir." A hypnotized human approached Lex as he stepped into the room, her vacant, lidded eyes barely able to focus as she curtsied low. "May I please interest you in an hors d'oeuvre?"

Lex glanced at Fitz. "It's… polite to partake, when offered," he said apologetically. He took the thrall's chin in his hand, looked her in the eye, and hummed a simple tune of obedience and pleasure. The thrall's eyes dulled further, accompanied by a dazed smile, and she let out a soft sound of pleasure as Lex sipped from the wound on his neck.

As Fitz's conflicting thoughts intensified, he doubted for the first time his decision to accompany Lex here.

"Oh my! Is that Mr. Alexander I see?" called a woman's voice. As Lex let the hors d'oeuvre thrall go on his way, they were approached by a woman in an elaborate dress of fine pink silk, decorated with silk flowers and rhinestones. Everything from her hair to her mask to her shoes seemed carefully considered and smacked of money and taste. A delicate golden leash allowed her to pull along a stupefied-looking young man with exceptionally handsome features and an equally gaudy gown. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Good evening, Lady Jessica," said Lex politely. "I appreciate your invitation. It seems you've outdone yourself this time. The ballroom is impeccable."

"Oh, I have. Wait until you hear the music I've hired -- it's enough to please even the most particular of music lovers, I should hope." She turned to Fitz with an eager gleam in her eye. "And what is this pretty little thing?"

"My name is Fitz, sir," he interjected just as Lex went to speak for him.

"Oh, my. So adorable and so bold! Mr. Alexander, I'd heard you had acquired quite the thrall for yourself, but if I had realized he was this irresistible, I would have surely stopped by your manor. I can't believe you were keeping something this delightful all cooped up in your dusty old library."

"Yes, I purchased him at the last major auction," said Lex stiffly.

Before Fitz could protest being treated like a show pony, Lady Jessica stepped closer to him and all of his protests… and thoughts… slowed… down.

"Aren't you just the sweetest thing?" said Lady Jessica, ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead.

"Sweet…" Fitz murmured in a daze, swaying gently as Lady Jessica pawed at him. His own thoughts felt like soap bubbles, empty and popping as soon as he tried to grasp at them, replaced with simpler, honeyed images of subservience.

"You'd look so darling if only I could dress you. I can think of at least half a dozen outfits in my thralls' wardrobe that would look just perfect on you," she cooed. "Perhaps your master would arrange a trade for my thrall? Just for a weekend, perhaps?"

A sense of alarm tried to penetrate the cotton candy that clouded Fitz's mind. "No, I…" he said, trying to explain, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. "…I want Master. I want to serve my Master."

"Aww! How absolutely precious!"

Lex stepped between Fitz and Lady Jessica, and Fitz mercifully felt his head start to clear. "I'm afraid that Fitz is not for sale or trade, for any price or any length of time."

"You're no fun," said Lady Jessica with a mock pout. "It's hardly fair of you to keep this thrall to yourself. But I understand. If he were mine, I wouldn't let a single soul touch him either."

"I'm glad we understand each other," said Lex. "If you'll excuse me, I see an old dear friend that I'd like to say hello to."

Fitz shook his head, coming back to his senses. "What the hell was that? What did she do to me?"

"Oh, that was Lady Jessica. Her aura basically removes human intelligence. Sorry you got caught in that -- she's the hostess of this party so I had to be polite and make small talk, you know."

"There sure is a lot of required decorum for this vampire soiree," grumbled Fitz, still smarting from embarrassment. "I confess I expected vampires to be a bit more… freewheeling. Hedonistic."

"This is a gathering of powerful and rich vampires, and you don't become a powerful and rich vampire overnight. All of the vampires here have lived many decades, if not a century or more, and are very stuck in their ways. Even the hedonism has a dozen layers of social rules underpinning it."

Lex was approaching a vampire who was very practically attired compared to everyone else, with a plain blue afternoon dress and a simple black domino mask with a single feather. She was accompanied by a similarly dressed woman in her thirties or so. "Good evening, Edith. Good evening, Katherine. I'd like to introduce you to my… companion, Fitz." He turned to Fitz. "Dr. Edith is an old friend of mine. Her thrall, Katherine, has been with her for… what is it now?"

"About ten years," said Katherine. Fitz was relieved to see that Katherine wasn't visibly restrained or dazed in any way, simply standing next to her master and observing the crowd.

"Charmed to meet you," said Fitz. "Ten years is quite a long time to serve a vampire."

"With any luck, it'll be ten years more," she replied.

"Alexander, I'm so glad you have a thrall again after what happened to poor Edmund. I only wish I could have done more for him," said Edith.

"It wasn't your fault. You did what you could," said Alexander. "Say, I wanted to ask you how Evelyn's oldest is holding up, after her bout with the flu…"

The two vampires began chatting about names that Fitz had never heard, Katherine chiming in at points. Ordinarily, Fitz would try to involve himself in the conversation, ingratiating himself to anyone new he meets, but he found himself constantly distracted from the dull chit-chat by the uneasy but alluring soiree. Here were a couple of vampires laughing and talking while sipping from bloodied thralls. Here was a woman wearing little more than a collar and mask, kneeling on the floor and doing tricks for for her master. Here was an eerie pair of identical twins with identical blank expressions, chained together with intricate bonds.

His attention was drawn by a nearby group loosely surrounding a vampire in a very old-fashioned suit, at least a century out of date. The vampire was slowly swinging an ornate pocket watch in front of a young man's face, like a mesmerist from a vaudeville show. The unfortunate young man was swaying along with the watch, eyelids heavy and drooping, his jaw slack as a bit of drool dripped from his mouth and onto the floor.

He couldn't take his eyes off the man.

No, he couldn't take his eyes off the watch.

The way it flashed… its weight… its rhythm… he just needed to watch it… watch it swing… watch it sway… back and forth…

He needed to get closer…

He needed to watch… needed to sleep… needed to obey…

"Hey, watch where you're going, human!"

Fitz was shaken from his unexpected trance state when he accidentally collided with a large and angry-looking vampire in a poorly tailored suit. He looked around and realized that he couldn't see Lex -- he'd wandered off and been separated from his port in the storm.

"You're not with anyone," said the vampire. "Are you a refreshment boy? Finally, some decent blood."

The vampire leaned in with intent to feed, and Fitz found himself filled with an invasive and uncomfortable aura, rooting him to the spot and dazing his mind even as it felt like bugs crawling beneath his skin. Even as he screamed at himself to flee, his conditioning looped its invisible chains around him, keeping him frozen and silent. He existed to serve vampires, to be obedient to their wills. The desire to submit began to drag his consciousness under, as he slowly tilted his neck…

You're mine, he heard Lex sing in his mind, as he had on so many nights. Mine and no one else's.

"No!" he said, snapping himself out of it and pushing the unwanted vampire away. "I'm not a buffet item for your enjoyment, sir. And if you'll excuse me, I'm heading back to find my master."

Before Fitz could turn away, the front of his dress was pulled into an iron grip, enough that he was almost lifted off the ground. "How dare a mere thrall takes that tone with me. Your master must be a half-wit or a weakling, because they neglected to teach you how to behave around your superiors."

As usual, Fitz's mouth opened before he could stop himself. "And someone neglected to teach you how to wear clothes and comb your hair, sir. How does it feel to be dressed worse than your so-called inferior?"

He knew it was a mistake even as the words left his mouth. The furious vampire let go of his dress only to grab his wrist, twisting it and forcing Fitz onto his knees. "Know your place, filthy cattle."

Unable to escape, Fitz spit at him, right in his eye.

His all too brief life flashed before his eyes as the vampire pulled back his fist with murderous rage in his eyes. He was going to die here. His head was about to be mashed into paste by a stupid, clumsy vampire. His master was going to be so disappointed things turned out this way, but probably not particularly surprised.

"Excuse me, Jameson." Lex materialized from the crowd, grabbing onto the vampire's fist. "You need to take your hands off of my thrall. Now."

"This worthless piece of garbage spit in my face!"

"And you're manhandling my thrall," Lex practically growled in a tone Fitz had never before heard. "Let him go and leave him alone, and we'll call it even."

Jameson scoffed, but released Fitz's wrist, letting him collapse to the floor. "I was doing you a favor, Alexander," he said, towering at least a foot over Lex with a sneer on his face. "Your precious little thrall was deep in trance and heading straight towards Lord Edgar. It's obvious it's neglected and longing for a taste of actual power to put it where it belongs."

Lex glanced over at Fitz, who was smarting both from the pain in his wrist and the sheer humiliation of being caught out by hypnosis that wasn't even directed at him. "I would tell you not to speak of things you don't understand, Lord Jameson, but I suppose then you'd have very little to talk about."

The rage previously directed at Fitz was simmering in Lex's direction, now. "Insult me all you want. I still know you're full of it," he said. "They say you're one of the most powerful vampires in the city, but you can't even stop an empty-headed thrall like that from doing as it pleases. It's your sire who has all the real power. You must be such a disappointment."

"You think I'm unable to control a thrall?"

"I don't think it, I know it."

Cold determination set into Lex's face, and he began to sing, loud and clear and beautiful and captivating. The vampire ball faded and warped around Fitz as that voice filled his mind. Lex sang of control, of obedience, of bliss, of sleep. Deep, deep sleep. A sleep where the only thing that mattered was listening, a sleep where he could obey so easily even with his mind locked in slumber.

Fitz's curiosity about what Lex was doing was the only thing that allowed him to keep his drowsy eyes open. As he swayed in the grip of his master's irresistible song, he heard a yawn behind him, then a thump, and then a larger commotion. Even through his rapidly blurring vision, Fitz could see thralls falling to the song all around him, slipping to the floor as sleep overtook them.

And then, Fitz's desire to stay awake and see what would happen was consumed by the much deeper desire to obey the song, to shut his eyes, to let himself fall under the spell. He felt a drowsy smile spread across his face as he sank completely to the floor, feeling as if he could listen to the song and dream forever.

Previous > Masterlist > Next

I'm sure that won't come back to bite Fitz.

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@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

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@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe

[scryptids]

priscilla quintana / she/they  ———  no way is that CADE MEDINA.. they’re a 32-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being NO-NONSENSE  &  JADED  but there are some people who have seen them being BIG-HEARTED  &  TOUGH.  if you ask me, they remind me a lot of high heels abandoned under her desk after a long business meeting, a pair of beaten-up rollerblades hanging up behind the door, an office door always propped open so people are free to come and go as they please, and old money that they want nothing to do with, but that could just be because they’re considered the ROLLER DERBY GIRL around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..

full name: cade selena medina (née ayala) birthdate: august 11th age: 32 height: 5’5” occupation: ceo and founder of kent’s kids/roller derby girl ship status: married (WC) bio:

despite being born into the lap of luxury, cade has never wanted anything to do with wealth

the only child of a man who inherited a fortune 500 company, she had pressure put on her to be perfect from the very start

her father wasn’t around much, always seemingly at work or at some sort of function, and her mother stayed home despite being mostly hands-off with her daughter

in fact, the only family cade ever really saw were her paternal grandparents, both of whom she was named after

she spent the most time at their house, often planting herself in her grandfather’s office watching him work; he’s the man who passed his business down to cade’s father,  but he was much kinder and more loving than his son would ever be

while her parents held her on a pedestal, cade desperately wanted to be like other kids, and when she was ten years old and had enough money built up from her allowance, she bought her first pair of roller skates

those skates brought cade everywhere in the gated community the ayala family lived in

she could often be found zooming in and out of driveways and culs-de-sac, grinning from ear to ear while the wind whipped through her hair

cade’s parents hated that their daughter wanted so much freedom, but there wasn’t much they could do given how headstrong and independent she was; plus, they didn’t actually want to parent her

their only solution was to drag her to their functions, making the excuse that flashing their family dynamic was good for business

and so cade was stuffed into lavish dresses and told to be on her best behavior as cameras went off in her face

this went on until cade was around fifteen years old, and that’s when she started expressing her distaste for her parents’s lifestyle

they all had to come to a compromise: if cade played the role of the perfect daughter, then she was allowed to do whatever she wanted with whomever, no questions asked

and that’s exactly what she did; on the nights cade didn’t have to attend functions with her parents, she’d make plans with her friends and go to the skate park, usually leaving with scrapes, cuts, and bruises, but always with a smile on her face

in school she excelled, never wanting to give her parents an excuse to take her hobbies away from her, and when she graduated with high honors and a lot of satisfaction, she knew it was time to leave home

she chose a college in texas to attend, needing the distance between herself and her parents

being so far from home gave cade more freedom to do as she pleased, and while she spent the daylight hours studying and hanging out with her friends, the nightlife was when she went wild

she found the roller derby team by complete accident, her adventures leading her to a large abandoned warehouse 

cade was immediately fascinated, and after the match she found herself talking to a few of the team members, and that’s the night she officially became gnarley quinn

life was blissful for cade, and despite her parents trying to lure her back home whenever they got the chance, she knew that texas was where she belonged

it was through roller derby that she met her husband; he was in the crowd watching one of the matches, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of cade

they bonded rather quickly, and soon enough he was at every single roller derby match cheering her on, and he even proposed after one of their wins

cade’s parents obviously didn’t approve; they claimed she was too young to settle down so quickly, but just like with everything else, she refused to listen to them

shortly after graduation, cade started and organization called kent’s kids; it was a nonprofit that acted as a care facility for kids as young as babies to as old as eighteen

it was a place for them to go if they had nowhere else, a safe haven for those who just needed to wait for their parents to come home

cade had used every last penny in her trust fund to open the organization, and she never once regretted the decision

these days, cade smoothly runs kent’s kids while also balancing both her home life and her roller derby life

she likes to be as hands-on at work as possible, and she can often be found out and about with the kids either playing games, doing crafts, or even taking them on field trips

her husband is also a major part of the nonprofit, working full-time as both a counselor and business partner, and cade finds it to be a blessing that she gets to work with the love of her life every single day

cade’s parents still wire her money from time to time, hoping that their bribery will work eventually, but anything they send her gets sunk right back into kent’s kids

[anonymouslyyourssix]

a case of night terrors (I'll stay with you until the morning comes)

A/N: draft for chaos theory, chapter one

originally i was gonna open this up with a scenic description of the factory to charlie's house but i decided to tickle in a little wonka/wilkinson before delving into willy's night terror problems, because it would go accordingly to the flow of the narrative

Work inside the factory has been completely and utterly restless, Wilkinson felt his entire body had gone sore from exhaustion. Besides running errands throughout the entire evening, managing tax reforms and attempting to humor commercial magnates seeking promotion, he was also left in charge of the paperwork that never quite ceased to pile on his desk.

William had sequestered inside the Inventing Room by early lunchtime. During which, Wilkinson was supposed to deliver message to him regarding the various clientele awaiting his arrival near the office.

They all came barreling through the factory gates, each sporting a black luxury suit, with a glint of their silver brooch around the necktie and a distinct air of haughtiness disguised in a thin veil of sophistication. Four gentlemen had been eager to invest in William’s current line of production, they stated. But – strike that – there had been no time to waste on “business”. Especially if business meant rubbing shoulders with outside people. Wilkinson recalled, an unconcealed distaste schooling William’s expression.

His employer had a blatant disregard for corporate matters.

Which means those record scripts, and those angry voice calls and a manifold of complaints would never see the light of day under his supervision. Which meant more paper due to be signed, and a whole weekend of skimming through sales bracket and accounts, which also meant.. no breaks promised. So as long as William Wonka – greatest chocolatier, greatest inventor and god knows what other ‘greats’ he’s known to have accomplished thus far - would never give them a piece of mind. Doubtedly so, if he ever did.

He loves to keep the rest of the world guessing, if it’s to let them remain, as always, in his arm’s length. He ensures that ugliness will never even reach his sanctum.

By that reason then prompted Wilkinson (against his will) to deal matters with his own hands, alone, and when he had specifically declined those four gentlemen’s appointment with his employer after a series of back and forths, predictably, they lashed out, used him as a tool to verbally eviscerate before strutting out the door in the most ridiculous way they could. It was delightful to witness, he couldn’t be mad even if he tried, he would’ve laughed too. However, he didn’t want to risk the chance of hearing their nasally voice grating his ears anymore.

As he returned to his desk, the paperwork increased by a fraction. It was worth the shot.

That night, he dragged his feet through the motley-colored flooring, all the way to his and William’s shared apartment. Closing the entrance haphazardly on his way in, Wilkinson’s gaze lingered on William’s back facing him as he sat hunched over the vanity mirror. He can tell from appearance, and the way he’s teetering on the edge of sleep from the heavy bags under William’s eye, that they’re both in desperate need of rest, more than they would like to admit.

With slow heavy steps, he sauntered towards William and raked his fingers through the curls of his frazzled hair, neatly combing them in place. William abruptly tensed but soon released a tired hum, as he relaxed his head against Wilkinson’s chest in response to the welcome sensation.

“Exhausted, my dear?” Wilkinson placed a gentle kiss ontop of his temple.

William gazed lovingly up at him in reply with a warm smile, “You have no idea.”

Wilkinson removed himself behind William. And, lazily, without hesitation, plummeted ontop of the bed, he breathed a sigh against the soft mattress, nuzzling his face on the pillows.

William shortly joins him thereafter, scooting his body close to where he could fit himself in Wilkinson’s arms like a puzzle piece. He inhaled his lover’s scent, distinctly capturing the smell of faint dust and almond paper trail.

They lay there, unperturbed by the buzzing noise of working machinery distant from their bedroom and only letting themselves be engulfed in the warm reverie of each other’s embrace.

... (cont'd)

[rendellstreet]

I’m slow as molasses in the writing department lately so here’s a bit of WIP because I crave feedback from people;

                                                       [...]

Nigel pulls an embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket and sighs in slight discomfort. From the high windows, the heat of the midday leaves a few beads of sweat clinging to his brow, and he quickly dabs them away.

“Now, um, shall we continue our tour of the gallery?” he asks, stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket.

He turns on his heels then, striding forward in a dutiful manner with his chin held high and his brows even higher. Rapunzel follows his distinguished wake, mimicking his arms tucked behind his back, but her steps are bouncier and her demeanor jubilant than his severity. Eugene lags a couple of steps back with his hands stuffed into his vest. His face is pinched with restraint; enough to look attentive but not too much to be mistaken for aloofness.

Paintings flank the elegant walls on either side of them; only the best can be displayed in the Hohenzollern. Nigel guides them through a sundry of esteemed Coronan artists and their contributions, all the while Rapunzel soaks everything up like a sponge to water and Eugene drifts in and out like a ship lost in fog. He would’ve been totally fogbound, if not been for Rapunzel, as she stops every so often to point and express her delight in the colors this artist used, and the way this artist’s brushstrokes looked a little sloppy and—

The fog burns away then, leaving the ship basking in sunlight. The joy that radiates from Rapunzel’s face makes the time meandering through this stuffy museum worth it to Eugene. His lips curl into a little smirk, softening the pinch in his face while Rapunzel talks and talks about art. She’s never seen so much artwork that wasn’t her own, so much artwork that wasn’t confined to the cramp walls her tower could offer her, where time and time again cherished pieces had to be covered with a new coat of plaster so that the process could start anew again.

“Oh, Eugene,” Rapunzel stops abruptly, and Eugene’s boots squeak against the expensive marble to prevent a collision. She points across the room – away from Nigel’s planned route – to a large painting on the far wall. “Look at that one.” she says, the smile dropping from her face.

Tugging on his sleeve, she leads Eugene over in slow, careful steps, unaware of Nigel trailing behind them in vexation. The couple stops in front of the painting and Rapunzel pulls her hand from Eugene’s sleeve to rub her chin. She tilts her head left and then right before folding her arms together in contemplation.

“It’s… kind of dark, don’t you think?” Rapunzel says aloud.

Eugene rubs his goatee and contemplates. Dark is an understatement, to say the least.

The painting is a forest devoid of sunlight and greenery, caught in the throes of decay. Craggy trees rise from the detritus with rotting trunks and splintered branches. Thick, black bramble can be seen festering everywhere, coiling up the trunks with their thorns sharp and uninviting. Two people are fleeing through the putrescence, their colors bright and warm in striking contrast. One is a young black man that looks no older than Rapunzel, cloaked in white chiton. The other is an older, burlier olive-skinned man dressed in bronze armor, who’s got an arm looped around the boy’s waist and is guiding him forward.

“Yeah, it’s certainly not a work I can see you paint, Sunshine.” Eugene frowns. His eyes narrow to follow the couple’s line of sight over their shoulders. Amid the rotting trees and thick bramble, he make out the horns and eyes of something bestial. “What, are we exactly looking at here?” he gestures to Nigel.

Nigel clears his throat. “This, er, fearsome work is titled, ‘War and Starlight in Flight’ by Emil Rózsahegyi.” he presents. His lips press into a thin line at the painting.

“It’s one of the few Saporian works featured in the gallery.” Nigel says with growing distaste.

“War and Starlight?” Rapunzel quirks an eyebrow. Her gaze drifts up to Starlight’s face. His eyes are a rich orange; the same color the sky turns at sunset.

“Classical mythology, Your Highness. Rózsahegyi was from the diaspora of Saporians in Hellas, where their gods are held with great reverence. The burly gentleman you see here is Ares, the God of War. The young boy accompanying him is Astrophel, the son of Helios. The Hellenes consider both father and son to be the gods of our twin suns.” Nigel explains.

                                                     [...]

[grin-reapers]

ONE

Lumine wakes up to the taste of scourging metal on her lips.

Or rather, to Tobias’ slap across her face. “Glad to see you’ve woken up from your little nap,” he says, with his everlasting frown and taste for sarcasm. He presses a handkerchief against her mouth, which she realizes is now throbbing. When she draws the cloth back, it’s burned crimson red. Just great. As if the dull pain at the back of her skull wasn’t enough. She can blindly remember snippets of what happened before this; a chase, a glinting diamond, a girl with white hair, her landing on the cold hard pavement.

“Where are we?” Lumine asks with a wince, pulling herself up and taking in her surroundings. She had seemed to have passed out in an alley, the beautiful brick streets of Zenith still wonderful even when hidden between buildings. No signs of squalor to be spared even in the shadows; ridiculously divine.

“Near the city square. After that thief knocked you off your feet blind, she made a beeline towards the factory town.”

Lumine winces, one hand on the kerchief against her mouth, the other dusting off her black, two-sizes-too-big jeans. “North? Damn it. I know exactly where she’s headed.” 

Tobias yanks her up, his frown deepening. Lumine had never seen the man with anything other than a look of distaste on his face – excusing his varied displays of boredom, mild disgust, and outright disgust. It’s a shame; she’d heard rumors across the city that the prince of Zenith has a hypnotizing smile. “Don’t tell me she’s headed for Na-”

“We’re heading to Nadir.” Lumine grins, slapping the side of Tobias’ cotton sleeve with the bloody kerchief. His expression shifts to that of outright disgust. “Aren’t you excited, Toto! Your first journey underground! What joy it is for every Zenith citizen to finally descend into the dumps!” she said, whistling as she started walking towards the direction of the nearby factory town.

“I’m not heading down with you, if that’s where you’re headed. We’ve agreed on that.” said Tobias, catching up with her. He’d yanked his mask up his nose, a frail attempt to hide his identity. “I’ll do this crime fighting stuff with you, as long as I never step foot in Nadir.”

“Why? You scared?” Lumine said, flashing her teeth in a toothy smirk. “Should’ve just said so.”

“I’m not scared. I’m just not idiotic.” Tobias protested, as they dove into the city square. The sparkling city of Zenith was bustling with preparations for the annual ball to take place next month, with colorful, heavy streamers hung overhead, the center fountain adorned with decorative diamonds, and real, pure gold lining the very brick steps they’ve trodden upon. Lumine had tried to dig them up once; she’d gotten electric-shocked in return. 

“What? Isn’t going down to Nadir, like, a rite of passing for you folks? Oh rich people, come see the reality of the world outside gold pavement and castles!” Lumine said, with a mocking wave of her hands. “Or come get your dirtiest desires, your addictions, whatever your perfect city would sooner kill themselves over than to provide!”

“Keep your voice down, you fool,” Tobias said, shoving the kerchief against her mouth as he looked around to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, everyone was busy with either shopping, selling, or talking. The handful of nobles careening around are on their carriages, yanked by fat, gem-flecked show horses. “It’s like you’re trying to get caught.”

“What? Like they’d know I’m from Nadir.”

“You dress like a bum. Believe me, they’d know.”

“Oh, like they wouldn’t know you with that stupid mask on? You’re dressed in half the city’s economic value, get real.”

“It’s custom-made, they wouldn’t know that.” Tobias sniffed. “That aside, I can’t go down with you, alright? It’s dangerous, I might die, and if someone down there recognizes me, that’s the end of it. The entire city will rejoice in the scandal.” he shuddered at the mere thought of it; of his face plastered across newspapers and televisions all across Zenith. “I’d rather the Grim Reaper himself show up at my doorstep than embrace the shame of it.”

“Yeah, because a little scandal is the end of the world for you princesses. In Nadir, you wouldn’t even want to know what’s the worst that could happen to you.” 

“See? You’re proving my point.” They pass by a group of teenagers, who throw Tobias a curious look, heads scrambling to wonder why he seemed so familiar. He keeps his head down, pulling Lumine to a less populated alley. “Damn it. This is ridiculous at this point.”

“Oh, why are you so uptight about your shitty face? Acting like you’re some kind of prince or something.” Lumine said, taking off her cap and shoving it against his chest. “I’m pretty sure whoever your bigshot dad is isn’t that big of a deal, come on now. I know plenty of kids with merchant parents who aren’t as fussy as you. I bet half of these people don’t even know your name.”

With a scowl, he put it on and caught up with her. “For starters, I’m not fussy. I’m just being safe. I may just be some merchant’s son, but that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to roam the streets fighting people whenever I want.”

“You know, you wouldn’t have to worry about all that in Nadiiir.” Lumine teased, like dangling a carrot on a stick. “No one would give a damn about you down there. You could practically reinvent yourself! Name yourself Carlos and work at a random secondhand bookshop. Freedom.”

Tobias entertains the thought for a few seconds. “Tempting, but no.”

“Almost had you there.” Lumine sighs. “You know, it’s funny. We’re opposites. No one gives a flying crap about who I am up here, but down there, everyone loves me. Hey, you know what? I’m practically Nadir’s princess! Well, minus the wealth, castle, blatant authoritarianism, capitalism, slavery, and royal balls.” 

“They don’t love you. They love your superhero act, Little Miss Nightwalker. Stupid name, by the way.”

“One, rude, screw you, and two, who cares? Identity masked or not, I’m still their hero.” Lumine says languidly, a satisfied grin on her busted lip. “Nightwalker, Nadir’s number one crime-fighter, because the mandated police from Zenith don’t do shit! Phew, I’ve gotten so good at my job that sometimes, even Zenith itself needs my help!” she narrated, eyes starry with exaggerated sways of an arm. “Imagine that; the city of angels itself, needing the help of a filthy Nadirian! It’s practically a poverty-porn movie producer’s wet dream.”

Tobias rolls his eyes. “Like hell we do. You just like sticking your nose in everyone’s business.”

They took a left into a dark tunnel, leading up into the factory town of Zenith. As the manufacturing hub, it was filled to the brim with busy laborers hollering at each other, dragging items across the street. Lumine headed away from the hubbub and ducked into a dilapidated building, seemingly forgotten in the midst of rising towers of smoke and concrete dust. Once they were both inside, she let out a loud huff, echoing throughout the dark interior of the run-down factory. “You work out, right, Toto?” she said, mapping a path as her gaze traveled upwards, scanning the broken stairs, wobbly bricks, and splinting wood. 

“None of your business. Why?” Tobias said, watching as Lumine started to tie her long dark hair up in a frazzled ponytail.

Lumine grinned. “Try to keep up, then.”

And then she was off, hoisting herself up and climbing upwards to the second floor, using concrete bricks sticking out the wall to support herself. With a loud sigh, Tobias followed suit. The duo leapt over obstacles and ducked underneath metal beams, leaping across broken gaps between floors and stairs. Lumine, used to maneuvering the broken-down city of Nadir, was effortless in her stride, keeping a steady rhythm with confident movements. It’s only been three years ever since she started fighting crime in Nadir as a personality, but her dexterity and skill almost matches that of a trained Zenith general. Perhaps even better, thought Tobias, pulling himself through a broken window. I wonder if anyone has ever trained her?

Tobias and Lumine haven’t known each other for a long time. They met six months ago, and they’ve worked together ever since; both for their own benefits. Lumine needed a cover up in the big city, and Tobias had enough of his boring routine. Despite their easy banter and teamwork, however, they rarely know much about each other. All Lumine knows is that Tobias is some kind of rich merchant’s son in Zenith, and all Tobias knows is that Lumine’s some Nadir rascal who acts as a hero called Nightwalker. They’ve been able to pursue their personal goals with their easy, surface-level relationship so far, but he wonders how long they’ll be able to keep this up.

He cuts his arm on a shard of glass on the wall, and he flinches. The blood oozes out brown skin, staining the cuff of his coat sleeve. “Damn it,” he murmured. Mother will kill me. 

Even more so if she finds out I’m running around town like this.

“Tobi! What’s taking you so long?” hollered Lumine’s voice from above.

“Just a second.” he said, pressing his sleeve against the wound to staunch the bleeding. He can’t remember the last time he’d bled. Perhaps when he was a child. The pain shoots up his arm, like crackling sparks, and it’s so terribly unfamiliar that it makes his heart race in excitement. When was the last time he’d ever gotten to get out this much? To put some sort of meaning in his life again?

But I can’t possibly go down. All this crime-fighting business in Zenith is dangerous enough as it is. If he goes down, that’s a whole different story. Excusing Nadir’s adamant penchant for chaos, it’s infested with Zenith nobles. The very nobles I exchange smiles with at masquerade balls. Tobias mouth draws back into a straight line, weighing his options. Either he does the right thing and turns back now, or he jumps off the deep end.

Neither are particularly inviting.

He’s not even sure if he can trust Lumine. Lumine, who showed up on his window pane on a stormy midday. With her wild, wavy mane of obsidian hair, and eyes as grey as steel, she asked him to join her. And although it was completely out of character for him, he found himself saying yes. The reason behind his sudden impulsiveness is still for him to ponder, although he finds that he doesn’t regret the time he’d spent with the delinquent. These past six months have been the most alive he’d ever felt in a long time.

“Tobias!”

“I’m here,” he said, hoisting himself up the final step. They found themselves in a dark room, filled with nothing but a run-down elevator in the center. Lumine scampered over and yanked open the grate, inspecting the broken lock on the floor.

“Well, now we certainly know where our little thief went.” she said with a sigh before punching the elevator button. “But luckily for us, she unlocked it already. I won’t have to dial up someone I know to get the elevator up and running again.”

“I thought the bullet trains were the only ways to head underground,” said Tobias. 

Lumine shook her head. “Bullet trains are only for the Zenith folk, cause they’re the only ones who can afford it. Everyone else is forced to the bridge, which is rampant with checkpoints. Even if you get there, they catch any Nadirian who they deem suspicious and turns them away.” she said. “And it takes hours to get there. It’s literally impossible. That’s why these elevators were made. Secretly. They’re illegal, but that’s how the select few of us rascals get between cities easily.”

“And how were you able to find one of these-”

“Shh. Nadir princess, remember?” Lumine grinned, just as the elevator arrived with a shaky halt. The doors opened, leaving a cloud of dust and dirt in its wake. “Well, let’s go.” she said, stepping in.

Tobias stood in place, staring at the broken-down elevator. His ticket to the underworld. This may be his only chance to enter Nadir; to truly see it, aside from the stories and nightmares illustrated to Zenith children by their parents and mentors. It’s said that once a Zenithan entered Nadir, they don’t come out the same ever again.

Is he willing to risk that?

Lumine noticed his doubt, crossing her arms. “Hey merchant boy, we don’t have all day. Make the choice. You gonna go to hell, or stay in paradise?” she teases, knocking the rust-addled grate.

But what Lumine does not understand is this; Zenith is already his hell.

“I’m coming,” he says, ignoring Lumine’s wide grin, “as long as we’re back before dinner.”

“Okay, kindergartener. Any more demands?” she says, pressing the broken button down.

“Just one.”

“Yeah? Shoot.”

“I’m not naming myself Carlos.”

It took Lumine a second before she burst out laughing, just as the elevator rumbled shut.

[undead-merman]

May i request yandere drider diavolo please? Your work is great!

Why thank you! Drider Diavolo did something to me...

Drider Diavolo as a yandere with GN-Reader SFW

Appearance

Standing proud over his subjects, Diavolo is the largest Drider standing at twenty feet tall with a leg span that can reach almost double that. His carapace is like bone, with interesting shapes and spines. Between the lines of his boney backside, there's what looks like arcane light flowing through, colored like deep blood and life itself. Gems had been custom cut and fitted inside the spines and curves of his body.  

His skin is deep charcoal, making the colors on his body much more pronounced. His ears are quite long as well, at least four inches and when they move like dog ears with how expressive they are. 

His hair is just as red as the energy flowing through his thorax, so unlike the other driders who have white hair. His hair is also longer and tied back in a blackish bow. 

His arms have arachnid-like armor like the bone-like carapace. It’s spined as well, almost like praying mantis limbs, though his hands are spine free and the palms are free of armor.   

He wears tons of jewelry, rings adorn many of his fingers, gold cuffs fitting for his body, even a finger guard made of gold.         

Arachnid Royalty

Among the driders, he’s seen as the most powerful and even the most benevolent. Despite the changes all drider’s go through and some of the going mad, he was able to keep his head and not fall into the hatred and bitterness that came with a cursed body. He was kind, always smiling, and provided as much support as he could to his kindred. 

Because of his kindness and power, he was able to create a kingdom and driders could come to live more peaceful lives there. It’s become a prosperous kingdom and doesn’t face much trouble.

He does require blood, but only drinks from glasses. He finds it somewhat distasteful and wrong to drink right from the poor creature or person. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Despite the strength and kindness he has. He's worried about a great number of problems. So many that he has trouble listing them all. His smiles, a lot of the time, are forced. His responsibilities of running a safe haven for cursed and defiled people are often a heavy burden on him, though he would never change what he did. 

But most of all, he’s lonely. He feels like he has no one to truly rely on. Someone to comfort him and share his burden. He doesn’t even really need that. He just wants a shoulder to cry on.        

Spending time with you

Of course, it was an unlucky streak for you. A heavy rain storm nearly blew you and your supplies away. You had taken shelter in a cave only to be attacked by monsters who had the same idea, and you had been knocked into a massive sinkhole and rolled down battered and bruised with a few broken limbs to find driders staring down at you. This was it. They would tear you apart, drink your blood, or enslave you. Either way, your life is over now. You say your prayers as they whisper amongst themselves.

But a voice called out, and the driders parted to reveal the biggest monster you'd ever seen, the leader of these driders. So you’d suffer a bit beforehand? How nice. But he picked you up and gently took you away cradling you against his chest. 

You were taken to his palace, a place of gold and webs, and there you were nursed back to health. Every single day, Diavolo came to check on you. He'd even bring you food and eat with you as he asked about your life. 

You come to quickly realize how important he is and even when confronting him about it he doesn't mind at all. Everyone who comes into his kingdom is his responsibility. "Just rest up. That's your duty for now." 

But one night, he stays a bit longer after dinner and sits with you asking you about your old life. You both end up sharing stories and you get a hint to how terribly lonely he is as he gazes out the window. His expression is pitiful. He'll excuse himself and wish you good night. 

It becomes a nightly occurrence for him to visit you again. Until the day you're finally able to walk and the drider doctor tells you, you no longer need their care. So Diavolo offers you a place to work in the palace. It would be a shame to have you go. 

Despite having a servant role in the palace, Diavolo often sought you out to spend time with you and often invited you to sit at his dining table. You were certainly his favorite. He’d even bring you gifts to share with you. Such as luxury foods he was able to procure.

He straight up refuses to drink from you. You're too precious to even prick for blood. Plus he’s scared he might enjoy it too much.    

Dark tendencies

In all reality, he felt a strange connection to you. And that’s why he shared so much with you. Something in him carved a companion so much that he picked you even in your broken and battered form. A captive audience. But he didn’t even realize this. 

He doesn’t like it when others get too friendly with you. He’s good-natured and won’t hurt his subjects, but he’ll pull you away from them and have you work somewhere else in the castle. He wants to be your one and only. 

When he has you eat with him, his goal is to make it so the food only tastes good with him around, since it’s now become the same way. How dreamy it would be if when he had business outside of the castle, food just tasted like ash to you both and only when you reunited did it taste like heaven again. 

Please... please just love him. He couldn’t handle it if you didn’t feel like you were both meant to be. Destiny had brought you to him, so he wouldn’t let you go if you ever tried to leave him. You can’t ever leave. If you tried he might just have to chain you to his hearth in his bed chambers or even just bind you in his webs. He didn’t want to, but he'd do anything to keep you by his side.     

Misc stuff 

His subjects, despite how kind he is, are terrified of his power. He hears the rumors and the fearful whispers. Sometimes when he thought he was getting close to someone and he hears that, he can’t force himself to smile for a few days. 

He does have a crown, but hates to wear it. He just feels it's somewhat narcissistic for him to do so and a strange tradition. it also makes him feel unapproachable

The servants tell you that he seems to really enjoy ox blood. It’s a bit hard to get it since they don’t do well in the darkness of this realm.    

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

[valemntine]

I made this fanfic with an old friend a while back.

Gyuutaro X reader, I don’t know how to describe this as probably my magnum opus.

She had heard stories.

Whispers in the night of demons, stories told by elders and wary villagers who claimed to have seen such creatures that spread like wildfire. But the mere notion of these stories being seen as anything but mere fiction– a tale that mothers would tell their naughty children to scare them into abandoning their bad behavior– was met with ridicule, laughter.

What did she believe? (Name) wasn’t sure, though she too had her doubts regarding the existence of demons. Villagers would go missing in the night, only for their mutilated corpses to turn up the next day. But she never once doubted the cruelty of humans. People were capable of many things, sometimes genuine acts of kindness that brought a smile to her face and sometimes heinous acts that would make any sane person’s stomach twist in utter disgust.

And besides, it wasn’t her duty to worry about whether demons were real or not. It was (Name)’s duty as an Oiran to adorn herself every night in silky, colorful kimonos embroidered in gold, her face painted white and her lips lacquered red and drawn into a thin smile to catch the eyes of the older men that would frequent the redlight district, remain polite and well-mannered, perform the traditional dances her superiors had made her rigorously practice until her feet were sore, and walk with quiet, shuffling footsteps.

She was only eighteen years of age and young for an Oiran, she would often hear the other women say, especially Warabihime Oiran who would glare down at her with those gleaming cat-like eyes and express her distaste behind closed doors, having hated her ever since she accidentally spilled hot tea all over her kimono, her favorite kimono, she said. The same tea that Warabihime demanded she fetch. Don’t get cocky, she’d spat the words like venom, someone as clumsy and worthless as you could never be on the same level person as someone like me.

And (Name) believed her words. Warabihime was intimidating, yes, but she was also beautiful. She was graceful yet seductive, turning heads whenever she walked into a room, putting on that uncharacteristic smile of hers as she greeted her customers. It didn’t matter if she was an unkind woman, if she could wound you deep without raising a finger, she was what every courtesan in House Kyogoku strived to be. She represented them.

And then there was (Name) with her dull eyes and her (H/C) hair. She wasn’t like the rest of them in the sense that she didn’t stand out. She never did. She could wear as many garish accessories and kimonos as she wanted, but she could never be someone like Warabihime. Men would compliment her, but it always felt recycled. It felt like they would regurgitate words they’d previously spoken to0 the other Oirans in the hopes that perhaps one of them would de. cide to fall into bed with them. It’s because you’re , some would saw, and men desire such innocence.

These were men that liked to take. It was part of the reason she decided she would wait, and wait, and wait for as long as it took for a man to come along that piqued her interest. But such a man never came, and so she had remained that way. They would look at her with lust, watching her forced and delicate movements, eyes trailing down the length of her body as though trying to make out every curve. They would pay a high price for her time, they would talk to her and she would laugh at their attempts at being witty, but she knew at the end of that night they all had one goal in mind.

And she didn’t want any of them.

“(Name) Oiran, your presence has been requested by a man of the name Takahashi Haruto. Will, ah,” the young girl standing in the open doorway faltered when she turned to face her, having been seated in front of a mirror while she applied a deep red lipstick, “will you accept his invitation?”

(Name) thought about it for a moment. He was probably a wealthy businessman who was after the same thing that they all were. Maybe he even had a wife and a child or two waiting for him at home, unaware of his late-night endeavors. She always felt sorry for them, all those wives with unfaithful husbands who came to their house. If only they knew, but perhaps it was for the best that some things were left unknown. She hesitated, then quietly uttered, “Yes.”

“Please follow me.” She waited for her to rise to her feet and head over to her before scampering out of the doorway and down the hallway. (Name) followed behind her. The long, narrow hallway consisted of plain shoji screens and behind one of them was her client. She wondered if he would be disappointed upon learning that the chances of him taking her to bed were unlikely. They always were, every time she could see that brief look of dissatisfaction flash across their faces, the way their shoulders sagged before they left, and a few times she had been met with annoyance as though she owed them her body.

“He’s in here.” The sound of the girl’s voice broke her away from her thoughts. She slid open the door and (Name) peered inside to see a surprisingly youthful man on the other side. He had cropped brown hair and sported wire-frame glasses. His hands rested on the small wooden table before him. When he looked up and saw her, he smiled. (Name) stepped inside, slowly making her way over to the plush blue mat on the ground opposite him. “I’ll go make some tea.” The girl gave a polite bow, then she left and closed the sliding door behind her, leaving them alone.

“Hello,” Takahashi said, that smile never leaving his face, ���my, you’re even lovelier in person.”

She returned his smile, one of her own. “Thank you very much. I appreciate your kind words.” Sweet, sweet nothings. Those were all she heard, going in one ear and out the other. Long ago, she might’ve even enjoyed hearing such compliments from men, but now they felt stale. She folded her hands in her lap as the man started talking about his work and oh how she was the prettiest courtesan he’d seen thus far. She giggled at his jokes and responded accordingly to his questions. He seemed like a nice man. Was she wrong to judge him? But even if he seemed nice, (Name) had lost her trust in others long ago. There were many things that one could hide behind a seemingly innocent smile.

She was beginning to allow her mind to wander to what the other Oirans might’ve been doing at that very moment, were they pleasuring their clients? Sleeping? She wondered what Warabihime was doing. She wondered what she looked like underneath that thick blanket of makeup, the length of her silky black hair when it wasn’t done up, if she would still be just as gorgeous as before. She tried to picture her doing things that people normally did like eating, bathing, reading a book she enjoyed, or simply going for a stroll through the city. She never went out during the daytime for some reason, she only ever stayed inside that house.

(Name) wondered if her family missed her. If they were just as poor as they were when she left, struggling to make ends meet. She didn’t blame them for giving her away. They needed the money more than ever. Were they doing well now that she became an Oiran? She didn’t expect them to come all the way to the entertainment side of the city to visit her, but she would wait for letters that never came. The thought that they may have forgotten all about her crossed her mind once or twice, but she still held onto that tiny flare of hope that they didn’t, no matter how miniscule. She didn’t want to believe they abandoned her. Not completely.

She was torn away from her thoughts when the girl came back sporting a tray of piping hot tea, setting the cups down on the table before she bowed again and took her leave. (Name) wrapped her hands around the warm sides of the brown ceramic tea cup, staring down into her green reflection and watching the steam billow up and into the air. Takahashi studied her expression.

“Do you ever think about leaving this place?”

“What?”

The question had caught her off guard. Did she think about leaving from time to time? It wasn’t like she had it really bad there. She had to deal with creepy men but other than that she was being provided with a bed and a hot meal all in exchange for looking pretty and entertaining others. Besides, she didn’t think she had it in her to leave even if she wanted to. Her family needed her there, didn’t they? She was playing her part, repaying them for being a burden throughout her childhood years, for all those times her mother had gone hungry just so her daughter could get a bite to eat.

(Name) pursed her lips. “No, not exactly.” She brought the steaming tea up to her mouth, blowing on it. She took a sip, trying not to cringe when it burnt her tongue. “I’m safe here. I have everything I could’ve ever wanted so therefore I have no reason to leave.” But for whatever reason, her heart ached when she spoke those words. It was like she was longing for something more. Meeting a good man who she fell in love with and would one day marry? Having children of her own? Living happily ever after like she was in some sort of fairytale? Those things were all a pipe dream for someone like her. Her fate had been sealed the moment she set foot in that house, and she would make the most of it for as long as she could until she was eventually thrown out because she was no longer desired.

“Not even if you find a man you want to marry?”

(Name) fought back the urge to laugh at that. I doubt such a man exists. And if he does, I wouldn’t find him here of all places. But she neglected to voice these thoughts aloud. “Maybe, but also maybe not. I suppose time will tell.” She placed the cup back down, and that was that. The two continued to engage in conversation until her tea grew cold and she dismissed herself, heading back down the hallway to her chambers.

On the way back, though, she nearly bumped into someone. “Watch it,” a woman’s familiar voice sent chills down her spine and she looked up to see Warabihime’s narrowed eyes burning into her. (Name) stumbled over her words, stepping a good few feet back and when she found her voice, she hastily apologized. But when she peered at her face again she didn’t seem impressed.

“You should learn to pay more attention,” she huffed, shouldering her way past her and nearly causing her to lose her balance, “or else it’ll cost you. Trust me, I won’t be so nice next time.”

When the clack of her footfalls faded down the hall, (Name) let out a shaky sigh. That was her being nice? She risked a glance over her shoulder, yet she’d already disappeared behind one of the doors. She wasn’t scared of unkind people, but Warabihime was different. When she looked at her, she didn’t look at her like she was a living, breathing person. She looked at her like she was prey, caught in the clutches of a hungry predator. At times, this made it hard to believe that Warabihime was even human.

The room was dark when she slid open the door and made her way inside after her encounter with Warabihime, picking up a box of matches on her vanity and pulling one of them out, striking it, and lighting a candle. She was tired and didn’t feel like taking a bath, so instead she wet a rag and sat at the vanity, dabbing away her makeup. She made sure not to rub too hard so she didn’t leave big red marks on her face. As she cleaned her face, she peered out the window, the alleyway below illuminated by red lights.

There was a flash of movement and she stopped. From the darkness something emerged. Something terrifying, something fascinating. It was a creature with broad shoulders, pale, sickly gray skin, shaggy green hair the color of moss, shadowing his face, and a malnourished yet muscular build that she’d never seen on anyone before. (Name) couldn’t believe her eyes. Her mouth was open, her breath bated. But when she blinked, it was gone. She continued to stare outside for what felt like hours, waiting for it to emerge once more. But it never returned.

Was she going insane?

She quickly finished wiping off the rest of her makeup and set the damp rag aside, then blew out the candle and shed the layers of silk that she wore until she was left in her undergarments. She slipped into bed, the covers feeling cool against her heated skin, and laid her head down on her pillow. But she no longer felt tired, opting to stare blankly at the wall. She didn’t know how much time had passed or how long she’d been awake but in the end, sleep came to take her.

….

Infatuation. That was truly the only word that could describe the way the not-so-young demon was feeling, and he hated himself and her for it. This feeling was agonizing. The second he laid eyes on (Name) he felt like he was going to vomit, as if his unbeating heart was to leap out of his chest at any given moment. And it was sickening. It was vile. The only coherent thought Gyuutaro could piece together was:

How dare she make me feel this way?

He knew full well he couldn’t have these abominable feelings toward anyone, let alone a human. He wanted to kill her, he needed to. To pull her muscle and skin away from her bones and suck the bone marrow out as if she was his own little smoothie. She deserved it, to have such a powerful demon in such a trance over a lowly, pathetic human like herself. He never met such a pretty woman, not in the hundred years he lived in this new form of his. Her silky (H/C) hair, her gentle (E/C) eyes, it drove him mad. As much as he didn’t want to, he kept on thinking about her.

What type of noises will she make while gutting her?

Will she try to…

Gyuutaro knew he had to stop these dark and nearly perverted thoughts about her, the only way he could talk to, touch, or see her was through the vocal cords, fingertips, and eyes of his sister. But he just couldn’t. He felt himself die a bit inside as he watched Daki belittle and insult her for such a little mistake, making her feel like filth beneath Daki’s tall geta sandals. And he just loved it. In his eyes, (Name) deserved every bit of venom spat her way. If it was possible, he wished she would literally choke on her words, and die.

….

It had been a few days and even longer nights as winter quickly began to show its weary head, snowfall being heavy and nearly suffocating, like a thick blanket, with thick fur that once belonged to a sheep underneath it.

Gyuutaro’s thirst grew more once winter arrived. He was so, so fed up with only being able to have the absolute luxury of being able to see her, to smell her, to see her through his lousy younger sister, he knew full well that she’d probably slaughter (Name) if he continued to sit around and do nothing. But that wasn’t fair. As he already claimed (Name) as his, all his. He didn’t want any lousy human or demon to lay a finger on her if it meant he couldn’t see her again, he promised himself that.

A nightly visitor.

Finally, after being detached from the annoying scum that was his sister, Gyuutaro was himself again, holding two blood red sickles in hand as he felt his head maybe an inch or so from the ceiling. He was tall, but not lanky. He had muscle most men in this day and age could not compare, he had a waist some would say is quite feminine, as it was slimmer than the rest of his body.

As he aimlessly wandered the house of Kyogoku, he checked each and every room to see where (Name) laid, where she cried, where she slept, where she rested her head, where she perhaps gave herself to other men for…

Gyuutaro dug his sharp nails into his face just thinking about that. Scratching violently as he continued to look for where her room was. What in the hell was wrong with him? He knew he couldn’t be thinking about the affairs and overall business a human had. Why did he care? He didn’t have a sensible reason to. After what felt like years, he finally, finally found (Name’s) room, slowly opening the door so as to not make any more sound than he should, creeping further and further inside the room to where her futon was, to where she laid her pretty little head. Gyuutaro was… starstruck, to say the least. He felt so drawn to her. He initially came to kill her himself, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

If anything, he wanted to sit down and speak to her for hours on end, hold her dainty little hands, hug her, grasp onto her– he just wanted to feel the warmth inside of (Name), the warmth that Gyuutaro didn’t have for a while. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull as he finally took in a deep breath, (Name)’s scent flooding his senses. Then he took a few steps back, and left her room, and continued to wander about until he found something nice for her. It could be anything. But for now, he had to leave until he found it.

….

When he slipped back into her room the next night, gift in hand, Gyuutaro noticed that she had her back to him this time, sound asleep. He placed her gift– a red comb with a white floral pattern that he’d stolen from one of the other houses and in turn earned himself a meal by feasting on a dumb old hag who couldn’t mind her own damn business– on the vanity and tried his best not to make any sound, that familiar feeling of bile rising up in his throat. He towered over her, eyeing her sleeping form. She looked like a doll come to life, her chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. He wondered how she’d taste. He wanted to taste her.

But he didn’t want to devour her. As much as he loathed the way she made him feel to the point where he wanted to tear his skin off in frustration, he also acknowledged that she wasn’t like all of those other humans he’d killed and eaten. Something about her was different. He wanted to taste her, but he also wanted to admire her beneath that sliver of moonlight, feel her smooth skin beneath his rough fingertips, inhale more of that sweet scent that left him intoxicated.

She could never love him. Where she was pretty and elegant and used to ordinary human men, leading a life with everything she needed practically handed to her on a silver platter, he was disgusting, vile, barbaric, and a demon. He was capable of ripping a man’s head off with his bare hands alone, the same monstrous hands that he was reaching toward her with now. Gyuutaro’s hand brushed against her cheek. It was warm and her skin was soft. He began having those thoughts again, about how easily he could maim her with those same hands just to hear her scream. There was a primal desire that had overtaken him in that moment, an urge to sink his teeth into her skin, to let all those men that she’d been seeing know that she was his and his alone.

He was about to turn to leave when her eyes fluttered open, blearily looking up at him and it wasn’t until he stared back that they widened to the size of saucers and she moved back with a cry that Gyuutaro couldn’t help but find adorable. He was quicker, pouncing on her like an animal and grabbing the hands that had lashed out at him, trying to push him away. His grip was crushing, painful, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it left bruises come morning. “Shhh.” His hand came down on her mouth.

All she could do was stare into those orange and green eyes of his. Those menacing, unfamiliar eyes that couldn’t belong to a human. He drank up the terrified expression on her face, pulling his hand away from her mouth. “I’ll let you go, but if you try to fight me, if you do anything that pisses me off, I’ll splatter your insides all over this room and leave those poor servants of yours to clean up the mess.” Gyuutaro’s voice was raspy and unnatural sounding, words emphasized in odd places, his voice getting higher with amusement, yet it was also low like he was growling when he spoke, threatening. “Got it?”

(Name) nodded frantically and when he released her she didn’t bother moving, likely out of the fear that he would make good on his promise. He grinned, sitting back on the balls of his feet, watching her turn her head in his direction. “Who are you?” The question was hardly audible and if being a demon didn’t enhance his hearing among other things, he probably wouldn’t have known she even spoke. He laughed at the question, but she didn’t flinch away at the raucous sound.

Continuing to chuckle in his dark and nearly brooding tone, he propped his knee up to where he could rest his head on it, analyzing her frightened state. Such a state caused the corners of his lips to curl up into a sinister smile, one that could show nearly all of his teeth, which would be normal, if all of them weren’t razor sharp and meant for gnawing the muscle off of human bone.

“ I… eeeenvy yooou..”

He mumbled out, his face falling in expression as he quickly came back to the reasons why he just hated (Name) oh so much. She had everything that he lacked. Good looks, wealth, and just success in general. Standing up, Gyuutaro’s head nearly hit the ceiling, just proving how disturbingly tall this man was.

Crouching over (Name), he put his hand on her cheek, trying his best to not accidentally scratch her like last time, with his incredibly sharp and probably dirty nails. Tilting his head to the side, his hand traveled further up to her hair, wrapping a small lock around his finger, before yanking the lock out with ease, looking at your (H/C) hair with something that could be called a blush on his face.

“You’re so… pretty… pretty girl… you are…”

He looked back at (Name), everything he saw was in rose-tinted glasses, he wasn’t thinking straight. He couldn’t think straight, the only thing he could think about was the woman underneath him, who was trembling in fear because of him. The fear that resides on (Name)’s face made him so excited, the intrusive thoughts about what type of noises or what she would look like if he did this or that nearly took over his mind.

“...Gyuutaro.”

He spoke, taking a step back to sit right back down near her bed, putting his hand on his chest so he could introduce himself “properly”.

“My name is Gyuu..taro...”

“Gyuutaro?” She repeated, as though the name was spoken in some foreign language that she couldn’t quite understand. (Name) had never heard a name such as his before, and just like that her fearful expression had given way to one of curiosity.

“Yes.” He continued to stare at her like he was searching her face for something, but what exactly he was searching for was unknown to him. He felt a sense of confusion. Why was this woman no longer afraid of him? He was used to just his ugly appearance itself being able to strike fear into the hearts of people, even uglier as a demon. And even though she couldn’t see him, Gyuutaro had still made his way into her room in the dead of night, making himself known. That should be enough to make her paralyzed with fear, but she was no longer afraid.

He didn’t understand her reaction and thought her to be stupid. Such a silly, foolish girl. Was she even aware of the danger she was in at that moment? “Gyuutaro,” she repeated, like she was trying to see how the word felt on her tongue, “Gyuutaro. I like that name, actually. It’s unique.”

Gyuutaro had heard many things regarding how hideous he was, how disgusting, but unique had never been a word used to describe him. Never.

[cooliogirl101]

In the superhero au, how does kyoraku eventually figure out his relation to shiori, sayuri, and aizen? I can't imagine it went smoothly lol

I kind of like the idea of it being like the most mundane, throwaway, unrelated comment ever that sparks the realization lol, like someone says something that reminds him not of Shiori but rather the girl with the pretty laugh and sparkling eyes he’d had a one night stand with all those years ago, before he’s like wait a damn minute……

“Honestly Shunsui, leave the poor girl alone. Haven’t you bothered her enough?” Juushiro scolded. “People are starting to talk.”

“Who? Shiori-chan?” Shunsui blinked. 

“Yes, I’m talking about Shiori-san. Unless you happen to be stalking any other women at the moment?” Juushiro asked exasperatedly. 

“I’m not bothering her. Or at least, that’s not the reason why she keeps trying to avoid me,” At Juushiro’s dubious look, he continued, “Honest question, Juu-chan. You’ve spoken with Shiori-chan before, haven’t you? Does she seem like the kind of girl who would respond to someone paying her unwanted attention by running away?”

“No,” Juushiro admitted slowly. Actually, she seemed like the kind of person who would respond to unwanted attention by kicking the person responsible in a very uncomfortable place. “But her behavior is understandable in this case. You’re a captain--”

“She chewed out the captain of the 11th for yelling at another healer. Believe me, it’s not intimidation driving her behavior,” Shunsui said, a little rueful. “She’s not the kind of person to run away from someone bothering her, captain rank or not. But she might be the kind of person to run away from someone she’s hiding a secret from.”

“You think she’s hiding a secret from you?” Juushiro asked, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his voice. Shunsui let out a frustrated exhale.

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine what kind of secret she could be hiding that would warrant this kind of response. I can’t even think of where we could have crossed paths previously and yet at the same time, there’s just something about her, I can’t put my finger on it--” 

Something about her face, her expressions, the scent of her hair and the soft curve to her mouth, the way she narrowed her eyes when annoyed, the adorable way she scrunched up her nose when she found something distasteful, the stubborn set to her jaw once she’d made up her mind, the warmth in her laugh--everything about her told Shunsui that he’d met her before, that he knew her, and the longer he couldn’t figure it out, the more maddening it became.

“Well either way, maybe let up a little. At this rate, you’re going to give her a pathological reaction to seeing the color pink,” Juushiro said lightly, bringing Shunsui out of his thoughts. “If she didn’t already hate the color before, she will soon if you keep this up. Although maybe that’ll give you the push to finally give up that kimono; Genryusai-sensei will be delighted.”

“Juushiro!” Shunsui gasped, scandalized. “I could never. I’ll have you know I’ve received high compliments on this exact outfit from many a beautiful lady in the past.”

“Shunsui, I hate to tell you this, but as lovely as the women serving in those, ah...establishments you visit are, if the compliment came from someone whose company you paid to enjoy, it doesn’t count,” Juushiro said dryly. Shunsui huffed in mock offense. 

“Well then, you’ll be happy to know that the last lady to compliment me on this kimono didn’t even take my money. In fact, she...” His voice trailed off as he could almost feel the puzzle pieces fitting themselves together in his mind.

Deep, expressive eyes. A quiet, affectionate laugh. Warm, soft lips, curved up into a smile, pressed against his own. 

“A piece of advice, shinigami-san. If you wanted anonymity, perhaps visiting on a night we’re having a special promotion wasn’t the best way to go,” an amused voice tells him.

Shunsui tilts his hat up from his face a fraction of an inch.

“That obvious, huh?” He asks wryly, catching a glimpse of light brown tresses and playful dark eyes.

“Well, you are hunched over in the darkest corner of the room hiding your face under a hat,” she laughs. 

“This isn’t my best moment,” Shunsui admits. “I didn’t realize there was a promotion today.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” she grins and he feels himself unconsciously return her smile with one of his own.

He blinks when she thrusts her fan under his nose.

“A gift,” she explains when he looks at her. “You look like you need it more than I do. Not that the hat isn’t effective, of course, in a...hungover farmer kind of way, but--”

“I appreciate it,” he chuckles behind his new fan, charmed by her obvious amusement at his expense despite himself. “Would it be too much to also ask for the gift of your company?”

She pretends to think about it.

“I don’t know about that, there might be some other shinigami out there hiding behind a hat and a sake bottle in need of my help--hey!” She laughs as he pulls her to his side. 

“I’m afraid that other shinigami’s just going to have to find someone else to come to his rescue then,” Shunsui replies, his light tone in direct contrast to the firm grip he has on her wrist. “Here, let me find you a chair--”

“No need, I’ve got a better idea,” she interrupts, voice low. Shunsui goes still when she climbs into lap, straddling his waist. Slowly, she reaches out and pushes the fan down from face.

“There,” she whispers. “Now I’m fully covering everyone’s view of you.” Her gaze flickers down, eyes darkening. “This way, you don’t have to worry about your subordinates finding out what scandalous things their superior officer does in his free time,” she teases.

Shunsui sure hopes so, because if anyone recognizes him right now he’d be receiving an excruciating lecture from Yama-jii later. Not that he particularly gives a damn about that, or really anything except the very attractive girl in his lap right now. The entire Gotei 13 could walk through those doors for all he cares, he isn’t moving from this chair.

“What makes you so sure I’m a higher-seated officer?” He asks, trying to distract himself. She pauses, leaning back just so, and Shunsui’s jaw clenches, only barely managing to suppress a groan. 

“There’s the fact that you didn’t want anyone to see you-- but then, you could’ve just been trying to be discreet. You’re also suppressing your spiritual energy and people only do that if there’s something worth suppressing,” she says thoughtfully, biting her lip. Shunsui wonders what it’d be like to bite it himself, to tug that plump bottom lip between his teeth and-- “Such a shame we aren’t alone. I’d love to see what you’re holding back.”

Shunsui laughs, a little hoarsely.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he says roughly. Observant little thing, wasn’t she? “Anything else?”

She reaches out, trailing her fingers down his kimono, the light touch causing heat to slide through his veins. Such delicate hands, he can’t help but imagine how pretty they’d look pinned beneath his.

“Then there’s the kimono you wear over your shihakusho. I’m not an expert on shinigami regulations, but I have worked jobs that required me to wear a uniform before, and the only people who can get away with dress code violations are those far enough up the chain of command that no one can tell them what to do,” she continues lightly, tone still conversational. Shunsui would think she were completely oblivious to the effect she was currently having on him, had it not been for the subtle glint in her eyes. “I have to admit, it was your kimono that caught my eye in the first place.”

“Is that so?” He asks.

“What can I say?” She laughs, an endearing sound, bright and charming. He wants to see what other sounds he can tease from those soft, pink lips of hers. “I guess I like a man who isn’t afraid to wear clothes with pink blossoms on them.” 

Shunsui hums, low and pleased.

“And may I know the name of the woman with such superior taste?” He asks.  He brings his hands to her waist, slowly stroking the skin there with his thumbs, and watches hungrily as her lips part to let out the tiniest gasp. 

“W-what?” She stutters, cheeks flushing a pretty red as her composure slips for the first time. Shunsui’s smile widens and leans in, pressing a kiss against the angle of her jaw.

“Your name, sweetheart,” he says against her ear, causing her breath to hitch.

She seems to hesitate for the briefest moment, gaze lingering on his kimono before looking back up at him. 

“Sakura,” she tells him. “You can call me Sakura.”

Sakura. Pink blossoms.

Dear god, he was an idiot.

“I’m an idiot,” Shunsui repeated out loud incredulously. To think he’d never made the connection because of a fake name-- a fake name that he’d all but handed to her!

It’d been smart of her, he acknowledged grudgingly, but then he’d known since the start she was intelligent. The elaborate hairstyle and the makeup had been enough to disguise her features and time had done the rest, fading his memories until his only real, concrete recollection of that night was the name she’d given him.

Until now at least, when a random bout of nostalgia caused him to realize Aizen Shiori looked an awful lot like Sakura, the girl who’d managed to charm him in under ten minutes, who he’d spent an intensely enjoyable night with, before waking up to find her gone the next morning.

He’d found the money he’d paid her tucked back in his wallet, along with a carefully packaged bag containing two tiny cakes, a small container of healing salve, a roll of bandages, and a pair of new socks, hidden in the pocket of his robes in the most bizarre (and impressive) act of reverse robbery he’d ever experienced. 

Healing salve and a roll of bandages. Shunsui could’ve kicked himself for not making the association sooner.

What kind of prostitute returns your money and sends you away with a care package? The answer should’ve been obvious--someone who’s not a prostitute. 

“I realize that, but what did you do this time?” Juushiro asked. 

“I just realized something that I should’ve realized a long time ago,” he said distractedly. “Excuse me, Juu-chan. There’s someone I need to talk to.”

~~

Shiori two hundred years ago: I think I was pretty forgettable :) On the off chance we run into each other again, there’s no way he’ll remember me 

Shiori two hundred years later: shit he remembered me

[high-petroleum]

I've been wondering for a while, what are some Michael Afton headcanons that you have? Thanks for answering!

1) Michael likes cardio, in fact it’s part of his run 8 miles plan; every day, around the afternoon: he would walk around town. It’s been done so many times where it’s been considered normal amongst the neighborhood. Michael even had a schedule about it on the fridge. Elizabeth and her Funtime pals actually had to follow it as to not arise suspicions but of course it ended badly with spaghetti-gate

2)Mike’s hair didn’t really change that much from when he was a child to an adult, well sightly. When he was a kid; his hair was often greasy and dark but he always styled it into a Rick astley esque pompadour but it mainly remained a little messy. As he grew older, his hair became neater and the Rick Astley theme to his hair was still thriving.

3) After his scooping, he began to use illusion discs to hide his identity, this often gave him the chance to get multiple jobs at Freddy’s locations simply due to him just modifying his disc appearance (giving a different nose, eye color etc.)

4)He did go to college and got an associate’s degree in accounting; which is kind of useless for the work he does but it is useful when it came to budgeting his costs at home, especially when he’s the only afton there. It also became useful when he managed a restaurant in FNAF 6.

5)He doesn’t like Fazbear Entertainment at all, often gave sarcastic remarks about it. Essentially it took away the family owned In family owned business, hell, after his brother died and Michael was charged with accidental manslaughter; Not only William tried to cover it up but it was Fazbear entertainment that testified that Norman “fell” into the jaws, because “he was curious” which essentially solidified Michael’s distaste in the company. He also always felt Freddy’s was much better off in Henry’s hands because Henry at least understood the legacy of the company and what it represented. It was mainly William’s actions and Personally to Mike, the corporate douchebags that bought Freddy’s which caused the name to be so tarnished.

6) Mike mostly is self taught in engineering, he sort of had to figure it out while doing his undercover work at the many Freddy’s locations that he’s been at.

7)He rarely gets angry to be honest, he never truthfully expressed it, usually he would express his frustrations through sarcasm but other than that, he didn’t really get mad at people.

8) The “You’re the band” story did happen but way differently; Michael did help a mother find her son, that son was supposed be the original person selected to be in place Gabriel but of course that just doomed Gabriel even more.

9)He’s often reclusive, doesn’t talk to people that much, actually doesn’t talk much in general but whenever he does. He sounds awkward, almost robotic and it doesn’t help with his nonchalant expression as well ( made some kids question reality whether terminator is real or not) but overall to his neighbors; they find it somewhat endearing despite his awkward behavior. Whenever they say Hi, he isn’t afraid to say hi back because they aren’t really directly involved in his life but if they try prying into his personal or have romantic interest; that’s where his reclusiveness takes action and shuts it down because he has this deep fear; of course he doesn’t show it, in fact he would seem emotionless and apathetic if he were to reject any questions or romantic gestures but this deep fear is mainly a reason why he doesn’t let anybody into his life because generally that has been in his life? Henry, Crying Child (Whom I call Norman), Elizabeth, His Mother; all of them either disappeared or were killed so initially he felt that if someone else came into his life, it wouldn’t end well. Hence his non committal behavior.

10) he didn’t exactly hate his father; he hates what he’s become but nonetheless Michael, at the beginning still had loyalty to his father, cared for him even. This was a result of his abuse when he was younger; it caused him to stay somewhat loyal and caring to his father despite being hurt physically and emotionally; he often coped through jokes and pranks which unfortunately took his brother’s life. It was sort of a similar to Elizabeth in the books where yes, he is aware that he was abused but he still dismissed it in a way but unlike Elizabeth: as he progressed through the events that were FNAF 1-6, he started to go on this personal journey and as he discovers more of the horrible deeds his father has done, he starts to question himself and starts to view his father in a different light; a negative one. This hindered Michael’s affection for his father tremendously and it went from simple damage control for possessed robots to somewhat of a crusade to stop William; not kill him but to stop him, convince him that this is wrong because despite losing that respect, he sort of still held out hope that his father would listen. Another thing to point out for Michael is that he is similar to his father in every way, he wants to put his family back together but not in the way his father puts it where he attaches souls to metal scraps. Michael had a different definition, twisted William’s original words and made them to fulfill a more positive motive. this was a definition he made after he became a corpse; to put someone back together, it’s not by scrap metal an bolts but by truly freeing them and allowing them to remember they are because remnant had this effect that depletes memory to literally just a motive. This was the reason why Elizabeth doesn’t remember who she is, it essentially got to the point where the programming became a substitute to her true personality. This was also the reason why michael kept his logbook to remember who he is, to remind himself that his name is Mike and sometimes he struggled remembering it, constantly writing “My name is…” but he still held onto himself as he continued even to the end.

[sunnyville36]

Mamihlapinatapai {part 2}

Thank you all so sooo much for the kind feedback on part 1! Part 2 is coming at you now! 💜

Need to catch up? {overview} {part 1}

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: injuries, mentions of death/war/murder, emotionally abusive parents

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4.5k

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Mamihlapinatapai - (noun, Yagán origin) a silent acknowledgement and understanding between two people, who are both wishing or thinking the same thing (and are both unwilling to initiate)

A Summer’s Ball  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

The next few days were just as tumultuous as the first, Chan and Korenna slowly progressing from treating each other with complete silence, to short-lived bickering, to finally being able to hold a civil conversation for at least a few minutes.  You escorted them to more ceremony preparation meetings, then to councils with the foreign affairs ministers, the historians, the priests, each one stressing how this union would be a stepping stone in your two kingdoms’ relations and they should think of it as a huge honor.  You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the both of them, being reminded over and over how their lives were simply a means to an end, to be controlled at the whim of their fathers’ aspirations.

A turning point finally came when the three of you visited the city surrounding the palace grounds, the prince refusing to miss his weekly visit to the village market.  Chan loved to interact with his people, to support their businesses, to hear their grievances, to show he cared.  You followed behind the two of them as you walked through the plaza lined with stalls, Chan waving to each of the merchants, Korenna watching him with a mix of reservation and admiration.

“Your people seem to be thriving.  I wish I could say the same about our villages.”

You eyed Chan, knew he was forcing himself to hold back a biting remark, likely about how if Lajor’s people were currently suffering, it was the monarchy’s fault.  He finally came up with a question, trying his best to keep the conversation going.

“Have you brought up your concerns to your father?”

“I’ve tried, but he doesn’t want to listen to anything I have to say.  All he cares about is what he thinks is right, no matter who suffers for it.”

Chan nodded solemnly, “I can understand that.”

Korenna gave him a somber look and appeared to have something more she wanted to say, but was promptly dragged off by a small child wanting to show her his father’s bakery stall.

You nudged Chan’s arm.  “See, she’s not so bad, Your Highness.  If you give her a chance.”

He started in the direction of the princess, turning to walk backwards and smile at you with his arms out in a lighthearted shrug, “If you say so.”

***

That evening the king was hosting a ball, to celebrate the engagement of the prince.  You’d helped Chan dress, his midnight blue velvet ensemble and dark hair set off against the silver crown he wore making him look more like a deity of the moon than an earthly prince.  Then you had gone to assist Korenna.  You couldn’t deny how beautiful she looked as you watched her from across the room, her champagne colored gown and perfectly curled blonde hair standing out against the relatively muted colors worn by the other attendees.  She was standing away from Chan, talking amongst a group of noblemen’s wives and other high powered ladies, but her eyes never strayed far from his back as he talked with Minho and some other knights around a wooden table in the corner.

“You look quite stunning tonight, Y/n.  Purple is definitely your color,” came a deep voice on your left, and you turned to see Prince Felix approaching you, his small frame clothed in a breathtaking deep red suit.  The younger brother of Prince Minho, Felix had the sunniest personality of anyone you’d ever met, quite contrasting to his voice but in perfect harmony with the bright smile he flashed as he reached your side.  It had been several months since you’d last seen him, his studies as apprentice to your kingdom’s Chief Healer taking him to the academy in the highlands far away from the city.

“Prince Felix!” you exclaimed, arms reaching to pull him into a quick hug.  “I could say the same for you; that red suits you perfectly, Your Grace.”

Felix laughed, releasing you from his hold.  You and he had been close friends since childhood, ever since, at the age of 5, he’d stepped on the hem of your skirt and you’d pushed him into a mud puddle, causing guards to rush over and attempt to have you arrested.  His mother and the queen had stepped in, calming the guards as you remorsefully reached out your hand to help him up only to be pulled down into the mud next to him, the both of you dissolving into fits of laughter.

“I’ve missed the city.  And it seems the city has missed me for all the excitement it’s spun up in my absence.”  His eyes followed your gaze to where Korenna had made her way over to Chan, and watched as she led him out to the quiet balcony overlooking the gardens.  “How are you taking all of this?”

“I’m fine, Your Grace.  What reason would I have not to celebrate such a momentous occasion?”

Felix fixed you with a knowing look, but dropped the subject, content to stand with you at the edge of the dance floor.

“Y/n, I thought I told you not to let Christopher and the princess out of your sight,” came King Bang’s voice from behind you.  “The last thing we need is for them to get into one of their verbal sparring matches with the whole court present.”

You turned, lowering your head to the king.  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

You left Felix next to the king, his expression turned to one of distaste at his new company, and walked quietly out onto the balcony where the couple was talking.

They were standing closer together than you had ever seen them, leaning forward against the railing’s edge.  They seemed to be deep in conversation, Korenna actually reaching her hand up to place it on Chan’s back.  It didn’t feel right watching them without their knowledge, so you cleared your throat loudly, causing both their heads to snap up.  Chan looked slightly embarrassed, his head tilting forward, but Korenna’s expression was almost unreadable.  She stood staring at you for a few  seconds, then pursed her lips, nodded her head to Chan, and walked back into the main ballroom as you approached him.

“I apologize, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Trust me, Y/n, you didn’t,” came Chan’s tired reply.  You wanted to know if she had upset him, to know how you could comfort him.

“What were you discussing?”

A soft song started to make its way out from the half-open door.  Chan looked up at you, completely ignoring your question.

“Dance with me?”

Several seconds went by in silence.  He reached out his hand, eyes imploring you to say something, to say yes.

This was dangerous.  You couldn’t think of a worse position to be caught in, dancing with a betrothed man far above your stature.  But you also couldn’t think of a way to say no to him.

You took his hand and he pulled you flush against him immediately.  You tried to resist the urge to place your head on his chest, but the feeling of being in his arms was too much, made you feel so safe.  So you laid your cheek there and felt a low hum come up through his chest.  It was quiet for a while, the two of you simply swaying back and forth, not doing any particular dance.  You felt his head rise from where it had been resting on top of your head.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but you look gorgeous tonight Y/n.”

“You told me that earlier, Your Highness.”

“I know.  I wanted to tell you again.”

Then he placed his head back down and you continued to spin in slow circles until the song ended.  He brought your movements to a stop, taking your hand and kissing the top of it as he leaned forward in an exaggerated bow, “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”

You looked at him with a small smile.  “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”

He returned your smile, turned, and walked back towards the party.  You felt your chest tighten, feeling a little too much like your dance had been his way of saying goodbye.

Thinly Veiled Threats  |  Kingdom of Gu, 6 years ago

“Watch out!”

You turned towards the direction of the voice just in time to see Chan break through the wooden fence in front of you, thrown off his horse by the force of the lance he just took to the chest.

The prince had just turned seventeen, which made him eligible to compete in the annual Four Kingdom Competition, where knights, lords, and even royalty from the continent’s four greatest kingdoms met to determine who among them would be crowned victor in a series of strength tests.  His father had of course insisted he enter on his first eligible year, which had led to the activity you were currently engaged in, training a boy who was used to classrooms, libraries, and diplomacy lessons the intricacies of hand to hand combat.  The tasks ranged from archery to sword fighting, wrestling to jousting, and while Chan knew his way around a broadsword and shield, it was clear that the latter of those was not going to be Chan’s strong suit.

You walked calmly towards where he sat on the ground, knowing he would only be more embarrassed by any attempts to rush to his aide.  He was sitting up, so you could tell he wasn’t badly injured, but his right hand still stretched across his abdomen to clutch at his left side.  He’d been hit there at least three times now, and if you had to guess, what was once a bad bruise was more likely a patch of broken skin at this point.

Voices floated around you as you pushed your way through the small crowd that had gathered around him, many asking the prince if he was alright or giving unsolicited advice on how to avoid the outcome he seemed to be cursed with.  You picked up on the voice of a squire, one who served the boy who had knocked Chan down most recently, as he nudged the side of the older boy’s arm.

“You could have gone a little easier on him, you know.  His mother just died.”

Great.  Just what you needed; a physically and emotionally wounded Chan.

“Alright, give him some room everyone.  His Highness is fine; go back to your own practicing.”  You shooed away the stragglers and knelt so Chan could wrap his free arm around your neck, hoisting him up and slowly making your way to the infirmary tent.  Leaning him against the side of a cot, you reached for the clean cloth and distilled vodka; this was going to hurt like a bitch, but Chan could take it.

“You’re pulling back too much and too early, it leaves your side vulnerable,” you said, carefully easing off his ripped tunic so you could tend to his wound.

He stayed silent for a few moments, fingers gripping harshly against your shoulder as you cleaned the cut and wrapped a bandage around his midsection.

“I…,” he trailed off, seeming to struggle to find the words he was looking for.  “I’m a coward.  I’m a failure and a coward and everyone knew it except me, until just now.”

His words knocked the wind out of you.  You knew he was ashamed (entirely unnecessarily) when he couldn’t hold back the tears at his mother’s funeral while his father maintained his perfectly stoic expression (that heartless bastard), knew he was self-conscious about his fighting abilities, but you’d never heard him express that insecurity so directly before.

“Your Highness,” you spoke softly but forcefully, hands cupping his face to make him look you in the eye, “you are one of the bravest men I know.  You have one of the hardest burdens a person can bear on your shoulders, have had it since you were born, and you carry it with grace and dignity and compassion.  You inspire me and countless others every day with your strength and generosity.  You are not a coward.”

He looked back at you, and suddenly you felt yourself being engulfed in his embrace, his legs parting to pull you close to him.  He wrapped his arms tightly around your chest, his head pressing into the crook of your neck.  Slowly you brought your hands up and began to rub small circles on his bare back.  This was the most emotion he’d shown since that night you stood beside his mother’s bed, watching as he held her hand and whispered all the things he wanted to tell her one last time.  You were a little overwhelmed, but mostly happy, happy that maybe he was feeling again.  Eventually you heard his quiet voice next to your ear, “Thank you, Y/n.”

Then he released you from his hold, donned his shirt, and walked back to the jousting pitch.  You watched him go, until a deliberate cough came from behind you, shattering your reverie.

“I suppose he’s lucky to have you.”  The words spilled from the king’s mouth, his signature gravelly voice seeming to chase all other sound from the tent.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, I hadn’t noticed you were here,” you spoke, bending into a curtsey.

“It seems it is quite easy for the two of you not to notice others when you think you are alone.”

You blinked, unsure of where the king was going with his remarks.  He sidled up to you, close enough you could hear him at a whisper.

“I may have owed your family a debt, but that has been repaid ten-fold.  I know my son, know he would never be led astray of his responsibilities unless you gave credence to those thoughts in his head, fed his intimate physical desires.  So do not delude yourself into thinking you can take him from me, little servant girl.  And if he ever does come to me, asking me to set aside our laws, our traditions, so he can marry you, I’ll know what you have done, and you will never see the light of day again.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Satisfied with your response, he left you there, his words staining your mind like the bloody cloth you clutched in your hands.

The Hunt  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

How he managed to get his father to agree to this you had no idea.  But Chan always was very convincing when he needed to be.

You were preparing for a day’s long hunt.  In all honesty it was an excellent idea; it would give Chan space to be himself after having been shut inside the palace for two weeks, preparing for his impending nuptials.  Normally this was one of your favorite activities to do with Chan and the knights; getting to ride, to spend time in the woods, maybe use your bow.  But the one condition of the king’s agreement had been that Korenna was going too.

She’d been different with you, with everyone really, since that night on the balcony, avoiding attempts to make small talk and speaking harshly when she made requests.  You didn’t want your relationship with her to turn sour, seeing as you’d soon be serving her for the rest of her life (and yours), so you held your tongue and pressed on with your duties.

Chan’s black courser and your chestnut palfrey were saddled, and you were in the midst of preparing a well-tempered white mare for the princess.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

You looked up, seeing the dark head of hair and upside down smirk belonging to Prince Minho smiling down at you as he leaned over your kneeling frame.  “Good morning, Your Grace.”

You were not as close to Minho as you were to Felix, but you had always gotten along well, your similar sense of humor and affinity for archery solidifying your friendship.

He offered his hand to pull you up, which you accepted.  “I’m glad you will be joining us on this outing, Y/n.  I’m not sure I could handle Chan and Korenna on my own, even with 5 other knights to accompany me.”

You hummed in agreement, finishing attaching the bridle around the mare’s head.  “I’m not sure you could either, Your Grace.”

Minho let out his signature high pitched laugh as the rest of your party approached, and the two of you maneuvered to the front of the pack as you set off towards the nearby woods.  You all rode in silence for a while, riding not typically being an activity that required much talking, until you heard Korenna speak from her position next to Chan in the middle of your group.

“So, who is the best at the strength tasks of the Four Kingdom Competition?”

A strange question to ask so out of the blue, but you supposed it was somewhat relevant to the situation at hand.

“His Highness is an excellent swordsman,” you replied, looking back slightly in their direction.

“Sir Jeongin has given us all a run for our money in the wrestling ring,” you heard a voice from the back say.  He must be one of the other knights in your party.

Chan replied next, “Minho is a skilled horseman, beats me in the joust nearly every time.”

Minho’s eyebrows rose up at that, smirking as he rounded out the answers, “And Y/n here is an expert marksman.  She’s the best I’ve ever seen with a bow.”

You thanked him mentally, hoping he could read it in the look on your face.  You weren’t about to boast about your own talents to the princess, but it was nice to know that she was now aware you weren’t just some lovesick girl who followed the prince around, that you actually took your responsibilities seriously.

“Really?  And who taught you about archery, Y/n?”  You thought you heard a touch of menace in her normally high pitched voice, but brushed it off.

“I’ve had many teachers, Your Grace, but the first was my father.”

“How very… non-traditional.  Where is your father now?  I’d love to meet him.”

You saw Chan and Minho tense in their saddles, well aware of what your answer would be.

“He died, Your Grace.”

“Oh,” said Korenna, her voice noticeably softer now, “I apologize for bringing up a sore subject.”

“It’s alright, Your Grace,” you replied.  “It was a long time ago.  You couldn’t have known.”

An uncomfortable silence fell on the group then, but luckily your first planned stop was not far ahead.  A small grove of trees surrounding a clearing was where you usually began the hunt, splitting off in different directions and meeting back there before sundown.  But because you had the princess with you today, it was a more laid back affair, and you’d planned to have a picnic of sorts before you continued in earnest.

Everyone set about unpacking the sacks that carried your meal for the day.  You uncorked your canteen, taking a sip before heaving an exasperated sigh.

You’d forgotten to bring extra water for the horses.

You called over to Chan, where he stood spreading out a blanket for Korenna to sit on.

“Your Highness, I’m going to the creek to get water for the horses.”

Chan looked up and you could see the smile on his face from where you stood across the grove.  “I’ll go with you!” he said happily, only to have his arm tugged back by the princess next to him.

“You are not a servant, Chan.  I’m sure Y/n can go by herself.”

Your loud conversation had caught the attention of the rest of the group, who were all looking over at you in interest.  You were surprised by her bluntness, but she did have a point.  “Her Grace is right, I don’t need you to accompany me, Your Highness.  I simply wanted to tell you where I was going.”

Chan gave a side glare at Korenna, but agreed.  “Fine, but you shouldn’t go alone.  Sir Jeongin - “

A tall boy, clad in the red, black, and gold uniform of your knights, walked over to the prince.   He was no more than eighteen, must have only just taken his oath.  You remembered his name from the earlier conversation about the strength tests, impressed he was making a name for himself so early.

“ - please accompany Y/n to the stream to fetch water for the horses.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

So the two of you set off, leaving the rest to their meals.  You didn’t really need a knight for protection, but your heart warmed at the gesture of Chan not wanting you to go alone.  You arrived at the bank of the creek and began filling some extra pouches you had brought with water.

“It’s so much quieter here,” Jeongin commented absentmindedly.

Despite the sound of the water running, you agreed it did seem calmer here than in the grove you came from.  As you knelt by the edge of the stream, you noticed large patches of grass surrounding some nearby trees had been pressed down.  Curious, you walked over to the area, observing the singed ground and muddy boot prints on the rocks, telltale signs of human presence.  You hadn’t run into anyone else on your walk over, but maybe there were some others out riding today.  Raising your head, you called to your companion, “Sir Jeongin!  Were there any other hunting parties out today?”

“Not that I know of, Miss,” Jeongin replied, his expression revealing he was rather confused by your question.

You looked around again, and that was when you noticed the torn piece of blue fabric latched to a jagged branch on a nearby tree.  Your blood ran cold and you grabbed Jeongin’s arm, breaking into a run.

“We need to get back to them.  Now.”

You’d made it about half way back to the grove when you heard a scream, you and Jeongin sprinting to reach the clearing.  But when you arrived, the scene was entirely not what you expected.

Your mind had immediately gone to the Lajorans when you spotted that piece of cloth on the tree.  But here you stood, watching men clad in your own colors raise their swords to clash with the group of knights who’d accompanied you and the royals.  Your eyes frantically searched among the chaos, looking for Chan, but before you could spot him you noticed Korenna, hiding alone behind a large rock at the edge of the treeline.  You pulled Jeongin back behind a tree, gesturing in her direction.

“Do you see the princess over there?  You’re going to grab her, get on a horse, and ride back to the palace now.”

Jeongin was looking at you with wide, scared eyes; his mouth was open, not making a sound.

You shook his shoulder.  “Sir Jeongin, do you understand me?  Do not look back at us, just take the princess and get her to safety.  I need you to do this.”

Your words seemed to finally reach him, and he set his mouth in a straight line.  “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good.  Go.  And don’t look back.”

He left your spot behind the tree and you turned back to the action in the grove, still trying to find the prince.  Finally your eyes landed on two men standing back to back, swords flying as they blocked the attack of about 6 different men.

Chan and Minho.

You started towards them, reaching for your own sword, when you spotted someone perched in a tree right outside the circle of men.  The attackers started to pull back from around the two princes, and you could see exactly who the archer had in his line of sight.

You screamed his name, sprinting to cross the clearing and threw your body in front of him, arms outstretched.

You felt a sharp pain in your left shoulder as you fell against Chan’s chest, his arms coming up to catch you.

“Y/n!  Y/n!”

Trumpets were blaring from the direction of the castle as Minho dragged Chan back, still desperately clutching you in his arms.  The attackers were dispersing and you heard the sound of a voice saying “Chris”; it took a moment for you to realize it was your own.

“I’m here, Y/n, I’m here.  Just hold on please.  You’re going to be okay, just please hold on.”

The last thing you saw were his eyes as your vision went black.

Of Flower Buds and Roots  |  Kingdom of Gu, 16 years ago

“Mother, when will they be here?”

You were standing in the open-air courtyard at the front of the palace, your mother’s hands on your shoulders.  The two of you had moved to the palace a few years ago, when your mother had gotten a job as a servant there after the war ended.  Today, you were told, would be the day you were to start your position there, as personal attendant to the young crown prince.

“I’m sure soon darling.  Remember we never rush royalty.”

As you waited, your eye was caught by a small boy standing with a large scary looking man.  He looked to be about your age and was holding a tiny bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.  The man seemed to be trying to take them away, but the boy clutched them to his chest.  A woman who you thought you’d seen before approached them, glaring at the man, who backed away from the boy as she took his hand.  Then, they started walking towards you.

Your mother tightened her grip on your shoulders, bending into a curtsey and pushing you down with her.  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“The pleasure is ours,” came the queen’s pleasant voice.  She knelt down between you and the boy.

“You must be Y/n.  This is my son Christopher, the prince.  You will serve as his attendant.”

You stared at the boy, his eyes even with yours, hair mussed and shirt covered in dirt.

“He doesn’t look like a prince.  He looks like me”

“Y/n!” your mother gasped, the queen chuckling slightly and calming your mother with a hand on her arm.

“You’re right, he might not look like one yet.  But it’s going to be your job to help him become one.  Do you think you can do that?”

You pondered her question and finally said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She smiled and stepped aside, placing her hands on Chan’s back and pushing him forward.

“Hi Y/n!” the boy said excitedly.  “My name’s Chris.  Or Chan.  Either’s fine!  I brought you these flowers!  I thought they might look pretty in your hair.”

He extended his tiny fist holding the flowers and you took one from the bunch, pulling back your hair and putting the flower behind your ear.

Chan’s face immediately lit up in the brightest smile you’d ever seen, his eyes crinkling cutely.  “I was right!”

From that moment on, you decided there was nothing you wouldn’t do to see that smile on his face.

{part 3}

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Love is in the Lines

Nesta Archeron x Cassian - Tattoo Convention Oneshot

Nesta loses Cassian at a tattoo convention.

Written for Nessian month. @illyrianet

Prompt 1: Tattoo Artist

Prompt 2: We came to the…together, and now you’re lost.

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2319 words

*******

“Cassian, I swear to the mother, when I find you…” Nesta grumbled to herself for the fourth, no it was the fifth, time in the last twenty minutes.

She pushed through the herds of people crowding the aisle, trying her best to scour every booth for her missing boyfriend.

One moment, he had been standing behind her waiting as she scrutinized a certain design, the next, she turned back around, and he had disappeared.

Deciding she wasn’t going to find him in this row, she turned the corner and began walking down the next aisle starting her search over again.

If she was lucky, she would spot his massive frame sticking out above the clusters of people, but so far luck wasn’t on her side because she’d been walking around the convention hall for almost half an hour now searching for him. Nesta passed each booth looking at the artists and the customers, but they were all strangers.

Getting to the end, she took one last scan over the heavily tattooed convention-goers—most having several visible piercings in their ears, noses, and sporadic other places on the face that she thought would be excruciating to pierce—and wondered what the hell she was doing.

Sighing heavily, Nesta turned and started walking down the next aisle.

Two years ago, if someone had told Nesta she would be wandering around a tattoo convention, she would’ve laughed in their face at the absurdity of it.

A year ago, she’d have rolled her eyes and said that even her ink-covered boyfriend who made her realized she didn’t hate all tattoos, wouldn’t have been able to convince her to spend a day surrounded by the buzzing machines and colorfully covered patrons.

Last week, she considered it.

Being with Cassian had made her learn a lot about herself; one of those things being the fact that she found all of his ink incredibly attractive.

There was something about the way the ink stood out on his tanned skin that made it look like it was supposed to be there. She couldn’t even imagine her boyfriend without his tattoos. The one time she tried, she made a mental image of his arms without the swirling geometric designs and his back without the large bat-like wings, not to mention all the other little designs he had strewn across his body suddenly gone—and she was surprised to find herself dismayed at the lack on ink.

One night, when Nesta was idly tracing some of the lines across his chest, she confessed to Cassian that she wanted to get a small tattoo of her own.

At first, he had been shocked. As much as she loved his designs, he knew she still looked at most people’s tattoos with distaste. In her words, “most of the tattoos I see look like someone stumbled into a shop at four in the morning, drunk out of their mind, and picked out the first thing they saw. And the artist just went with it.”

But Nesta listened whenever he talked about his own designs; about how they all meant something to him. How every design held a memory. Every time he looked at them—whether he was intentionally studying them or when he caught a glimpse of one out of the corner of his eye—he would think about why he got it. Each tattoo made him remember a story, or a person, or some sort of inspiration.

They were reminders, self-expressions, and memories.

Even the one he got when he and his brothers were wasted and thought getting matching tattoos—done by each other, of course—was an amazing idea. He always pointed out that particular tattoo whenever Nesta explained her disdain for the “impulsive permanent decisions” saying that even though the design isn’t great, every time he looks at it he laughs and thinks of the great time he has when he’s with his brothers.

So when Nesta told him she wanted to get a tattoo, Cassian was more than surprised. But as soon as his shock wore off, he got the broadest smile on his face and immediately started asking her questions. What did she want? How long had she wanted one? Color or Black and White? Where on her body? Question after question, and Nesta was glad that Cassian had been thrilled.

Smirking, she remembered what he had told her when she asked him if he thought she would look good with a tattoo.

“Good?” She’d never seen him look more ravenous, already picturing what she would look like with ink covering her body. He cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “Nes, sweetheart, you are already so gorgeous, but, fuck,” he groaned, “you would look so fucking stunning that I don’t know how I’d ever be able to keep my hands off you.”

Then he made sure to show her just how much he liked the idea of tattoos covering her body, using his tongue to trace potential designs across every inch of her skin.

The next day, Cassian showed Nesta the poster for the tattoo convention happening soon which brought dozens of artists together to showcase their work and allow for people to get tattoos done, and admire the different aesthetics and designs.

When Nesta agreed to go with him, she made it very clear she was just looking for inspiration. It was practical, she reasoned, to go to see all kinds of designs in one place so she could get a sense of what exactly she wanted.

She figured he would be attached to her side, wanting to show her everything and point out his favorites.

The last thing she expected was to lose Cassian in the crowd.

Nesta finished eyeing another row of booths, still no sign of her missing, infuriating, boyfriend.

“C’mon Nesta, he said” she muttered as she walked. “It’ll be fun, he said. You’ll get inspired and I’ll be right there with you, he said.”

Nesta just about turned the corner when a booming laugh caught her attention. Zeroing in on the sound she caught sight of Cassian—well, his hair really. The long, dark, wavy strands were pulled up into a bun on top of his head, making his strong jawline covered in artfully groomed stubble stand out.

Nesta sometimes found it hard to stay mad at Cassian because no matter what she was upset about, he always found a way to make her smile. Even unintentionally. Like right now, part of her wanted to strangle him for vanishing on her and making her scour the convention hall for him, but hearing the sound of his laugh softened her and she allowed herself to smile at him before quickly schooling her features and making her way over to where he was sitting.

Sitting.

He was sitting in a reclining chair while the booth’s tattoo artist leaned over him to draw a new piece of artwork on his skin.

Nesta was going to kill him. Seething, she marched towards him.

He brought her here, he disappeared, and then he went off to get a new tattoo—without her.

Cassian’s eyes lit up as he spotted her. “Nes! Check it out, look who’s here.”

For the first time, Nesta looked at who exactly was inking her boyfriend.

“Az?” She blinked, momentarily losing her frustration. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

Azriel dipped his needle into the ink again and let out a low chuckle. Once he deemed enough ink was added, he gave Nesta a rueful smile. “I assumed this one,” he nodded at Cass who was still grinning at her “would show up today, but I thought I could get a couple of hours of actual clients before he took over my booth. I didn’t expect to see you here, though” Azriel concentrated on tracing another line but raised an eyebrow in her general direction.

“Yeah, well, this one,” she imitated Azriel’s tone and nodded at Cassian, “wanted to show me what one of these conventions was like, but apparently he decided it was better to run off and get another tattoo.”

Setting her bag down, Nesta sunk into the chair beside Cassian and crossed her arms.

“I’ve been wandering around for more than thirty minutes looking for you, asshole”

Az snorted, but didn’t comment, just kept drawing something that Nesta couldn’t quite see.

“Aw babe, don’t be mad,” Cassian leaned over as best he could and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she could turn away. Not that she didn’t want a kiss from him, but she was still upset at his antics. “You were so absorbed looking at that lady’s designs I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

Nesta’s anger melted a little at that. They had been walking around for a while when Nesta spotted a particular design she liked. She dragged Cassian over to a booth hosted by a woman whose arms were covered in colorful images and had her hair pulled back in a bright bandanna. She had a handful of binders on the table filled with designs and photos of healed artwork.

It was the minimalistic stack of books that had caught Nesta’s eye from across the aisle. She followed the single line as it swirled around creating the image. She must have been more lost in thought than she realized if Cassian deemed it best not to interrupt her.

“And,” He gave her a wide grin, “I hoped I could find Az and convince him to tattoo me for free.”

Rolling her eyes at Cass’ satisfied look and Az’s long-suffering one, she watched as people passed by the booth. Some looked through the design books, others paused to watch for a moment as Az worked. Turning back to face Cassian, she saw he was already looking at her.

“Fine. I’m still annoyed, though.” She leaned in closer, “What are you getting?”

Now Cassian’s face turned a little nervous. He still looked excited and happy and keen in the way he always looked when he watched her, but now he started to look a little worried, too.

“Before you freak out or get angry, let me explain.”

Nesta’s mind immediately went to worst-case scenarios. What could he be getting that he thought she would be angry? What would Azriel agree to ink that she should be upset about? Was it—

“Great way to start.” Azriel muttered from Cassian’s other side.

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to Nesta just as she stood up and walked around to peer over Azriel’s shoulder.

Az was putting the finishing touches on but she could see exactly what the image was.

It was delicate ‘N’ on the inner edge of his wrist.

Nesta didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything—she just stared at the design now permanently etched into her boyfriend’s skin.

Cassian cleared his throat and Azriel backed away to put his needles down and give them a moment of privacy. As much privacy as they could have in the small booth.

“It’s an N,” Obviously. “For you.” Obviously.

Nesta couldn’t drag her gaze away from the letter. All her anger and frustration faded away. She forgot how irritated she was with him, how upset she had been when she turned around and he was gone. She forgot the instant jolt of panic she felt when she thought she had lost him.

Nesta took in each line and curve of the tattoo and felt such an overwhelming feeling of love for this crazy, impulsive, wonderful man.

“You…” She finally looked up to see him watching her face carefully.

“What do you think?” He waited for her to say something, but after a moment of silence, he started rambling. “Is it too much? Do you like it? You don’t like it. It’s too much. If you don’t like it I can change it. I mean, I can see if Az can change it. I could get it covered up—”

“No!”

Nesta grabbed his worried face in her hands and kissed him fiercely. She tried to pour everything she was feeling into that kiss, and make him know that she did like it, she loved it. She loved him.

“No, don’t cover it up.” She pressed her forehead to his before pulling back and intertwining their fingers, using her grip to lift his arm to get a better view.

“So, you do like it?” A slow smile appeared on his face.

Nodding softly, she told him, “I do.” Nesta swallowed, another rush of emotion hitting her. “You really wanted to get something for me inked onto you? These things last forever you know.” She tried to make a joke, but she was still feeling overwhelmed.

She almost couldn’t believe that he wanted a piece of her, something to remind him of her constantly and forever. It was insane; totally impulsive and unbelievable, but the sweetest most loving gesture anyone had ever done for her.

Cassian used his fingers to tilt her chin up so he could look her in the eye. “Of course I wanted to. Every time I’ll see it, I’ll think of you.”

She kissed him again.

Breaking apart, Nesta slowly moved her finger around the letter, careful not to brush it and hurt him.

“Why here?”

He forced her to meet his stare as he said, “I wanted it over my pulse point because my heart beats for you.”

He kissed her this time and put everything he had into it. She brought one hand around behind his head, the other rested on his chest, and kissed him back with just as much passion.

“That’s so corny” she murmured against his lips

They broke apart, each breathing a bit heavily.

Cassian gave her a cheeky grin and winked.

“You love it. And didn’t you know, sweetheart,” he gave her one more peck on the lips, “we’re gonna last forever, too.”

*****

I know I’ve posted a lot of oneshots recently, but don’t worry, I’m absolutely still working on my longer fics. I’m just taking advantage of the inspiration as it hits me

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading

[rekrappeter]

finding a true love’s kiss

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: you couldn’t stand fred weasley, yet you were best friends with george weasley. it was a strange dynamic until you end up in detention with fred and he reveals a secret he has been hiding for years

warnings: not proofread, written weeks a part, inaccurate Harry Potter vocab probably, shitty ending

notes: this was originally for @lunalovecroft‘s writing challenge but I wrote one part like two months ago but hopefully it’s still legible to some extent. prompt used was “you can hate people and still think they’re hot”

"How long have you and George been friends?" Katie Bell aimed the question at you, diverting your attention from the burgundy rug underneath you to the curious eyes of your roommates anticipating your answer. You were all sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, creating a circle as you delved into the usual Friday night gossip session.

Pondering on the question for a second, you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, "since the beginning of time it seems."

"Yet you've never... did it?" The girls squealed around you, clapping their hands in excitement. With wide eyes, you denied the question to no end.

"Did I have sex with George?" You spluttered out, feeling your face flush, "absolutely not."

"Why not?" Angelina pushed, wanting to get more details from you.

"I'll have you know," you started, lifting yourself from the floor and making your way to your own single bed, "myself and George are only friends, that's it."

Angelina eyed Katie as you turned your back to them, stripping from your white buttoned-up shirt and replacing it with a cozy pyjama top. "What about Fred?"

The silence was deafening, no one dared to laugh or squeal this time around. You stared down at the white material dangling from your fingertips, a sickening feeling forming at the pit of your stomach. When you scoffed, the girls’ shoulders loosened and they let out a sigh of relief when you turned to them with an amused smile on your face. "Fred and I can’t even be in the same room together for longer than needs be, never mind long enough for us to... do the deed."

“I don’t know, y/n,” Katie drawled on, standing up and walking over to you, she squeezed your shoulders as she said, “I think it’s all the sexual tension building up.”

Pushing her away from you, you faked gagged in their direction, “You two are crazy.”

“I just don’t understand how you can be best friends with one twin, and hate the other one,” Katie laughed, changing into her own pajamas and climbing on top of her unmade bed. “But we see the way he is around you.”

“Yeah, an ignorant jackass,” you chuckled, flopping down onto the bed.

“More like a boy picking on the girl he has a crush on,” Angelina said.

“Please, don’t make me sick,” you shuffled into your bed, pulling the quilt up to your chin. Angelina switched the lights off, leaving you in complete darkness. You listened to her maneuver in the dark, trying to dodge the mess you all made. Hearing her muffle profanities made you giggle, assuming she walked into something or kicked a lifeless object.

“You know, y/n, you can hate people and still think they’re hot,” you rolled your eyes at Angelina’s words, twisting in your bed and letting out a loud exhale into the pillow.

“Thanks for the words of wisdom, but Fred Weasley is not hot,” your voice was filled with distaste, your lips smacking together loudly to get your point across but you knew it would fall on deaf ears. Your friends never listened when you told them over and over again that you weren’t hiding feelings for Fred, the relationship you had with him will forever be non-existence.

It was safe to say that the conversation from the night before had left a sour taste in your mouth. You were woken from a sweet slumber by the sound of birds chirping through the opened window; normally, you’d groan in annoyance but enjoy the sound. This morning, however, was different. It was as if the birds had clawed their way into your brain and changed a few wires, you climbed out of the bed with the sudden urge to crucify the loud creatures. One look at your face and Angelina was twirling on her heels and made her way out the dorm room, leaving you to your own devices.

Mornings were usually the quietest time of the day for you. You would get up and skip down to breakfast but this morning you couldn’t even work the courage to plaster a fake smile on your face as you entered the Great Hall and your mood remained foul at the sight of Fred Weasley sitting beside his twin brother. Heaving in a sigh, you sat across from George and started piling the breakfast onto your plate.

“Jesus, don’t you look awful this morning,” Fred’s voice echoed through your thoughts.

Snapping your head in the direction, your eyes narrowed, “you really want to start this early?”

“This started a long time ago,” Fred snapped back at you, the smirk on his face making you roll your eyes to the heavens. You ignored him, looking at George who has a pleading expression on his face.

“Don’t even say it,” you mumbled, reaching for the milk and pouring it into the bowl of cereal in front of you.

“There’s no point, I’m sick of saying it,” your best friend said.

You ate silently, listening to the twins bickering and there was something about Fred’s voice that was eating at you. Despite knowing him for years, it was familiar, more familiar than usual. You glanced up from your spoon, unconsciously connecting your gaze with Fred. You shocked yourself by not looking away or flipping him off, and it surprised you when it looked as if he fell into a dream. The longer you looked at him, a warning signal was going off in your head  and then something clicked in your brain. All the color drained from your face, fear striking through your body.

“y/n, what’s going on?” George asked, grabbing your hand but you pulled it back and scrambled from the table, walking quickly out of the hall. Everything came flashing back - everything you dreamt about last night.

“You’re being so damn annoying today,” you hissed, pushing Fred away from you as he reached across the table to grab something. It was just you and him in the kitchen of the Burrow, a place you spent numerous holidays but it was quieter than usual.

“You’re annoying every day,” Fred retorted, taking a bite of the red apple. He leaned against the countertop, looking at you flicking through the book in hand. You rolled your eyes, stalking away from him but you could hear his footsteps follow you, “Why do you hate me?”

You looked over your shoulder, brows creasing in confusion, “What?”

“Why do you hate me?” Fred repeated.

“I don’t hate you, Fred,” you muttered softly, feeling the air thicken around you. You turned to face him, watching him swallow awkwardly and you could see it in his eyes; he didn’t hate you either. Without another word being uttered, you closed the gap between your bodies and connected your lips to his.

“Fuck,” you muttered angrily, remembering the dream that soon turned into a nightmare. You’ve never dreamt about Fred before, he may have been in the background of some but he was never the main character, he was most definitely never the love interest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“That’s a lot of fucks given,” George chuckled, pushing his way past students walking towards The Great Hall, “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, G.”

George raised one brow in the air, his arms crossing in front of his chest as he examined you closely, “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” you popped, brushing your hair out of your face and stepping out to the courtyard, “Just remembered a nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?” You immediately shook your head, earning a laugh from George who nodded understandingly. “Most likely about my brother being a dickhead, aye?”

“Something like that,” you laughed, trying to push the lingering face of Fred to the back of your mind.

The day slowly passed by, your mood gradually getting worse throughout it. Every free second that your mind was preoccupied with studying or maintaining a conversation with someone, it wandered off to the same red-haired that starred in your dream last night. It wasn’t the usual thoughts that you had about Fred that consisted of wanting to punch him in the face or lock him in a broom cabinet. It was worse than that, you found yourself seeking him out and admiring how he twirled his quill between his fingers. The anger that usually washed over you whenever you looked at him was non-existence. It was more of a longing feeling and it terrified you.

You had spent the majority of the day in the library, not wanting to confront George and definitely not being able to be in the presence of Fred. You were slowly making your way back to the common room, trying to procrastinate it as much as possible hence why you took the long route around the castle. What you didn’t expect was to hear an explosion from up ahead and a strangled yell of annoyance but it was enough to put the puzzles together.

Just as you were about to round the corner, a figure stumbled into you and knocked you to the floor. You gripped out for the robes that made you lose your balance and brought them to the ground as well with them landing on top of you. A flash of red-hair made you groan and your eyes connected to Fred’s wide brown ones. It startled you, the image of him kissing you making your stomach nauseous.

“Shit, get up!” Fred exclaimed, jumping from your body and he waited for you but you were still in a shocked daze. He groaned and gripped your robes, pulling you up and running along the corridor with you trailing behind him. “In here,” he demanded, opening the door and pushing you inside with him.

The rough gesture brought you from daydream, realisation kicking in and you pushed Fred away from you. “What the hell?” you yelled, fixing your robes and hair that was a mess but you were consciously aware of them now.

“Shut up,” Fred demanded, covering your mouth with his hand. Your eyes widened again, feeling your heart hammer against your chest at the close proximity of his body to yours. Your eyes darted around his face, his eyes closed as he tried to listen intently to whoever was searching for him. The freckles danced along his nose, similar to how George’s were but with Fred, they were evenly spaced and spontaneous. His eyes lashes were full and long, you envied them. His lips were uneven, his top lip thin and his bottom lip full but they looked so kissable in that moment. When his eyes fluttered open after seconds of silence, your eyes lingered on his for a moment longer. You wondered if he felt the shift in emotion between you, or if it was one-sided. “I think it’s safe.”

You feigned a roll of your eyes and licked the palm of his hand, earning yourself a look of disgust from him. “I don’t even want to know what you did…” you mumbled, glancing around the room he pushed you in; an unused office except it was piled with broken chairs and tables, unopened boxes were on top of each other, some materials spilling from them.

“Of course you don’t, it’d be too much fun for you,” Fred retorted, stepping away from you and stumbling over a box behind him. You laughed loudly, ignoring him flipping you off as you opened the door to the office and stepped outside, only to be met with the peering eyes of Professor McGonagall.

“Professor..” you gasped, trying not to stare too much at the black ashes swept through her hair, “W-what happened to you?”

“Funny you should ask, Miss y/l/n,” her glasses hanging at the end of her nose, “I’m not at all surprised to see you, Mr. Weasley, however, y/n, I do hope that detention tomorrow will give you enough time to think about your actions.”

“P-Professor -,” you stuttered but you were cut off.

“This office looks like it needs a good tidy,” McGonagall peered into the damp and dark office, “It’ll at least keep you both busy on a boring Sunday, without magic.”

You stalked away from Fred when McGonagall excused you, the anger was bubbling inside you and you ignored his chuckles as he followed you back to the common room. “Wait up, y/n.”

You twirled on your heels, getting ready to give this man a piece of your mind when you looked over his shoulder to spot the other twin making his way towards you. A grin was on George’s face until he spotted the two of you, and it deflated just as quickly. “Where did you go?” He asked Fred, shoving his shoulder.

“I bumped into this headwrecker,” Fred pointed towards you. You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, “McGonagall found us.”

“And we both have detention tomorrow,” you deadpanned, glaring at the twins.

“Oh,” George mumbled.

“Oh? Oh? That’s all you can say,” you sighed in frustration, “Because you two are complete gits, I have to sacrifice a whole Sunday and spend it with this twat.”

“I don’t know which bit she’s more annoyed about,” Fred whispered under his breath to George, but you could hear him clearly. You groaned and marched towards the common room, not seeing George and Fred share a look of amusement.

“I’ll give you one guess,” George laughed, shoving his brother again and following after you.

The dreaded hour of the clock struck and you were leaning against the cold, brick wall with your feet stretched out in front of you. Your eyes were glaring at the locked door of the office you misfortunately got dragged into yesterday evening by your so-called enemy. Your developing feelings for Fred ceased before they even got the chance to blossom into something real. The trouble he caused you left a sour taste in your mouth, a permanent frown on your face.

“Miss y/l/n, good morning,” Professor McGonagall greeted you, her eyes scanning the empty corridor for a certain ginger twin but she sighed and shook her head disappointingly when he was nowhere to be seen. With a quick swift of her wand, the door glides open and you follow her into the room with a heavy exhale. “Please do use these hours wisely, maybe even consider building bridges.”

The frown deepened on your face, first because of what she had implied and then secondly because your eyes danced around the room and it looked even worse than what you remembered. Ignoring her previous implications, you questioned her desire to how tidy she wanted this room. With an echoed laugh, she turned her attention to the door barreling open and Fred slipping through the door, “Ah, Mr Weasley, just when I was starting to get worried.”

You turned your back to Fred, not having the energy to deal with him, and you missed the smile he sent your way. “You know I’d never disappoint you, Professor.” You rolled your eyes at the charm lacing through his tone, distancing yourself as far from him as you could and started stacking tables on top of one another. You grimaced at the layer of dust flying around you and tried to swat it with no success. The sound of Fred chuckling made you glance over your shoulder to see him standing there alone, the door clicking on McGonagall’s way out.

“What?” you snapped.

“What?” Fred mimicked you, sitting down on a random chair. He kicked his feet up on a desk, tilting back in the chair slightly and swinging his arms behind his head.

“So what? You’re not going to do anything?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “You got us into this mess.”

“You’ll actually soon realise that if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have got caught.” Raising your brow in his direction, you challenged his statement. “If you weren’t being weird and staying at the library, I wouldn’t have bumped into you and we wouldn’t have been in this office.”

You scoffed, “If you weren’t such a dimwit, we wouldn’t have been in this office.”

“Dimwit, wow,” Fred chuckled, “What age are you, five?”

You stared at him in disbelief, shaking your head and letting out an annoyed sigh, “Just do some fuckin’ work.” You turned on your heels, letting his next sentence fall on deaf ears as you blocked him out. You tried to ignore him as best as you could, the next thirty minutes passing by excruciately slow. It seemed that after five minutes of sitting, Fred got bored of his own company and started stacking chairs and pushing them into the corner with ease.

“Where are you spending the holidays?” Fred asked, breaking the silence.

“Why do you want to know?” you retorted earning a groan from him. You turned your attention to him, watching him lift his navy jumper over his head. Your eyes fell to the exposed area of his abdomen as his t-shirt got caught in the process, you felt yourself becoming flushed and looked away quickly before you got caught. “I’m going to my Grandma’s,” you gave in, finally answering his question.

“I thought Ginny mentioned something about you staying with us.”

“Y-yeah, that was the original plan but I have to go back home,” you mumbled, feeling the sides of your mouth twitch.

“Is everything okay?” Fred asked, he sat on the top of a desk, his legs dangling beneath him. You found yourself closing the gap between your body as the conversation went on, becoming weirdly comfortable with him. This was probably the longest you have ever been in the same room with Fred alone and the hatred that was so often accompanied between you was elsewhere. It felt strange.

You shrugged your shoulders, not knowing what has got into you, why were you opening up to Fred Weasley? “I got a letter from my parents last week, grandma is ill so..”

“That’s understandable,” Fred sighed, his eyes lingering on your features. You avoided his eye contact, feeling the air thicken between you, “Why do you hate me?”

The question caught you off guard and he could tell straight away when your eyes snapped to his and your brows creased together, “What?” you choked out.

“Why do you-”

“No, I heard you,” you snapped, running your fingers through your hair, “What made you ask that?”

Fred pouted, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he thought of a reasonable explanation as to why he was trying to change the dynamics between you. “Honestly, I don’t know, I just want to know why you hate me so much.”

“Fred, why do you hate me?”

“Because you hate me,” he chuckled. His words made you laugh, shaking your head and when he looked up at you, he couldn’t help himself but start laughing as well and soon enough, you both were laughing together in disbelief.

When the laughing died down, you were standing closer to him with a smile tugging on your lips, “You’re a bit of a twat,” you said.

“And you’re a bit of a princess,” he smirked, his brown eyes sparkling in amusement. It was easy to see the differences between Fred and George; in your eyes, they looked completely different. George’s smirk made you want to cradle his face whereas Fred’s smirk made you want to slap it off his face, with your own lips. The thought awoke you from the daze you were in, panic washing over you to see Fred’s features softening. He let out a shaking breathe before he wrapped his fingers around the material of the checkered shirt you were wearing. The startle movement made you stumble forward, but before you could protest, his lips found yours swiftly. For a split second, you felt yourself float away, to a place where there was none of this back and forward conflict. A place where you could relish in one another's company.

It was a happy place, but that was before your eyes shot open and a loud gasp ceased the moment. You pushed him away, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your shirt. "w-what the bloody hell was that?"

You wanted to smack the smirk off Fred's face, the amusement swirling in his eyes irking every bone in your body. "c'mon, it was bound to happen.."

Any ounce of respect that had developed in the last couple of hours that you gained for Fred completely vanished and he could tell by the way you were gawking at him in shock, “It was never going to happen,” you snapped. You stepped away from him, shaking your head.

“y/n, it’s all too expected,” Fred tried to defend him, sitting up from the table he was leaning on, “in all those movies and tv shows you watch, the two that hate each other the most usually fall in-”

“They’re movies, Weasley!” you shrieked, the walls shaking with the tone, “They’re fantasy, they’re… they’re not real life.”

“Why can’t they be?” Fred wondered aloud.

It took you a moment to process his question, your eyes shifting to look at him finally. You watched him gulped, his bottom lip sucked under his teeth, and it all fell into place. The vulnerable look on his face, the pleading in his eyes, made you soften slightly, your heart hammering against your chest. “D-don’t tell me you love me,” you whispered.

Fred’s shoulders lost all the tension they held, drooping down along with the frown on his face that gave you all the answers you needed. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly.

“Fred,” you breathed out, “This is bizarre.”

“You’re acting as if I had a bloody choice in the matter,” Fred hissed, his long fingers running through his hair, brushing it away from his face.

“Of course you do!”

“No, no I didn’t,” Fred stalked up to you, his body towering over you but he wasn’t angry or annoyed, he was desperate, “I woke up one morning and had these sudden feelings for you, but do you understand how hard it was for me when you couldn’t even be in the same room as me?”

You opened your mouth to answer him, but common sense made you see it was a rhetorical question, so you closed it and only stared up at him with wide eyes. There was nothing you could say in this moment to make it better or to make any sense of it. “When?” was all you asked.

“Christmas,” he answered honestly, making your brows cease together, “three years ago.”

“Three years?” you gasped, “Why did you act like you hated me?”

Fred sighed, creating space between your bodies again, “I thought the more I pretended to hate you, eventually my heart would catch up and stop loving you but..” He turned his back to you, swallowing back the heartache he was feeling and placed his hands on the table in front of him, his hands balled into fists. But he only fell in love with you more.

“I’m sorry,” he heard you whisper, the feign touch of your hand on the back of his shirt before it disappeared just as quick. Fred took a few moments to himself, trying to control his breathing and when he turned around to face you, he was met with emptiness. You were nowhere in sight, your bag that rested on the back of a chair gone as well. “Fuck,” Fred mumbled, wanting to scream into the abyss but pulled out his wand and muttered a quick spell to tidy the rest of the office up, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to escape.

Fred hid under the radar for the weeks that passed, hardly being the usual trickster that people were fond of. Everyone that passed the sulking boy in the corridor sent him looks of confusion, some even asked if he was okay to which he brushed them off. George had become worried when it was week three without tormenting any of the professors, and because George was worried beyond reason, you were non-stop hearing about Fred and it pained you knowing that you were the reason for his sudden change in behaviour.

Christmas came and went, the snow started to melt and the leaves were blossoming once again. It was safe to say you were enjoying the peace and quiet in Hogwarts, not having to come up with a comeback every five minutes to fight off the irritation that was Fred Weasley. Deep down, however, there was an abundance of loss. You missed him. It shocked you more than anything but it was true. You missed the sound of his voice, you missed his smart ass comments, you missed him more than you ever thought you would. Maybe there were some underlying feelings and your mind was brought back to the dreams that he occupied, the theme of them made it feel more real.

Sighing into your breakfast, you came to the realisation that morning that you had in fact had feelings for Fred Weasley. “What’s got you mopping?” your eyes lifted to see George sitting down in front of you, no sign of Fred anywhere. The Great Hall was rather crowded for this hour in the morning, there was a buzz in the air.

“I just realised I had feelings for someone,” you admitted loudly, earning every inch of George’s attention, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“And what are you going to do about them?”

Your eyes connected with your best friend’s stare, your brows creasing together. “You know?” you asked hesitantly, earning an eye roll from George.

“It’s not hard to put two and two together, kiddo,” he chuckled, pouring himself some orange juice, “he’s down at the Quidditch pitch.”

There were so many questions running through your mind but there wasn’t much time. The feelings were overwhelming and you were near sure that you’ve missed your chance with whatever could possibly blossom between you and Fred. You darted from the Great Hall, pushing past crowds of students, ignoring their displeased looks and ran like your life dependent on it towards the Quidditch pitch. When you arrived, your lungs burning and your heart racing, your mood deflated seeing the area completely empty. With your hands on your hips, you tried to catch your breath, sweat beading on your hairline. “Fuck,” you breathed out, turning on your heels but only to halt in your step at the sight of Fred Weasley.

“Looking for me, y/l/n?” he questioned, his voice not as daunting as it used to be. It was flat and soft, something new for him.

“You’re the guy that pretended to hate a girl for years to make her fall in love with you, right?” you asked, a small smirk tugging at the ends of your lips. Fred rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “What if I told you it worked?”

“I’d say buzz off and stop messing with me.”

There was a moment between you and Fred, a moment of understanding where he stared at you from where he stood, the pleading in both of your eyes that showed this was just as awkward for you as it was him. It was different. The change in your interactions was something to get used to, wanting to be around Fred was new. Wanting to kiss him was a thought so out of this world that it blew you away. “I’m sorry I had you sulking for so long.”

Fred chuckled, taking a few steps closer to you until there was just enough space to breath in. For the first time in his life, Fred felt nervous staring at the person that he longed for for so long. “It would have been easier for us both if you just told me you felt the same that day.”

“Life’s never easy, is it?”

“Not when you’re involved,” he winked, the familiar smirk making its way back to his face for the first time in weeks, “I know I didn’t ask permission last time, but..”

“Yes,” you breathed out, this time being the one to wrap your fingers around his collar and pulling him towards you. Your lips pressed against his, the kiss soft and expected this time. Your lips moved in sync, his arms circling around your waist and pulling your closer. The kiss was perfect, and it was something you could get used to.