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astraystayyh · 1 year

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A cat proposal

summary : minho is in love & wants to marry you

pairing : Lee Know x reader, pre-established relationship.

genre : FLUFF

warnings : mention of wanting to have kids together at the end.

the things i would do to have this man.... hope you enjoy reading!! feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments, it will be very appreciated!! <33

You were lying down on the couch, Minho sprawled on top of you. His head was on your chest, his nose nuzzling your stomach every now and then as if to remind you he was there. And you were playing with the locks of his hair lazily, drawing mindless circles on his back from time to time.

It had been exactly two weeks since Minho moved in with you. You hadn't really had the time to relax, just the both of you. His schedule was hectic and so was yours, as it was nearing the end of the year. You only saw each other when he came home late to you; bringing your body to his and peppering kisses on the soft curve of your shoulder.

But today, he managed to come home early, and so did you. Which led to an impromptu movie night together. Still, you couldn't really focus on the movie, the dialogue coming to you like mindless chatter. You had something to suggest to Minho, and you didn't really know how he would take it.

He must have noticed that you were looking up at the ceiling, since he blew a raspberry on your stomach, prompting startled giggles from you. He smirks, before placing a small kiss on your bare skin, "what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

"I have something to tell you, just think about it okay? You don't have to reply now."

"Okay, tell me about it," he turns the TV off, giving you his undivided attention. It made you flustered, how he always looked at you like you were the only person that mattered on this earth.

"Well... since you moved in. I thought... why not bring your cats here in the apartment, this way you could see them more often and we could take care of them together," you start off, your rhythm accelerating with each word.

"I mean, I know it will take time for them to get used to a new place, so we could do it gradually? They could stay over for a weekend until they feel comfortable here," you start to ramble. "And you could put their toys and playhouse in the washing machine room since it's nearly empty, and we'd take turns taking care of them and I don't mind feeding them and changing their litter box when you are on tour, and I'd bring them to your parent's house because they might miss them and-"

"Honey, breathe," he chuckles and you stop, gulping. You really forgot how to breathe during your little speech.

After that, it's silent. Minho doesn't say anything, placing his head back on your stomach. Your cheeks are turning a crimson red from embarrassment, you just made a fool out of yourself, didn't you?

Your frantic train of thought is interrupted when Minho picks up your hand and starts kissing your knuckles softly. He doesn't look at you as he places chaste kisses on each of your fingertips; as if his lips meeting your skin was worthy of all his attention.

The truth is, Minho couldn't talk right now. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was afraid if he ever spoke, he wouldn't be able to stop the flow of words yearning to come out.

There are one million words in Korean, yet none of them seemed fit to express his adoration for you. He racked his brain for the right combination of words, because 'I love you' didn't cut it anymore. What he felt was more than love, it was a heart wrenching feeling in the most beautiful way.

Minho knew you loved him too, but it was in moments like this that he was reminded that you actually love him. That you were as infatuated with him as he was with you. That you thought about him just like he thought about you.

Kissing your fingertips, one at a time, he couldn't help but remember a fact he once read; there are twenty three words for love alone in Arabic. Maybe he should learn them, maybe he should learn every expression of love that was ever invented, every love poem that was written throughout history. And then he'd recite them to you, one by one. Maybe then you'd understand how you make him feel.

But he couldn't bring himself to tell you all of this, so instead, he settled on a love language that the both of you understood- touch. As his lips met your knuckles, he hoped that you'd feel it all through his kisses. That you'd know how much love he holds for you.

He finally looks up at you, his eyes holding yours in an intimate gaze. It's a while before he speaks again. "I will marry you one day, you know that right?" he whispers softly, as if it's a secret meant for the two of you alone.

Your breath hitches in your throat at his words, he wanted a forever with you?

"You mean that?" you whisper back, voice hoarse from the emotions you were barely keeping at bay.

"I do. Would you like that?" he asks in a small voice, as if there was a possibility you'd say no. You almost scoff at that thought; not in this life, not in the next one.

"Of course. I want to spend the rest of my life with you Min," you tell him sincerely, your eyes wide looking into his so he'd know how serious you are.

"I want... I want our cats here," he starts off, knocking the breath out of you, 'our'.

"And I want silly supermarket lists with you, that I wouldn't be able to read because your writing is shit," you both chuckle, his laugh reverberating through your entire body. You always felt it deep inside you when he laughed, as if it was a melody meant for you only to hear.

"And i want to brush my teeth with you. I want to come home and see you with the cats. I want to cook for you and I want to kiss you when I wake up and sleep," he whispers, head now buried into your chest as if he was embrassed to say those words out loud.

"And I want.. I want kids with you, I want a girl running around that looks just like you. And you'd both greet me at the door and I'd die a happy man."

Silent tears are falling out of your eyes right now, 'you'd be a good mother', he once told you. And now, he wanted you to be the mother of his kids. It felt like your heart was in his palm and that he was squeezing it with every word he said. But you didn't mind, you knew that Minho would never squeeze too far to break you. You were safe with him.

"We’ll have that my love, I promise," you smile, placing a sweet kiss on his head. "But i want a boy that looks like you,"you playfully pout.

"There could only be one me," he tsks, waving a hand in the air as if to dismiss your words.

"This is your son we are talking about," you laugh, your hand threading through his hair once again.

"Our son," he clarifies and you blush. "Yeah.. our", you repeat, a soft smile on your face and he finally looks up at you again.

You bop his nose with your finger playfully and he grins at the action. "So… does this mean you want the cats to move in?"

"Of course silly. My favorite people in one place, I can't wait."

"Cats are not people," you tease, and he rolls his eyes at your words.

"Details."

He then stands up, pulling you up with him. His hand gently cradles your jaw and his lips fall perfectly on top of yours; the kiss making stars swirl in front of your eyes. "I love you so much Min," you whisper in between kisses and he smiles, "I love you yn, so much more than you know."

"I know, you know, Lee Know," you joke and he pushes your face away with his finger, "Nevermind, I take my proposal back."

"No can do. You are stuck with me forever," you singsong, pulling him in for a tight hug.

Forever with you, he really liked the sound of that.

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bby-deerling · 3 months

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eat your heart out (law x reader)

my hungry ass could NOT be a heart surgeon :)

wc: 1.3k masterlist

cw: law licks your heart, mild body horror, typical law behavior (he takes your heart out of your chest), pining, yearning, confessions, suggestive content, possessive behavior, law being a freak

tagging: @eelnoise @risenwrites

The last person that Law expected to slip into the room unannounced while he was lounging in his office with his feet up on the desk was you; he was no stranger to your visits, often catching him during times he was hardly working, as if you had a sixth sense for when he was craving some conversation. However, you usually knocked in a familiar pattern, or at least announced your presence, intent on not startling him. Whatever you had on your mind today was apparently too imperative and pressing that you had abandoned your usual rituals in favor of speaking to him directly.

“Captain, I wanted to ask you something.” you say, eyes fixed to the floor. Eye contact was a strong suit for neither of you, but today you were sheepish. There was a certain comfort shared between the two of you in these private moments as the walls both of you had built up crash and erode underneath the waves of the deep sea. Today, you’re different—guilt and embarrassment coats your face, but you seem determined to come clean about a certain something that’s been occupying your mind. His lips curl into a smirk, satisfied that he’d finally caught you in his web after months of patience, careful planning, and pining on his part.

“Go on.” he says. His tone sounds curt to an outside observer, but you always catch the subtle nuance in his tone that encourages you to continue.

“When you take peoples’ hearts out, do you ever… y’know… get the urge to bite into them?” you ask, face flushed red as you remain unwilling to meet his eyes. Bewilderment and shock wash over his face—this was not the confession he’d anticipated hearing from you today, but your taste for the morbid and lack of being put off by his ability only endears you more to him. “It’s just the cube looks like jelly, and it’s just sitting there in the middle like a big chunk of red meat! Shachi and Penguin laughed at me and said I was weird for even thinking about it but—” you continue, flustered and rambling on before Law stops you with an answer.

“Once or twice.” he says nonchalantly, legs still propped up on his desk as he eyes you from underneath the brim of his hat. “I’ve thought about it once or twice.” The tension from your face dissipates at his divulgence; all at once, things are as they should be between you two—calm, comfortable, and collected. He’s touched by the way you perk up from the validation—from his validation—that you weren’t alone with your thoughts, and that he treated them seriously and without ridicule.

“Wonder what that would feel like…” you think aloud as you flop down on the couch; it’s quiet, almost spoken solely to yourself, but your words stir something deep in the crevices of Law’s soul. Though your gaze is lazily fixed to the ceiling, the way his stare penetrates you sends a shiver down your spine. The intensity of Law’s stare was commonplace, but the sensation of being trapped within it was addictive and overwhelming, and draws your heart towards him like the attractive force of a magnet.

“Want to find out?” he asks with a smirk, causing you to snap your head towards him. Eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights, your lips part but fail to give a response. “I won’t hurt you.” he says lowly, gently coaxing you to bend to his whims. Tearing your heart from your chest to toy with was twisted and a bit sick, but the thought of clutching your life between his fingertips was driving him wild—and besides, you were the one who had broached the subject in the first place. The slightest nod is all he needs to flick his wrist and separate you from the treasure that lays guarded between your ribs.

“So shocked…” he muses, drinking in the expanse of your wonder-blown pupils as you stare at the way your heart beats rhythmically in the palm of his hand, “Surely you’ve seen enough of them by now.” he teases, tearing his eyes from the sight of you to watch the way your heart thumps in his grasp.

As his tongue dips into the translucent cube and runs across the pumping, bloody flesh, your cheeks burn; the act is pure devotion in the only way Law is capable of. Though the way his wet tongue swirls along the surface lasts mere moments, it stretches out for an eternity as you memorize each drag of his tongue against your most crucial and precious organ.

Despite being entranced, your heartbeat picks up, so much so that Law’s eyes widen in mild shock until he sees the heat nearly radiating off your body. He places one last long, teasing lick along the surface of your heart before lightly grazing his teeth across it. Your thighs unconsciously rub against each other at the sight of him leaving such a permanent mark on you; he hadn’t harmed you, but no one else would be able to hold your life in the balance like he had—it was a profession of care, of possession, of how much he cherished you.

Of how he now owned you, keeping you forever wrapped around his tattooed finger with a single swipe of his tongue.

Blood pools in your ears as he returns your heart to its proper place; dizziness and darkened vision clouds the view you have of him staring down at you, but the murky haze suits his handsome features. Your chest tightens, unbearably so as he leans in; one of his hands lands beside you, the heat of his thumb nearly grazing your thigh, while the other hits the back of the couch above your shoulder, caging you in.

“So.” he whispers, so teasingly close to your heated face, “Tell me how it felt.” His deep voice fills your already light head with flurries of electricity, and stuns you into speechlessness. Bit by bit, you collect yourself—no easy task when pinned by the intensity of his smug stare—and take a deep breath in.

You could have told him that the light bite had felt strangely distant, like nails softly dragging across the surface of your skin. You could have mentioned that the circles of his tongue were so light that they tickled you.

But instead, you tell him the truth.

“It was intimate.” you tell him quietly, holding your stare with his. Only three simple words fell from your tongue, but they were laced with care, lust, and longing; exposed bare, there were no longer any secrets hanging in the space between you. The last wall you were desperately clinging to had been completely shattered; Law now had access to every piece of you to use as he pleased, heart and all.

The hand that was already creeping dangerously close to your thigh smoothly slides across it, making your pulse throb in your cheeks as his inked fingers squeeze the flesh over top of your boiler suit. His darkened eyes keep you in a dazed state as he takes in the moment; he drinks in each shaky breath, the way you lean into his touch, and the outpouring of need from your eyes. There’s a certain level of restraint as he kisses you; hungry for control, he is slow and methodical, the blood on his tongue the only reminder that your plump, beating heart was just in his mouth. However, the way that you melt under his touch combined with the invisible mark he’d left inside your chest makes him let go, slipping his tongue inside your mouth with overflowing passion.

His fingers entangle in your hair; though it’s the first time he’s done it, he treats it as if it’s the last. Though you had given him your heart on a silver platter, he needs more of you.

You’d sparked a remarkable hunger inside of Law—you just hope you’re able to satisfy it.

#one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario #he is so weird and fucked up i love him

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mukumukunomi · 6 months

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Not Alone. Never Alone (part 2)

Luffy x Fem!Reader

cw: fluff, no smut, first love, implied semi-relationship, no manga spoilers, takes place just after East Blue's arc in live action, idiots in love, kisses

wc: 1,964

a/n: This is part two! I may open a few requests in the future, but we'll see if I'm able to with work loads. :D.

Part One (You)

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

He tosses and turns but sleep evades him.

Something isn’t right, he thinks.

Insomnia is a foreign feeling. He almost never has trouble with it. Sleep is normally a welcome respite from their adventure, because even in his dreams the adventure continues in some way. It usually consists of more meat than real life, but he’ll never complain about that.

But the feeling in his chest is different from the pains of hunger or lack of sleep. It drills into his being with every beat of his heart. It feels like something is missing. Like there’s an absence that-

That’s it!

The covers are thrown off himself as he approaches the small emergency exit inside the men’s quarters. It connects directly to your and Nami’s room, but is almost never used unless under attack. Otherwise, the girl’s space is completely forbidden. But for him, these escapades aren’t an unusual occurrence. He’s not exactly welcome, but Nami has never told him to leave if it’s in search of you.

He’s not quite sure when it started. Was it when Sanji began using a lock on the fridge? Or perhaps when he awoke you to see the first meteor shower on the Grand Line? He can’t exactly remember. Your presence is like the taste of a good steak. He craves it. Finds himself in search of it in odd hours of the night.

He creaks open the little door and slips inside. Nami sleeps on the pullout cot next to the entrance, while your makeshift bed is the hammock that hangs from the ceiling. It’s mainly a collection of cushions and blankets, having been originally used for storage until you came along. Luffy likes to think of it like a bird's nest with the way you sleep in it.

Nami’s soft breathing fills the space as he pads across. Even though it’s totally dark, he knows the room well enough to avoid the small table in the center and catch himself from tripping on the rug. He can barely see the outline of the hammock as he approaches. Grasping the side of the net, he leans forward.

“Oi. Y/N.”

Silence is his answer. He frowns, shaking the hammock roughly. “Y/N. Wake uuuuup.”

No reply.

“Are you mad at me?” He pouts, “I’ll share my snack if you help me open the fridge.”

His hand pulls back the covers. He expects your fist to come flying at him from the confines of the blanket as you always do when he exposes you to the chilly ocean air. Your form is probably curled around the pillow like a koala trying desperately to keep warm. The same pillow you often try to use to smother him when he’s being too loud.

But the hammock is empty.

Items go flying as he pulls everything out and drops the bedding to the floor. Checking under and around proves fruitless as he’s left standing in the mess. He blinks and scratches his head.

“Luffy?” Nami’s sleepy voice asks, “What’s wrong?”

He’s already climbing the stairs that lead to the storage room and bathroom above them. Not bothering to knock, he peers into both spaces to find them also unoccupied. He rushes to the deck, peering out into the overcast night. The moon is hidden behind the clouds.

“Y/N!” He yells loudly. Loud enough that you should be able to hear it no matter where you are on the ship.

The wind is his only reply.

His confusion turns to concern as his gaze draws upwards towards the crow’s nest. Rearing back his arm, he stretches it to reach the railing and uses the leverage to slingshot himself into the sky. He lands on the nest’s railing with a thud, ignoring the cold whip of air on his cheeks. A palm holds the top of his hat to his head since the wind threatens to blow it away. Dark orbs scan what can be seen of the island.

“Y/N!!”

The timbre of his voice reverberates in the air. A few birds startle from their slumbering place perched on the ropes of the Going Merry’s main mast.

“Why are you being so noisy!?” Usopp’s voice carries to him.

He chances a glance downwards, noting the ship’s sniper shiver even with a blanket draped over his shoulders. There’s a noticeable tiredness and irritability in Usopp’s eyes. “Y/N is missin’!”

The crew member nods slowly and begins to look around as he returns his sights to the island in front of him. There’s a line of smoke that trails towards the sky coming from the fortress beyond the hill. It indicates to him that the place has an active fire even in the dead of night.

“Luffy!” Usopp calls again, “Look! The ladder’s down!”

Jumping off, he lands back onto the deck next to Usopp. Poking his head over the side, he can see the rope ladder swing in the breeze. The blocks of wooden footholds lightly bang against the hull. It suddenly clicks for him.

You had gone by yourself.

The frown deepens on his face. Why had you gone alone? He said he’d go with you!

His sandals hit landfall before he can even process that he’s moving. Usopp’s voice calls out to him as he quickly leaves the inlet and moves swiftly through the underbrush of the forest. He doesn’t even register the thin branches that slice his skin.

The hill looms ahead. He charges straight for it, mind set on climbing the imposing land mass. It’s the quickest path to the fortress on the other side. Either that or he can skirt around and enter that way. Perhaps he could even stretch his way to the top of the hill.

But all options are circumvented as the ground beneath his feet suddenly disappears.

He barely registers the secret metal trap door that’s swung wide open at the foot of the hill. Luckily, the fall into the passageway is relatively shallow. The tumble nearly has him face-planting into the stone. However, he twists at just the last second, bracing his hands for the impact before rolling off his shoulder into a crouched position. The movement successfully breaks his fall, but the sound reverberates through the long hallway. It’s not a quiet entrance, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s bolting down the corridor the moment his feet make contact back with the ground.

“Y/N!!” He doesn’t really care who hears him. As long as you hear him. “Where are you?!”

At some point he registers that he’s no longer underground but now in some lower portion of the fortress on the other side of the hill. The sounds of shocked voices and loud footsteps are everywhere. Movements are manic as he opens doors only to close them the moment he observes you’re not behind any. In turn, the enraged inhabitants begin to give him chase. It doesn’t matter who else may be inside. They aren’t you. And he wasn’t stopping until he found you.

A flying arrow whizzes by him. He veers, inhaling to let out another yell when a hand suddenly slaps across his mouth and pulls him sharply around the corner and into a wall. His fist clenches to deliver a punch but is stopped by a pair of familiar glaring orbs.

“Luffy!” You whisper through clenched teeth, “Why are you here? No, scratch that, what are you doing?”

He breathes a sigh of relief. Something about your presence has that kind of effect. “Imf waf woomfing fr yo!”

You roll your eyes at him, releasing your hand from over his mouth. “What?”

“I said I was looking-” His speech falters as his gaze travels across your face.

There’s a shallow slice that cuts vertically across the expanse of your left cheek. Tracks of blood are dried to the side. You startle when his fingers brush against the bruise at your temple. “Did ya’ get hurt?”

You scoff and avoid his gaze. “A-a little, but it’s nothing. I got the thing we were looking for.”

He can tell in the way your voice shakes and your fingers absentmindedly wring themselves together. “It’s not nothing.”

Your lower lip juts out. “Just got into a scuffle. Ran into a familiar face and I…you should see how he looks now after I beat the snot outta him…”

But he sees through the excuse. “You’re scared of this place.”

Your sentence trails off to an almost childish-whisper. “Am not.”

It had been a steady but noticeable shift in your demeanor leading up to the arrival to this island. The mention of this locale made you act differently. Every time it was brought up you’d shy into him like the words burned. Your reply would be to simply smile as though everything was okay. And that was not okay. Not to him.

He can respect the privacy of your past. But your present and future is his priority. It's his responsibility. There’s nothing you can ever do to change his perspective of you.

There’s a waver in his voice as he feels anger well up. “Are too. Why didn’t you listen when I said we’d come together?”

“I…” You take a step back. “I just thought I could prove to you and the crew that I was strong enough to do it alone. That I was useful.”

“But you’re not alone,” His brows furrowed as he interrupts, “And ya’ never have to be alone. We are your crew. There’s nothing for you to prove.”

You take several long blinks, as though you’re seeing him for the first time. Stepping back into your bubble, he presses his forehead against yours. The voices and chaos around them seems to dissipate when it's just the two of you together. He finds you strangely gravitating in moments like this where you’re both a bit scuffed up and frazzled. He can’t help but lean forward and kiss you.

You’ve got a split lip, and his are chapped from the cold, but they mesh into something warm and soft that satisfies something aching in his soul. You both erupt into a fit of giggles.

You taste like adventure.

“You still are terrible at being stealthy.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

The next retort is cut off as an unfamiliar face rounds the bend. An axe threatens to slice your head in two, but is cut off the moment his punch connects. The axe’s trajectory misses you by just an inch.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

You two are blurs of laughter and joy as you both weave your way back out the fortress and towards the Going Merry. The entire crew is already screaming at you both as the sounds of cannon fire fill the air. The ship has long left the harbor by the time you both finally tumble into your room from exhaustion. You're a mess of limbs squished into the small hammock against him.

You both wrestle for a comfortable position, once again almost smothering him with that pillow before finally settling. Your head now rests comfortably on his chest. For several long moments, it's just the two of you in the room.

“Luffy?”

“Hm?” He hums with eyes closed, both hands behind his back and the straw hat over his face. Your finger draws lazy circles on his arm and he feels more at peace than ever.

He notes the head gear being lifted from his face. “Thank you for coming after me.”

He smiles and peeks an eye at you, moving said hat to sit on your head instead. He roves over the bandage on your cheek and adds, “Of course! We’re better when we’re together!”

With you, he knows he’ll be a better King of the Pirates. Simply because you’re there beside him.

#monkey d. luffy x reader #one piece #opla #monkey d. luffy #muku'sfics #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #one piece x reader

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wolfjackle-creates · 2 months

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Ghost!Robin Arc 2 Part 4

Here's everything I shared during the ask game event with some minor edits. Most of the edits are around the results of the scan, I more accurately described what I was trying to say.

Story Summary: Everything changed the evening Jason met Jazz's brother. Danny introduced him and his entire family to the ghost that is, apparently, haunting him. The ghost of the Robin he had been.

The ghost of the person everyone he's ever known wishes he still was.

All he wants is to make it go away.

Arc 1: First, Last

Arc 2: First, Previous

Word Count: 1.7k

-----

Frostbite looked between them and hummed. “I should like a blood sample from you”—he nodded to Jason—“and an ectoplasm sample from you”—he indicated the ghost—“please hold out one of your arms.”

Jason sighed and gave his left arm. The yeti took out a syringe, thankfully a normal sized one, though it looked tiny in his giant hands. He watched as Frostbite carefully pierced his vein and filled a vial with blood. It went as smoothly as any blood draw he’d ever received from Dr. Thompkins or Alfred.

“You’re good at that,” he commented.

The yeti gave him an amused look. “I should hope so. I have been a doctor for many times longer than you’ve been alive.”

Jason flushed. “Sorry, it’s just… I wasn’t sure how many living patients you’ve ever had.”

“Many ghosts come to us for healing. And of those who were once alive, their ghostly bodies often mimic the ones they had in life. It is not so different, drawing blood from a living body as it is drawing ectoplasm from a ghostly one.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. I didn’t realize.”

Frostbite ruffled his hair and it took every ounce of self control he had to not pull away. “That is quite all right. You will learn in time.”

Jason had to bite his tongue to keep from saying he didn’t want to learn.

But the doctor was already turning to the interloper and reaching for his arm. Jason couldn’t help but watch as they made more of those chirps and trills at each other. The ones from Frostbite were much deeper than the ones from Danny or the ghost, but they were unmistakably the same sort of noises.

When Frostbite took the ectoplasm sample, it really didn’t look any different than a normal blood draw. Except the resulting fluid was bright Lazarus-green. He shuddered and looked away.

Frostbite pulled out what looked like a transparent tablet and typed something on it. “A technician will be along shortly to collect the samples and run a few tests on them. Now, Prince Phantom said he scanned you and it showed the two of you are tied together. I should like to repeat the process but with our own scanners.”

“What do your scanners do?” asked Jason.

“I will show you. See this machine?” Frostbite indicated a machine that was positioned in the corner of the room. It looked like an old-fashioned x-ray machine you might find at a dentists’ office. It was about the size of a standing shower and was mostly open. “This part here”—he touched a piece of metal that reached from floor to ceiling—“will circle around the two of you and track your ectoplasm. It serves a similar purpose in ghost anatomy to an x-ray of a human. From the readings, I will be able to assess your core, young Robin, and your liminality, Sir Jason.”

“Just Jason, please.”

“Are you not a warrior of your people? And you are courting Princess Jasmine. No, to call you anything else would be improper.”

Jason flushed. “Then what should I call you? Aren’t you the leader here? Is it King Frostbite?”

“You may call me Doctor or Chief Frostbite should you wish.”

“You’ve got it, Dr. Frostbite. So will you have to scan us together? Doesn’t look like there’s a lot of room in there.”

Frostbite hummed. “I believe three full scans, one of each of you alone and one with both of you together. I apologize for the size; this is the first time we’ve had to scan two individuals together like this.”

Jason scowled, but didn’t comment. He would do anything to get rid of the interloper.

Before they could start, however, a knock sounded on the door. Frostbite opened it to reveal two more yetis.

“Ah, Silverclaw and Snowfur. Thank you for getting here so quickly.” He grabbed the vials of blood and ectoplasm. “These are the samples I want tested.”

“Of course, Chief. We’ll get to work on them right away.”

“I know you will. Thank you.” Frostbite nodded his farewell. Once the two yetis had left, he shut the door and turned back to Jason and the ghost. “Which of you would like to get scanned first?”

Before Jason could even think of volunteering, the ghost let out a trill and flew to the machine.

Frostbite chuckled. “Very well, young one. I shall begin the process shortly. Please remain still as the scan is in progress.”

Jason watched, curious, as Frostbite pressed a few buttons. The machine whirred to life, blue lines lighting up along the metal. Then the panel Frostbite had pointed out before slowly rotated around the ghost. Five times it completed the circuit before stopping in it’s original position by the wall.

A screen lit up on the wall, also transparent like the tablet, and on it images very much like a human x-ray appeared. Only instead of bones, it showed a ball of red-orange light. Tendrils spread out in the shape of a humanoid body. A thick cord of light extended off the screen. The cord was mostly gray and it’s tendrils wound around the red-orange ball and mixed in with the branches that made up the rest of the ghost’s body.

Frostbite hummed, but didn’t comment further, and Jason didn’t know him well enough to know if it was a good or bad hum. “Sir Jason, it is your turn.”

The ghost flew out of the scanner and Jason entered. “Will it feel like anything?”

The doctor shook his head. “Indeed not. You may hear a humming, but the scan itself will not affect you in any other way.”

“So I just need to stand here for a minute while it goes?”

“Indeed. Simply remain still. Are you ready?”

Jason took a deep breath and stood tall, arms by his side. “Go ahead.”

Frostbite hit a button and the device lit up with the same blue light he’d seen before. Then the scanner began rotating around him. As the yeti had promised, he didn’t feel anything but the hum of the machine.

And soon enough, it settled back into its rest position.

Jason didn’t wait for permission before stepping out and taking a look at the results of the scan. The same cord of light that had been coming off the ghost seemed to be stretching to him. Tendrils of it wrapped around the areas where his heart and brain would be if the scan showed human organs. Thinner tendrils stretched through the rest of his body, but the majority clustered around his heart and brain. His light was mostly gray with the red and orange bleeding in.

Chills ran down his spine. The ghost had integrated himself entirely into Jason’s body. Would it even be possible to get rid of him without killing himself? But could he go on living knowing that the interloper, no, the parasite was tied so closely to him? He’d finally started to move on from his death and the anger!

“Calm down, Sir Jason.” Frostbite’s steady voice cut through his thoughts. “We have one more scan and then I shall explain my theories as to what is going on and how we might address the situation.”

Jason gave a single nod and unclenched his fists. He closed his eyes and took a few seconds to go through a breathing exercise Jazz had taught him. “Fine,” he said when he was sure he wouldn’t start throwing out cursed.

Didn’t stop him from stomping over to the scanner.

Frostbite rested one giant paw on his head for a moment. “I understand this is a lot for you. But I will assist you to the best of my abilities.” He glanced away from Jason towards the interloper. “Both of you.”

Jason frowned but didn’t bother mentioning that that was what he was worried about.

“Now, young Robin. If you could come here as well.”

Frostbite took a moment arranging Jason and the ghost within the scanner. This was the closest Jason had been to the interloper since he learned about his existence and the proximity raised goosebumps on his arm. Why did things like this always have to happen to him? He hated it. He just wanted to go back to arguing with Bruce and trading insults with Tim and pranking Dick. But he couldn’t do that if the ghost of who he’d used to be was following him everywhere.

Jason closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the creature’s stupid uniform or too-young face.

Then the humming started again and Jason could only assume he the scanner was running. He held entirely still, both because the scanner needed it and because he and the ghost were so close that if he moved, they might brush arms or touch.

He held back a shudder and didn’t open his eyes until the humming had stopped.

He couldn’t have said who evacuated the scanner first, they both rushed out quickly and set themselves up on either side of Frostbite while the image loaded.

As predicted, it was as if the two previous scans had been put together. The cord connecting Jason and the ghost was thick and strong. It originated from what Jason could only assume was the ghost’s core and spread out until it latched onto Jason’s brain and heart.

Frostbite hummed again. “I will need to ask both of you some questions that you may not want to answer. I apologize in advance for any discomfort my questions may cause. But let us get comfortable first. Afterwards, I shall explain my suspicions.”

Jason nodded and took a seat on the examination bed that Frostbite gestured to. Robin crossed his legs and appeared to sit in midair. The doctor pulled up a chair for himself and settled in.

Even sitting and with Jason on a high bed, they were roughly eye-to-eye due to the yeti’s large size.

“Young Robin, what do you remember of the time between your death and Sir Jason’s resurrection?”

The ghost, of course, only replied in the trilling language, leaving Jason out of the conversation. Asshole could’ve signed if he wanted to. Jason bit his tongue to keep from saying anything, though.

After a time, Frostbite nodded and turned to Jason. “And now, Sir Jason, I must know how you were brought back to life.”

-----

Ah, Jason really isn't going to like this conversation. None of it is fun, but this conversation will be his least favorite.

And look at Robin being just as petty back! Refusing to bring Jason in on the conversation.

How will they move forward from this?

If you want notifications when I update, please check out the Subscription Post!

#dpxdc #wolf writes #anger management ship #jason todd #ghost jason #frostbite (dp)#its fun thinking of what ghost medicine might look like #ghost bio is so different from human bio #(but I did cheat a bit with the blood sample)#(its okay as long as I can justify it in story!)

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lavenderslabyrinth · 4 months

Text

A Sacrificial Game 2

King!Dragon x Reader

Masterlist

p.t 1

pt. 3

Welcome to part two! I'm a very slow writer so you may notice that I posted these parts somewhat consecutively. That's bc I wrote part one last year;;; I know, I know, but I got a new keyboard and I'm obsessed with the way it feels so hopefully it will get me back into writing again! Does anyone even read these...? Gah whatever. Enjoy!

CW: ♢ Abduction ♢ Blood/Injury ♢ Mention of Forced Stripping (Brief, not done by love interest) ♢

The next time your eyes opened back up to the dreary world, a groan was involuntarily passing through your lips. Pain. Fuck. Every breath felt like you were splitting open, and as a result, moving was not a very appealing option. Your ribs, whether fractured or broken, you didn't know. But, oh, it was undeniable something was wrong.

The pain had you sweating despite the night's air being blisteringly cold-- colder than it should have been for this time of year, and the more you got your bearings, the more you were able to process what was around you.

A single, dingy lantern hung from the wooden ceiling above you. It swung wildly with every bump and jostle, the flame within it threatening to flicker out each time. The room you were in was moving, no, no room, you were in a carriage. You tried to push through the pain to get yourself up but found your movements restrained-- expensive looking silk ropes curling around your body and a simple white gown you hadn't been wearing before was now draped over your figure. Though pretty, and far more expensive than anything you'd ever owned before, it did little to ease the painful shivers that wracked through you.

You'd been washed, groomed, and redressed with care, but hot rage filled your chest nonetheless. You'd had little to nothing to your own name-- living still with your family and no claim to a spouse, child, or land.

They've stripped you of those things. Taken away your chance at a normal life, and now, too, they've taken your dignity.

A particularly rough bump in the road sent your body up and off the ground for just a moment before slamming you back into the rough wood of the floor. By the Damned... The pain left you winded as a stabbing sensation shot through your entire body.

"Are you alright?" A meek voice spoke up from above you. There, on one of the benches, a meek priest looked down at you with sad eyes full of pity. Was he also Chosen? Were you both about to meet your end? No... His hands were not bound behind his back as yours were-- instead, they freely laid folded in his lap.

Your gaze hardened and, seemingly unable to stand it, he looked away in shame. “Why are you doing this?” You asked coldly--you knew... but hope was still pushing back the dread that was steadily gathering in your gut. He didn’t answer at first, instead he simply shrunk into himself more, as if somehow he would be able to curl around himself and hide away from your accusatory eyes. “Where are we going?”

It took time for him to give you an answer. Time you, whether willingly or not, gave. The air thick with the silence between you two, only broken periodically by the groan of wheels or the creaking of the lantern above, but with your stubborn, uninterrupted glaring, he broke.

"The border that separates man from beast... you've been Chosen."

Bastards. Those bastards! What were the chances?! Did they even actually draw?!

It kind of dawned on you that... they may not have. You questioned authority often, butting heads against those who supported this horrific tradition-- many of the higher officials found your outspoken presence to be a nuisance, and with their own unmarried children to look out for..... Was it really that far of a stretch to say you'd been sacrificed in more ways than one?

"...Let me go." You demanded, and when you were met with resistance, your rage bubbled over. "Let me go this instant! Now!" Shouting hurt, but the fear and adrenaline eased your pain into fuel for your rage.

“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Harder than it has t- was he fucking kidding?

“You cruel bastard! Damn you and damn that Temple as well!”

As though the carriage had also had enough of your behavior, the jostling movement stopped. With an eerie croak, the doors swung open to reveal the drenched silhouette of gruff looking man in temple garb. If it would have been a stranger you saw, it would still have been equally terrifying, but perhaps it would have hurt a bit less.

You immediately recognized the man as Father Kyron, and a cold weight settled in your gut. The Father had watched you grow and mature since before you could walk-- often taking the time out of his day to play ball or sneak treats to the other children after services had ended. He'd always been such a warm pillar of the community, someone everyone could feel safe with. But those kind eyes that had always looked on at you before were now completely vacant of that gentle affection.

A monster was all that was left.

The rain pelted down on his leather-clad shoulders, cold droplets splattering onto you from the force of their impact. Whether or not he was a holy man of the temple, he looked nothing short of a demon in this moment.

Your screams went ignored as you fought not to be dragged out by your hair; body being dumped unceremoniously into the ground's painful embrace.

Kyron didn't spare you another glance as he once more took ahold of the reins. The priest did the same, shutting the wooden doors with a slam, snuffing out the little light the lantern within had to offer you.

The raging tides of emotions slowly simmered away as the carriage finally moved out of view, and now, instead of anger, hopelessness began to ease it's way into your veins. What could you do? You'd been abandoned. Left to lie in the dirt with only the echoing throbs in your side to keep you company.

Your screams turned to wails, then to sobs, and then to silence. And for a few moments you sat there, unable to process the shock of it all.

There's a funny thing about shock that no one tells you about. When there are plenty of important things for your mind to race through-- whether that be the betrayal of a beloved mentor figure, what would happen to your family, if your father was alright, who would tell Alikar... your mind often defaults to something insignificant; something harmless. And all you could think about were those damn peaches that had been laid together so carefully in your mother's wicker basket by Alikar's careful hand.

Had they all been trampled into the ground? Or would your family be able to salvage the last things you touched into something good and safe and warm for themselves...

Your eyes fixated on watching the way the rain thinned your blood and how it trailed down your skin to mix with the mud beneath you. The colors sickeningly seeped into the once pure white satin of your dress like the branching of a tree. The fabric feeling like it took root to your skin as it clung uncomfortably to your figure. It was a suffocating feeling and, surprisingly, was enough to bring a grimace to your face and give your mind enough clarity to realize footsteps were fast approaching where you sat.

"Here! Over here!"

"Damn it all, I knew I heard something!"

"Get the towels, the poor things soaked!"

Unknown voices made their approach accompanied by the warm, softened glow of lantern light. Though vaguely, you could make out the figures of a small group of armor-clad individuals.

Perhaps it was a bit of a cliche. The knights in shining armor coming to the maiden in distress-- but you could afford little to focus on the irony of it all. All you knew was that whomever held that lantern would be a fate far kinder than hungry animals or a slow fall to the elements.

Saved.

You were saved.

"H-Help me" Was all you could muster, the relief allowing exhaustion and weakness to finally take root in your body. Lead weights settling in your limbs and a quiver in your voice.

The closer they came, the clearer you could see them. They were guards, no doubt patrolmen assigned to protect the border, but very obviously not those of the human kingdom.

Otherfolk

Primarily shifters from what you could tell because, despite their mostly human appearances, their natural, beastly features still shown through. Large rabbit ears, a long flowing tail, wings stuck to their backs, or faces that just weren't quite arranged in the typical human fashion.

To some it would have an been off putting sight, but frankly after all the interaction you'd had with humans for the day... an inhuman face was a welcome sight.

"We've got ya, we're here to help, don't be scared." The rabbit shifter cooed, her gentle paw-like hands cupping your face sweetly as the bat's nimble fingers worked away at your bindings.

Her palms were soft and warm, the sleeves of her tunic smelling like the herbs and incense your mother often used at home. Your eyes closed as you couldn't help but lean into her comforting touch. For a moment, just a moment, the thumb swiping away your tears was not that of a stranger, but your mother. And for a moment... just a moment. You weren't shivering in the cold rain of an unknown land, but instead simply sat at the kitchen table at home waiting for peach pie on your birthday...

---

Ah. Was this death? If it was... it was peaceful. Never before had the space around you felt so soft and warm, and, faintly, there was the gentle scent of citrus in the air.... but was death supposed to be this painful?

Inhaling deeply, you winced, eyes cracking open as you moved blearily to try and sit up only to experience probably one of the most excruciating pains you'd ever felt.

"Easy! Oh, easy, my lady!" A familiar voice fretted, those same gentle hands from before supporting your weight with surprising strength against your shoulders. Carefully, she eased you back in place. "Lie down, the doctor gave strict orders for you to rest as much as possible until the healer can arrive. They aren't broken, but whomever you put up a fight against did one hell of a job on your ribs."

Your gaze fixated on the rabbit as she began to visually check you over once more with her large, rounded black eyes. She wasn't very tall, a bit below average at most, and held a very lithe figure. But despite that, she was donned with heavy, metal plated armor kept a sword neatly sheathed at her hip.

"Who.. are you?" You cringed as your voice was much rougher than expected, but who could blame you? After a night of screaming into the cold like your life depended on it, because it most certainly had, anyone's voice would have been a bit spent.

Without missing a beat, the rabbit shifter handed you a warm glass of water, which you greedily gulped down as she spoke.

"My name is Eve. I am a member of the king's guard here at the palace. I've been assigned as your personal guard, my lady." She bowed at the waist with a practiced precision, her fluffy ears tilting back so as to not land in your lap. "May I know the name of the lady I serve?"

"Hey, pause. Palace?" You full-stopped your assault on the glass of water and took your first good look at your surroundings. Sure enough, it was far from your typical healers hut or hostel.

The sheer size of the bed alone was the first thing you noticed. It was definitely made for something, or rather someone, that was far larger than you as the length of it easily extended another three or four feet past where your own legs ended. The tall, expertly carved banisters loomed over your head, supporting a canopy of heavy silks that seemed to trickle to the floor like water.

And the room

What a room it was. It was as massive as the bed with pristine, marble cut floors and high arching windows. Beautifully intricate moldings were placed all around, masterfully crafted to perfectly mirror one another. It was a chamber fit for a lady, no, a princess-- both of which you were not.

"I... don't think I'm supposed to be here." You murmured, eyes still trailing over the details of the walls that practically dripped with luxury.

Eve's ears tilted back once more, this time nervously as her tiny mouth curved into a frown. "Is the room not to your liking, my lady? I can ask to have you moved to something bigger--"

"No! Goodness no! This is more than enough! Too much, actually." You stumbled over yourself in your haste to not be fussed over to such a grand extent, which made Eve's expression falter from one of concern to confusion. "I'm not a noble," you clarified. "My name is (y/n), just (y/n)." Back home, impersonating a noble was enough to lose a limb if you were lucky-- your head if you weren't. Hopefully, if you cleared up the confusion quick enough, whoever misunderstood and brought you here would be more lenient with their anger.

"How could I dare call the future queen by her name?"

"......Pardon?" Surely you hadn't heard that right. "The what?" Was it.. the shock? Yes, the shock. It must have not worn off yet, that was all.

"The future Queen. I'm afraid it isn't my place to elaborate any further, lady (y/n), but I assure you once his Highness' meeting finishes up he will be here to speak with you himself."

So it wasn't the shock... and the king of beasts himself would be coming here, to you, like.. this?

You didn't need a mirror to know you were ill prepared to be meeting royalty. Your hair and skin still felt dirty and strange from your previous night's rather rough introduction to the ground, and your clothes... well, perhaps more accurately described as the lack thereof...

You felt your cheeks heat in a bit of embarrassment as you gently lifted the warm blankets to peer below. You still wore the underwear you'd had on before, identifiable by the stains of blood and dirt which had settled permanently in the crevices of the fabric, but what covered the rest of your torso and legs were bandages and dressings. Your cuts and bruises had been treated, rather professionally at that if the skill and quality of the supplies had anything to say about it.

But still, it was far from a dignified look.

As if reading your mind, your rabbit knight chimed in once more. "Don't worry, my lady, his Highness is an understanding and gentle ruler. He won't judge you for something like being wounded."

While it was sweet Eve was attempting to comfort you, you were less worried about appearing weak and more focused on the fact you were damn near naked-- though that was probably an idea that mattered a lot less to someone completely covered in fur... You didn't have the heart to tell her that though. Not when she was so eager to please and had that hopeful look in her eyes.

Not that you would have had the chance to anyway as, without so much as a knock, the two heavy doors to the room swung open.

Your hands moved in a flurry to gather the thick comforter up over your chest, your startled eyes locking with another's, and for a moment, the both of you paused.

He was tall, taller than any man you'd ever known, with shoulders just as broad that laid draped in a dark-stained cloak. It was still wet with rain and what you could guess was blood based off the thicker, red pigment that dripped from the bottom hem. Heavy, leathery wings sat poised behind him like two elegant, massive shields as his spear-like tail swung languidly between them. It was evident why everything here was the size it was now. He was massive. He was imposing. And he was horrifically attractive in a way no boy from your village could ever hope to compare.

He didn't need the crown or fine clothing to be identified. You could feel the authority he held in the air the moment he entered the room, and immediately upon seeing him, you understood the stories of your kingdom's best soldiers turning tail the second his taloned foot stepped onto the battle field.

Dipping your head as best you could, you quickly averted your flustered gaze and blushing face. "I greet the King of Beasts."

You'd expected a plethora of reactions. A gentle acceptance of your greeting, a roar of anger as to why someone as lowly as you laid within his palace, or even silence as he ignored you completely

What you hadn't expected was laughter. It was a deep rumble that could have shaken the cores of mountains if he'd leaned close enough.

"Is that what they call me nowadays? 'King of Beasts?' Of all things... you humans and your silly imaginations never fail to entertain."

You only felt your cheeks darken in humiliation as you lifted your head to stare at him with complete bafflement. Was that the wrong thing to say? Instead of answering your wordless query, he instead pulled up one of the oversized chairs to your beside.

"Eve," he called to your rabbit companion with a far calmer and level tone. "You're dismissed." Your guard, whom you'd momentarily forgotten in the chaos of it all, quickly scampered out and very suddenly it was just you and him left alone in the room together.

"Forgive my intrusion, this won't take long." His tone didn't flow like an apology, but more like an order or expectation that you would forgive him. It left a sour taste in your mouth and evidently an equally sour look on your face.

His eyes narrowed.

"Unless there's something you'd care to object?"

For a moment, a primal instinct surged in your gut beneath his gaze: Fear. He was the descendant of a long lived, powerful bloodline known for having the power to snuff out thousands of lives like yours. You were comparable to a meager speck of dust in his eyes, surely-- but an emotion that overtook your momentary fear was... anger.

No, it was rage. To be ripped from your home, stripped of your dignity-- your identity, thrown to the wolves, all to be mocked and disrespected and then be told to forgive them? Forgive him?

How far must you bow your head in order to save it? How much more humiliation did you have to endure for the sake some man deeming you worthy of survival?

Men in power had stripped enough away from you today, you'd be damned if you allowed this one to make you watch the last shred of self respect you had trickle through your fingers.

"I do actually. Quite a few actually."

The beast's narrowed eyes didn't ease, but he made no move to stop you.

"Well? Go on."

You took a breath, steeling the nerves that were pleading with you not to go through with what you were about to do. It was far too late to back down now. Instead, you hold his gaze.

"You laughed at my greeting, yet failed to introduce yourself. You came in without so much of a knock, not having a shred of thought towards my decency. You sent away the only person I knew, leaving yourself, a man, alone in a room with me, a woman, which shows you also have no concern for my dignity. Not to mention you're absolutely filthy covered in... who knows what. And to top it all off you don't ask me for forgive you but tell me to." You begin to falter, slowing your ramble as his slitted pupils begin to round out. "I think you're rude, and inconsiderate and..."

"And?" He urged, leaning forward a bit which only had you pressing further back into the plush pillows that had propped you up.

"And scary."

"Scary?"

At that, the towering dragon leaned back, the sturdy wood of the chair beneath him creaking with the shift in weight. "You look me in the eye, tell me what I can and can't do within my own home, in my own country, tell me all your objections about me... all while you think I'm scary?"

Unsure where this is going, you nod a bit lamely. What else could you have said?

"I see. Well. I suppose, in my haste, I have treated you a bit roughly for a lady."

"You...have." You affirmed hesitantly, your death grip on the blankets over your collarbones easing slightly.

"Then, for that, I extend you my sincerest apologies and ask that you find it in that fiery little heart to forgive me." You weren't sure if his tone was playful, mocking, or both... but it was a start.

"I'll think about forgiving you then."

"Then I'll put forth the effort to earn it. But for now, let's start from the beginning. I am King Jarkah Drak'in, ruler of the Etherian Empire. And you are?"

You had pondered giving him a false name before, but at this point there seemed little reason to it. "(Y/n). My name is (y/n)."

"(Y/n)." He repeated back to you, the gentle rumble in his voice almost bringing back that warmth to your cheeks. "I rarely hear human names so sweet on the tongue."

You tried and failed to formulate a reply to the compliment, your thoughts stuttering over themselves.

Seemingly able to see your internal struggle, Jarkah stood back up, signaling the end to your little exchange.

"As much as I'd prefer to talk further, I realize I should take your fragile circumstances into consideration, I'll postpone our conversation until I hear word that you've recovered." Was he... still mocking you? Or was that genuine consideration? It was difficult to read his reptilian features, and even more so when his back was turned to you. "Goodnight, (y/n)."

You floundered for a response but all you managed was a meager "Goodnight" as the door clicked shut softly behind him.

#lavenderslabyrinth #teratophillia #monster x reader #x reader #monster fucker #dragon x reader #king!dragon x reader #forced marriage trope #fantasy romance #rewrite #teratophillia x reader

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mangywayway · 3 months

Text

“You should wear glasses more often, you know?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, without lifting his head from the book he was reading. He knew if he did that he would be too distracted to continue reading.

"Why on earth would I do that? I don't need them that much and it makes me uncomfortable to wear them" Steve muttered to the boy blissfully lying on his lap. "Because," said Billy, reaching out to better adjust the glasses on the other's nose, attracting his attention, "they look good on you and they suit your face very well. And then" and here Billy smiled broadly "they make you look like one of those sexy professors" concluded the harpy, accompanying it all with a suggestive movement of his eyebrows.

Steve, caught off guard, couldn't resist and burst out laughing when he looked at his boyfriend's face. Steve closed his book once and for all, as he had already given up for a while and given up on reading; he was convinced that he had gotten used to Billy's outings and yet he always managed to surprise him with something new. He wiped the tears from his eyes while Billy continued to look at him all pleased. It looked like the emblem of a big, chubby cat, which was saying something considering which of the two had feline origins.

There was a silence between them, broken only by the soft purring that rose from the young gattu's chest.

Steve's hands were tangled in Billy's hair and he let himself sprawl even more on his boyfriend's legs, so relaxed that he allowed himself to leave one of his wings free so he could stretch it a little.

Billy had let himself go so much that he didn't notice how Steve, after observing his face for a while, decided to remove his glasses and then place them delicately on the harpy's face. Feeling the added weight, Billy opened his eyes, blinking quickly to adjust to the change in view before him. He turned to Steve questioningly, his face slightly distorted by the lenses, but clearly curious as to why Steve's glasses were on his face. The latter shrugged his shoulders, replying "I don't know, I think they suit your face better. Although I don't think the role of teacher is for you"

"Oh, really?" Billy sneered. "In my opinion I could be a great teacher, what do you know," he said, moving his wing animatedly, as if he were illustrating something to an imaginary audience.

Steve rolled his eyes "Yes of course, as if I didn't know you enough. And then we both know that if you were a teacher you would have classrooms full of people who would spend more time looking at you than at the blackboard" the latter grumbled.

Billy was surprised for a moment, a little twinkle in his eye.

"Don't tell me you'd be jealous Stevie"

A light blush appeared on the young cat's face, and he didn't bother to respond, except for a muttered under his breath, you're an idiot, Billy Hargrove.

To his mortification, the harpy had heard it (because of course he had), so much so that he exclaimed "Ah! I may be an idiot, but remember that I am your idiot Steve Harrington, and you can't say anything against it".

Steve looked up at the ceiling, a big smile present on his face.

He would never admit it out loud, but what Billy had said was true and he would never change it for the world.

Okay, gouache defeated me (this time). I started this illustration with gouache, ruined it, and then draw it again and colored it digitally. I will keep practicing with gouache but with smaller subjects, because in this case I really went overboard lol. Also yeah, there it was a book in the original sketch (I'll leave it below) but I didn't like it at the end so I removed it. The illustration was based on this small thing I wrote; as always I tried to pay attention and translated it the best I could (even if there is something I'm still not sure about but eh) but yeah, if you see errors or change of verbs and stuff, just ignore them 🗿 (adding that I'm a big reader, but absolutely not a writer. Still, having them in these comfy settings is like free therapy to me so I'll probably try and do more stuff like this)

Pencil versione below ✨

#art #fanart #werecat steve harrington #steve harrington #harpy billy hargrove #billy hargrove #mythology au #harringrove #it's free serotonin you all #so I'm not stopping ✌🏻✨#mangywayway

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ackerifle · 4 months

Note

Yandere Levi finding out reader is pregnant by another man

a word with you!

yan. no regrets levi ackerman x fem prostitute. reader

+ CW. — harassment, coercion, delusional behavior, kidnapping, confessions of murder, threats of domestic violence/abuse, implied: slight past age-gap relationship, baby-trapping; darling’s pseudonym is galatea; not proof-read.

it was simply too good to be true, you had known it then, and you know it now. but wishful thinking and desperation will do terrible things to good people, no soul would willingly continue living in the underground should they find themselves with any better alternative. at a constant risk of disease and decay, mother nature’s evident distaste for her children dwelling beneath the surface, careless to the living that remained untouched by the sun. abandoned by its creators in favor of more ‘pressing matters,’ the people left relinquished in a forgotten city of ruins had fallen on hard times, people like yourself.

and thus, you had found yourself in quite the predicament. although nothing in your life had ever come particularly easy, and this once, just this once, you could manage all on your own. there was no shame in working in a brothel, not when the people around you were often worse off than yourself, and pride was a small price to pay for simply surviving. it was only once you had first bared witness to the frequent deaths of the other prostitutes had you ever come to the realization that the madam must have really favored you a lot— to clean you, to clothe you, to feed you, to care for you; to keep you. but the state of affairs in the underground have since changed from the time of your youth, you’ve changed. you wanted out, and you were not immune to making grave sacrifices for what you wanted.

you’ve encountered and met many clients in your time, men and women alike, and it is rare for new faces to draw your attention. but as of late, there has been one. a soldier from the surface, a military police member who seemed far too young to be venturing below the safety and security of the royal capital by himself, and far too naïve to be falling absolutely head over heels for some prostitute who only offers an hour and faux moans in return. it almost tugs at your heartstrings, almost. he isn’t as innocent as he looks, and you are reminded why terrible things happen to good people. he had held citizenship over your head since the moment he met you, through legal marriage, and one simple request: that you give him a child. after all, who was a man of his merit to invest such a scrupulous amount of time into a common whore without the reassurance she won’t leave him right away?

so you do, allowing him to touch and hold you in a way your other clients could only dream of. to whisper sweet nothings in your ear about your future together, because admittedly, you too are thinking the same thing. thinking about your future, but you find that there is nothing romantic about it. and perhaps the worst of it all, he hasn’t come back for you.

laying down on your tarnished bed of tattered sheets and thin blankets, you stare aimlessly at the darkened ceiling. without thought and without interest, it has been weeks, maybe months, and you think you’ve truly fallen ill, “dammit, i knew i shouldn't've let that prestigious prick back in here.” forever grateful and beholden to the brothel keeper, she continues to tend to your needs, even now.

“look at you. so sad, little girl.” the madam coos apathetically, but her actions say otherwise. a gentle hand checks your temperature, brushing aside any loose strands of hair with the swipe of her thumb. her frown only deepens when she just barely pushes your head back, met with complete compliance as your head tilts further into the pillow from even the slightest of movements. somehow, you’re still so tired and still so restless, “i’m sorry.”

she’s upset with you. she’s been upset with you ever since you’d been involved with that shady scumbag, but truthfully the madam is more upset with herself. and she wants to ask why you of all people are apologizing, but she doesn’t, “i’m sorry too.” there is more she yearns to say, her mouth is still open, as if to somehow keep you responsive in this one-sided conversation, but nothing comes out. and it’s too late when there are three loud and concise knocks banging on the door downstairs.

the madam is quick to pry a worried hand from your unresponsive body, storming towards the exit of the oppressive room, but not without taking a curious glance in your direction. her remorse does not last long, as she shuts the door with a shove, but is intentional in not forcing it too hard. and you are left alone. swallowing dryly, your eyes dart around the room, and you wonder just how intense that person must have been hounding at the door for both you and the madam to hear it from a story above. but that was no matter, it was already noisy in the brothel, the walls were thin because peace and quiet was no luxury anyone living there could afford; and who knows how many women you shared the small space with. and surprisingly, it benefitted you greatly to be sick, as the madam refused to work you; and you’d known girls who worked during pregnancy, it never did end well for them.

deafening commotion could be heard ringing throughout the brothel, to the point it had felt as if the walls were shaking and the building was caving in. you chalked it up to hysterical figments of your imagination, that the floorboards beneath your bed weren’t vibrating, and that the sound of a panicked woman and determined man arguing with one another weren’t getting closer, “sir! galatea isn’t well, she’s not seeing anyone right now!”

“i don’t give a shit, lady. i know name is still here, she hasn’t left this fucking whorehouse in a month.” it pains you that you recognize this voice, and it isn’t the one you want to hear.

brazenly, the door is reopened with much more ferocity and wrath than it had initially been closed with, and it startles you. despite anticipating a confrontation as the verbal fight had neared your room, it comes as a surprise when the door nearly breaks free from its hinges, revealing an all too familiar black haired man. he looks awful in the dour lighting, and he adorned a uniform that haunted your very soul. a lesser version of what the military police had dressed in, lacking the coat with their respective symbol, it was the odm gear that struck you odd. eyes averting, you had noticed madam — who was standing behind him, with a languid arm extended towards his figure as if to grab him — was somehow much worse for wear as she had a dramatic hand over her heart as she caught her breath.

you regret not locking the door, but then again, that has never stopped levi from doing what he wants. he calls to you only by your name, and your spine crawls. whipping his head around, the hand levi had placed over the hilt of one of the unsheathed blades draws it from the holder, and he wastes no time in threatening the madam. it only takes the sight of the sharpened edge looming dangerously close to her neck for you to yell at her to get out. she hesitates, and you know why, the madam has failed to protect you countless times from levi, but this will be the time it counts, and she knows it too. but the downright malicious glare levi sends her way has her halted in her steps, and she makes no effort to stop levi as he enters the room and places a deceivingly quiet palm flat on the door, all whilst maintaining eye contact with her, before he slams the door behind him.

you set your hand on the bed, forcing yourself to sit up as levi stomps his way over to you. and the closer he gets, the more uncharacteristically messy you realize his clothes are. the white shirt he so often wears is not clean, it’s rather dirty in all honesty, sullied with what appears to be sidestreet grime and dross filth. his boots are muddy, dragging in sludge and black water that hadn’t already been scraped off at the doorstep and staircase. but perhaps what was the most disturbing were the stains of blood on his gear, ranging from inconspicuous flecks to big streaks that were likely still wet. levi must’ve noticed your perturbed observation, because when he finally finds himself standing before you, he bends down and grabs your jaw in his hand, roughly squeezing your face, and leaning down until your noses are just barely touching.

“i leave you alone for a month, and you let some piece of shit from the mp’s knock you up?” it’s his eyes that are the scariest, more than his strength, and you crumble underneath his scrutinizing gaze. your retaliation is much more timid than you intend it to be, as if you were guilty and confessing your sins. sins of disloyalty to a man you aren’t even with in the first place, “you can’t expect me to want to stay here, i saw a way out, and i was going to take it.”

it doesn’t cross your mind to question how he knows all of this. you’ve simply accepted it as fact that you will never experience true privacy after meeting levi. in retrospect, it’s ludicrous that you’re even explaining yourself to him, but you are and it’s not helping your case, “and how did that work out for you?” levi spits venomously, violently shaking your head side to side in his grasp until your eyes were rattling in your skull. levi only lets go to prop his foot up onto the side of the bed.

instinctively, you lean away from his knee, which is almost parallel to your head, setting your hand on his calf in an attempt to direct his body away from yours. levi places the blade he had refused to release from his grip back into the metal box it belonged in, dropping his leg to the ground and hoisting you up by your shoulders, “groveling at the feet of those pigs, you’ve become real pathetic, haven’t you?” you want to defend yourself, to call him a hypocrite, to call him pathetic for harassing someone like you that was undeserving of his badgering.

“how did you even know he was a soldier?” deflecting the topic from yourself to your genuine concerns, you go limp in his arms as levi twirls you around the room until he’s satisfied with your placement. positioning you in front of the windows, leaning slightly on the stool as he pushed you backwards until you could feel the cold glass frame through your nightgown. levi slovenly flicks the sash lock, holding onto the lift and pushing the window up, “where do you think i got all of this from?” you didn’t need any clarification to know that levi was referring to his equipment.

your chest tightens, constricting your airway as you stop breathing altogether to attain perfect stillness. you only look at him with vacant eyes, and it becomes too much when he doesn’t elaborate any further, “what did you do, levi?” he sticks his head through the window, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the top rail, and peering down at the ‘city,’ below. it isn’t as if he needed to, there wasn’t anyone on the streets. when levi pulls himself back into the room, he slings an arm around your hips to bring you closer, “what do you think i did? the man’s dead, do i have to spell it out for you?”

the prickling sensation underneath your skin erupts in waves across your entire body. you were no stranger to the realities of what went on around you, the hushed rumors of what men and women who had the will to do what they wanted to others simply because they were capable, and not out of survival necessity, “you’re sick, what is wrong with you?”

“call it what you want, but he has nothing for you. you want to leave the underground? hmph, well don’t we all?” levi mocks contemptuously, tightening his hold when he feels you threaten to slip away in the slightest. he moves you around like a rag doll by the sides of your body, until you're in front of him. levi closes the little space that was left between you, until you’re forced to grab onto him for support, seeing that straining your wrists to secure yourself by the windowsill was becoming too painful, “we can go wherever you want, but you won’t be going anywhere without me.”

suddenly, levi veers down. his body collapsing onto yours until you’re nearly halfway out of the window, and he, looming over you, “oh my god, what is wrong with you?!” you repeat, blood rushing to your head as you try to prevent your upper half from being upside down and being taken by gravity completely. levi guides your arms around his neck, loosely as you refuse to acknowledge you’re even embracing him in the first place, but your fear of falling surpasses your personal grudges. and in one swift motion, levi thrusts the rest of your body out of the window, and he follow suits mere seconds afterward. and you scream, as loud as humanly possible.

levi’s body never leaves yours, and you’re uncertain as to whether it’s because you won’t allow it, or because he won’t allow it. either way, the detach hold you had on his neck fastened into a tight chokehold the moment you had felt yourself even remotely lean back any further. the landing is much smoother than you anticipated, levi doesn’t let you touch the ground before he does. and if you hadn’t shut your eyes, or buried your face into the crook of his neck, you may have gotten to witness the vertical maneuvering equipment in action; what used to be a dream for you, to leave with it, but you could kiss those fantasies goodbye now that they found themselves in the hands of levi. and he’s cautious, all too cautious with you.

you’re trembling like a leaf, and he thinks that if he lets go of you, you’ll fall to the ground, “don’t think you haven’t pissed me off, now. there’s a million things i ought to do to you after getting with that sorry excuse of a man.” levi rests a warning hand on your shoulder, loutishly hauling you towards him until you just about trip over your feet. he makes sure you’re aware of the desolate area that surrounds you two; and it becomes increasingly obvious that no one would come to intervene. if not by your shrieking, then never. levi tilts his head with an unimpressed frown, “you’re lucky you’re pregnant with our kid, because i won’t even be half as merciful once they’re born.”

#ackerifle #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere aot x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader

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chaotic-orphan · 3 months

Text

Heroic Betrayal: part five

Read part one here

Continued from this point here

*~*~*~*~*

What kind of idiot were they to be stuck here? Hero should have told Sidekick when they got the tip about Villain… they should have told them that they were going to rough Villain up a bit, get the information they needed on Other Villain’s whereabouts and beat the shit out of them. Just a little revenge for touching a hair on Sidekick’s innocent head.

Even if they managed to catch Villain and mete out justice on Other Villain, they would have beaten the ever-living shit out of the wrong person, and that was something Hero didn’t want to think about in that moment.

That Flynn…

Their Flynn was the one who put Sidekick in the med bay.

Sidekick, who was still in the med bay, where Hero should be, but no. Instead, they were here, powerless and bleeding and it was all their fault.

Hero didn’t know how long they sat and stewed on that thought. Long enough that their nose stopped bleeding anyway. Hero tentatively reached up to their upper lip, their hand came away from it dry, the blood caked and flaked onto their face now.

“What happened to your face?” Hero angled their head down from where they stared at the ceiling to see Flynn standing on the other side of the cell bars.

“Fuck off, Red,” Hero grumbled, and fought the wince at their casual nickname for Flynn slipping out of their lips. “I’m not in the mood.”

A jangle of keys and the cell door was open, footsteps approaching Hero in their cot in the corner. Hero’s heart ached with every beat as Flynn came into their line of sight, concern drawing his features together.

How many times had they seen that same concern on his face? Told Hero it was going to be okay. Cleaned their wounds, laughed about the bruises the next day?

How much of it was a lie? — Hero wanted to ask. The question burned a hole on the tip of their tongue, but they didn’t dare speak it. They just stared up at the ceiling as best they could.

“What? You piss someone off already?”

Hero sighed. Flynn sat on the edge of the bed, moving closer to Hero, his hands going to inspect the damage like he so often did. It made something ache in Hero’s chest. Hero slapped their hands away, tears burning in the back of their eyes.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Flynn,” Hero bit out. “You don’t get to betray me and then pretend to be my friend and concerned about me.”

Flynn stared; eyes sad as he said: “okay. Guess I deserve that.”

“You deserve so much more,” Hero said, eyes burning with hatred, voice barely above a whisper. “How many of our friends died because of you? Hmm?”

“Hero, not all of it–” Flynn began then stopped, huffed out a breath of air through his nose, hand running through his hair. “Not all of it was a lie. I am your friend. I do care about you.”

“Oh really? Then you’d never use your power on me, right?” Hero demanded, echoing back Flynn’s words against him. Flynn had the audacity to even look guilty at that, and Hero leaned forwards, hands on Flynn’s as they said: “I forgive you, okay. I forgive you if you let me go. Flynn, please.”

Flynn’s eyebrows knit together, clearly conflicted but he said nothing. After a moment, Hero let out a breath of disbelief and sat back against the wall again.

“Yeah,” Hero scoffed, “we’re friends.”

“You have blood all over your face, Hero. You really want to just leave it?”

“Why the hell not?” Hero said, trying to force their tone into some form of neutrality.

Flynn sighed and stood up from the cot. “Supervillain wants an audience with you. I was sent to retrieve you.”

Hero rolled their eyes but got to their feet no less. “Of course,” they said, pushing past Flynn to the door. “God help you actually wanted to see how I was doing.”

“Hero—”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Let’s just go.”

“Hero that’s not—”

Before they could get the fourth word out, Hero had whirled on them eyes blazing hotter than any hells furnace.

“Fair?!” They asked incredulously, their voice jumping two pitches at the sheer audacity of the word on their lips. “Is that what you were going to say?”

Flynn didn’t back down this time. Instead he stepped forward, looking down his nose at Hero.

“Yes. That is what I was going to say.”

“You are unbelievable!” Hero snapped matching Flynn with a step forward of their own. They held their cuffed hands up in Flynn’s face as if to remind him exactly why Hero was there in the first place. “If you’re my friend you’ll take these off.”

“Hero you know I can’t—”

Hero didn’t let him finish. Instead they placed their palms on Flynn’s chest and shoved them as hard as they could. Flynn looked about as bothered as if a fly had flown into the room.

“I can’t uncuff you Hero,” Hero said, lowering their voice to mimic Flynn’s and shoving him back again. “I can’t let you go Hero.” And again. “I can’t fucking think—” shove “for myself” shove “Hero.”

Hero glared up at Flynn trying to fight back the frustrated tears building behind her eyes. Anger was easier to focus on in the moment rather than that vast aching pit twisting uncomfortably in their gut.

“But I promise I’m your friend, Hero,” Hero mocked, shoving him back again until Flynn’s back hit off the wall. Flynn’s eyebrows curved down and it left a pang in Hero’s chest that they hated. “And then you have the gall to look hurt. As if I betrayed you.”

Hero ignored the tears that fell at the last sentence, or at least tried to. They tried to be firm and act tough, but saying the betrayal out loud, acknowledging it when it was just the two of them was too much.

“Would you trust me if the roles were reversed?” Hero asked, not even wanting to look at Flynn for the answer. The more they saw the conflict on his face the harder it was to hate him. Flynn however, didn’t take this into consideration when he put his hand on Hero’s face and tilted it back to face him.

Hero narrowed their eyes at him, pushing every ounce of anger into their gaze hoping they would turn into actual daggers and stab him.

“No,” Flynn breathed softly, thumb wiping away the tear streaks from Hero’s face. “I wouldn’t trust you if the roles were reversed, but I would hear you out of you tried to explain it to me.”

“And if I took you to Supervillain?!” Hero asked, their voice low and furious as they stepped out of Flynn’s touch. “The enemy we’ve been trying to stop for months?”

“You.”

“What?!” Hero demanded hotly.

Flynn’s gaze hardened, his face devoid of all emotion now except for his usual mask of easy confidence, smirk on his lips as if he didn’t just wipe Hero’s tears away.

“The enemy you’ve been trying to stop for months,” Flynn said again taking a step forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Hero matched his step with one back, cautious, hackles raised. “I mean the man you borderline obsessed over, Hero. Don’t you want to meet the genius who eluded you, the great detective, for all that time?”

“Not particularly,” Hero said through gritted teeth, with another step back that Flynn matched, getting closer and closer each time.

“That’s what you called him though, right? A genius,” Flynn teased, his grin showing his teeth. “I mean, fuck, Hero some of the moves he made you were damn right impressed with. You even said you’d have done exactly the same thing if—”

“I was in his position,” Hero cut Flynn off. Flynn’s smirk grew wider as he took another step closer, dipping his head conspiratorially.

“Now you can be,” said Flynn with a wide gesture of his hands. Hero followed his hand to the cell door that they happened to be right beside. Hero was keenly aware that Flynn was backing them towards the door the whole time. “Even just for the intellectual stimulation if nothing else.”

“Go fuck yourself, Flynn. I’m not willingly walking into the Lion’s den.”

Flynn’s eyelids fell half over his eyes. “It is less dignified to be dragged, Hero, but if you insist.”

Flynn made a grab for Hero’s arm but they dodged at the last minute, turning to shoulder Flynn out of the way. Flynn didn’t so much as budge from his spot. Instead he caught Hero by the strap of their scabbard and yanked them into Flynn’s chest.

“The hard way, wonderful. I wouldn’t expect any less of you Hero,” Flynn said, wrapping an arm over Hero's chest and keeping them close as they stepped out of the cell, pushing Hero forward with their own body weight. “Let's go introduce you to Supervillain.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The orphanage roll call (tag-list): @shywhumpauthor (lmk if you want to be added/removed)

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v3lvieraven · 3 months

Text

Twisted monster

Warnings- yandere behavior, blood, injuries, disease, curses, death

Note: I want to make it clear I did NOT say that he was a wendigo, I am aware that it is apart of many cultures. I said it was similar in its characteristics.

🌀- He is a natural hunter, his ram horns made it very easy to bash the skulls of any moving thing.

🌀- he resembles a wendigo but more humanoid, his skin is ashy and freckled, hair grown out very long. The horns growing out of his skull, the tips black.

🌀- [reader] often came into the forest, searching for berries or medicinal herbs. Often times, they would visit the ancient temple made to appease him. Every 20 years he would take someone from the village as a sacrifice. (Ik it’s overused but I’m still using it.)

🌀- offerings were left, and [reader] always left something as an offering to his temple. Flowers, letters, fruits..

🌀- he often would watch as they came and left…

🌀- It only took 6 months for him to finally gain the courage to reveal himself to them. His eyes were wide open, his feet thumping on the ground nervously as he waited for your arrival.

🌀- when they arrived, their face went pale, then red in the span of five seconds. His head lowered trying to make himself seem as docile as he could.

🌀- fortunately they could tell that he had no intention of harming them, so they approached him cautiously.

🌀- their eyebrows raise when he has a big smile, sharp white teeth shining at them as they get closer.

🌀- When they sit across him, he reaches out for their hand, playing with their fingers. It doesn’t take long for him to be all over them. [Readers] lap is preoccupied at the moment…

🌀- soon they had learned his name is Ciel…their visits become longer and longer until he gets way to impatient and greedy, he doesn’t want just 6 hours… he wants them all the time.

🌀- and so, his rampage begins..

🌀- it starts with little threats, crops being trampled and trees around the village burning down

🌀- this soon progresses into stealing livestock or killing anyone who talks to them, as well as writing [Reader’s] name with blood on walls, with big heats surrounding it.

🌀- The forest was the only place with yarrow near them, even if the village had warned them many times not to go in alone, they didn’t listen. The swirls around the trees should have been warning enough along with the curse of thorns.

Context- curse of thorns is when you enter the forest for a visit not welcomed by The Beast, thorns will start growing in your lungs, progressively spreading up to your eyes until your whole body is covered in thorns, not fully though.

🌀- usually when someone visited the temple, it would be during the yearly festival on October first.

🌀- the town had soon decided what was best for the village, giving them up. The lure was set, a feast in the middle of town square with [reader] as the main cook.

🌀- Once [Reader] arrived, the people held them down as they screamed.

“Get off of me!”

🌀- the summoning ritual had began, the slash across their chest was large, but not enough to lose to much blood.

🌀-shrill screams filled the air as the slash was being created, drawing in The Beast.

🌀- he was about to kill them all when suddenly the priest had spoken.

“O, great and marvelous Beast, allow this sacrifice quench your undying anger and serve as a peace offering!”

🌀- the absurdly annoying man yelled, causing Ceil to pause. Was this his moment? He rushed forwards to take them in his arms, his face filled with pure bliss when he realizes that they are all his… then to pure rage when he realizes the village had hurt them.

🌀- not to worry, he didn’t kill everyone, just the priest and the woman who had slashed you with a knife with a smile…

🌀- now you both can live in his nest forever….

#yandere monster x reader #yandere monster #monster x reader #monster oc #yandere #writing

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tulipsforvin · 6 months

Note

Hello! May I request an albert/reader scenario where they’re not yet official but reader is always very very very clingy to albert whenever they’re sleepy and he just finds it cute and realizes he likes them a lot <3.

A/N: HELLOO! Thank you for the request, anon! I got you have a wonderful day ahead of you <3

Format: Story Writing. I'm guessing that's what you were asking for 😭

Tags: Fluff, Wholesome, Albert James Moriarty.

“Sleep & Realisation„

Albert J. Moriarty x GN!Reader

As autumn tiptoed upon the land, a subtle transformation began. The world adorned itself in a kaleidoscope of fiery hues, as if nature had set ablaze the very essence of beauty. The air turned crisp, carrying the intoxicating aroma of fallen leaves and wood smoke.

(Name) had found solace in Albert's office, as they always would during colder, darker weathers. Fire crackled in the fireplace, cascading orange light on both of their skins. The both sat besides each other on a sofa, Albert flipping through military based reports and (Name) resting their head on his shoulder.

The relationship that the two shared often teetered between one of romance and one of very close friendship — full of witty bantering and teasing each other.

Their eyes drowsily scanned the room, going over the walls and the portraits hung on them, travelling to his desk where there laid photo frames of his closest people - along with one of (Name) and Albert together.

Soon, (Name)'s gaze rested upon the clock on the wall, the time indicating that it had gone very well past twilight and yet Albert would not budge from his work.

(Name) yawns, tugging at his sleeve so he can turn his attention to them instead of his work.

“Not yet, (Name). I'm still in the middle of deciphering a crucial code.” He murmurs, stealing a glance at their sleepy form.

(Name) huffs, looking up at Albert's figure with lidded eyes.

“Perhaps you should head to bed early? You look as if you're on the brink of passing out any second now.” He wraps an arm around (Name)'s shoulder, drawing them in closer.

A sleepy, soft whine and a sluggish shake of their head makes Albert glances up from his work and turns his head towards (Name), raising a curious eyebrow — especially when they bury their face into his neck, inhaling his comforting, warm cologne.

“Oh? Whatever could this mean?” Albert teases lightly, his lips pulling back into the most subtle of smiles, gazing over their drowsy features with mild amusement.

“What else?” (Name) lazily pokes his ribs with their elbow. “That 'm sleepy, ofcourse.”

Albert's face softens almost immediately, putting down the reports and turning fully towards (Name) so that they now rest limply against his chest. (Name) idly wraps their arms around his waist, snuggling up to him.

“Is that so?” He whispers softly, smiling.

“Mm...” Comes (Name)'s short response, too weary to say more.

He pushes a lock of hair behind their ears, using one to slowly and languidly rub their back while using the other to stroke the back of their head repeatedly.

He rocks the two of them back and forth until he finally feels (Name)'s breath slow down and feel them lay even further against him.

“..(Name)?” His voice is barely audible.

No response. The only sounds that now fill his office were the light noises of the fire crackling and the two's calm, slow breaths.

He pulls back ever so slightly to gaze over (Name)'s delicate face, feeling himself chuckle sweetly when he looks at their relaxed expression, all nuzzled up to him.

“Adorable.” Albert hums, feeling his heart swell with affection for them. He lays them down on his lap, caressing (Name)'s hair repeatedly in a languid pace; all while he has a stupid grin on his face — one that he can't seem to wipe away.

He picks up the reports again, his eyes scanning every line quietly. Aware that he's reading through the lines but not really understanding them, he sighs and puts the papers down again. He leans back against the sofa, eyes locked to the ceiling above them.

He closes his eyes. And the moment he does, what he sees is not darkness but (Name). What he was only hearing moments ago; the crackles of the fireplace, has now been replaced by the distant echo of their laughter, ringing in his ears. He finds himself smiling idly to memories of them and him, playing out over and over in his mind.

His heart begins to suddenly thump in his chest and he places a hand over it almost reflexively, as if it would wake (Name) up if his heartbeats were too loud.

The realization suddenly begins to set in, creeping up his bones.

“..Ah.” He straightens his back almost immediately, eyelids snapping open. His gaze warily falls back to the figure sleeping comfortably in his lap - not a care in the world.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling softly. “Look at what you've done to me.” He murmurs, his gaze falling to (Name)'s lips.

“I've become completely and utterly besotted with you, (Name).” Albert whispers, leaning down to press his lips against their nose.

#albert james moriarty x y/n #mtp albert #albert james moriarty x you #albert james moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty #james moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #serraphim answers #serraphim

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residentrookie · 7 months

Text

heyyy so here’s an @jegulus-microfic prompt from september 13th that i never got around to posting :D

9/13 prompt: water; wc: 950 (the one where jegulus has an elevator meet cute :))

It’s 7 in the morning and Regulus Black is royally fucking pissed off.

He has a right to be, in all fairness. Anyone has the right to be pissed off when their alarm never goes off and instead they wake up to the sound of water leaking through their ceiling, dripping out a staccato rhythm on the wooden floors. He’d had enough time to kick a metal mixing bowl under the stream of water and send a strongly worded email to his landlord before he had to rush away for work, already half an hour late.

The elevator creaks now as it descends to the ground floor, just one more thing that needs fixing in this ancient fucking building. He should have known not to rent out such an old apartment, but the wooden floors and incredible view from the massive windows in his living room had ultimately swayed him. This is what he gets for choosing aesthetic over someplace practical.

“Have you heard about the leak on the 14th floor?”

The voice behind him makes Regulus jump, sending his phone clattering loudly to the floor. Before this exact second, he’d been clueless to another person being on this elevator with him.

“Holy sh—” he smothers his curse and turns his head in time to catch the stranger bending down to retrieve the phone that had landed near his feet.

“Sorry about that,” the stranger laughs, dimples fully on display as he straightens. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you knew I was here.”

Regulus blinks and recognition quickly floods his brain.

Oh god. It’s him. Elevator Guy. The hot tenant that lives somewhere above Regulus, seeing that he always stays on after Regulus reaches his floor. Every time Regulus found himself in an elevator with this man he was immensely grateful for the plethora of reflective surfaces so he could look and look as much as he pleased without ever being caught. God, the dark eyes, the broad shoulders, the way he so often leans up against the railing with his hip, headphones dangling from his ears…

Regulus comes to his senses, realizing he’s staring like an idiot. He reaches to take the phone that’s still extended to him.

“It’s… fine.”

They’re talking. They’re actually talking and it’s the one fucking morning that Regulus doesn’t have his shit together. Right now is the only time they’ve been in this tiny metal chamber together that Regulus hasn’t planned out a script in his head just in case they happen to bump arms or go for a button at the same moment. Something witty or dry, just short enough to make the stranger want more.

“So… the pipe?” Elevator Guy asks, his face looking more concerned the longer Regulus continues to stare blankly. “Apparently they sent out a memo to let us know a water pipe burst.”

“Yeah I got that memo in the form of water pouring from my ceiling,” Regulus replies darkly, realizing too late he probably sounds entirely off putting. The stranger doesn’t seem to mind, instead shaking his head.

“Shit, that’s unlucky.”

As are so many things this morning, it seems.

Regulus sighs, facing forward to stop himself from ogling the poor man. “That’s what I get for living on the 13th floor.”

“Oh?” the stranger asks and Regulus is quick to fill in the blanks.

“Yeah, they’re uh, supposedly haunted. And the ghosts in this building seem to take their jobs very seriously.”

The stranger laughs, drawing Regulus’ eyes back to him in time to see his whole fight light up with his smile. “Oh my god, they really do. My bathroom door literally never stays shut. Like I’ll intentionally close it at night and by the next morning it’s wide open. I swear it’s like some kind of paranormal anomaly, but my parents just think there’s a draft I don’t know about. Maybe I’m the crazy one.”

“You’re definitely not,” Regulus interjects with a frown. “This building is like 150 years old. Sometimes I lay awake at night and wonder how many people have died in my bedroom.”

Fucking hell, Regulus sounds like a freak. He’s blowing this, he is totally blowing this.

“Mm. Probably dozens,” the stranger replies with an easy smile. Regulus notices suddenly how close they’re standing and tries to stay still, savoring the proximity. “But I bet there’s hundreds of them floating around this whole place, causing mayhem where they can. Or I don’t know, maybe they’re benevolent ghosts,” his eyes slide over the Regulus. “Maybe I should be thanking them.”

Regulus is incredulous and more than a little flustered. “T-thanking the ghosts? Why?”

“Because I’ve been trying to get you alone in an elevator for months and that pipe bursting is the first thing to make it happen for me.”

He’s not, he knows he’s not, but Regulus might as well be in a fucking freefall down the elevator shaft. That’s what it feels like anyway, like his stomach has bottomed out and all his organs are rising up to his throat, the swooping sensation nearly overwhelming.

Before Regulus can begin to fetch the fleeting thoughts from his absent brain, the elevator dings, a signal that it’s reached the ground floor. The stranger steps out easily, like he hasn’t ripped the rug right out from Regulus’ feet. He turns, a sly smile on his face.

“I’m James,” he says. Then he holds out his hand. Regulus, in a haze, nearly takes it, but before he can, something small and white is dropped into his palm. He looks down with a startled blink.

“My number,” James provides. “In case you didn’t believe me before, I’ve had that in my pocket for almost two months now.”

#i LOVE a meet cute #and i was feeling wholesome the day i wrote this so :)#i also love writing a flustered and pining regulus black #like on the outside he’s all 😐😒😕#but on the inside he’s 😍🥰😫#i love his duality #anyway hope y’all liked this one it was a short one #jegulus #jegulus microfic #my writing #reg’s writing tag

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asnowfern · 3 months

Text

Love Me Before The Bubble Bursts

Summary: It is the last night of her work conference in Adriata and Elain decided that she needed to have a little bit of fun. Who else better to show her than her smooth talking redheaded counterpart from Springton? Rating: T WC: 3.2k Read on AO3 Listen to odoriko by Vaundy for vibes✨✨✨

A/N: Written for Day 1 of @sjmromanceweek : First Date! Don't mind me, just continuing to defy time zones during fandom events as I always do!

A warm orange hue lights up the modern furnishing of the sleek hotel room. Not that Elain is looking at any of that. With a slight smile to herself, she stares at the bold headline on her phone that she has read for the umpteenth time today.

VELARIS LEADS THE CHARGE WITH REGIONAL GRID PROJECT TO DRIVE RENEWABLE ENERGY ADOPTION TO NEW HEIGHTS!

Giving it one last fond stare, she locks the phone with a click and collapses back into the plush bed. The device slides out of her hand and bounces lightly. She covers her eyes with the back of her forearm as an exhaustion washes over her.

It’s done. It’s finally done.

After months of slaving over stacks and stacks of documentation and late nights of calls stretching different time zones that stretched into early morning meetings with key political players driving the project, the agreement has finally been signed at the major international energy conference in Adriata. She is elated, relieved, exhausted.

She is exhausted and empty.

Elain reaches her hand out, feeling blindly for the familiar slim rectangular device. The large numbers of her Lock Screen jump out at her behind the beautiful backdrop of the Illyrian Mountains - a constant reminder of what she is trying to save.

08:54 PM

Not an entirely unreasonable time to head to bed, she reckons. Afterall, she does have a long flight ahead of her tomorrow. Her eyes glaze over at the tall white ceiling, her brain drifting off with it.

“It’s all work to you, Lainey. You have made your priorities very clear. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t make this, make me, a priority.”

Rich brown eyes sharpen and Elain sucks in a breath. She promptly sits up, glancing around the expensive room she would likely never be able to afford by herself. She floats herself to the glassed wall, taking in the panoramic view of how the river sparkles even in the dark night, the city skyscrapers glittering in the distance.

Making the snap decision, she flips around and stalks to her packed luggage. With one thrust elbow deep into the bag, she pulls out the elegant yet fun jumpsuit Vassa had insisted she brought.

It doesn’t have to always be all work. She reminds herself firmly. She can have fun and let loose too.

***

Or maybe not.

She thinks sulkily as she idly stirs her cylindrical bottomed drink, topped off with a silly umbrella. An Adriata Afternoon, they had called it. A sweet slushy cocktail that is reminiscent of a margarita but more refined. Stronger too, judging by how light her head is getting.

Her brow creases slightly at the flashing lights lighting up the dance floor, momentarily illuminating the moving bodies smushed together, drawing attention to body parts that would probably be better off in the shadows. Heaving one heavy sigh, she empties her drink in one go, and is about to rise to her feet when a flash of auburn slides into the seat next to her.

“Leaving so soon?” The velvet baritone voice asks with the same authority that, more often than not, vexes her over the line.

The edges of her mouth quirks. She should leave, she thinks, still possessing enough awareness to know that. But still, she tilts her head towards him in casual observation and lets her gaze linger and wash over her gilded counterpart from Springton.

He has shed his stuffy tie and jacket from the conference, choosing to roll his sleeves to his elbows instead and reveal more of the golden brown skin and toned forearms. The sensual curve of his lips flick upwards lazily, intoxicating russet eyes she had never quite seen this up close rakes over her, branding every inch of exposed skin.

Suddenly, the room is all too hot.

Elain closes her fingers over the still cool surface of her glass and clears her throat, “Mr Vanserra.”

He raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, “It’s after five. Call me Lucien.”

She can’t help but huff lightly at the absurdity of the statement, can’t help the sassiness that creeps into her voice as she retorts, “I recall having many, many conversations long past five pm with you,” and it may be the Adriata Afternoon wrecking its own brand of havoc on her but the next words escape her breathily, dragging out each syllable, “Mister Vanserra.”

“Touché,” he chuckles and offers her a glass identical to the one in his other hand, “but today is pretty momentous and we deserve it, don’t you think, Miss Archeron?”

She takes the glass, their fingers touching for a brief moment. She tries with little success to ignore how they seem to tingle pleasantly.

“Well then,” she raises her glass, declaring, “To us.”

The glasses clink harmoniously.

“To us.”

***

Elain giggles, her fingers idly swirling the empty glass. “The look on his face though!”

“On his face?!” Lucien sputters in mock outrage, flinging his hands in the air, “do you have any idea how many management meetings I had to sit through afterwards to convince Tamlin of the trade benefits of the project?”

She dissolves into giggles and uses one delicate finger to wipe off a tear from the edge of her eye. At some point over the course of the last two drinks, they had moved to the cozy booth at the corner of the bar, far away enough from the blaring noise of the crowd. The length of her outer thigh is resting against his while his shoulders are close enough to occasionally rub against hers.

She tries futilely to stifle the laughter still bubbling in her chest to commiserate in a barely straight face, nodding sagely, “Must have been trying.”

Russet eyes narrow and the beautiful face leans in, full of mischievous intent. “It was,” the low husky bedroom voice leaves a trail of goosebumps down the back of her neck. Elain’s breath hitches, her head instinctively angles to the side, exposing the delicate fair skin of her neck. Thick lips hover a mere centimetre away, puffing hot breath with every tantalising word, “and how does the Velarian Authority intend to compensate for the wasted time?”

She hums. “Messy to bring in legal,” her eyes flutter close in relish of the phantom touch of lips on skin, “what if we settle this privately?”

“Oh?”

Chocolate orbs open to smouldering russet. It burns hot and bright. She twists her body towards him, apprehension and desire warring within her. She asks, spurred by the liquid courage coursing through her veins, “Shall we get out of here?”

Surprise overtakes him for a moment. A moment is all that’s needed for her to pull back and begin backpedalling furiously. She adds hastily, “Out of this building I mean. This is my first time in Adriata and I have barely taken one step out of the building and-“

“Elain,” he cuts off her rambling with surprising warmth, wrapping her hand in his. He pauses, flicking his gaze towards her strapping heels, a bright spark in his eyes, “I have just the idea but you might need to change to a more sensible pair of shoes though.”

Elain raises one piqued brow in response.

***

“Really?”

Lucien ignores the skepticism in her voice as he continues to tap into his phone, registering and renting the bicycles before them. Elain bounces from one ball of her foot to another. After a quick thought, she takes out a plain hair tie from her small bag and pulls her luscious golden brown hair back into a high ponytail.

She glances around. Shutters have been pulled and locked down at the surrounding stores, a little presence of a nightlife beyond the bustle of the rooftop bar they were just at. But even at this late hour, the promenade by the river that snakes through the central district of Adriata is still sparsely populated, mostly by couples strolling with their fingers interlaced, the air filled with soft whispers and shoulder bumps.

A click of his phone later, her unlikely companion for the evening slides the slim device into his pocket.

“Done!” He announces with a flourish, a welcoming smile graces handsome features and sends the butterflies in her stomach into a fluttering flurry. “Well, my lady? Your personal bicycle tour awaits.”

She takes the bicycle being rolled towards her, swinging a graceful leg over it, sending him a bright smile. “Lead on, good sir.”

Lucien sets them off at an easy pace. Elain follows easily, sending much needed blood circulation through her alcohol plied body, which has also seen little but short walks from her hotel room and the conference halls for the past week. The cool breeze of the city whips about her face playfully.

They take a sharp take away from the glittering river and begin meandering about the quiet roads slicing through tall office buildings. Elain is about to open her mouth to send a teasing remark to her tour guide about the tour lacking in scenery when said guide turns back to her with a wink, as if he knew exactly what she was about to say.

She pumps more energy into her legs so that they’re cycling side by side instead. “So do you often give flirtatious bike tours to women you’ve just met?”

Hopelessly fishing, maybe, but here she is.

“But we are not strangers, are we?” He returns evenly, “we have been conversing for months. What makes you think I haven’t been thinking about this for ages?”

Elain isn’t able to stop the flush rising up her chest. She had found the man insanely attractive from the moment he turned on his video setting on the project kickoff call, of course. A silent admiration that made the long hours a tad easier to bear. But to think that he might have thought the same of her? Something within her preens like a well-groomed cat.

“My, my,” she tuts, “and to think I’ve thought you so professional the past few months.” Her lips curve in a good-natured tease at the slight crease in his brows, the indignation forming, and continues quickly in a quiet confession, “me too.”

She snaps her head abruptly back to the front of the road, not wanting to catch his reaction. Not yet.

There is a huff of laughter next to her before he pulls up in front of her once more, leading the way. It isn’t long before a long length of dense trees come into sight. Crossing the dense layer of greenery opens up to a huge open space roaring with life - a night market, of sorts.

They return the urban sharing bikes, turning them back into the designated lots. There are a series of clicks as the bicycles engage its locking mechanism. Elain takes the elbow offered chivalrously to her, looping her arm with the redhead.

The market is filled with Adriata locals, full of chatter in its native language. There are a variety of stalls that formed two layers of the circular space - the inner row that comprises mostly of stalls selling food and beverages and the outer rows that comprises a mix of fun carnival games and small rides, even a petite ferris wheel that has somehow remain hidden behind its forested guards, invisible to the outside eye.

Their first stop is a fried street snack - a well-spiced battered collection of mushrooms and seafood. The perfect oily balance to the alcoholic drinks they had. Lucien smiles, too entirely pleased with himself, as Elain gushes at the perfect crispy texture of the exterior and soft insides, wonderfully complemented by the tangy dipping sauce. They pair it with a sweet spiced honey drink that washes it down perfectly.

They walk along the chain of typical carnival games. She stops them in their tracks by grabbing tightly on to Lucien’s elbow, gasping at a familiar fox plushie with synthetic bright orange fur.

“Is that a limited edition plushie of the fox character from the Suriel show?” She asks, more to herself than her companion.

“Indeed, it is,” answers the jovial game master in a thick accent, pleased at the recognition, “all yours if you can hit all the targets.”

Elain turns to Lucien, her eyes bright and sparkling. “It will double our chances if we both try, yeah?”

An embarrassingly long time later, they continued strolling along with the fox toy tucked snugly between the crooks of her elbow and an all too pleased look on her face. Next to her, her companion sneaks fond affectionate looks at her.

They have almost completed their round of the market, pausing at what is likely their last stop of the evening - the Ferris wheel. It is clunky and almost pathetically small, utterly inadequate in showcasing any views the proud city boasts. Yet, there was something about its old school charm that draws you in.

Another exchange of coins later and the pair are stepping into the small booth. They seat themselves opposite one another, their knees touching in its limited space.

“If you’ve enjoyed yourself on the Vanserra Tours today. It will really help us if you could leave us a 5-star review on Yelp.” Lucien quips, breaking the silence.

Elain giggles, relishing in the lightness in her chest, a feeling she hasn’t felt in the longest time. She grabs his hands and slips both hands into large palms, callous blisters on the flipped side of his knuckles a contrast against her soft skin.

“Thank you,” she says softly into the small enclosure, “I’ve had a great time today.”

Her gaze crawls up the length of his graceful body, the subtle signs of well-defined muscles underneath the formal shirt to the breathtaking sharp contours of his face and striking russet eyes, looking back at her as if she is something so unbearably precious. Letting go of the last semblance of nerves, she surges forward to slot her lips against his.

A low groan fills the small booth and the noise of the machinery and outside world disappears.

Strong arms circle around her and pull her onto his lap. She loops her own arms around his neck as they deepen the kiss, her lips parting at the first swipe of tongue.

He tastes of a cool autumn night, warm spices mixed with a heady dose of sweet cinnamon. Sucking, nipping and the press of tongue on tongue. Sharp tugs on silky tresses and wandering hands trailing a blaze up and down her all too warm body. It is all consuming and all Elain wants is more. More more more. She presses into the delicious warmth of his body, moulding soft curves into hard planes.

A loud throat clearing pulls them apart. They turn to look at the unimpressed lady minding the ride.

“This is a family ride.” She says flatly, dark eyes are thick with judgement.

They leave with sheepish apologies but completely unapologetic grins, their fingers interlaced tightly, bodies flushed into each other, the fox still tucked tightly in her other arm. All through the journey in the back of the car hire and the elevator ride up to her hotel room. Until the room door snips shut and they fall gracelessly into the large bed.

***

Elain is having a good dream.

She can’t remember what it was about but there is a thrum of content that has her heart humming and whistling. She lets out a happy sigh and buries her face deeper into her pillow.

A sudden rude blare of an alarm tears her out of her reverie.

Chocolate brown eyes open to a hazy vision. She blinks blearily, her brain needing a few more moments to register the foreign environment. The bed beneath her moves and groans, and the memories of the night before flood her sleep addled brain.

With her head still resting on the soft pillow, she turns to look at Lucien. His eyes are still closed as his hand grasps wildly to search for his phone, which from the ringtone, is somewhere within the pile of clothes strewn across the floor. Elain feels her lips curving upwards in its own accord at the futility of the man’s action.

She chimes lyrically, “It’s not there.”

Russet eyes snap open, its gaze focusing sharply on her before the next buzz of his alarm pulls him aware. Lucien rolls out of bed, giving Elain another glimpse of firm butt cheeks as he sleepily saunters his way over to fish his phone out of the long pants and turns off the alarm. He sighs deeply, pushing long legs into the apparel.

“I have a morning flight out,” he informs, his voice coated with regret.

Her heart stutters, a weight dropping heavily in her stomach. “Already?”

She sits up, unabashedly letting the covers slip off and bare her chest to him. Lucien heads over, his hands rest on hers, pinning her to the soft mattress. He drops a kiss on her forehead, whispering, “Don’t move. I want to commit this sight to my memory.”

He steps back, and even though her hands are now free, Elain doesn’t move.

“You have my number.” She reminds him with a sad smile.

He agrees, “I do.”

It’s an unspoken promise that lifts her heart just slightly. With a final wink from the male, Elain watches silently as Lucien turns around and exits the room.

***

Six Months Later

“Let’s go, already,” Vassa complains, the Scythian native is sprawled on the small guest couch in Elain’s office, “I’m hungry.”

“In a minute.” Elain’s fingers fly across the keyboard, “Just need to send out one last email.”

Elain’s colleague and close friend groans, her head falling back on the uncomfortable synthetic leather surface. Mere seconds later, a rectangular light shines on her face as she begins typing on her phone.

Elain turns back to her screen, humming, “Almost done.”

A couple minutes of furious clicks later, she slams her index finger down on the “Enter” button. “Sent! Let’s go.”

“Finally!” The redhead cries out exasperatedly, “Let’s go.”

Elain raises her brows but says nothing as she lets her friend loop their elbows together and practically pull her to the elevator.

All thoughts eddy from her mind when the lift doors slide open, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of another redhead waiting on the other side.

“How?”

Lucien slips his hands out of his pocket, his eyes bright and warm, “I’m on a three year attachment as a Springton representative for the regional grid project.”

Elain spins to round on Vassa. Her close friend and director of the Human Resource division, “You knew!”

“Of course I did.” She answers smoothly, giving Elain a slight push out of the doors. “Now, if you don’t mind. I have lunch plans.” She gives the both of them a cheeky wink, “Enjoy your reunion!”

Elain turns back to Lucien, taking a small step forward. Her head angles slightly when she notices the slight glimmer of nerves in those breathtaking eyes. She inhales deeply before asking lightly, “Is this why you haven’t replied my text from this morning?”

A tension visibly loosens from his shoulders as his face crinkles in amusement. He steps forward to close the gap between them, raising his hands to gently cup her cheeks. He whispers, “Surprise.”

There is nothing else left for Elain to do but to rise to the ball of her feet and lightly brush her lips against his.

“Welcome to Velaris.”

End

#elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #SJMRomanceWeek2024 #acotar #elucien fic

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plumadot · 7 days

Note

Hi hello Pluma 👋🏿

Hope you're doing well!

Got a little bit of a brainstorm for your dnd guys

Big squad is just traveling, or do they have some kind of goal? And – why are they all together?

Is there some particular world building you wanted to introduce, or mb it's just normal Faerun? I really like weird twists, like, then everything is flooded, orrrr maybe then there's no sun in this world! Or they have several moons... Just an idea to think about! :D

I also was thinking of spiderchair a lot-

Just imagine Scar running on the walls and ceilings cuz. Spider chair!!!

And I think Scar is often bored, then they are traveling on foot (he's too active fella to just sit and watch) – mb he has some kind of a hobby to keep his hands busy? Flute is cool and all, but the guy is VERY chatty, (what's why tbh I'm kinda sad he plays flute, no beautiful singing D:) and yea. I was thinking it might be wood carving, bit it's kinda doesn't fit him... Oh, I know! Mb magic tricks ?? I dunno, what do you think? :D

Oh and probably G is often complaining how tired he is from walking on foot... Is there on a chair somewhere a perch for him, or he's just unceremoniously sits on Scar's lap? :DD (Well they still can have horses but. Every horse would despise Grian u'all know that)

Yep... they are definitely The Wanted Criminals... Silly fellas QwQ

hi!!!!! :D <3 <3 <3

they do!! they eh. it's. again it's bits and pieces for now i hope you don't mind gkjdfkgjf. they kinda all have their own goals but they overlap more or less... they're all looking for a certain artefact, even ren's squad is :D i'll try to explain or draw stuff about it once i have all backstories linked up with it and can actually find the words to make it sound plausible LMAO

i'm not sure if i want the world to be very different from "standard" faerûn gfdkgjkfd i like the idea of multiple moons simply for the aesthetic :D and mmmm what's important is that gods are pretty close to mortals and even interfere every now and then. and i suppose the place they're in is coastal, since there's a lot of characters have some kind of connection to the ocean :D

scar is strapped into his spider chair so it should definitely be able to walk on walls!!!! idc if that's overpowered the chair is a magic item ok he gets to have a cool chair!!!!!!!

also yes yes he definitely plays music and doodles a lot!!! :D ohhhh you're right about the singing gfdkjgkjdf maybe i'll also give him a string instrument as a treat :D I'M NOT PICKING FAVOURITES I JUST. YOU KNOW

grian can definitely perch on the chair. and he will. he likes feeling tall :) he uses his flight to scout ahead but it's so very tiring... let him on the chair scar pls...

HFDJKGJDFG i'm so sorry if the things i say about this au make no sense or don't connect or kgfjdkjg i'm not good at this. but i really liked your questions and ideas!!!!!!!!!! ;-;

#ask #plume dnd au

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merrywaanderer · 9 months

Text

a rainy night on whickber street

aziraphale + crowley

synopsis: a soft little drabble, inspired by neil's admission that aziraphale doesn't know that crowley now lives in his car

warnings: n/a

word count: 2k

a/n: i've written a happy little fic to heal your hearts (and mine...), so hopefully, this has its intended effect. set during s2, but entirely spoiler free, as far as i can tell :')

⭒

It was raining on Whickber Street.

Aziraphale was a self-proclaimed enjoyer of rain, finding that some things were simply sweeter against the backdrop of a grey sky, with a soft musical pitter patter for soundtrack — lamps with their warm yellow glow, hot chocolate and reading, listening to Shostakovich records. That sort of thing.

Maybe kisses, too, if Crowley was to be believed. Aziraphale still believed most in dancing at balls.

Night had fallen earlier as the summer days had dawdled away, and in the dim light of the bookshop, Aziraphale yawned, the gentle notes of ‘The Swan’ from Saint-Saën’s Carnival of the Animals drifting from the gramophone, lulling him to sleep at too early an hour.

Only a moment later, he yawned again.

Maybe not so early, then, Aziraphale mused silently, and glanced up at the clock which sat upon his desk.

His eyes widened behind his spectacles.

So that was the time! High time to be going to bed, one should think.

With a soft sigh, he rose from his chair and folded up his glasses, closing the book he had been examining, and settling the spectacles neatly atop the cover, ready for the new day.

Humming to himself, he tidied the few things he always did before going to bed, switching off a few lamps here and there, all but enough to light his way upstairs, and then went about drawing the blinds for the night.

He was just closing the last of them, when a strange sight beyond the rain-speckled window caused him to look twice.

It was Crowley’s Bentley — well now, who else’s would it be? — parked at the kerb, as it often was in the day. But clearly, it was not day, and Crowley’s Bentley should have been parked by his flat. So where was Crowley, if the Bentley was here? It was hardly like him to let his beloved Bentley out of his sight.

Aziraphale frowned. He resolved to investigate.

He strode across the bookshop floor, and carefully — hesitantly, in case this was some fiendish trap of Hell’s making — twisted the doorknob and pushed.

It was raining less now, only sprinkling, but the door creaked as though it were as hesitant as the angel himself to leave the warmth and light of the bookshop. But Aziraphale stepped out onto the pavement, peering into the night toward the Bentley.

He was still holding onto the door when a dash of colour caught his gaze. Red, like a flame behind the light from the bookshop, glinting off the windows of the car.

He frowned again, and let go of the door. He walked slowly toward the Bentley, now surer of himself, though still puzzled by the sight before him.

But when he reached the car, he was certain of what he saw, albeit not why it was that he was seeing it.

Because there was Crowley, slumped in the passenger’s seat of the Bentley, head tipped forward so that his chin nearly touched his chest, dark glasses nowhere to be seen.

His mouth hung open just a little, lower lip sticking out in a fashion which might have been pouty, had Crowley not been asleep, all the usual tension gone from between his eyes.

Something clenched in Aziraphale’s chest.

With a little shiver, Azirphale pushed aside whatever had just come over him, and knocked on the window, first quietly, then more insistently, when the latter proved ineffective.

“Crowley,” he said. “Crowley!”

At last, Crowley started, head hitting the ceiling of the car as Aziraphale winced, before those pretty yellow eyes flicked at last to his angel.

The rigidity which had abruptly pinched Crowley’s shoulders left just as quickly when the demon’s gaze settled on Aziraphale, and he began to roll down the window.

Aziraphale, knees bent, leant his arms on the windowsill, so as to match Crowley’s present height.

“Angel,” said Crowley softly, before Aziraphale could speak. “What… mmm. What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale frowned for the third time in a very short span of minutes. “I could ask you the same thing, my dear boy.”

“‘S no crime to sit in one’s car, ‘sit?” Crowley mumbled groggily.

“But it’s nighttime,” Aziraphale intoned. “You should be at home. Asleep.”

“I am at home,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale felt a warm laugh bubble up to his lips. “No, you’re not, silly. You’re in your car.”

Crowley didn’t laugh. He sighed. “Car’s where I live, now.”

The angel blinked, bemused. “What do you mean? What about your flat?”

Crowley shrugged. “‘S not mine anymore. Shax’s. Part of Hell’s consequences after our little escaping act.”

A sudden hurt gripped Aziraphale again, and his expression softened further, if that was even possible. “Oh, Crowley. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Crowley didn’t look at him, only uttering a quiet, unintelligible noise which was in no way a word. But his meaning was conveyed all the same — he did not know what to say at this moment, nor, possibly, did he ever.

“You’re always here,” Aziraphale murmured. “Why not just stay?”

In the silence, Aziraphale heard only his own breath, and the short stutter of Crowley’s, coming in waves. Crowley still would not look at him.

“I, uh — didn’tknowthatyou’dwantmetostay.”

The confusion resettled on Aziraphale’s brow. “Come again?”

Crowley coughed. “I…” Again. “I didn’t know that you’d, um. Want me to stay.”

The last of his words had once more come out a tangled mess, but Aziraphale caught them all the same.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale reached a hand through the car window, and in the dim lighting of the street, his palm met Crowley’s solid chest sooner than he had anticipated.

Crowley breathed in sharply, and Aziraphale nearly drew back at his misstep, but whether it was the lateness of the night or his desire to convey to Crowley what he meant, something stayed his hand, and he did not move. But it was at that precise moment that Crowley finally met his gaze, and Aziraphale felt his own breath hitch at their closeness, though a car door separated them still.

The warmth which had been in his laughter now spread through his chest, and all throughout him, though the warmest part of him was his hand, where it lay on Crowley’s chest.

“I always want you to stay,” he said softly.

Crowley’s mouth dropped open again, and unwittingly, Aziraphale’s eyes strayed there.

Crowley, however, did notice.

“Well. I, um,” Crowley felt the need to clear his throat again, “I’d like to.”

With a small smile, Aziraphale nodded once, decisively. He rose from where he had crouched, and opened Crowley’s door. “Then it is done.”

He stepped back as Crowley left the car to join him on the pavement, then shut the car door once more.

He began to walk back to the bookshop’s entrance, aware of Crowley following along behind him, when a telltale scuff of shoes indicated that Crowley had stopped. Aziraphale turned.

“Come along, Crowley. It’s raining, after all.”

Crowley pointed over his shoulder, “It’s just, uh, I forgot my glasses.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You don’t need them here, darling.”

Crowley’s lips pursed, then fell slack once more. He nodded.

They made it to the door, and Aziraphale held it open for his oldest friend, slipping inside and locking the thing securely once the two were safely indoors.

He padded over to the blind he had neglected to close, and swept it shut, faintly aware of Crowley standing awkwardly, unusually silent, in the middle of the room.

Aziraphale returned to him. “There’s the sofa,” he said meaninglessly, because he had only just now thought of it. “But it always gets so cold down here at night. Why don’t you just come upstairs?”

Before Crowley could say that he didn’t really feel the cold, it occurred to him that here was a better option.

“After all, why not,” he murmured, and Aziraphale offered him a nod of approval.

He trailed after his angel switching off the last of the lamps, picking up a single candle, lit in its holder. Aziraphale took the first of the many steps up the spiral staircase, then turned and extended his hand to Crowley, that small, familiar smile lighting his face more than any candle could have dreamt to replicate.

Crowley slipped his hand into Azriaphale’s, his long, cold fingers softening in the surrounding warmth of the angel’s hand.

And thus they made their ascent of the stairs, Crowley fighting the appearance of his own tiny smile. But there was no reason to fight, and so he let it be, let it take him over. Who was he, after all, to deny himself so small a taste of paradise?

At the top of the stairs they soon came to the room in which Aziraphale sometimes slept. Crowley himself found his desire for sleep infrequent, preferring to roam about the silent Earth in the quiet night hours. But this night, for whatever reason, was set apart from the others, and had been from the start.

Aziraphale’s hand fell from Crowley’s as he went to set the candle upon his bedside table. Crowley, suddenly drawn by an insatiable curiosity to the bookshelves that prevailed even in Aziraphale’s bedroom, strode toward the books, running his fingers along the spines. These books seemed unlike the ones Aziraphale kept downstairs at the heart of the shop. On the contrary, it seemed that these books were where Aziraphale kept his heart; the spines of these volumes were decorated in his neat, tightly-lettered script, proclaiming dates to those who cared to read them. Though, Crowley supposed (or maybe hoped), no one but him had been brought here to see them.

He tipped one carefully down from the shelf, and it opened in his hands, the spine oddly worn as though the book had been opened — read, again and again — many times.

He was surprised to find his name, amongst all the words, more often than anything else.

“You keep diaries — ” he began, at the same moment as Aziraphale said,

“Don’t —”

He turned, shutting the book abruptly, and found Aziraphale by the bed, now in a long, white cotton shirt which was more of a gown, looking more angelic than ever. He looked ever so much as he had done the day Crowley had met him, with all the stars of creation in those eyes of his.

“Oh,” was all Crowley managed. Aziraphale, for some reason, blushed.

Yet he seemed to recover quickly enough. “Come to bed, Crowley.”

Crowley all but forgot the book he had been holding, and only just caught and replaced it on the shelf before it fell to the floor.

He approached Aziraphale slowly, as one does a frightened animal, though there was nothing of that sort in Aziraphale’s soft face. The rain pattered softly against the windows.

Crowley took off his jacket, and hung it over the low bedpost. With a brief glance at Aziraphale across the bed, he sat, and removed his shoes, and the thin silver scarf which was always around his neck. He discarded his trousers in the same pile, and turned to find Aziraphale with his legs already tucked under the covers, cradling the candle with a patient expression.

Crowley mirrored Aziraphale’s attitude, and Aziraphale, seeing this, blew out the candle, and set it aside.

In the darkness, Crowley lay down, and by the rustling of the sheets, heard Aziraphale do the same. He turned in his direction.

“So,” he said quietly, “what now?”

He thought Aziraphale shuffled closer.

“Same as always,” said the angel. “We stay together.”

Then, to Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale nestled his cheek against Crowley’s chest, and wrapped his lovely arms around Crowley’s waist.

Another soft Oh fell from Crowley’s mouth, and Aziraphale sighed against his chest. Crowley’s arms, of their own accord, as if they knew nothing more natural, came up to draw Aziraphale closer, and Aziraphale’s warmth bled into his skin, and became his own. He felt suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of great honour, because Aziraphale had chosen him, of all creatures, to hold in his arms.

“Good night, Crowley,” mumbled, already half asleep.

“Good night, angel,” sighed — smitten, blissful, besotted.

The rain continued to fall over Whickber Street, though angel and demon, wrapped up in one another, heeded it not.

⭒

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