One Picture, One Shot

Thanks for the prompt, I changed slightly so I hope this is ok. heartangel1331 submitted: maybe you could do one where reader meets tom on set and they start falling in love and become rly close and a couple days later he goes public with his new gf who she doesn't know he's dating just for publicity like fake dating mutually and she's hurt and theres angst. then he confronts her and while fighting(verbally lol). with something like why not me and she's a lil younger like 10 yrs so she brings that up. he and pushes her against the wall and kisses her and says something like I love u thats why. and hes dating that other person cuz his agent forced him to kinda something like that and them smut with the hands tied w breeding kink

-

You met Tom a few months ago when you were acting as an extra for a new series he was starring in.

The two of you hit it off instantly, there was a connection between you both. Normally you would never sleep with a man on the first date, but the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off one another.

When you had to return home up North, Tom promised he would come and visit you once he was finished filming.

You kept in touch with him, messaging daily and speaking on the phone at least every second day or so. You were head over heels for him and you thought he was with you, too. At least, that’s what he told you plenty of times.

But as you had been riding the high of falling in love and finally thinking you’d met the right guy, it all came crashing down so quickly, within a second. You’d opened up social media to find pictures of Tom, from today, kissing another woman outside a restaurant. The young actress that he was starring opposite in the series.

You’d never felt heart break like it before, you were absolutely devastated.

In the midst of your upset and anger at how he would do this to you, you messaged him simply saying thanks for nothing.

Then you blocked his number, you didn’t want to hear his excuses. It was obvious you had just been a bit of fun while you were there, but now he had found a beautiful famous actress that he wanted to be with instead.

For the rest of the day, you were on a downward spiral, kicking yourself for falling into the comfort thought that a guy like him would be interested in you.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, waking up many times during the night thinking it had been a nightmare. But your tear-stained pillow said otherwise.

You called in sick to work, not able to face seeing anyone today. You needed the day just to try and get your head together again.

But that didn’t last too long.

Around lunch time there was an urgent knocking on your door. You ignored it at first, not wanting to see anyone. But they kept knocking, constantly.

When you dragged yourself to see who the hell it was, you certainly didn’t expect to open the door to see Tom.

You tried to slam the door shut on him, but he reached out quickly and pushed back against it, stopping it.

‘Darling, please. I need to talk to you.’ He pleaded.

Part of you was confused to why he travelled five hours to see you when he was obviously with someone else. But you were so angry and upset still.

‘You didn’t even have the decency to tell me first!’ You snapped at him and tried pushing the door closed against his hand but he was too strong.

‘That is not what happened, at all. Please. There is nothing between us, she grabbed me and kissed me, I pushed her off. I swear to you, darling. There is nothing going on.’

‘Why should I believe you? There was a picture of you both kissing all over the internet!’ You screeched at him as tears welled up in your eyes.

‘One picture, because I pushed her away instantly. I swear on my life, I told her that wasn’t on what she did.’

You turned away from him and went back into your home, since you weren’t able to shut the door on him. He followed you in, though you wished he had just left.

‘She’s a young hot actress, I wouldn’t blame you for choosing her. I just hate you didn’t tell me!’ You argued back at him.

‘But I don’t choose her!’ Tom yelled at you.

‘Why are you here? What’s the point?’ Your voice was raised.

‘You blocked my number. Of course I was going to come and see you!’ Tom’s voice was raised too, his jaw was clenched, as he was angry you weren’t listening to him.

‘But WHY?’ You yelled at him.

‘Because I love you, that’s why!’ Tom yelled back and then he swiftly moved in on you, pushing you back against the wall and he held your chin as he kissed you firmly.

He took your breath away as he deepened the kiss and his hands began to wander. At first you were shocked at his admission of his love for you, and now at the passion he was kissing you with.

When he eventually gave you a breather, you were gasping for air, but he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand and gazed into your eyes lovingly.

‘Let me make it up to you for what she did… Please, darling. Let me show you how much you mean to me.’ He dipped his head down to you again to steal another kiss.

In response, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed against him.

Tom slid his arm around you and he lifted you up, then carried you through to your bedroom. You both toppled down onto the bed, hands roaming over one another as you tried undressing each other.

Once Tom had you naked underneath him, he slowly began kissing and sucking on your neck, making you moan as his hands wandered down your body.

‘You’re so beautiful, my love. How could you even think for a second, I’d want anyone else.’ He mumbled against your neck as his hand slipped between your thighs, they fell open easily for him. You gasped as his fingers began lightly stroking you, finding you wet already, but his wicked fingers soon had you soaking.

‘I’m yours and you are mine, love… Let me show you, make you mine.’ He growled into your ear, making you tremble.

He flipped you over onto your stomach, then gently took hold of your hands and brought them round to your back. He skilfully tied them together with your bra that was just at the side of the bed, making your heart race in excitement.

Taking hold of your hips, he pulled you up onto your knees and then moved in behind you, you felt his cock trail against your inner thigh, until he lined up with your wet cunt. One hand slipped around to your neck, holding you up against him as his other hand went to your stomach.

‘You and only you are mine…’ He purred as he thrust his cock slowly, but firmly, into you. He filled you to the brim and halted, letting you adjust for a bit. ‘And I’m going to fuck a baby into you to prove it.’

‘Oh god.’ You whimpered at not only feeling him fill you up, but at his words too. The thought of him doing just that…

He felt you clench around his cock, making him chuckle as he nipped your shoulder.

When he began moving, pulling out ever so slightly to then thrust back into you, you couldn’t contain all your moaning and whimpering. He just felt so good inside you.

‘I am going to make sure I get you pregnant, even if it means having to take you repeatedly on the hour every hour until you are. Proving over and over that you’re mine. For everyone to see, paparazzi included.’  

‘Ohhh, Tommmm.’ You cried out, you were so close already. And so was he.

You could feel him starting to throb inside you, making him feel even larger. Then the large hand on your stomach ventured further down and he started teasing your clit that was flushed out from hiding by his presence inside you.

‘Cum for me. Cum all over my cock while I fill you up.’ He growled, thrusting hard once more into you. You did just as he said and started cumming at the same time as he did, your mind had turned to utter mush as the pleasure wrecked you completely.

Tom growled and grunted behind you, biting harder on your shoulder that would leave a mark. His cum filled you up, and once he was finished he didn’t pull out. Instead, he gently lay you down still under him, feeling his weight on top of you was oddly comforting and heavenly.

‘Am I forgiven? Do you believe me now, darling?’ He whispered, kissing the back of your neck before you turned your head to the side.

‘I… I do.’ You whispered. ‘I love you, Tom.’

‘I love you too.’ Tom smiled, relieved he had you back.

Strawberry Skys - Chapter Five - Green Scales and Pink Vains

[Prev] - [First] - [Next]

April was not having a good day. Her spine and head had been hurting, her skin itched, and she couldn’t stop the constant bombarding noise or smells that sulted her senses.

She was glad she didn’t have classes today, else she would have thrown something. Or someone. She sighed and finished unloading some pet products onto the shelf, standing with a grunt. The door opened with a ding from the bell.

April rubbed a hand over her face, forcing her eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, she shook herself out and grabbed the now empty box and began to short walk to the back room.

“Yo Red!” Casey’s loud voice cut the air, making April sigh again. At this rate, she would be doing it as much as El.

“Hi Casey.” April spun to look at Casey, his dark brown eyes glinting in the bright light of the shop front.

“Dee invited us for pizza tonight, apparently they found a new place. Wanna come?” Casey propped his arms on the counter as she cut and folded the box.

April really didn’t want to deal with the overly loud turtles, but she rarely turned down invitations from them unless she was grounded or something was wrong. She shoved the box into the pile of others, hissing as she cut herself on the thick cardboard.

“Yeah. Sure.” She waved her hand around, trying to make it stop bleeding. Casey wordlessly handed her a bandaid.

“You don’t sound too hot Red, you alright?” Casey tilted his head in that way April could never lie to, the gab in his teeth making even sounds as he breathed.

“Just a long day. When do they want us over?” She pressed a fake smile on her face, waving off her friend's concern.

“Whenever. When are you done your shift?” Casey flipped so he was looking out at the shop, his back pressed against the counter.

April checked the clock. “Ten minutes.” She sighed once again. She would probably want to stop by her dads place to change, then head down to see the turtles.

“Sweet. I’ll wait for you then?” Casey looked back at her. April gave him a small nod. She didn’t want him to.

Casey had the decency to at least wait quietly, nodding along to the faint sound of his headphones. April finished slowly, clocking out a whole five minutes late. She closed shop and the pair walked to Casey’s moter bike, making April grimace.

Still, she got on behind Casey, put on her helmet, and clung as close to Casey as she could to try and stay grounded in the world of noise and light and smells.

The city had changed over the last few months. New lights and sounds bombarded her from every angle, smells stronger than she had ever known them. Cars and dogs and people spoke and barked and roared in the background. The smells of car fumes and concrete and electricity filled the air, neon lights on every block.

She didn’t realize Casey had stopped until her arm was gently tapped.

“You ok there Red?” Casey spoke quietly, and April was surprised she could even hear him. She shook her head and clung closer to Casey’s safe warmth. Why was she so cold?

“Right.. um, We’re at the entrance to the layer, you wanna let go so we can start the walk?” Casey didn’t move until April slowly began to unwrap herself, taking her helmet and passing it over to Casey with a bit more force then she meant.

Casey gave her a soft glance, before offering his hand to lead. She took it and the pair decided into the abandoned subway station.

She knew the second they hit the layer, but not in the normal way. She couldn’t see the barricades or Donnies cameras yet, but she could hear the silence.

She didn’t know she could miss the sound of nothing so much until her ears weren’t constantly under the pressure of working in the city center.

They reached the lair entrance, where she could hear the others talking, but it was the quiet way the turtles had always spoken in.

Even when they were loud, they never got louder than Casey. She was forever grateful for that. She felt her body sag in relief as the pir entered. She waved at El, who was half watching her brothers and half reading.

“Glad you guys could make it.” Mikey waved at them from their spot on Raph's shell, happily hanging into the bigger red turtle. Said turtle was trying to get Mikey off of his shell.

“Think we would miss a new pizza place? nah dude!” Casey ran to jump on Raph, who let out a loud bark in retaliation. April winced and El looked up.

“You ok?” El spoke softly, her blue eyes dark with concern.

“Yeah, everything has just been loud recently.” April collapsed into one of the bar chairs next to El, folding her arms and resting her head on them.

“Ah. Think it could be a byproduct of the Kraang?” El flipped to the next page of her book.

April looked at the younger turtle. She had never once thought of the Kraang in her being why everything was too much recently.

“I have no idea.” April huffed and closed her eyes. She basked in the relative quiet of the layer for a good long time.

El eventually tapped her on the arm. “Want any pizza?”

“Mhm.” April mumbled, blinking away the darkness gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Meat lovers with olives?” El chuckled at the grumble of approval April gave her.

El went back to reading, having apparently finished eating. April slowly sat up, yawning and stretching out. She took the plate that had been set next to her and began to eat.

She gave a relieved sigh when she spotted Donnie making their way out of the lab, holding a small box.

“Here.” April looked up at the taller turtle, who was holding the box out at her.

“Thanks Don.” She hummed and took the box. Opening it, she tilted her head at the pair of green and yellow headphones.

“They should help with the noise.” Donnie began to walk away, dark eye looking away. She nodded, remembering when they had asked for help making Mikey a pair.

“IO YOU LITTLE FUCKER!” Raphs sudden yell made everyone jump, and April clap her hands over her ears and force her eyes shut.

She opened them in time to see Donnie go wide eyed, freeze, then suddenly start the mad dash for his lab. Raph was on the other in a second, lunging at the purple turtle.

April rolled her eyes and looked at the headphone over. They were Donnie made, meaning she had to actually look for the power button.

Once she found it she flipped on her phone and connected the bluetooth. With a hum she put the headphones on and blinked.

As loud as Raph and Donnie were being, it was muffled in a way she couldn’t really explain. She could still hear them, and understand what they were saying, knew that they were being loud, but it no longer bothered her. It was quiet.

Mikey suddenly bummed into her shoulder, making her turn.

“Don make you a pair too?” Mikey tapped the pair of headphones he wore.

“If you mean quieting everything down, then yes.” April nodded and Mikey grinned. The youngest turtle swept her into a big hug.

“Hearing problem buddies!” Mikey giggled and April couldn’t help but laugh.

April was glad she wasn’t alone with her problems. Though relating to a mutant turtle probably wasn’t some most people her age could relate to.

boys ain't shit. oscar diaz

word count: 2.2k

warnings: swearing, lots of just angst and angry feminist energy and if this doesn't align with your beliefs, feel free to leave!

requested: 'Hey!! First I want to say that you are an amazing writer so talented! So I was wondering if I could request and imagine with spookyxreader and she overhears Oscar speaking about her or something like maybe she is to clingy or anything you think will fit and then she sort of starts to leave him alone does t opposite of what she heard he doesn't like drifts a little he sees the change questions her and she tells him why- and so angst to fluff If you hate please disregard And thanks anyway ❤️'

a/n: thank you for this lovely request, i only apologise that it took me so long to write! but i'm also glad it did because i kept re-writing this over and over again and it never came out right, but i really love this version! i changed it slightly from the request lol i was listening to 'your power' by billie eilish on a loop while writing this and a lot of anger and preaching came out-- oop-- but also not mad about it. i really like this and hope you do too! enjoy 🤍

on my block masterlist / main masterlist

anger bubbled in your chest but your cheeks were flushed pink with embarrassment. your stomach lurched, a mixture of emotions swirling through you. you were angry at him for being such an asshole, but mostly you were embarrassed that you'd found yourself in this position and hurt that he would think to treat you like this. he was an asshole, he always had been, you knew it before you started dating but, somehow, he still managed to worm his way in. mainly because when you were alone he was careful, and sweet, and kind. he cared about you, he told you any chance he got, and you believed him. you were always convinced he meant everything he said, which is why this stung all the more.

"nah, it ain't even like that— she's everywhere man, how you s'posed to shake a hyna like that?" their laughter rang through your ears as you stood, feet frozen in place, out of sight to them. "shit's ridiculous. she's always on top of me."

"man— if i had a hyna that fine on top o' me all the time—"

"the things i'd do—"

you shook your head, blocking out their vulgar comments and trying to rid of oscar's shrewd laughter filling your ears. you were sick to your stomach hearing him talk about you like that, to hear him encouraging his friends crude jokes about you.

you couldn't stop yourself as the small scoff left your lips, catching one of the boys' attention. sad eyes, his smile faltering when he spotted you tucked around the side of the house, listening to every word. "shit," you heard him mumble, nudging oscar whose back was facing you.

oscar always had a thing about keeping up his reputation, which you understood, to some extent, but this had nothing to do with that. this was his friends, talking about you as if you were an object to satisfy their needs. and he was encouraging them. this was you they were talking about, when he claimed to love you.

this wasn't a side to oscar you ever wanted to see, or believe existed. you knew how his friends could be, but to hear him condoning the shit coming out of his friends mouths, made you feel unbelievably uncomfortable.

not to even mention that he was being downright mean, and sleazy in talking about you. you could feel your anger growing the longer you stood there. oscar glanced over his shoulder, his face falling when his eyes met yours. your hands clenched into fists, biting down on the inside of your cheek.

you shook your head, finally knocked out of your state of shock, turning and stomping away from the group of santos. your breathing grew heavier, sweat dripping off you as the sweltering heat started to get to you. you were so angry you could cry. you trusted oscar with everything, it took you a long time to get to that point, and this is how he treated you.

you could hear his muffled calls from behind you getting louder as you continued to march away from the house. you yanked your wrist away when you felt his hand latch onto you, and carried on your walk home.

he sped up, jogging so he stopped dead in front of you, holding out his hands when you tried to manoeuvre around him. "i don't wanna talk to you right now," you spoke calmly, trying again to move past him, his hands latching onto your shoulders to keep you still.

"just— hang on will you—"

you shook your head repeatedly. "no—"

"i don't know what you heard but—" his grip tightened when you tried to wriggle free.

"no," you repeated harsher.

"y/n— c'mon— that was nothing—"

"oscar," you raised your voice, cutting off his ramblings. his eyes never left your face, his eyebrows unknitting when your frown deepened. he scrunched his eyes shut for a second, frustrated he'd upset you. he was annoyed with himself for being so stupid. "no," you repeated once more. his hands slowly released their grip on you, letting you walk passed him. you heard his curse under his breath, walking away from him.

you felt your lip quiver, a lump now growing in your throat as your anger turned into heartache. you weren't sure you wanted to forgive him. but, for now at least, you were going to give him exactly what he wanted. space.

-

hours later and you were stood in the middle of a crowded party, your teeth clenched around the rim of a red solo cup, biting nervously. you hadn't wanted to come, you would much rather have been at home with a pint of ice cream. but your friend convinced you that getting out of the house tonight would be better for you than wasting away your life thinking about boys and eating ice cream. so far, you weren't so sure she was right.

you'd lost count the amount of times you'd heard loosen up and, you should smile more, thrown at you tonight. you weren't in the right headspace to be surrounded by people who were drunk out of their mind, constantly telling you to cheer up. you wanted to shout out to the entire party, fuck off, so everyone would know to just leave you alone.

so when you spotted his familiar face across the room, having just entered the party, you almost lost it. "no," you muttered to yourself. "not happening," you shook your head. he had been exactly what you came here to get away from. you let out frustrated sigh, shoving your cup into your friends hand and pushing yourself out of the crowd of people.

you hoped to god that oscar hadn't spotted you. you could not hash this out with him right now, that pint of ice cream in your freezer at home was calling your name, and you were ready to claim it.

"fuck me," you felt a hand graze the small of your back. you shivered away from the unwanted touch, turning with a deep-set frown on your face, towards the stranger who'd touched you. "you're hot when you're angry like that—"

"i'm also a fucking psycho when i'm angry so back off," you spat harshly, pushing away the hand he held lingering on your skin. "and don't touch me again," the man backed up, his hands held up in front of him. you huffed, continuing to the exit.

you wrapped your arms around yourself as the cool night air hit your bare skin. you'd left your jacket inside, turning to retrieve it, you saw oscar walking right at you. deciding it wasn't worth the effort, you left, you'd rather freeze than have a conversation with him right now.

"i know you hate me," you heard him call from behind you, his pace quickening as he tried to catch up with you. "but you can't walk home by yourself."

you ignored him, hastening your walk so you didn't have to do this with him. you knew he was right, you knew how incautious you were being walking home late at night alone. but you also desperately wanted nothing to do with him right now.

"ma," you shook your head, trying not to lose it on him in the middle of the street. "c'mon—"

"no— you c'mon oscar," you halted your stride, not able to ignore him any longer. you might as well get it out of your system if he was going to keep persisting. "i have had it with men today. i never wanted to have to include you in that."

he ducked his head, a crease forming between his eyebrows you noticed now you'd stopped to look over him. his eyes rolled, letting out a heavy sigh he'd clearly been holding in for a while.

"c'mon," he tilted his gaze away from yours for a second, trying not to cave under your stare. "you know what the santos are like— it's not my job to keep 'em in check."

"it is when it's me they're talking about," you gritted your teeth, looking at him in disbelief. you'd expected that this was how the conversation was going to go down. which is exactly why you tried to avoid it, you simply didn't have the energy to stand here and explain basic human decency to him. "not to mention— it is literally your job. you run the santos."

"it's not that simple," he ran his hand over his face, taking a small step closer to you. his eyes meeting with yours, begging you not to run off again as he held out a cautious hand towards you. "they didn't mean anythin' by what they said— you think if they did i'd let them 'in an inch of you?"

"you're perpetuating a violent cycle of sexism and objectification by letting your friends talk about any girl like that," you felt your throat tighten, tears had, at some point, welled in your eyes. "and that's not even mentioning what you said about me."

he closed his eyes for a second, his hand dropping back to his side. he turned away from you for a moment, releasing a deep breath he'd been holding. "i didn't mean it," he shook his head, swinging round to face you again. his brown eyes, that you'd always been a sucker for, were literally boring into you. if you hadn't been so angry you would've done anything for him. "i wasn't thinking and i never thought you'd ever hear—"

"that makes it ok then?" you frowned, eyes narrowing at him. "god knows what else you've said about me when i haven't been around to hear it," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to keep up your appearance despite the tears threatening to fall.

"s'not what i meant," he threw is arms up in frustration. he had, in all honesty, been talking without thinking about what he was saying. he was tired and stressed about how stretched out his time was at the moment. he was taking on more and more work, and therefore, more and more stress and he wasn't dealing with it well. he clenched his jaw when you sniffled, wiping under your nose with the back of your hand. his eyelids drooped. "nena.."

"i just, don't get it," you let out a shaky breath, holding out your hands to stop him moving any closer to you. "if i was being too much, all you had to do was say."

his chest tightened hearing you talk about yourself like that. he shook his head, trying again to reach out to you but you only stepped further away. "you're not too much," he spoke quieter this time. oscar loved you, more than he'd ever loved a girl before, that much was true. he might be bad at showing it sometimes, maybe he let his frustration get the better of him a lot, and maybe he didn't simply tell you enough how much you meant to him. but he loved you, much more than you were aware of.

"then why would you say it?" your voice was soft, breaking when you spoke again. exhaustion was starting to get the better of the both of you. you didn't want to fight with him, you just couldn't get his words out of your head. why would he say it if he didn't mean it?

"it's not you," he reiterated, his lips pursed. he used his forefinger and thumb to unknit the crease between his brows. "it's everything else. with cesar fucking around, shit with the prophets, cuchillos— and then you," he ducked his head, pressing the palm of his hand into his forehead. "i don't know how to manage everything and make time for you."

"why didn't you just tell me?" your features softened, eyes watching him move under your stare. "it's what i'm here for."

he scrunched up his nose, shrugging. "i don't want you involved in santos business," you understood more than you did five minutes ago, but you were still holding yourself back.

"i'm already involved, oscar, it's too late for that," this caught his attention, his brown eyes focused on yours again. you weakened a little. "but if you would just talk to me instead of keeping everything to yourself, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation right now."

he nodded faintly, almost uncertain of where you were taking this conversation. last thing he wanted was to lose you because of something so stupid on his end. he reached out, you letting him come close enough now so he could take hold of your hands in his. he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, tugging you closer.

"you know, i love you," you mumbled now he was only inches away from you. "i don't wanna do this again so talk to me, please."

he nodded again, giving your hand another squeeze of reassurance. "i'll try," the way his brown eyes stuck to you made you believe he meant what he said. "i'll do better. promise. i'll keep the santos in check, too. you don't need to worry."

you sunk into his chest, letting him engulf you in a tight hug. you released a shaky breath of relief. his arms wrapped around you, your face squashed against his chest and your arms tightened around his torso. "love you, too, by the way," he mumbled, his mouth pressed into your head of hair. "so much."

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.2

Chapter 1.

From a molten orb in the sky, the sun descends to nothingness and gives way to the pale light of the moon.

Another day has come to its end. And somehow, you’re still alive.

Still alive and still cleaning the massive library of castle Dimitrescu. It took you the entire evening, but you’re finally almost done. Only a couple more shelves to go and you can get some much-needed rest.

The cloth in your hand doesn’t slow for even a second as it rubs over every mahogany inch within your reach. You keep your eyes on the rows upon rows of ancient books and their decorated spines, to forget exactly how high up you currently stand.

You don’t think you could breathe normally if you look down. No, your eyes refuse to go that route…

That is, until something small and black dances in out the corner of your vision. An insect, barely the size of your pinky nail, decides this is a good time to distract you. It is not. You ignore the creature to the best of your ability, but its insistent buzzing around your head, closer to your ear every time, eventually drives you to madness.

You swat it off. Unsuccessfully.

The ladder gives a tiny creak in protest that sends your heart into overdrive. Fuck you, you think. This stupid fly isn’t worth the danger.

But then…

A painful sting comes at the crook of your neck, like a curved needle driven harshly into your flesh. It is more of a slash than a bite; your eyes immediately prickle with unshed tears, your back tenses so hard you nearly pull a muscle right there. Instinctively, you jerk and slap the creature off of you.

The ladder wobbles from the sudden movement.

Your fall becomes a certainty.

What a messed-up sense of humor the universe has. In a house full of killers, you muse, you’ll die from a cracked skull because of a bloody fly. It’s so pathetic it is almost laughable.

A rush of air whooshes behind you, followed by the sound of a thousand tiny wings batting. By the time you realize what just transpired, a familiar body crashes into your back, half pinning you against the bookshelves and half supporting you on the now steady ladder.

Of course. Cassandra.

You know it’s her because you recognize her spicy perfume and subtle hint of bath salts underneath its fragrance. You don’t want to, but it is a scent that has lingered in your senses longer than you’d like. Longer than makes sense, considering you haven’t seen her in nearly three whole weeks.

You don’t know if you should be grateful for her saving you, since she’s also the reason you damn near fell to your death.

How did you not think it was one of the daughters messing with you, you wonder, when you saw the odd fly? Then again, you didn’t think they were capable of remote controlling just one and so precisely.

“Hello again, Miss Delicious.” she purrs by your ear. “Miss me?”

You somehow fight off the shiver that threatens to roll down your spine. She’s far too close to your neck, while blood steadily oozes, warm and thick, out of the wound there. What’s worse is your hands are glued to the sides of the wooden ladder from the shock, with no hope of releasing it anytime soon. You can’t push her away. Not that it would have made any real difference, considering her strength. But the thought you just can’t makes the situation ten times worse.

You are helpless. You are prey.

Cassandra’s breath ghosts over your skin. The fabric of her hood tickles your ear as she leans in. She’ll lick the blood away, you think. You brace yourself for it. Just a quick brush of tongue –hopefully— and that will be it.

You are not so lucky.

As if this isn’t already too much, Cassandra adds her tongue into the mix. She licks you like you’re her ice-cream, getting a small taste at first, then pressing into the wound when it doesn’t supply enough blood to satisfy her. Your lips part soundlessly; you don’t want to know if the sound that would have escaped them is a cry or a moan.

Instead, you feel soft lips close around the injury, trapping the precious beading crimson there. A languid suck comes that seems to last forever.

Your stomach free-falls with how it drops. Your arms tremble for reasons beyond the strain you’ve put on them.

It—hurts.

It hurts, but. The proximity, how she keeps her mouth on you and the way she’s starting to almost grind into your backside are so unbearably erotic the pain only heightens sensation. You are holding your breath, at this point, because you don’t know what is happening, if you like it, if you hate it –but oh God what is she doing with her tongue— if she’s killing you or having sex with your neck.

“Cassaaandraaa!”

Lady Dimitrescu’s voice echoes throughout dark corridors to reach your ears. The sound is faint to you but it must be blaring for the daughter because she jumps, startled.

It is time for dinner and she’s late. the small part of your brain that still functions and hasn’t yet been reduced to a hormonal mess is quick to point out.

Cassandra lets out a shaky breath –growl?— past her teeth that feels way more frustrated than it sounds. For a second, you think she’s leaning back towards your ear as if to whisper a secret…

But then, the solidity of her form breaks into hundreds of buzzing insects. She is gone the next instant past the open doors as though a ghost, an apparition never truly there in the first place.

You stand on shaky legs, confused on all levels and desperately trying to catch your breath. You want to just get down from this fucking ladder and take a shower, then dress your injury and finally go to sleep. You want to forget whatever the hell this was and you do not want to see her unreasonably attractive face in your dreams.

Your legs don’t feel like they can adequately support you, but you clench your jaw and fight your way down regardless.

The long route is taken to the maids’ rooms, just to avoid going anywhere near the Dimitrescu family. Once you’re safely in your bedchambers, you shrug off your clothes and head straight for the showers.

The cool water does wonders for your body after the hours of work you’ve endured. Being in its embrace for a while, you think you’ve washed the day completely off of you. Yet as soon as you brace your arms on the wall, it’s like you’re trapped one hour back in time. Suspended mid-air with her behind you, her mouth perfectly fitted to the junction of your neck.

The faucet nearly breaks with the force you put into shutting it. This accursed family has already taken your life under their control. They cannot be allowed to take your thoughts, as well.

It takes a long time for your shivers to die down under the heavy covers of your bed. When you’re finally warm enough, exhaustion takes over. Your eyes droop shut and you fall into the world of dreams. Yet even there, it seems, there is no escape. No sanctuary to be found.

You are chased down corridors filled with gore, while insects nibble at your arms and back. Creatures with way too many rows of teeth groan and hiss and gain in on you. You don’t want to die. You don’t want to die—

Somewhere in the depths of your nightmare, you feel the bed beside you dip. A cold touch that you later tell yourself is just a leftover from the nightmare brushes over the fresh cut that’s reopened from you straining your throat.

When your eyes snap open in the darkness of your room, however…

You are all alone.

-

-

-

Meanwhile somewhere in castle Dimitrescu…

Cassandra steps out of the shadows to join her two sisters, seated opposite from each other on the luxurious couch and playing Snakes and Ladders. Of course, they didn’t have the decency to wait for her. Their mother is off to the side, smoking at the balcony.

Three sets of eyes briefly fall on the middle daughter and she doesn’t like it one bit. Daniela’s subtly heterochrome gaze lingers, her mouth twists into the shit-eating grin that signals only trouble and Cassandra knows to wrap her fingers –lightning-fast—around her neck before she can call her out for being late. Some things are just better left unsaid.

Except, Bela looks up at her under her hood and gives a little smirk. Cassandra can only really choke one of them. Don’t say anything stupid. She warns with her eyes.

Bela, the traitor, speaks up anyway. “Not like you to be late twice in a row, sister. Especially at dinner. What has you so distracted, lately?”

“You’re dead.” Cassandra mouths, fingers tightening around Daniela’s neck, who is trying, unsuccessfully, to hit her. Then, in her nicest voice, since their mother can now hear, she replies “Some of us have actual hobbies, Bela.”

“Sounds interesting.” the elder sister hums.

Cassandra makes the mistake of releasing Daniela to advance on her, but— it is a grave mistake. “Hobbies as in the huuuuman you’re thirsting after—” A swift elbow flies at the youngest Dimitrescu’s side but she blocks it. “Hey. Hey, Bela. What do you call something that’s both horny and hungry?”

“…Horngry?” Bela chuckles.

“Cassandra.” Daniela cackles and Bela –this fucking traitor— snickers. The brunette doesn’t even want to check their mother’s reaction—

Alcina drops her forehead onto her palm.

It’s decided. Cassandra is killing Daniela for the greater good.

.

Ko-Fi

Little Witch - Part 26.

The Darkling x Reader

You didn't speak a word, didn't move a muscle. The anger raged inside of you like a storm, tearing every rational thought down on its path. it didn't help that even though he lied to you, your love for him never dwindled. You might as well have been back at Kribirsk, for you were so in your head you didn't pay attention to anything going on around you. The only thing that broke your trance was the unmistakable sound of volcra closing in. You listened to their shrill cries, the wails reverberating across the Fold.

'I should just tear this down' You heard Alina urge, desperation seeping into her words. She was powerless, only her words had any effect. You longed to help them too, to end the volcra's suffering but that couldn't happen without you sacrificing yourself in the process. Alina had her heart set in the right place, but you wouldn't ever let the Fold fall.

'And what can you really do on your own?.....besides, it would be a monumental waste of power.' Aleksander was quick to shut her down, his own reasons for keeping the Fold standing up against hers.

They swopped lower and lower, their black wings visible from beneath the shadows. You peered closer to the edge of the skiff, looking out for more of the poor creatures and spotting one right above the skiff.

Reaching your hands out in an attempt to move the volcra, a bright flash of light beat you to it, the rays burning your skin like nothing you'd ever felt in your life. Your knees hit the deck before you could register what was happening as your hands gripped the edge of the skiff. It hurts. A silent groan left your lips, too quiet for anyone to notice. The burning continued, this time in your mind. It left a buzzing sound behind so loud it echoed along the walls of your mind, deafening you in the process. The pounding was paralyzing.

Nobody on the deck noticed the Deputy General kneeling in pain, they were all too fixated on the Sun-Summoner and the Darkling to glance an eye in your direction. Alina's light had hurt you, hurt the child of Merzost as if you were a volcra.

Even in the depths of the Fold and in your home, you were too weak to spare a look at what was going on at the front of the deck. The skiff was approaching Novokribirsk now, the natural light from the other side filtering through Alina's tunnel. You had been bent over in pain for majority of the trip and still, nobody noticed.

You felt a lull in the skiff's movement, but the pain in your head was still too much. It stung and pulsed, dulling every single sense in your body. There was nothing else you could concentrate on but the pain, this horrid debilitating pain. You grasped at your power, trying to calm your spiraling heart rate, trying to stop the blood from rushing so quickly but you were stumped; helpless. Your eyes had long shut tightly, seeing only a pure white sight. Not even your mind spared you the safety blanket of darkness.

A hand on your shoulder suddenly snapped you out of it, grounding you back to the deck of the skiff but its touch disappeared almost as soon as you'd felt it. The buzzing was still deep within your skull, playing like an out-of-tune violin. You snapped your head up, meeting the eyes of none other than Ivan. His expression read one of fear and utter terror and you didn't understand why.

You stood up wearily, coming face to face with the heartrenderer, and watched as he took measured steps away from you before coming to Aleksander's right hand yet again. You looked to Aleksander, though your eyes were still squinted in pain, you could make out his unforgettable stature.

'And I shall do mine.' His arms were outstretched- ready to pounce

You turned your attention to the skyline and watched as the light from Novokribirsk mellowed and the view of the port diminished. In horror, you watched as the Fold expanded, as directed by Aleksander, and destroyed the lives of many in the process. You could hear their screams and shouts; the pain.

But you also felt a surge of strength and of power. It fought the buzzing sound idly as you watched the shadows bleed into the air.

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!' You ran up to the front of the deck, shoving him aside and watching with wide eyes the damage that had been done. His hand came to entangle around your arm but you shoved him away, both with your strength and a gust of wind.

You turned your head to look at him but instead found your eyes looking to Alina, who took it as her queue to further project the tunnel of light into the docks. A volcra flew by, disintegrating into the wrecked town and its surroundings. Novokribirsk was gone. Zoya looked at it with pure terror and dread and an earlier conversation came back to you, one where she spoke of her family. Oh Saints.

'No you don't' He took hold of Alina's hands and brought back the shadows already pooling at light's edge. The screams ripped through the air once more, the volcra cries stabbing at your heart again. You turned your head to look back to Zoya when a strand of your hair caught your attention. It no longer contrasted the black kefta at all. You ran to the small mirror on the deck and stilled at the reflection.

The person staring back at you in the plane was not you. The girl in the mirror donned black hair. Hair so dark it left no traces of other pigments. Her eyes were a glittering onyx with small black capillaries shooting through the whites of her eyes. Black veins poked out from under her kefta collar, and upon further inspection, the same black veins traveled down to her hands, curling around her wrists like a bracelet. The running of the veins was like a design, it flowed like a pen on paper drawn by an artist. They were Merzost.

You stared at yourself in shock. This was not you; it couldn't be. But the girl in the mirror said otherwise.

A scream broke you out of your trance, the familiar name snapping your neck to its origin. Mal.

Mal lay splayed out on the ground with blood pooling out of his mouth and Alina perched next to him, reaching for his hand. The foreign dignitaries stood frozen as they watched the scene play out, their fear filling the atmosphere pungently. The skiff abruptly moved, its sails once again filling with air. Zoya stood at the top, hands outstretched and eager.

'General Kirigan, this will only turn the world against you and all Grisha. You’ll be seen not as a savior, but a heretic.' The irony.

In a swift motion, Ivan takes control of all their hearts and one by one they drop dead-like lifeless dolls. A gasp escaped your lips as your position is once again known and Aleksander's eyes land on you, all of you. His brows raise at your appearance.

'I’ll have to give that speech again now, Y/N, won't I? Or will you have the decency to join me next time?' He directs your way.

'Me? Are you insane?' Your anger could no longer contain itself as you launch the Cut his way knowing well he would dodge it. He moved to the side, launching one your way too. Instead of dodging it, you split it right down the middle, sending it over the rails. The skiff picked up its speed, making you slightly lose your footing and Aleksander noticed too.

'ZOYA' He roared up to her in warning, but you willed her not to listen. Instead, she egged the skiff forward.

'You promised me!' Two slivers of shadows crept up your legs and wrapped themselves around your wrists, pulling your hands away from each other and rendering you useless.

'That was before you murdered a whole town!' You strained your arms, trying your hardest to loosen the grip of his shadows. 'You took her light, General. If you wanted to be like me you could have just asked' Even in the face of his betrayal, you still couldn't bring yourself to say his name in public. His name was sacred, it was your secret.

'I don't want to hurt you Y/N' He took calculated steps toward you, eyes flooded with despair. His hand came up to your hair, taking a piece and inspecting it carefully 'What happened?'

'I came onto this skiff, that's what happened.' you spit. 'How are you alright with what you've just done?' Your own previous experience haunts your mind for a brief second, the occurrence still a trauma. He on the other hand looks unbothered. Another day at work.

'I did what I had to -' His words get interrupted by the sound of gunshots, ones you can feel zip by your ear and head his way. He sends the cut flying behind you and the shadows at your wrists let up just as a knife embeds itself in his chest. You watch as the same veins on your body crawl up his neck. His are more abundant, nothing like yours in appearance, but they are there.

'It will take more than THIS' he rips the knife out and folds his hands in front of him and the shadows race forward 'You stay in the dark' The back of the skiff now settled itself into the Fold, the volcra flying above like the predators they are.

Zoya. You take a look at Aleksander whose eyes are closely watching you along with Ivan's.

'Don't.' His words are clear but you don't care. Zoya is back there. You listen to his steady heartbeat and feel the air in his lungs. The Fold's nothingness swims in his lungs, swirling from each breath he takes. Without thinking, you knock the air out of him and slam his body against the rail of the skiff, running to the back of the skiff to help Zoya. Just as you clamber up the stairs, you see her blue kefta dropping to the ground and a volcra swarming toward her.

'NO' You knock it out of the way and cushion her fall with a gust. A Suli girl runs over, checking on Zoya briefly but turns to you. The volcra circle over the skiff.

'Ready?' You nod. The young girl nods back and clutches knives to her chest. You count the number of pulses on this side of the skiff, too many to risk.

You start by sending out your flames and then the shadows, filling the volcra's lungs with the tendrils while she attacks it with her knives. Its shrills are pitiful but you block them out. It doesn't seem to give up as it flies closer to her, completely ignoring you. The wind blows it away briefly before a man with a cane goes toward the volcra mercilessly. You curse out loudly, knowing that the noise attracts others, you can feel them coming.

'Alina, for Saints sake!' You shout as you watch her from your position laying on the ground, not even trying. You run back down to the deck, only one thing on your mind. If she can't light it up then I will, but as you run, his strong hands come to lock yours behind your back and one comes to your throat.

'Was this the plan all along? He says in your ear and his hold tightens, slowly blocking off your air. His voice is strained and you could swear he sounds hurt.

'I came back for you, it's always been you.' you plead. You still love him, you do. But my morals and my love are two different things.

'I really thought I could trust you again. But you only ever want what is mine.' Your vision turns blurry as you feel your chest contract. Ivan. 'If you love something let it go, isn't that the saying?' Your head bops forward slightly which seems to be enough for him to let your drop to your knees in front of him, right next to a dying Mal.

As you try to regain your awareness, the sounds of volcra in your head become too much to bear. They drown out everything as they approach the skiff, silently letting you know they will kill everything on the other side of the light. You struggle to get up, hands clawing at your throat as air enters your lungs again. As if that wasn't enough for your already frail body, another flash of light expels from Alina. The burning sensation overwhelms you again, dwindling your will to live. It burns worse this time, singeing you all over. A scream of pain erupts from your lips as you watch the veins on your hand become darker and darker.

A hand around your waist surprised you as it helps you get up from the ground. 'It's okay, It's okay' Aleksander. His forehead is pressed up against your temple as you continue to cry out in pain. You open your eyes briefly and look at the hand holding your waist- void of a Stag bone. The shock is barely enough to let you forget the pain though.

'It hurts' Your own tears burn as they roll down your face.

'I know' He leaves a kiss to your temple before leaning down to your ear 'I love you, you can still keep the promise Y/N. Please' His arms tighten one last time before leaving you feeling cold in the absence of the Fold.

Slowly, the reality of the situation settles in your stomach. He just said his goodbye, and I never told him I loved him too. Everything stills again and nothing seems to process in your mind. Maybe I'm dying, maybe Alina killed me.

You can hear her shout for Mal as he and Aleksander battle it out on the unlit sands. You can hear her struggling as Ivan collapses her blood vessels. You can hear Ivan's lifeless body drop to the ground. But your mind refuses to cooperate.

Even as a volcra sweeps down and grabs Aleksander mercilessly, you push your body past the limit and jump overboard, letting out pathetic shouts of plea to the volcra, bring him back to me, please. Your powers don't rise to your call, your mind won't listen.

The light shoots out again from a now awake Alina, but your numb now, the pain had reached its limit.

Zoya begs for you to come back to safety, Mal grabs your limp body and tugs you back but you shove him off with the last of your strength. The Crows stand by on the deck and listen to your heartbreaking sobs. Nobody misses the way the atmosphere in the Fold shifts with every cry, how the usually empty place emanates one single emotion; anguish.

They sit and watch in fear and astonishment as volcra fly above you, never once attacking. They watch as they settle on the sands, heads cowering to your shaken body, and they listen to the cries, ones very alike in pain to yours.

They watched as the Little Witch loses her soulmate, in the one place she ever knew as home.

-----------------

Epilogue.

Masterlist

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1 @adoringb @grisha-of-shadow-bone @rosiethefairy @carlywhomever @allisjustok @keepdaydreamingbb @luciadiosa @azkahanif

Inside Your Wires - Ch 6

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: Connor gets his new assignment. He's not thrilled.

AO3

Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

Chapter 5 art by @semains​ (18+ only)

November 6th, 2038

Saturday 09:56AM

There was a time when Connor didn’t have to come in on Saturdays. He remembered the days when mandatory overtime was few and far between.

Not anymore. 2038 seemed to be the year shit just kept happening, and now that he thought about it, quite a few of it seemed to be because of androids. Ones gone missing. Disobeying orders. And now, homicidal.

Connor rubbed the bridge of his nose after putting his car into park, regretting how enthusiastically he’d hit the bottle last night. It wasn’t too bad this time, just an annoying throbbing behind his eyes, but it made it more difficult to see and he’d had to squint through his windshield.

Whatever. The reason for his shame-drinking was no longer relevant. Connor just had to survive until lunchtime, and if he were lucky, Hank would let him go early. He tried not to itch at the butterfly bandages on his cheek, applied himself after he’d woken up in a haze with blood on his pillow having completely forgotten the injury existed.

Connor kept his head down as he walked through the lobby of the station and through the security checkpoint to the bullpen proper. He tried not to be completely antisocial, however, and sent weak smiles at the coworkers who bothered to notice he was there.

Helen, Alexander, and Rupert all acknowledged him with various degrees of warmth, some colder than others, and all pretty much deserved. Ralph gave Connor a nervous smile from his chair, though it quickly faded as his eyes flickered to something across the room.

Frowning, he followed Ralph’s eye line across the bullpen and scowled when he spotted Colin leaning casually against Connor’s desk, talking to… someone. He couldn’t see who, Colin’s figure blocking them from view.

Against his better judgement, Connor drew closer, pressure building at the back of his neck, an uneasy feeling of dread that increased with each step.

“Con’s just gonna love this. But seriously, if he bitches about it too much, or gives you a hard time, you can always partner up with me. I won’t mind one bit, promise.”

Connor would have rolled his eyes at his brother’s typical cocksure demeanor, but instead, he went stock still at the familiar voice that answered.

“While the offer is appreciated, Lieutenant, my instructions stipulate that I must assist Detective Anderson with his new, specialized caseload. I’m sure you can understand that CyberLife only wishes to cooperate with the DPD and does not want to interfere with police procedure—“

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The YN800 model blinked and turned its head to meet Connor’s eye, its little blue light blinking for a moment before solidifying again.

It was sitting in Connor’s chair.

“It’s good to see you again, Detective,” it answered, chipper as ever as a fake smile graced its features.

Connor looked the prototype over, his nose crinkling at its appearance. The suit must have been brand new, there were no stains or bullet holes, and her—its hair was once again pinned upwards into a perfect knot.

He felt his insides churn at the near slip, at thinking for even a split second that this thing was a person. Shoving down the crude thoughts of the night before, Connor gave the order through gritted teeth.

“Get. Up.”

The prototype did as it was told, for once. It rose out of his chair, not even having the decency to look chagrined as it straightened its jacket of nonexistent wrinkles.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I tried to call your phone and left you a message. It was not my intention to surprise you—“

“Oh, no, it’s never your intention to do anything, is it?” Connor snarled back. His headache was in full force now, and he swore he could see the bright lights of the station brighten in time with his heartbeat.

“Aw, c’mon!” Colin slapped him on the shoulder. “Be nice to the temp.”

“Temp?” Connor answered, voice pulled as taut as a wire.

“Yeah, you know. The temporary assistant. The new girl. The—“

He shoved Colin’s hand off his shoulder, leveling a glare at both of them. Colin merely shot him a shit-eating grin while the YN800 stood there, hands clasped behind its back at parade rest, polite and perfect as ever.

“Connor!”

All three of them turned toward the voice booming across the room.

“Get in here!”

Connor glared at the android, as if Hank’s shouting were its fault, which was probably the case.

He turned without a word and stalked to the captain’s office, shoulders hunched as his heart raced and his hands shook at his sides. He let the glass door fall shut behind him, but when he didn’t hear the whoosh of it close, he glanced over his shoulder to see the YN800 had followed him inside.

Great.

Connor stood in front of the desk with his arms crossed.

Hank sat down in his chair, pointedly looking at the chairs in front of his desk. Connor remained standing.

The older man glared, answering Connor’s attitude with a look and a heavy sigh.

“Bet you’re wondering what that’s about.” Hank jerked his chin over Connor’s shoulder. The prototype had taken a spot at the back of the office, observing politely with its hands clasped in front of its hips.

“Yeah, I am.” Connor was a little too cranky this morning to try a more diplomatic approach. “What the hell is it doing here?”

“I’ll get to that. First on the docket, I got a shit ton of android-related cases filling up our database every day and I’m at wit’s end.” Hank took a deep breath, bracing himself as he met Connor’s eye. “Which is why I’m assigning all of these cases to you.”

“You’re what?”

Connor stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You think that case last night was a one-off? We’ve got more android-related crimes rolling in, including assaults and homicides just as bad as the Ortiz case, and right now, you’re the one with the most experience.” Hank leaned his elbows on his desk as he leveled a formidable glare his way. “Is that going to be a problem, Connor?”

 “Yeah, it is a problem, Hank! Why the hell do I have to do this? What about Colin? He was with me at the crime scene and was there for the interrogation!” Connor shoved a finger at the glass wall to prove his point.

Hank’s jaw tightened. Connor had seen that behavior enough times to recognize how he was pushing his luck.

“CyberLife asked for you specifically.”

“What?” Connor blinked, dumbfounded once again, racking his brain but coming up empty. “Why?”

“The hell if I know!” Hank barked back, rising to his feet as he pointed a finger at Connor, “and frankly, I don’t give a damn. Colin’s got enough on his plate—“

“—and I don’t?” Connor interrupted, scowling. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, and Connor almost felt guilty for his outburst.

Almost.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you implied.” He tried not to sound like a hurt child, but, well, that’s exactly what he sounded like.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor! There are more people that are gonna start dying from this!”

“Yeah, I know, but—“

Hank lifted his hand, palm forward, effectively shutting Connor up.

“You saw what one of those deviants was capable of last night, and that was with three of you and another android trying to get it under control! You think the average person stands a chance against one of these fucks? That a little ol’ grandma can defend herself against the murderous robot gardener coming at her with a pair of shears? What the hell happens when a nanny bot decides to take a human kid for itself? Oh, wait, that’s already happened, and you would know that if you checked the goddamn case files I sent you!”

Connor was silent as Hank deflated. The older man leaned back against his desk as he looked through his glass wall out over the bullpen. His voice was rough but much quieter for the next round.

“We’re totally in the dark, Connor. We don’t know how bad this is gonna get and how many androids we’re dealing with. This has the potential to turn into a fucking nightmare with Detroit as ground zero.” Hank’s gaze drifted over Connor’s shoulder to the elephant, or the machine, in the room. “CyberLife was gracious enough to send us a state-of-the-art prototype until this issue is contained. It’s gonna be your partner until such a time that these androids are no longer a threat, and then you’re free to go back to being a misanthropic son-of-a-bitch as much as you like.”

Connor was thoroughly shamed by the end of Hank’s speech, that old familiar feeling of disappointment making his gut roil with nausea, but his anger hadn’t entirely flagged. He clenched his hands tightly to his thighs, fingers desperate for either his coin or his cigarettes.

Connor hadn’t felt the need for one in months. This was bad.

“Hank,” he tried again, his voice soft and pleading in that way he knew Hank couldn’t ignore. “I’m not saying this just to be a pain in your ass. I understand the stakes, but I genuinely believe I’m not qualified for these types of cases. I’m not a CyberLife technician, or an AI specialist, or a computer engineer. I’ve never even owned an android.”

That last one was technically true but only in the barest sense, and Hank gave him a knowing look. It wasn’t without sympathy, and his own answer was given with more kindness than he probably deserved.

“I know, Connor. I also know you’re the sharpest pair of eyes on the force, not to mention the quickest brain and the best instinct. You see shit other people don’t, even Colin, and you’ve got this creepy knack for taking one look at a person and knowing what makes ‘em tick. I’d say you’re almost like an android yourself, but I know how much that’d piss you off.”

Connor gave him another narrow-eyed scowl, and Hank immediately put up his hands as a sign of surrender even as a smirk played on his lips.

“My point is, I need you on this, son. I know it’s not ideal, hell, it downright sucks, but I know you can do this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

And there it was. As effective as Connor’s pleading expressions could be, they were nothing in comparison to his need for Hank’s praise. The old geezer knew it, too.

And throwing a “son” into the mix was a goddamn dirty move, but Connor couldn’t even muster up annoyance. He just sighed, gave Hank the smallest hint of a smile, and said, “All right. But only until these cases are solved. Once the deviancy issue is addressed, the prototype is going back to CyberLife and you never give me an android case again.”

“I’ll pay for the postage to ship it back myself,” Hank said, smile wide and pleased as he patted Connor on the shoulder before returning to his desk. “And I want daily reports on the progress you and your new partner are making. Gotta make sure CyberLife’s best is pulling its weight.”

“I can assure you, Captain Anderson, I am worth every penny. And considering it took a small fortune to build me, I—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank interrupted the prototype, using that catchphrase that Connor and all of his brothers had picked up years ago. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The android blinked almost comically before giving a slow nod. It then turned to face Connor, straightening its back at attention, and he rolled his eyes. He was still being handed the shit end of the stick, but he couldn’t deny that the cases were piling up and Hank really did need the extra help.

But why, out of all the androids in the world, did it have to be one like that.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Connor turned and left Hank’s office, not waiting to see if the android would follow, knowing with a sinking feeling, it would.

Next Chapter

The Fall of L’Manberg pt.2

warnings: swearing, angst, violence, betrayal,

Dream SMP realistic au

a/n: this is based off recent plot streams so if you haven’t been keeping up with the streams for the past week spoiler warning. This was supposed to be the last part but i guess my brain is just too big (/j) and now there’s gonna be a part three.

italics = flashbacks

(PLATONIC) Dream SMP x gn!reader

masterlist | part one | part three

“"You’re majesty of Manberg" no. "Great ruler of Manberg" no. "Lord of Manberg" maybe,” you said softly speaking to yourself in your mirror. You were trying to come up with names to have the people call you when you inevitably took over Manberg.

“Y/N what are you doing?,” you heard Quackity saying. Turning around you noticed him at your bedroom doorway.

“Oh, nothing. Just making sure I look good. The festival is today after all,” you smiled at him as you walked closer him.

“Are you sure that’s all,” Quackity asked as you stood next to him in the doorway. You smiled at him before answering.

“Of course. Quackity, you’re my best friend I would never lie to you,” you said. You smiled brightly before wrapping your arm around his shoulder.

“You know what, Quackity. I feel like today’s gonna be a good day,” you said smiling at him before leading him through the hallway.

You stood looking in your broken mirror. You had your arrows ready along with potions. You even had your sword ready just in case you needed it. You grabbed some steak and left your home.

Once you reached snow, you began looking for Technoblade’s home. It didn’t take long to find it since the land was mostly flat. It was a nice home, but there was an atrocious building next to it. You walked up the stairs and knocked on his door figuring to have the decency him and Dream hadn’t expressed the night before.

Technoblade opened the door revealing him and Phil ready for battle. You entered Technoblade’s house looking around. Your eyes stopped on phil.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Y/N,” you said introducing yourself.

“Phil,” The man responded. Soon enough Dream entered meaning it was time to travel to L’Manberg. The four of you exited Technoblade and Phil’s home and began towards the nether portal.

Once you were in the nether, the four of you began down the cobblestone path that led to the thin line of blocks leading to L’Manberg’s portal.

“Quick come closer i’ll splash us with Invisibility,” Technoblade ordered splashing the four of you with invisibility. Once you were through the portal you stopped looking around.

So much had changed. L’Manberg was way bigger than before. There were more buildings, more people. Looking in front of you you saw the community house which was now destroyed. Gripping your bow you followed Technoblade, Dream, and Phil towards the community house and down into the sewers.

You still had twenty minutes before 3. Once Technoblade got his dogs you, Phil, and Technoblade would distract everyone while Dream got the TNT ready. Once the dogs were ready and splashed with potions the three of you met in the middle of L’Manberg. Technoblade stood in the grass while Phill stood on a building. You were on top of hiding on top of another building.

“We’re here! Where are you?,” Technoblade yelled looking around. No one seemed to be there. That was until Tommy appeared.

“What are you doing here? It’s not 3 yet?!,” Tommy said started to worry. “Tubbo!,” Tommy called out.

“Tommy! The chests! They’re empty!,” Tubbo yelled running towards Tommy.

“What?!,” Tommy yelled. “Someone emptied them!,” Tubbo said.

Soon enough Technoblade got tired of waiting and began attacking Tubbo and Tommy. You quickly shot an arrow towards Tommy hitting him in the chest knocking him back.

“Y/N,” you heard Quackity say from behind you. This scenario feeling very familiar. Turning around you looked at your former best friend.

“Quackity,” you said quietly.

“You told Schlatt about Tubbo and you also convinced him to banish Niki!,” Quackity said behind you. You looked in the corner of your mirror seeing your best friend.

“What?,” you asked turning around to face him.

“And this morning, "Great Ruler of Manberg" you wanna take over Schlatt’s position,” Quackity said stepping into your bedroom.

“Quackity- no i would never!,” you said defending yourself.

“I trusted you, Y/N,” Quackity said before turning and leaving your room. You stood in shock and mix of sadness and angry. You were angry that your plan had been spoiled, but you were sad you had hurt your best friend.

Feeling overwhelmed in your emotions you picked up the nearest thing, a book, and threw it across the room hitting your mirror and breaking it.

“What are you doing here?,” Quackity said looking at you. You looked back at him.

“I’m destroying the place that betrayed me!,” you said gripping the bow in your hand, but no readying it.

“That betrayed you? You betrayed us!,” Quackity yelled.

“Come on, Quackity. You stood by and let them try and execute me! You were my family and you betrayed me! We could have ruled together, Quackity!,” You said trying hide all your emotion that was crumbling in at once.

Quackity had been your closest friend when you were little, but one day he moved away. Then you saw him again after Schlatt convinced you to run as his vice president. All during the election and even throughout your vice presidency Quackity was your closest friend.

You were there for him when he was having trouble with Schlatt and he was there when you needed him. And now having to destroy the place he called home, even if you hated it so much, hurt.

“You didn’t want to just rule L’Manberg, you wanted to own it! And even if i did stand by you it would never be as equals! Schlatt was just as bad as you, but at least he could admit it!” Quackity yelled out.

You gasped quietly at his words. It hurt you so much to hurt him, but you had to. He betrayed you, and now it was time for your revenge. Grabbing your bow you pulled an arrow out your bag and shot it towards Quackity hitting his left leg. Quackity toppled back as you readied another arrow and shot it in his right leg successfully causing him to fall back completely.

Grabbing your sword you swung it just stopping it as it pointed towards Quackity’s neck. You stared into his eyes not moving the sword any farther or closer to him. You frowned looking at his watering eyes. Not in a way of fear, but in a way of betrayal. Moving the sword back you began to speak.

“I-I’m so-,” you started to say when TNT began to fall from the sky. The ground beneath you began to fall causing you to fall back. Your back hit the ground under your feet. The ground soon followed after your action and fell breaking off the rest of the land.

You felt yourself fall through the air. You finally got a good look at what was happening around you. Withers had spawned and half the ground was blown up. You didn’t regret helping in the destruction of L’Manberg, but you were starting to regret causing the effect that would come after.

Concepts in Action (Glee)

Follow-up to Concepts of Insanity, spawned by a talk with @jwmelmoth

Slighty different mood than that one, but same base principle.

Returning to the loft after skating should be a relief after the awkwardness of doing such a loaded activity with his ex. Except it doesn't feel that good, and he's got some uncomfortable suspicions regarding Blaine's backpack.

“So, dad. You brought Blaine. Exactly when's his ticket back?”

“Day after tomorrow, same as mine.”

“Right. And where is he staying?”

“Well...” His dad's facial expression answers that question in a way that makes Kurt's heart sink.

Fan.Tast.Ic.

“So when you said I could return my present if I wanted to, exactly how was that supposed to work? It isn't, is it? I'm stuck with him whether I want to or not.”

“Kurt!”

His dad's voice is full of surprise and a bit of censor, but Kurt isn't going to let that influence him. His dad's crossed a line, and Kurt's not going to pretend otherwise.

“Remember the first Christmas after mom passed away? How you sat me down and apologized for my presents, before I'd even opened them, because you just weren't good at buying gifts? And remember how I told you that anything you'd gotten me would be perfect, because it was from you and I loved you? Yes?

“Okay. I still love you, but I'm taking the rest of that back. You coming here to tell me you have cancer was bad enough. Finding out you consider my ex an acceptable 'gift' for Christmas goes from bad to really shitty, and I don't know what you were thinking. Especially seeing as apparently you felt it was okay to tell him about your cancer before telling me.”

“I didn't want you to be alone.”

Kurt just stares, unable to process.

“I have cancer, and I knew you'd have a hard time to deal. I brought Blaine because I figured you'd need the support, the comfort.”

“And you brought my ex for that?”

Then again, support wasn't Blaine's strongest suit even when we were together, was it?

“Hey, you're the one who told me he wasn't just your boyfriend, he was your best friend too.”

“Yes, but that was before” he cheated on me “we broke up.”

His dad still doesn't seem to get it and Kurt can't take it.

“You know what, I need some air. I'm going to take a walk. You stay here, make sure Blaine stays out of my bedroom.”

Kurt starts out with going around the block, but he's still upset after and takes another loop, this time longer. It takes half an hour for him to feel ready to go back inside and deal.

Sitting on the couch with his dad and Blaine as they watch baseball is annoying as hell. Any other time, he'd take the closeness and read Vogue, especially now that his dad has admitted to knowing about it. But with Blaine actually watching and interacting with his dad about the game Kurt feels uncomfortable not doing the same. So he tries. Once he gives up and reaches for his magazine he heard his dad and Blaine joke about having bet about how long he'd hold out.

And then the next hit comes.

“So, Kurt, I know that this might be a bit weird for you, and you can totally say no if you want to,” sure, just like I could return the 'gift' of your presence, “ but I'm applying to NYADA for next year.”

Kurt sighs silently. Of course he is. The thing is, he can see it, the way Blaine probably assumes it'll play out. Blaine moving to New York, going to NYADA, buddying up to Rachel just like in high school... Kurt being expected to just take it, regardless of if he had been accepted or not. Any contacts Kurt might have gotten supposed to be at Blaine's beck and call, Blaine talking his way into Kurt's classes trying to replace him, like he had in Glee and with Cheerios... Kurt bending over backwards to make Blaine happy, just like in high school.

Because there would never be a chance of him being allowed to continue to say no to Blaine with them at the same school.

Thank god that's not going to happen.

And really, what was Blaine trying to do here? Pretending that Kurt's opinion mattered? The time for that would have been months ago, before applying.

“Oh really? You know what, I think NYADA might be perfect for you.” Not in terms of actual schooling, maybe, as Kurt's had the blinds torn off regarding Blaine's talent, but for the rest... He imagines Carmen Tibideaux subjecting Blaine to some of her special treatment. The definition of Karma, surely.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. From everything I've heard you'd get along really well with the dean, and well, Rachel seems to thrive. Good luck.”

With no encouragement to keep talking about NYADA Blaine wanders off to grab something to drink and Kurt refocuses on his dad, trying to squeeze out as much of this visit as possible.

“Hey Kurt? What does NUY want with you?”

Kurt turns his head so fast it feels like he's in danger of whiplash.

“Are you going through my mail? Stop it!”

The words come out hard and he can see both his dad and Blaine react. He doesn't care though.

“You know, you going through my personal things wasn't cute when we dated either. Back then I just cared more about keeping the peace than about keeping my privacy. Since that's not a problem anymore, let me just be clear. I might be allowing you to stay here, but that's not an invitation in any way. Not to snooping, not to feeling at home, and not to getting back together.

“This is my home, and you are – putting it kindly – a guest. Behave with the decency I know your mom expects of you. If you can't do that then leave.”

He wishes Blaine would, but knows it's not likely.

“Buddy...”

“Kurt! You can't mean that you'd throw me out. Where would I go?”

Blaine looks like Kurt has done the verbal equivalent of throwing a bucket of ice water in his face. It has no effect on Kurt's resolve though.

“I neither know nor care. You either respect my home or you don't stay in it. This is New York. There are thousands of hotels and hostels.”

His dad just stares at him, as if he doesn't know who Kurt is anymore, and it hurts. Out of all the people liking Blaine better than him Kurt had never figured his dad would be one. And yet here he was, feeling the same way as he'd once felt with Finn.

“Buddy, you're being a bit harsh here, don't you think? Yes, I'll admit that maybe bringing Blaine without warning you was a little...impulsive, but why are you so angry? And don't be so hardnosed about getting back together, for your own sake.

“Like I said earlier, love's important. Holding on to love is important. I don't want you to throw away what you and Blaine have, not when you never know what will happen, or how long you'll have that opportunity. It's a cruel world, Kurt, but having someone to share with makes it better.”

Kurt takes a deep breath and tries, really really tries to keep his bitterness in. He's not doing that great a job.

“Holding on to love is important, sure. But there's such a thing as holding on too long and too hard. Blaine and I broke up for good reasons, and I wish you'd respect that.”

It's like his dad isn't even hearing him though.

“You know, your mom and I found it hard being apart too.”

Kurt did know. As a kid he'd loved hearing about his mom's semester in France, and he'd been told enough to know that it'd been tough. He'd read some of their letters to each other though, and he doubts either of them dealt the way Blaine did.

“So? Yes, being apart is hard. But that isn't an excuse for everything. I didn't want to get you involved in all of this, but since that's obviously not going to be an option anymore, fine. Blaine cheated. He felt I didn't pay enough attention to him, you know, between finding a job and a place to stay, and making enough money to pay the bills, and generally trying to make myself a life here after he practically pushed me to go here.

“And so he went and found someone else to give him that attention.”

He practically spits out the last sentence. It feels good to finally allow himself to say it, but the look on his dad's face doesn't feel as good.

If he was less angry maybe he'd be able to stop himself, worry about his dad's heart. But the anger's been simmering too long for that.

“That's why we broke up, and that's why I find the idea of getting back together objectionable. And you can talk about holding on to love until you're blue in the face, but I'm not the one who needs that lecture.”

He swallows down the lump in his throat, but goes on.

“As for the rest of it, are you seriously suggesting I take back my cheating boyfriend because that's better than being alone? Or because I don't know how long I'll live? Because if you are... What's next, dad? Telling me I should marry him because you and mom didn't get enough time together?

“If any of those things are going through your head you are also welcome to leave. I'll never not welcome you in my home, dad, but I need you to respect me. I need you to not act like you're putting someone else's son above yours.”

That's a warning that hits the target, and it's obvious that Burt Hummel remembers a row of uncomfortable talks about Finn. He deflects by turning on Blaine though.

“You...”

“No, dad. It is over and done with. Leave him be. Just... Just leave it alone. I don't want to take anymore fighting. Please?”

They stare at each other and for a while Kurt wonders if he should have done as he normally does and just backed down. Swallowed down his hurt and anger and frustration, kept quiet about the injustices done to him, and just pretended to be okay. Tried to not upset his dad, and risk his health.

Except he's done that for years, and it's clearly not working. His dad's health has failed again, with the cancer – and no matter how good the prognosis, or the treatments available, a cancer diagnosis is a health failure. Plus his dad is trying to fix him and Blaine, out of some misguided idea that they're going to be the next Burt-and-Lizzie, and he never would have done that if Kurt'd been honest about the cheating instead of blaming distance.

At least Kurt hopes he wouldn't.

“Sometimes, dad, first loves end. They end because of death, or because they're not meant to last, or because of something else. And then you meet someone else, and they make your life amazing. I'm not going to deprive myself of that by holding on to something that's ended. Just like you didn't. You found love again. I will too.

“I just need to be allowed to do so.”

They keep staring at each other, and then his dad nods. Kurt can't help it, he throws himself in his dad's arms, with tears already beginning to fall.

As they hug Kurt hear Blaine muttering in the background about finding a hotel, but he doesn't care. The door to the loft closing feels like it's closing on him and Blaine too, and it's such a relief.

After several minutes they let go. Both need to remove traces of crying, but that's good.

Once they're seated again Kurt searches for something to talk about, but his dad beats him to it.

“So, NYU? Or should I pretend I didn't hear that?”

“No! I have been thinking about things, about school, and I was an idiot for not applying to more schools last year. So, I did some research and then I did something about it. I've applied to half a dozen schools, and I've already been accepted to one for the fall semester. I don't know if there's any school willing to take me for the spring, but if there's not I'll just keep working and try to save up money.”

“And what about NYADA?”

There's no judgment in his dad's voice, and Kurt smiles as he tries to describe the situation diplomatically.

“It's...not looking as good in my research as I thought, so while I did reapply there I'm not sure I want to go there. I really shouldn't have listened to Rachel last year, because as it turns out? NYADA actually isn't the most prestigious school for performing arts, and it's probably not even the best for me. I guess we were both a little starstruck, you know?”

The game is back on, but they ignore it and talk, and it's everything Kurt would have wanted.

O--o---o--O

Months later as classes start up Kurt receives voicemail after voicemail about Blaine starting at NYADA, about how bad it is that Kurt's not been accepted, about them meeting up. Kurt ignores them as he did the calls and walks into vogue.com with a smile.

He doesn't feel the least bad about not getting in. Hell, he didn't even apply for the fall semester.

No, Kurt's happy where he is, with his job at vogue.com, a spot at the New School and a couple of scholarships helping pay the way. Oh, and a new boyfriend, which also contributes to his happiness.

Turns out? Acting in new ways can get you new and rewarding results. All you got to do is try.

“you didn’t think getting a classmate thrown at you would cause you to choke in silence— and by some miracle, todoroki is the first one to catch on.”

legend : [Y/N = your name] f!reader with they/them pronouns, all might’s daughter reader, reader has a telekinesis quirk

warnings : swearing because of bakugou, choking, if you ever hit your windpipe and you start choking, get help right away!

notes : i’m trying a new format for fics! (and drabbles) idk why i’m going on a todoroki dump lately, it’s his birthday after all. ALSO I WAS ALMOST DONE BUT GRRR TUMBLR RELOADED. i was so mad lol. so i don’t really like this but DONT WORRY!! i’m making another fic.

»»————-　♡　————-«

It’s been almost 4 months since your first year at UA had started, and you’d think by now— you would’ve gotten used to all the hectic things that had to come.

Nope, not in the slightest bit.

Though you do love the class, and you enjoy being around them since they all seem like nice people, (minus one person) the class itself goes haywire with their frenzied energies.

Sometimes you wonder if you’re able to keep up with them, since they all have such excentric and unique personalities. They somehow manage to keep the room’s atmosphere lifted up with their voices, that are accompanied by lighthearted jokes.

But today, it seemed to be out of your favor.

You’re in your seat, recalling what your father— All Might, had said about your progression, and how he planned on helping you work with your quirk more.

Needless to say, you’re quite delighted to hear that your father wants to pay more attention to you, since he was mostly just focusing on Midoriya.

But your train of thought is cut short when you see Mineta fly towards your way, practically knocking into your entire front, and jamming into your windpipe— as it bounces from you and towards the wall.

“Damn grape fruit, learn some fucking decency for once,” You can hear Bakugou call out to him, and you can assume it was him that decided to throw your classmate at you

“Sorry, Y/N!” Kirishima calls out to you, noticing how his hot headed friend chucked the short, and purple haired classmate towards your direction.

You try to play it off cool, since you can’t even be mad. Even though Bakugou’s quite a spiteful person, he probably didn’t mean to throw Mineta at you.

Your seatmate, Todoroki looks at you as if like he was analysizing you. His mismatched gaze locked onto you with concern, I mean.. how could he not? Mineta has been thrown on you.

The air escapes you for a moment, and you try to breathe in to counter it. But it doesn’t work, as it became futile.

You blink, and you try again— trying your best to just breathe damnit, you’re questioning what’s all of this for? And it feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s all very sudden too, and without any warning. You can practically the way your heart hammers against your chest violently, and you try your best to not make too many movements. Okay, just breathe Y/N, am I having an attack right now? It really can’t be, can it?

You grasp your chair as you need something to grip on— facing yourself away to prevent any attention to be drawn towards you, since that’s the last thing you want. Every second that passes, it gets even more difficult to take in the air, and it feels like your life actually slipping away from your grasps.

Was it even possible to choke from getting your windpipe hit by Mineta? You never thought it would happen to you, since your quirk allows you to protect yourself— curses. What would your dad think of this? It’s not like you expected this to happen in a classroom.

A calm voice breaks you out of your thoughts, and suddenly you feel a cool hand press against your nape— “Did you hurt your windpipe, L/N?”

Todoroki’s eyes scan over your facial features calmly, noting about every single red flag that’s shown on your face, that’s practically screaming for something

You feel shame course out your entire body due to the situation, but you nod— still unable to accumulate proper words due to the current situation

The dual quirk user says nothing. However, his actions are quick, moving infront of you to shield you from any attention. His other hand resting against your back— proping you up right, so your position on the chair isn’t hunched uncomfortably.

His hand caresses your back up and down, giving out instructions for your labored breathing— “Breathe in,” he commands calmly, activating his quirk in hopes of aiding you “Breathe out,”

You finally manage to get in some air, inhaling through your mouth, and sharply exhaling the air back out. It feels so good to be able to breathe again, and you’re confident that after this— you won’t take it for granted again.

Unfortunately, the situation hadn’t been discreet enough— as it managed to grasp the attention of Midoriya and Yaoyorozu, they crowd at your desk. Asking Todoroki if there’s an issue, concern lacing their tones.

But you’re overwhelmed, eyes threatening to close. Your body slumping against your desk, and you fall unconscious.

—

It was interesting describing the situation to Recovery Girl, and also to your father.

All Might being concerned was an understatement. He was concerned about how it happened, and how he could’ve prevented the situation if he was there. (But he’s not to blame, at all.)

Briefly after you fell unconscious, attention was gravitated towards you— as everyone was clearly concerned. Then, you were dragged to Recovery Girl by two of your classmates; Kirishima and Midoriya, since Midoriya couldn’t stop rambling about his concern towards you.

“Your windpipe got hit, and the impact blocked it.” Recovery Girl explains, briefly after using her quirk on you “And it appeared to be that you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you. Good grief, who throws people in classrooms? I could give them a scolding right now.” Recovery Girl rants.

You wince at the problem, “Ah.. there’s no need for that. I’d suppose it’s partially my fault for having my guard down.” You grin, but she doesn’t look amused.

Recovery Girl can only sigh, placing a hand on your shoulder. It’s her way of comfort, you’d guess. “Either way, it was still careless of them. I’d go on and on, but for now, you just need to rest right here— you were overwhelmed back there so it’s important to get some rest.”

Recovery Girl’s partially right. So after resting for a little bit longer, you finally leave the infirmary. But you flinch in surprise; a little startled when you meet Todoroki— who’s leaning right behind the door.

“Ah, Todoroki,” You wave at him, and.. you honestly don’t know where to start. Especially after the classroom situation. “I want to apologize about what happened back there. You didn’t need to do that.”

He shakes his head, “It’s alright, L/N. It’s.. what I had to do anyway.” His brows furrow, remembering what happened back in the classroom.

“Besides that.. are you okay? You didn’t damage your throat, did you?”

You laugh, and it may or may not have been in attempt to make the situation light hearted. “My windpipe got blocked, and apparently, I got the wind knocked right out of me! I didn’t know there was an actual name for that! I should really be cautious next time.”

His lips turn up, and he releases a short chuckle— “I suppose it’s a learning lesson for both parties.”

The walk back is.. rather shameful. How were you supposed to go back there, almost as if you didn’t nearly die? choked? The lack of conversation is painful on your ears, and partially on your ego since the silence is almost awkward.

You don’t know what he’s thinking.

“So!” You decide to break the silence, heterochromatic eyes laid on you as he awaited your response. “What do you mean by.. both parties?”

“Well.. you did say you wanted to be cautious more. Which I get, even though you shouldn’t be that cautious in the first place— since it’s not your fault,” Todoroki stares at his feet momentarily, finding his words.

“And both parties because.. I should’ve asked you if you were okay when I saw Mineta get thrown at you,” His expression crumples up, grimacing when he suddenly remembers that exact moment, he should’ve helped them. “I noticed you were choking a little too late.” He mutters.

Like.. how can he stare at you all the time, and just suddenly not notice you choke?

Your feet stop in it’s place, and you shake your head— “You’re so hard on yourself,” you comment, looking up at the ceilings. “Again, it’s not your fault. I was trying to be discrete— y’know!”

“I don’t want you to feel like you should hide anything from me.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes boring into your own.

Blinking, you think over his words— “I’ll keep that in mind.” You’re taken a back by the bluntness in his tone,

“Anyways, thank you, Todoroki. I.. wish I could pay you back somehow.” You pat him on the back, his heart hammering against his chest when you lean in to do so. It’s doing that again.

You turn your back against him, as you start walking even closer to the classroom— and before you can have your hand on the door, he calls out.

“Shouto.”

“..What?” You ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“You can start by calling me that,” He offers you one of his one of a kind smiles, something that feels so genuine— full of authentic gratification.

An uncontrollable smile breaks through your face, and you immediately turn away to hide away the flustered expression that is your current state “If you say so.”

Choking in class because someone was thrown at you is definitely not your proudest moment as Y/N Yagi, but.. you’ve definitely gotten something out of it.

Shouto speaks once again. “Oh and.. why wouldn’t I help you? That’s just watching someone die.”

You wince, realizing that Shouto’s correct. Why wouldn’t he help you?

bonus : mineta got flamed by everyone afterwards— including a serious talk from recovery girl, and all might. even though it wasn’t inheritantly his fault that you almost died in class lol

»»————-　♡　————-«

tldr : Y/N gets folded by mineta bc bakugou threw him at you by accident,

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing.

do not plagiarize my work :))

Moirai [1]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

➜ Words: 5.8k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

➜ Notes: Isekai is a popular manga and light novel genre in which characters from Earth are transported into a new world.

This is the end.   “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”   The Prince stands tall, the very furrow of his brows jarring against the cold, cordial expression he maintains — the one she had always tried to shatter. All she desired was something other than courtesy. If not affection then frustration or misery. But she supposes that anger suffices.   Anger. The first time he’s ever looked at her with an ounce of any true feeling.   His shadow looms over her, his status powerful as the countless eyes are narrowed in around her — he is as powerful as the people who stand behind him. Every word he speaks booms through the ballroom, a grand timbre that has long replaced the mellifluous violins.    The Prince is as noble as he is righteous. He is the hero of this story.   “You choose to answer your crimes with silence?!”   The corner of her lips curl and cackles rasp from her throat. The noise is discordant and shrill, a mocking irony when it causes him to pull the woman in his arms closer. Even when she’s in this position, downcast head, knees burnt on the carpet, all she does is drive them closer together.   “The only sins I have ever committed was loving you until my last breath.”   “Guards!”   Murmurs spark across the room and the knights armour clank as they approach in heavy steps. She knows these are the last moments. “The only crime I have is looking out for the empire! But you chose her.” She looks upon the girl he holds, the one who has the same contempt on her visage. And as the knights rip her away from her place, she spits venom-laced words, “A lowly baron’s adopted daughter to make your wife. I am the duke’s daughter. I am educated. I am your fiancée—”   “No longer.” He condemns, “You have committed treason. Conspiracy against the crown. Attempted murder. Forgery. Harassment. Using your status to oppress the vulnerable—”   “Let go of me!” she shrieks as the guards drag her down the room. It’s undignified. Degrading.   “—Daring to entangle yourself with the dark arts. And you will answer to these crimes whether you choose to confess or not.”    “Let go of me!” she struggles, yet no one chooses to hear.    Their eyes have pierced into her, those who aren’t scandalized are snickering behind their feathered fans. But in the last seconds, status has no place. She looks to the person who matters most, the one she had spent her childhood idolizing. Her beliefs hold true. He will make a great ruler.   But she will never be the one to stand beside him. She knows now.   That position has long been stolen away from her.   “Everything I did,” she cries, “I did for yo—”   The grand doors slam shut with her pitched screams resounding.    Moments later, the lively music continues, violins and trumpets crescendoing to life once more. As if her life had just not been taken away from her. As if the denunciation was merely an intermission of tonight’s festivities.   Her heinous exterior is shattered by tears that no one would have sympathy for. She is limp when she is thrown into the stone jail cell within the depths of the castle. The knights twist on their heel and she is surrounded in pitch darkness with the sound of a scurrying rat echoing beside her.   The only time there is light is by the dim flame of the torch, a guard accompanying a frightened servant who carries a bowl of spoiled oats. It’s not enough to satisfy the grumble of her stomach, but enough to keep her alive for the execution day. Without a silver fork or spoon in hand, a handkerchief placed in her lap, seated by a candlelit table, she resorts to using her fingers to scoop the food into her mouth.   Sometimes, she thinks they forget about her.   Or perhaps time is simply drawn in darkness. A second made into a minute. A minute is an hour. She is merely left leaning against the molded stone, wasted away and drunk on memories of better places.   Punishment does not come in the form of her stripped title or even her head rolling away from her neck. Punishment arrives in the darkened loneliness. That loss of sanity that whisper she has failed to capture the attention of the only person she ever loved. That she failed to make him love her.   Everything she did, it drove him away.   Every act of love placed distance between them.   Everything.   Liberation comes back with the music of trumpets muffled by the stone walls. “What’s going on?” her voice is hoarse through her parched throat. The servant screams when her arm reaches past the bars to tug on the girl’s dress. Her eyes are bleary as she looks up at the girl. “Why is it so noisy?”   “T-The civil war’s over.” The girl backs away and the celebrations become more distinct with the realization. “The villain is dead.”   The girl withdraws into the cell and cackles rip through her lungs, resounding across the empty chambers. The servant scurries away as the knight huffs out through his nose and shakes his head. But it’s the best news she’s received since she’s been stowed away.    And a smile still graces her features when she is dragged out and jostled by the knights, taken up to where the sun blinds her vision.   “On the eve of the Solar Festival, we rid our empire of yet another villain and free it from treachery!”   There are cacophonous cheers in the crowd. Her eyes are hurt by the sunlight and she shuts them tight. Her legs are kicked and she’s knocked onto her knees, head being shoved against wood. She wishes she didn’t have to face the sun rays. There’s no decency to give her shade.   But the discomfort is over by the blade slicing through the air. She lives and both dies as the villainess — an inevitable legacy.            ❇ End of Royal Romances Chapter 7 -Prince Route- ❇

Headbeams.   Fuck.   You never thought it would be like all those cheesy movies — the third Batman film, Grey’s Anatomy, the Simpsons, hell even Attack on Titan. But nope. They’re right. Time really does slow and your life really does flash by your eyes when you’re in the moment of your death.    But instead of feeling grief for yourself, all you can think about is what an absolute idiot you are.   You really shouldn’t have jaywalked at night. That cheesecake in the fridge was supposed to be yours! And holy shit, your parents are going to be really fucking mad that you died at only twenty—   The truck slams into you before you can finish your thought.   …………... ……….. ……. ….. ... .. .   Strangely, it doesn’t hurt. Maybe because it happened so fast. Maybe the initial impact was already enough to end your life. But you’re left feeling an empty void inside of yourself. An overwhelming agony that this is the end. That you never got the chance to fulfill your dreams, enjoy the fruits of your labour, that you never got to reach the happiness you wanted.   You have regrets.   Not for the things that you did. But for the things that you didn’t do.   But well….you suppose there’s no use in lingering in it.   Death is the end.   This is the end.   ……. ….. ... .. .   “—ook...t ...er...!”   “..hush!”   What?   Why are you hearing noises? Why does your face feel warm?   Are you in...heaven? Some sort of afterlife?! Oh man, you knew you deserved this! Fuck yes! You might have kicked that kid’s shin in the fourth grade and totally lied to your manager that one time that you cleaned the ice-cream machine when you didn’t, but your wrongdoings aren’t that bad.   You open your eyes.   Unusually, your vision is blurred. All you can make out is a fuzzy figure looming over you.   Your mouth opens—   “Waah!”   What the fuck. You can’t speak. Each time your lips part, drool dripples onto your chin.   In a panic, you try to move your body, but quickly find yourself heavy and practically stuck. You cry out and swing your arm, and that’s when your hand flashes before your eyes.   Your pupils focus and you realize that your hand is tiny. That you can barely curl and uncurl your fingers together. Holy shit. Holy fuck—   You’re a baby.   Wailing sobs burst out of your tiny lungs.    You don’t know where you are or how this happened. Your last memory is being hit by a truck!   The figure looming above you comes closer. “What is wrong with her?!”   The woman sounds annoyed, but it’s not like it's your fault. This is just a lot to take in.   Your mouth is blocked by a pacifier being shoved in. Immediately, you spit it out and the woman sighs. “Why is she being so fussy?”   That’s not the issue, lady! Christ, you wish you could communicate with her.   You feel yourself being picked up and she angrily mutters, “If the Devereux household wasn’t paying me so much, I would’ve just thrown you out the window.”   Wait. Say what now? Devereux?    Why does that sound so familiar?   You hear another woman’s voice, one that’s higher pitched and softer. “What’s wrong with little Anastasia?”   “Have you finished hanging the laundry yet?”   “Yes, I have.” You’re being passed on and your sobs subside in favour of a frown. Anastasia?   Anastasia Devereux.   You remember cursing that name out loud before, but where was—   Oh my god. Oh my god! It’s impossible, but the truth is right in front of your eyes. You’re living through it right now. This isn’t a dream. No. It’s your game, Royal Romances.    You’ve been reincarnated into the fictional country of Ashea. And of all people, you’ve been reborn as the villainess, Anastasia Devereux.   You burst out crying again.   //   A man in a coat and frilly shirt enters the room. Your head adjusts to see through the wooden bars of your bassinet, vision becoming clearer by the day. You know who he is without an announcement.   Your father. At least he’s supposed to be.   “How is the child?” he asks the maid.   “She is healthy, your grace. She may be a bit fussy at times, but she sleeps and eats well.”   He hums and leaves shortly after, never once coming to personally see or even hug you.    What an asshole. This entire world is fucked. You’re fucked.   Royal Romances is a love story game between a heroine and several potential matches depending on the route you take. Yet in every route, the main protagonist's rival, the Marquess and the Crown Prince’s fiancée, ends up co-conspiring with the villain and dies because of his crimes. Or exiled. Two options.   And you’ve taken her place.   But now that you think about it, that’s so unfair! You didn’t care much about Anastasia while playing, other than wanting her to get the fuck out of the picture for your OTP ship to sail. But why should the villainess shoulder the villain’s crimes?! If anything, it was him who coerced her! All Anastasia wanted was to be with the Crown Prince! He was the only person who ever showed her an ounce of kindness!   Oh god.   All you know now is that you don’t want to die.   You died too early in your past life.   “Anastasia.” You’re shaken awake from your thick slumber by soft cooing. A quiet woman’s voice calls and when you open your eyes, you’re able to focus on a woman you’ve never seen before but is familiar at the same time. She smiles and picks you up. “Good afternoon.”    Instead of fussing around like you usually would, a triumphant smile spreads into your face.   Fucking finally. It’s the first time you’ve seen your ‘mother’. Maybe she’s just been recovering from the birth these past few months. After all, there’s no way the family would actually just abandon you to a bunch of maids—   “Oh my goodness, Elanor!” A shrill voice has your senses tingling. There’s another woman sitting at the rounded table fanning herself with an orange, feathered fan. “What a lovely daughter!”   “Yes, she really is. She hardly cries.”   Now that’s a big fat lie.   You’ve probably cried a thousand times since you got here. It’s not your fault the maids don’t know how to put you in anything other than scratchy dresses and forget to change your underwear after you’ve shit yourself.   Another stranger approaches you and practically digs their nose into your face. Her floral perfume almost has you retching and spewing out an entire bottle of milk in her face. “She is simply too delightful! She has Herrick’s eyes and your nose.”   “Really now? I think she’s growing up to look more and more like the Duke each day.”   “Oh she’ll grow up to be a beauty. You are truly blessed, Elenor.”   Cordial laughter fills the room.   Motherfucker. She’s just using you as a decor! You’re a prop for her to show off at her tea party! She doesn’t care about you whatsoever.    But fine. You can play along with her. It’s not like you have any choice.   You muster an enormous gooey smile, channeling all the cuteness you know you must have and instantly, several of the ladies swoon. It’s an overwhelming victory! But one that requires a lot of energy when you were just awakened from your nap — and squeezing your butt cheeks results in the grumble of your stomach.   Being a few months old, you have poor control of your digestive system. So it’s no surprise that smiling so hard makes you shit your pants.    Oops.   The lump falls into your cloth diaper and instantly, your mother’s brow twitches.   The stench reaches her nose and the nostrils of the lady intruding into your space who immediately draws back in disgust. But what the hell are they expecting?! You’re a baby! All you do is eat, sleep and shit!   “Edith!”    Your mother’s shrill cry has the maid coming into the room. “Yes, your grace?”   “Take Anastasia.”   She passes you off without even looking and you’re swiftly taken away from the room, hearing the laughter and conversations resume the moment the doors close. So cruel!    “Ugh. I’ve never seen a baby who cries so much,” Edith complains and plops you into the bassinet instead of comforting you. If you had limb strength and mobility, you’d slap her for being so rude.   The younger maid with the higher-pitched voice looms over you. “Maybe it’s because she knows the Duke and Duchess never come to visit. She’s missing the comfort of a mother and father.”   Thank god someone can sympathize with you! As incompetent as Joan is — to the point where she’s checking your pants for the tenth time when you’re really just crying because you’re starving — at least she’s not a Karen.   Clearly, the bar is quite low.   “Well, it’s expected.” Edith steps away to fold the basket of your dresses. “The Duke and Duchess tried having children for years and the only child they have is a daughter who can’t even carry the family name. If it was a son, it would be different.”   “I don’t understand.” Joan rushes to the head maid’s side. “Usually daughters are treasured in noble families.”   Edith looks around and lowers her volume. “Don’t you know?”   “Know what?”   “Keep your voice down! If you say this outside, even I won’t be able to help you.” There’s a pause. “The Duke and Duchess aren’t real nobles, they don’t have any noble blood. The Duke’s late father, Arnold, fought heroically in the war and that’s why the King granted his family the title.”   “Oh…but...what does that have to do with anything?”   “Noble society is different from how we know it, you naive girl. No matter what you do, hundreds of eyes are constantly on you. It’s full of scrutiny and someone in power today might be exiled tomorrow. Having a son would’ve made it easier for the Devereux household to maintain their title and prestige.”   Joan sighs, finally realizing why things are the way they are. She comes to you and leans over the bassinet. “Poor thing. It’s not even her fault.”   She gives you her finger and you happily wrap your entire hand around it. Hell yeah! Finally someone’s feeling bad for your shitty situation.   But the older woman with wrinkles around her eyes scoffs. “There’s no use worrying about her. You should be more worried about yourself. If the House of Devereux fails to keep their power and wealth, we’ll be out of a job.”   Joan hums and pries her finger away from your grasps.   You frown and the next time the head maid feeds you, you puke all over her.    But you know what she said is true. It’s the reason why the real Anastasia felt like she needed to become the crown princess, why she tried so hard to make everyone around her approve of her. Aside from loving the Prince, she was desperate for recognition, desperate to fulfill her family’s wishes, and to maintain her family’s lineage without slipping from the status quo.   But you’re different.   You don’t care about those things. You’ll prove yourself on your own and do whatever it takes to survive.   Quickly. Quickly! You want to grow up and walk on your own two feet so you can protect yourself.   After all, no one else in this house will.   You stretch your arm in the air, curling your fingers together, staring up at the starry mobile.    But it’s hard in the body of a mere infant and you fall asleep in the midst of your exercise session, succumbing to the temptation of slumber with heavy lids.

Four years later.   “Are you colouring, my lady?”   “Nooo.”   You’re writing. And it’s not just anything — it’s battle plans.    To anyone, it’s merely incoherent scribbles, a result of poor motor skills you have yet to refine. But it’s actually your life or death.   You don’t need status or power. Living in the countryside and living fruitfully is good enough. All you want is to live a long, peaceful life.   In the original story, after Anastasia’s eighteenth birthday, she was condemned for countless crimes, thrown in prison and then executed within the matter of weeks. All because of three people: the heroine, the Crown Prince, and the villain.   To avoid the effect, you should avoid the cause. Therefore, you need to do whatever you can to avoid these three!   It’s genius! Truly, if anyone knew how your four year old brain operated, you would be hailed as the next prophe—   “Get ready.” Edith interrupts your train of thought, coming into the room and swiftly shutting the door behind her.   “Why?”   “You’re having lunch with the Duke and Duchess.”   “But I don’t wanna,” you whine, especially when Joan starts collecting the crayons. You stand up before Edith can drag you and you stomp your feet. Why would you want to go have lunch with them when the amount of times you’ve seen them in four years can be counted on both hands.   “Don’t be spoiled. Come here.”   You stick out your tongue instead and the moment Edith’s fingers come to snag you, you swiftly dart and run as giggles squeak out of your body.   “My lady,” Joan sighs, at a loss as well.    The two of them try to corner you, but you dive to the left when there’s a chance.   The original villainess was always quite upright and strict, especially with herself. It’s reasonable considering the way she was raised and the massive burden placed upon her. But kids can get away with a lot more than adults and you’d prefer to take advantage of that while you still can.   “Stop playing around!” Edith finally snags the back of your nightgown and you laugh, still thrashing against her hold until she plops you down on the vanity chair. “You’re such an unruly troublemaker,” she mutters as she grabs the frilly dress you’re about to be changed into.   And just for that comment, you undo the pins she puts into your hair when she’s not looking.   It drives her crazy.   But your little antics are stopped the moment you’re sitting at the dinner table. The height of said table reaches your collarbone and the chair you’re sitting in overwhelms your form. The atmosphere is stiff and tense, your father sitting at the head of the table and slicing into his meat while your mom’s posture is upright and she chews gingerly.    Unlike the maids, you won’t test your luck with the Duke and Duchess. God knows they might send you to some kid ranch for the next ten years to reform yourself.    But you also know you can’t get any cuter than this.   You’ve seen yourself in the mirror — soft skin, big eyes, a button nose and chubby cheeks.   Who knows what puberty might do to you someday, but for now, you’re as cute as a four year old can get. And why not use that as a weapon in your arsenal?   “Momma.” You interrupt the silence and your mother across from you looks up. You give a full smile with teeth, quirking your head to your shoulder and open your arms as wide as they can go. “I like you this much!”   Oh. Hell. Yeah!   You can feel it. You’re totally gonna win them over—   Her head swivels over to the Duke. “Don’t you think it’s time to teach her manners?”   Wow. That’s cold.    Stone cold.   “Edith.” Your father glances over his shoulder and the head maid steps forward. “How’s Anastasia’s development?”   The older woman clears her throat. “She’s a bit wild, your grace.” You glare at her for exposing you like this. “However, she can write the alphabet and read through storybooks on her own. She seems to be a bright child.”   Damn straight. Of course, you’d be able to pick up the language of Ashea quickly. You still have the memories of your past life.   The Duke hums. “Then she can start training to be the crown princess.”   You nearly choke on your broccoli.    But you hastily compose yourself and look up at your father. “What’s that?”   “Don’t ask questions,” your mother quips and the room simmers down to the uncomfortable silence again.   It’s so ridiculous — the very definition of jumping the gun. You aren’t the Crown Prince’s fiancée, but they’re already considering you a candidate before you’ve even lost your baby teeth.   Not to mention, it’s all useless anyway. The original Anastasia never became the princess and you have no plans of even meeting the Prince.    “Do you know what happened in the year 921, my lady?” the tutor asks later on, pushing up his rounded spectacles up the slope of his nose.   You’re slumped over the table, one arm rested with your cheek squished in your hand, focused on twirling the quill with two fingers. God forbid Edith or your mother witnesses your awful posture, but no one’s ever interested enough to sit in on these dumb tutor sessions. They’d fall asleep instantly.   “The war of Winter,” you mumble and the tutor’s eyes light up and he enthusiastically nods.   “Yes! The most momentous moment in the history of Ashea. A great dragon rose from the mountains and in the war of Winter, great King Baek, the light priestess and fierce knights of the royal palace came down the lazy brook from Stoughsby Peaks next to the then Canary district which sold fabrics and spices up until the year 914 when the famine of 914 came—”   The tutor drones on and on.   But one thing grabs your attention. You forgot there was magic in this world.   “Ummm,” you interrupt him in the middle of his tangent. “Did King Baek kill the dragon by magic?”   “Great question. King Baek in the summer of 896, seven years after he was born, started to learn the art of swordsmanship through rigorous training with the fierce knights of the royal place who was then under the rule of King Ennik—”   You don’t know why you asked.   “How do you start doing magic?” you interject again.   “Well, magic is part of everyone and it’s everywhere. But some are more attuned to it than others. It requires vigorous training, the most talented magician was Ruffus Dolores who dedicated his life living in the Magician’s Tower and wrote most of the magical texts we have today.”   You look at him, curiosity finally alight in your eyes. “Can I do magic?”   There was never magic on Earth in the twenty-first century aside from Harry Potter or Twilight, if Edward’s sparkling constitutes as magic. But if it’s anything like those movies, then you’re psyched! You can wingardium leviosa yourself and yeet out of here.   Unfortunately, your excitement is short lived.   “The House of Devereux isn’t very magically inclined,” the tutor says and your eyes dim again. You’re not completely surprised considering Anastasia was never much of a fighter in the game. She just splashed water on the main character’s face a lot and made players like you curse her out. “However, while magic is an inborn talent and comes naturally, skills always have to be honed. There’s still a chance you may have magical abilities. We’ll just have to see as you get older.”   You hum to yourself.   //   Edith pulls the curtains together haphazardly, the moonlight crisp where the gap is and sheds a silver sliver onto the carpet. Joan takes the tray with your finished glass of milk, nearly toppling it over and shattering the glass, but finding balance in the nick of time.   “Goodnight, my lady.”   “Night night.” Your hand peeks out from the covers and you wave.   “Don’t get out of bed or else,” Edith warns in a low tone. “The Duke won’t be happy to hear if you’re found wandering in the halls or sneaking into the kitchen again.”   You giggle. “Bye bye.”   The door shuts, darkness engulfs your bedroom and you count to ten within your head. The moment the seconds are up, you throw the covers off of you and slide off the high mattress.   You come to your desk, grasp the heavy duty textbook off of it and lug it over to the windows.    The enormous book sits on your lap as you lean against your bedpost. The moonlight illuminates the cover and you flip to the magic section at the back, the noise of the pages soothing in the quiet space. Magic — not only is it interesting to you but it could be a great defense mechanism if worse comes to worse. Who knows. It might just add to your battle plans and help you survive.   Your pointer finger underlines the sentences and traces the words as you read the introduction slowly.   After reading, you learn that magic is more intuitive, rather than a particular procedure.    You push the textbook aside and hold your hands out. Shutting your eyes, you try your best to envision light. You try to imagine light engulfing your figure and form, causing your skin to glow.   Peeking with one eye open, there’s—   Absolutely nothing.   Well shit. Maybe the tutor was right. Maybe there is no real magical talent in your bloodline. But there’s no harm in trying to dabble in it a little more.   You conceptualize fire in your brain. And when you look in your hand, you’re ecstatic to see a tiny flame actually flickering in mid-air. Oh shit! It worked!   But it smothers out a blink later.   You try to visualize water next to see if your magical expertise lays within the element. When you open your eyes, your breath hitches at the water droplets floating in your palm. And for once, it doesn’t completely vanish within a second. A grin spreads into your face. But as if Lady Luck wants to slap you, the moment you get hyped, the water splashes into your lap.   It looks like you peed yourself.   “Really?!”   You sigh, ready to give up.   Maybe you don’t have a knack for magic after all.    You turn to grab the textbook, but the heftiness is awkward in your grasps and your thumb slips, accidentally flipping over the next page. The page’s heading makes you stop.    Oh yeah. Dark magic exists.   Might as well give it a shot while you’re at it.   Like all the times before, you shut your eyes and hold your hands upwards. You try to imagine darkness — the similar kind that’s already filled your bedroom, or like the empty void that you were plunged in after being hit by that truck. That abyss of nothing, of pitch black.   Suddenly, you feel a pressure on your shoulders. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time.   Your lashes flutter open and your breath is plugged in your nose. Darkness has overwhelmed the room. It bleeds out of you, consuming your form like smoke, the hue of ink spilt on oil. It covers the silver moonlight, erasing the sliver casted on your carpet and what was translucent through the curtains. Exactly like the empty void, the abyss of nothing.    It’s trying to consume you.   There’s a shriek from outside your room. “All the candles just blew out!”   Panic drains blood from your face and you drop your hands, flailing your arms as if you can dispel the black before it wraps its hands around your throat and submerges you completely.   It fades, the moonlight traveling back onto you again and you shove the book underneath your bed.   You’re still shaking as you climb back into bed.   God knows you’re never going to try that again.   //   So you might not have an aptitude for magic after all. But the grief is short-lived after the realization that it’s not a toy or something that comes out of a magical wand for you to fight Dementors with. But there’s still a lot of ways you can protect yourself. You just have to get creative.   “I wanna do that!”    Your nose, forehead and palms are pushed against the glass window as you peer outside.   Joan frowns and peeks out. “You want to go flower picking, my lady?”   “No!”   The useless maid finally looks to the two guards sparring with one another out by the field. “You want to sword fight?”   “Uh-huh.”   She bursts out laughing and you whirl around in irritation.    “I wanna! Pretty please?” How else are you going to protect yourself? If you can’t use magic, then you need to go the melee route and pick up a sword or at least a bow and arrow.   “You would have to ask permission from the Duke himself, my lady.” Joan turns away to make your bed, expecting you to give up. When it comes to asking your parents, it’s too much of a hassle to get involved with them. But this time, you don’t concede.   She’s surprised when you tug on her dress. “Okay.”   The Duke’s study doors are imposing on their own. Without needing to open them, the twisting ornate patterns on the wooden surface are enough to eerily remind you of exposed arteries. It feels like you’re approaching the principal’s office — a nervousness of the impending doom.   You’ve always been careful to steer clear any place your mother or father might be. The study on the third floor, the gardens, their bedroom. And any time you passed, your steps would quiet.   It’s not like you’re scared of them. Frankly, you’re just annoyed at how nit-picky they are.   But you remind yourself you’ve been through worse — you once spent an entire summer in customer service serving food in the twenty first century for god’s sakes!   With that in mind, you throw open the doors.   Joan, behind you, practically flinches.   Your father’s sitting behind his oak desk, quill and parchment in hand, and he looks above his rounded spectacles. You give your most charming smile. “Hi, papa!”   He looks to the older girl and deadpans, “What’s the matter.”   The maid clears her throat, clearly distressed that she’s been dragged into this. “Uh, well, your grace, my lady, uh, she…..well…”   “I wanna do sword!” You tottle towards him and round the desk to come eye to eye with his knees. C’mon, as uncaring as they are, they gotta at least care a little for their daughter, right? You’re too cute to ignore all the time. You flutter your lashes for good measure. “Pretty please?”   The Duke’s brow quirks. “You want to learn swordsmanship?”   You enthusiastically nod. “Uh-huh!”   He stares at you. You stare at him.   The older man sits back in his chair. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn an interesting skill or two. It might make you stand out.” Those two lifelessly said statements alone are enough to make you happy. Even when he resumes his paperwork. “I heard from your tutor that you’re a fast learner.”   You’re surprised the old fart said something good about you, but of course you are! You’re technically twenty four now. Mathematics is truly universal when you can recall the basics and the language is easy to pick up. You’re already dumbing down everything to not make it weird.   “Maybe you’re not so useless after all,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth, no longer sparing you a glance.    You hold back a scoff. Instead, you force a smile and a sweet giggle. “Thank you, papa! I like you too!”   You wonder if this is why Anastasia tried so hard. The only time she gains recognition in her family is when she’s focusing her time and energy into studying and proving her worth. If so, it’s depressing. You wish you had more sympathy for her when you were playing from the heroine’s perspective. But you’re beginning to understand her better and better.    Why she did what she did.   How she became the female villain.   “Fight me!” You point your wooden sword at the knight whose eyes are wide. You bet he didn’t expect to be sparing with a four year old when he was assigned to protect the Devereux house, but this is a matter of life and death for you. “Hurry!”   “Y-Yes, my lady.”   You smile, gripping the handle tighter. He comes up and weakly slashes you and you’re able to root your feet into the ground and keep yourself from stumbling back. He’s obviously not trying very hard, but it’s good enough for now. Slowly but surely, you’re finding a rhythm into things.    In your spare time, you learn the history of Ashea, read books and plan the next steps in your battle plan of avoiding all main characters of the game at all costs. You’ll protect yourself no matter what it takes.   And you’ll survive no matter what happens.

The Takedown | Part Fifteen

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Maybe a teeny bit of violence?

AN: It’s been a minute since the last part of this series was posted. I haven’t written anything since then so fingers crossed this is OK.

Catch up here: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen

Part 15 - 1,601 words

My apartment had already been too small. Now with Joe blocking the doorway and Holland practically breathing down my neck it felt tiny. Hunching closer to the laptop screen I tried to focus on the information scrolling before me. I’d pulled up the last three months worth of records detailing what cruise ships had docked and was whittling down the list slowly. There were ones we’d suspected that had already had a full background check but I couldn’t cross them off without raising suspicions.

“What’s this?” I stilled as Holland leaned over my shoulder, finger tapping at an entry. With his breath tickling my throat and the soft scent of shampoo emanating from his curls it took me a minute to focus.

“It seems like a shell company. I can try to trace it but it’ll take time.”

“How can you tell?” Suspicion was apparently his only tone tonight. I nudged out the chair beside me as an invitation. When it went ignored I twisted in my seat, intent on glaring at him until he relented, only to realise too late how close he actually was. My lips skimmed over his cheek. I could feel my colour drain as his breath caught. I made to shove back from the table but his hand caught my shoulder, holding me down.

“Trace them,” he murmured. Hands shaking slightly I pulled up a new search engine to start. Only when I started typing did he let go. Relief trickled through me but it was short lived. Dragging the offered chair to the corner of the table he slipped off his jacket and hooked it to the back before settling with crossed arms to watch me. I flicked a glance over his shoulder to Joe who threw me a wink before going back to staring out the window. Trying to shove back the humiliation I could feel creeping up my cheeks I pulled up as much as I could about the company, already knowing it’d come to a dead end.

After half an hour I read out the details I’d scribbled down, eyes firmly on my notepad as Holland questioned me. Then he chose another company. And another. On and on until we’d almost exhausted the list.

The smell of expensive coffee roused me from my notebook. I blinked and a takeaway cup appeared under my nose courtesy of Joe. I accepted it with a grateful smile and he gave me another of what was becoming his signature winks. Closing the laptop I shuffled my notes into order and put both on the counter allowing Joe to start emptying the paper bag of breakfast foods he’d bought. It wasn’t until I was up out of my chair that I realised how sore I was. Rolling my neck I rubbed at a tender spot on my shoulder with a grimace.

“Maybe you should take five to clean up?” Joe offered. My eyes automatically drifted to Holland for the first time in several hours. He looked as dishevelled as I felt. Hair unruly once again from running his hands through it every time I hit a dead end. I realised with a jolt that I was waiting for his permission.

“Good idea.” I mumbled. Quickly skirting past them both I headed for the bathroom locking the door firmly behind me. I cringed as I caught myself in the mirror. My skin was pale, tired. The tie that had been keeping my hair back had failed leaving long messy wisps falling around my face. Running the cold water I repeatedly doused my skin until I felt the last of the brain fog disappear. I needed to be on higher alert, more so than before. Holland wouldn’t keep accepting the trails going cold. There was only so long he’d sit patiently knowing Rivera was out there. I needed to find a solid lead but I wasn’t sure if I could on my own. As much as I’d learned about tracking down corrupt company details those had all been from tracing low level thugs, people who didn't have the knowledge or the money to properly cover their tracks. Rivera had both of those things. It could be damn near impossible to directly link him to anything.

A jolt ran through me. Wasn’t that exactly what Holland did? He made it impossible for anyone to get information about the next level because each of his men ran their own area. Quickly drying my face I threw open the door coming face to face with Holland.

“You and Rivera are the same,” I started the words dying in my throat as his mood visibly darkened.

“No. We’re not.” He stalked closer and it took me a second to collect my thoughts as replays of the day before hit me. My gaze flicked to the damaged wall. A reminder not to push him, no matter how much I wanted to.

“Let me finish,” I insisted, hands coming up to hold him off. “How did I find you?”

Confusion flashed before irritation settled on his face. “Stupidity, and luck.”

“No. It was through Arnold. The only way to you is through your men. It’s the same with Rivera, he-” He pressed his palms against the door frame either side of me, blocking me in.

“Why are you wasting my time? Rivera’s men don’t know where he is. If they did Joe would have gotten the information.”

“Stop interrupting me!” I shoved against his chest in frustration. He grabbed my wrists spinning me until my back was pressed against the cold tiles of the bathroom. Eyes boring into mine his jaw ticked, grip getting tighter.

“I am nothing like him.” Anger surged as we fell into the same dance we always did. Hooking a leg behind his I used his grip against him and put him on his back. A sliver of sympathy shot through me as he lost his breath but I let my anger chase it away, using it to power my arms into holding him down.

“I’m fed up with you thinking you can push me around and bully me. This,” I motioned with my head to the position we were currently in, “is the last time I have to do this. Understood?”

Eyes unreadable he nodded curtly. I cautiously let go, easing back to a sitting position, not ready to give up the upper hand just yet. When I was sure he wasn’t going to lash out I continued.

“We’re looking through the information for ties to Rivera himself. We should be looking for ties to the men we know he associates with. He’s using them as scapegoats. The companies are in their names, that way if anything goes wrong-”

“Then the trail ends with them” he finished, shoulders slumping as the realisation hit him.

“Exactly. And what better way to ensure your men’s loyalty. They’ll do everything they can to ensure their area runs smoothly because it’s their necks on the line, not his.” My smug smile was missed as he closed his eyes, hands coming up to scrub at his face.

“You didn’t sleep did you?” I asked gently. He let out a humourless laugh, his body rocking under mine. I planted my hands on his stomach to stop from falling onto him. Fingers splayed I could feel the solid muscles that made up his abdomen tensing as he shifted. The realisation of our position hit me. Mouth dry I tried to chase off the scenarios that my brain was throwing at me. I could control myself. Or so I told myself repeatedly.

“Care to let me up?” he asked, eyebrow raising as he looked pointedly at where I was touching him.

Sure he’d somehow been able to read my thoughts it took me a second to find my voice again. “It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you can behave yourself. I meant it before, this is the last time. You’d never have figured any of this out without me.” I instinctively clenched my hands into fist. His t-shirt got tangled in my grip, tugging it up to reveal a small section of skin just above his waistband where the line of his hipbone slid out of sight. I was a hypocrite asking him to have decency when all I could think about was how much more I’d be able to expose before he stopped me.

“You’re right.” I almost lost my balance in shock at his admittance, eyes darting away from him.

“From now on you can take the lead but only when we’re alone. In front of my men you say nothing.”

I reigned in the urge to roll my eyes. Given who I was dealing with the conditions could have been a lot worse. I could handle letting him keep the facade of all knowing mob boss.

“Deal,” I agreed. “We have breakfast then I need you to get me the names of Rivera’s men. The higher their status the better. I’ll work on retracing the list from earlier and cross referencing it against them. And you, you’re going to get some sleep. It’s a waste of resources having you sit watching me. Joe can help in your place, he was the one that interrogated them anyway so he’ll know more than you do at this stage.” Reluctantly I released his clothing and pushing up to my feet. Instead of joining me he propped himself on his elbows.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, deadpan. Spinning I left him on the bathroom floor as the heat that had been simmering through me peaked. Get it together, I mentally scolded myself.

- - - - - - -

Taglist:

@spideylovin

@lukesbabylon

@panicattheeverywherekid

@keep-bears-wild

@unbelievableholland

@tomholland-mcu

@whattheheckparker

@stargazerholland

@gorillaglue23

@marvelpeters

@weirdowithnobeardo

Part 16!

Simple Things, O. Diaz

Summary: Oscar get jealous upon seeing you enjoying a conversation with another guy.

warnings: angst, Jealous!Oscar, cute s h e t /ending😋

word count: 1.2K

requested by: @roury66​

A/N: Thank you for sending in a request! And also showing me love by getting random messages that y’all enjoy my content really does make me feel so good. So keep them coming, hehe. As of right now, REQUESTS ARE CLOSED! Became so fluffy, I can’t e v e n, LOL. But please consider following my blog, heart/comment/reblog my content as well as turning on notifs for what I post something new!!

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n​ @princesstiffxoxo​ @fairygardenss​ @firebenderwolf​ @spookysnena​ @mbaku-babygirl​ @chellybear98​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ @i-just-wanna-live-gc​ @roury66​ (please let me know if you wanna be added or removed!)

(Gif belongs to @merakiaes 💐)

“Hey, have you seen Spooky?”

Sad Eyes briefly looks at you then around the bustling backyard of a summer bash. He shrugs his shoulder, “He was here, think he dipped because he saw you warming up the pendejo.”

You close your eyes for a brief moment to scratch the back of your head. He only chuckles and steps away from you. Tonight was suppose to be a fun and chill. The Santos love to hit up summer parties around the block, usually to hit up the now legal hynas fresh outta high school. Not for Oscar though because he has you. 

The relationship between you and Oscar has been complicated from the get go. It didn’t start off simple and definitely had you questioning your ability to hold a decent relationship especially in moments like these. Oscar’s insecurities getting the best of him. Not to mention, he is horrible at opening up about his feelings.

You’re checking your phone for any messages and missed calls from him but nothing. As you squeeze your way past the alcohol infested teens to the front yard, you stand to check for his cherry red impala. And just as it was when you rolled up, parked against the curb a few houses down with a smoking Oscar leaning against it.

“Hey, you.” He looks up from his phone and tucks it away as you approach him. His gaze averts from you as you are now besides him, leaning into his side, “Why’d you dip?”

Oscar clears his throat and sits up off of his car, “Thought you had all the company you needed, looks like you did with Bryan or whatever his fuckin’ name is.”

You huff and cross your arms over your chest, moving off him and in front of him. He looks down at you then takes a drag of his cigarette. You form a face of disgust, “When you gonna stop smoking those cancer sticks, hm?”

An amused expression forms on his face as he places it between his lips to take another drag, “When you stop hanging with other guys. I’ll probably be waiting forever with that one.”

“Really? You’re gonna act like this? The one night we can hang out with no shit to handle tomorrow but you want to be a dick instead.” You face and voice carry much frustration. You huff and begin to walk away when not even a second later, “Don’t walk away from me.”

Your hold your middle finger in the air with your back to him.

Suddenly, his hand is gripping your upper arm and pulling you back. You stumble and pull your arm away as he looks down at you with that signature Spooky look.

“I’ll walk away if I please. I don’t know why you get so jealous. All I was doing was talking to guy about school and stuff. Is that so bad or are you the only specimen of the opposite sex that I can have contact with?”

He cracks a smile, looking away for a brief moment then back to you, “You don’t think it looked like something to everyone else around you? Laughing and doing the cute punch shit. If it looks like something to me, it looks like something to others.”

“And you started caring about other’s opinion when? Tonight? I’m sorry people have wronged you in the past, Oscar. I really am, I despise them for doing it to you but I am not one of them. I wouldn’t do that to you. If I was interested in someone else, I’d have the decency to tell you that. It’s not what I was doing that’s the problem here. It’s you and the way you think.”

Oscar looks down and you see his adam’s apple bob.He’s probably feeling guilty right about now, “Can’t help I much I feel for you, seeing you like that pisses me off.”

“You can control the way you think of me though. You really believe I would be that kind of girl with you? Hm? We’ve been through hell together. We’ve got through a lot of your issues together, it took you nearly a year to label me as your novia. I stuck around even then when you’d push me away and treat me like a random hyna. But I did it because I love you.” You sigh as you let out the frustrations.

You rub circles into your forehead and blink away an tears that threaten to spill over. Whenever you get upset, your emotions try to overrun, He looks around for a brief moment and scratches the back of his head, a small smile creeping onto his lips. You see the smug look on his face and cross your arms over your chest, “I’m serious!”

He finally lets off a laugh and licks his lips to peer down at you, his hands in pockets. Oscar tilts his head to the side and peers at you, truly fascinated that he got a girl who loves him with such passion and continues to stick around even when the going gets rough,

“I love you too, mamas. That’s why I act this way. Because in some fucked up way, the universe said that you could be mine. And I still disbelieve it to this day. You’re way out of my league. I just.. I know if a guy comes along and is that much better than me then I’m out.” He confesses, the smug look disappearing and his face now saturated with discomfort.

It’s your turn to form a smug look on your face. Oscar is a man of a few words but it’s not like he doesn’t get mushy sometimes. When he does though, it’s like you’re fire. You’re heart is set ablaze with intense feelings that you feel like you’ve never felt before. And in moments like this, his insecurities give you a soft spot for his irritating ass.

“Oscar, I can promise you. If a richer, more... toned man has woo’d me and given me everything I have ever dreamed. Promised me a home in LA or got me my dream car? I wouldn’t be happy. Because you’re the one for me. You are it. I want things with you. I want to build a life with you, a home and someday a family. Doesn’t have to be in the order, “You both laugh, nerves obvious as you inhale a deep breath.

“You’re it for me. I can’t tell you in words how much I want you and will want you til i’m wrinkling and ugly. I’ve wanted you then and I want you now.”

He takes a deep breath in and steps closer to you. You instinctively wrap your arms around his waist, tipping your head back to get a look up at him. He puckers his lips and you press yours against him, breathing him in.

When you break the kiss apart, he remove his hands from his pockets and steps back, you squeal as his lifts you off your feet and onto his shoulder “Osc- babe!”

“Gotta get started on that family, not in order remember?” He jogs down the sidewalk towards his house, abandoning his car all at once. Laughter erupting from the both of you.

Luckae, something along the lines of, it’s rotten work / not to me, not if it’s you.

HELLO HI DEAR tysm for ur patience while i worked on this!!! and THANK YOU THANK YOU for the prompt!! gods they're really just so perfectly set up for this dynamic aren't they??

not if it's you - T - 2.3k

tags: kaeluckae, reconciliation sorta, canon divergence, blood mention/injury mention

--

Diluc returns from a particularly rough fight during his moonlighting as the Darknight Hero to find Kaeya once again waiting for him at the winery, as he always seems to be. For some reason.

[read on ao3]

--

“My my, another rough evening, Master Diluc?”

Kaeya’s voice sounds tinny and off-key, but Diluc knows it well enough to understand when he’s being taunted. His hand remains pressed flat to his abdomen, grateful for the black of his jacket to hide what must be a particularly gruesome bloodstain.

“Why are you here,” he grits out as he slumps against the door, hopes that he can hold onto his composure for just long enough to convince Kaeya to leave. Adelinde can tend his wound, and Diluc does not have to face the mortification of admitting weakness in front of Kaeya.

“Why, for the wine, of course!” Kaeya says, as he always does. As he does every time Diluc returns to find him here, lounging in a chair in the winery’s entrance, at least one empty bottle on the table in front of him. Now, he hoists his glass in a false toast, offers Diluc a smirk. The dim candlelight makes it look sinister.

Until he tips his head back just a fraction, hardly any movement at all, but Diluc sees Kaeya from before, the Kaeya that would stay up all night with him, share stories of their dreams for the future under dim candlelight or bright moonlight, when the weather allowed it.

“Have I bored you so easily, Master Diluc?” Kaeya tuts, takes a sip of his wine, and Diluc grits his teeth. Partly in response to Kaeya, partly in an effort to keep himself aware. Partly to block out the pain - not the worst he’s endured, but most certainly high on the scale.

Kaeya shifts, though, and a clink makes it to Diluc’s ears. His eyes remain partly unfocused, so he blinks a few times, finds snapshot moments of Kaeya’s feet dropping from the table to the ground, Kaeya standing, Kaeya moving closer.

He hears his name, too - just Diluc this time, no tongue-in-cheek title to go along with it, and Diluc’s hand falls from his stomach. He didn’t ask it to, but gods did it require such effort to hold it there. He thinks there was a reason for it being there, but this is easier, isn’t it? To just let it fall, to let his body relax. To rest - gods, when was the last time he rested?

Warmth envelops him quite suddenly, then, and he doesn’t mind it. He’d been quite cold before, actually, and this is nice. Comfortable. He’s not sure what it is, though - his eyes won’t open, and-

Oh. Is this death? Kaeya’s kept him standing here for too long, or maybe he’s grown too- what’s the word? The opposite of humble, perhaps he’s gotten too...arrogant, that’s it. Like Kaeya. Like Kaeya. Like…

He blinks, surprised to find light pouring in now. Surprised to find...Kaeya. Hovering over him, brows furrowed and lips twisted, and a sudden-

“Ah-” Diluc coughs out as pain lances through him, sharp and sudden, and Kaeya’s gaze flicks over to meet Diluc’s. His tight expression evens out so quickly, then, that Diluc wonders if he’d imagined it.

Wonders, then, where exactly-

“Hold- Diluc,” Kaeya snaps, and Diluc pauses his attempts at looking around in favor of turning his gaze to Kaeya. Kaeya, who - upon closer inspection, and a clearer mind - appears...worried? “Hold still.” He enunciates the words with icy clarity.

Diluc does as he’s told, if only because he has not seen Kaeya like this...perhaps ever. At the very least, not since they were kids. He watches with furrowed brows as Kaeya’s hand returns to his stomach - exposed, now, and he sees the- ah. Right.

“You have no sense of self preservation,” Kaeya grumbles, almost petulant, and Diluc...he does not entirely know what to make of that. A decade ago, he might’ve thought it endearing, that Kaeya would worry for him, would make a fuss over an injury, but now…

“I don’t see why that concerns you,” he says, and finds his voice dry and hoarse. Kaeya shoots a glare in his direction, but does not respond. A rare occurrence, when he’s usually the one to prefer to fill the silence with idle chatter.

Diluc’s gaze flicks down again to where an ugly line cuts its way across his abdomen, and he watches as Kaeya sticks a needle unkindly through the edges of the wound. The pain itself comes almost as an aftershock, nearly hidden behind the wave of realization that hits him in that moment.

In all the nights that Diluc has returned from his masked forays into the city and its outskirts - all the nights that Kaeya, coincidentally, decides to make his way to the winery - Kaeya has never stayed.

And he has most certainly never tended to Diluc’s injuries, though Diluc supposes that this is the first one he’s been unable to hide from Kaeya.

The next prick of pain is not so bad, now that he’s prepared for it, and he watches Kaeya’s fingers dexterously weave shut the wound. He does not speak as he works, does not cast more than a cursory glance in Diluc’s direction, and Diluc does not know what to say.

Doesn't know how to act, when Kaeya steps out of his role as the flippant, duplicitous charmer. When he is sincere, when he’s-

“Archons,” Diluc grits out as Kaeya splashes something- ah, alcohol. Very distilled, apparently. His whole body tenses around the epicenter of the pain, the white-hot sting in his abdomen that refuses to subside even as Kaeya steps back, one arm crossed over his chest as he takes a generous sip from the very same bottle.

He sets it down on the nearby table with a hard thunk, his sour mood quite obvious, but does not turn to face Diluc. Just stares, hand gripped tight still to the neck of the bottle, and Diluc thinks that he has never seen Kaeya angry like this.

Tired, hurt, broken and hopeless, Diluc has seen all of these things, but never...never this. Never the tight expression, barely visible for the way his hair falls in his face. Never the white-knuckled grip that he must be controlling still, or it’d break the neck of the bottle. Never the quiet tension in his shoulders, hunched where they’re usually set back in a peacock-proud display.

Diluc does not know how to handle an angry Kaeya.

He sits up a fraction more, as though it might help clear his confused, clouded thoughts, but it only serves to make him wince and suck in an involuntary breath at the sting of his wound.

Kaeya’s head whips around, focuses sharply on Diluc, and Diluc holds immeasurably still. For a moment, he wishes that Adelinde had been the one to find him - her caretaking is far less...tense.

“I will freeze you to the table if you can’t manage to lay still,” Kaeya says, voice empty and nearly as cold as his ice. It crawls to his fingers, spreads from them to the bottle in a spiderweb of frost.

Diluc shakes his head, regrets the wave of dizziness that follows but does his best to keep his expression even.

“Why?” he manages after a moment, and Kaeya coughs out a laugh.

“You get yourself gutted, then ask why you need to rest?” A bitter scoff, and Kaeya releases his grip on the bottle to stand upright, to cross his arms over his chest and glare down at Diluc. “Fine,” he waves a hand. “Treat your life like it means nothing, then.”

Diluc’s brows furrow at Kaeya’s hard stare.

“Go on,” he urges, waves a hand now at the door. “Don’t you have important hero business to attend? Surely you won’t bleed out along the way!” Kaeya bares his teeth, an angry approximation of a grin, and the words hit Diluc like a- well, like a sword through his gut.

His chest falls with a heavy breath, and he wonders - perhaps naively, perhaps masochistically - if this is how it might’ve felt to be on the other end of his own blade that night all those years ago. If it was instead he who stood opposite Kaeya’s anger, knew his own faults and laid them bare for Kaeya to slash apart with his sword.

There’s a clink, then, and Diluc refocuses to find Kaeya lifting the alcohol from its perch, and he drops heavily into a chair and lifts the bottle to his lips. Drinks long and deep, then levels an unreadable stare on Diluc.

“If you intend to get yourself killed,” he says, quieter now, and his gaze flicks away. “At least have the common decency not to make me bear witness to it.” He takes another sip, and Diluc watches as something in his chest burns. Aches.

It’s a childish thing, he thinks, and he doesn’t entirely know where it comes from, but it blazes through him like wildfire, hot and painful, and he exhales a shuddered breath. This draws Kaeya’s stare, sharp with concern, and Diluc does not know how to wave it off.

“I did not mean to cause you any distress,” he says quickly, and Kaeya averts his stare the moment Diluc speaks. Leans back into the chair, evidently satisfied that Diluc’s death is not imminent.

“And yet, you run rampant through the streets with no care for your own wellbeing,” he says, voice like ice again. “Funny how that works.” Another sip from the bottle, and he rests it on his thigh. Keeps his gaze directed toward the door, though it remains unfocused.

“Is that why you wait here?” Diluc asks, then, as the realization dawns on him. Is that why I find you here every night I’ve gone out? Is that why you show up at the winery, seemingly at random, and only leave once I’ve returned?

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Master Diluc.” A hint of humor, but the bitterest kind. Kaeya glances from the corner of his eye, and Diluc sees it - hears it, almost, in a voice that is Kaeya’s but isn’t. A voice from a time when Kaeya spoke earnestly, when he did not cloak every truth in a veil of lies and almost-honesty.

If I admit that I care about you, then things change. We change.

He wonders, then, if Kaeya doesn’t want to - if he doesn’t want to care for Diluc. If he’d rather hate Diluc outright. It’s the same feeling that Diluc had felt about Kaeya all those years ago. It would be easier, certainly. Hard to feel pain when you allow nothing close to your heart - Diluc knows that truth well enough.

And yet, Kaeya’s all but admitted that he cares regardless.

“You don’t have to,” he says - an out, though it’s not quite a response to what Kaeya’s said. More to the words that he hasn’t spoken. “To be here,” he adds. “I can take care of myself. I know it’s-”

Painful to keep caring, when Diluc can never quite rid himself of his need for martyrdom. Impossible to justify it, when loss hovers so closely around Diluc that it might as well be a second skin. When he seeks it out most nights, tempts fate and knows that it will catch up with him some day.

“It’s rotten work,” he says quietly, and his gaze drifts to the wound that Kaeya’s so carefully tended. How many more will Diluc endure? How many would Kaeya stand by and watch before he can’t stand it? There is a reason that Diluc has never pursued lovers or a family or the like.

“Not to me.”

Diluc glances up, finds Kaeya still staring off into the distance. His gaze drifts over then, though, and holds Diluc’s. Something small, almost a smile, flickers at the corner of his lip.

“Not if it’s you,” he adds, even as his jaw tenses with something that Diluc has not seen since the night he raised a sword at Kaeya. Kaeya shakes his head, huffs out a breath. “You never quite figured it out, did you?”

He takes another sip of the alcohol, and Diluc’s brows furrow just slightly.

“Figured what out?” The ‘it’ tugs at his thoughts, though, somewhere just beyond his comprehension. He knows it, he thinks, whatever Kaeya intends to say, but Kaeya’s gaze flicks over, and he exhales a short breath.

“Never mind.” A smile curls the corner of his lip, gentler than his usual sharp smirk. “You need to rest. I’ll be here.”

He turns away again, then, and props a foot up on the table beside him. Takes another short sip from the bottle, and Diluc stares.

Sees it with crystal clarity, then, when Kaeya’s eye flicks over, just for the briefest moment, and it burns through Diluc’s chest - painful, warm, hot and bright and terrifying all at once. A thing he has buried for a very long time, because caring hurts.

“Kaeya.” Kaeya glances over properly now, and Diluc holds his stare. “Thank you.”

A small smile touches his lips, gentle and careful and Kaeya-from-their-childhood, and Diluc is fifteen again, and reckless and brave and head-over-heels, and just once, he allows that feeling to wash over him. When his lips curl up in a soft smile, Kaeya’s own grin widens, though he hides it with the bottle as he takes a sip.

“Get some rest, Master Diluc,” Kaeya chides, so warmly that it sounds fond, and Diluc’s heart feels so free and light it might fly right out of his chest.

That could also be blood loss, he supposes as a wave of dizziness turns the edges of his vision black, and he leans carefully back onto the table. Is grateful that Kaeya had thought to bring him a pillow, or he might be in for an uncomfortable night of sleep.

“Good night, Kaeya,” he offers quietly, and Kaeya huffs out a gentle, amused breath. Tips his head in Diluc’s direction, and Diluc’s eyes drift shut with the image of his smile branded in his mind - sincere, genuine in a way that Diluc hasn’t seen in years.

“Good night, Luc.”

Everything Comes at a Price (Demon!Dark/Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Commission prompt: Reader is really depressed, and Dark decides to roughly Fuck the depression out of them

Important: Reader has female pronouns and is a vagina owner!

Warnings (For this chapter specifically): Talk of depression and stressful life, mentions of unnamed character death, mentions of beheading/dismembered head and some minor blood/gore (not too detailed), cursing, mentions of family in the hospital, demon!Dark (akin to jinn or genie), and pet names.

A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This first chapter is allllll story setting. Part two will have the good ol' rough and dominating Dark fucking.

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

“Look, I think it’s just best if you take some time off.”

Though worded nicely, you instinctually felt the pang of panic and anger already bristling in your chest.

“Time off…” you murmur, eyes sliding down to your boss’s desk in thought, “As in, a week or two or…?”

You let the implication hang heavy in the air. There was a telling silence that followed your question. When you finally met his gaze again, your boss let out a hefty sigh. Before he even said anything, you knew what his answer was by the sympathy on his face alone.

“We won’t fight your unemployment for the first few months, which hopefully will be enough time for you to find another place of employment. I’m sorry, Miss Y/N, but between the company making cutbacks and your recent drop in productivity, I had to-”

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed sharply, interrupting him before he could finish the excuse.

Rage fueled your motions, forcing you to your feet while your eyes narrowed on the man you’d once thought a decent person.

“A drop in productivity?” you scoffed, “My apartment building was just destroyed in a freak fire two weeks ago that, of course, my insurance refused to cover. I’ve been bouncing place to place between motels and friend’s homes until I can afford another deposit on the measly pay you give us. My mother is in the hospital, in the ICU, after a freak hit and run. My car broke down yesterday and I walked thirty fucking minutes in the pouring rain today just to make sure you assholes weren’t a man down with all this work. And you knew all of this, but you still decided to fire me? I can’t- You know what, fuck you. Fuck you and fuck this place! I hope this whole company shuts down and you get to experience even a modicum of the instability I’ve had to!”

Before he could respond, you slammed the chair back into place against the desk and stormed from the room. You could feel the confused gazes from your coworkers as you marched to the door but didn’t dare spare them a glance. Most of them you considered to be your friends and you knew you’d have to explain everything later, but you couldn’t allow anything other than anger to inhabit your body at that moment. One bit of sadness and you would crumble. Rage would keep you safe until you made it to your temporary home for the night.

Little curses and fury-filled resentment spilled from your lips as you stepped out into the dreary public. Of course, it was still raining. You hadn’t even dried off from your trek to work and now you were thrown right back out into the storm. A timely crack of lightning rumbled across the sky as you shot one last middle finger back at the door.

“I can’t believe this shit,” you grumbled.

Pulling your raincoat up over your head, you kept your gaze down and began your journey back to the hotel. The one upside to all the rain was that the sidewalks were nearly barren. Cars sped by on the busy roads but you were alone on foot. In fact, you didn’t see a single soul until you were on the block housing your hotel, and somehow that lonely occupant still managed to slam into you.

“Excuse you,” you muttered.

“So sorry, please excuse me.”

The person’s voice sent shivers down your spine and every last hair stood up on your arms. Reflexively you pulled back as a hand touched your side, ready to give them a mouthful, but they were moving on by the time you could gather your wits about you. All you caught was a tall form in a black business suit striding off in the opposite direction.

With an irked tsk and a mutter of “Fucking asshole”, you rushed into the lobby, stomping the rain from your shoes along the rubber mat. Sure you were pissed off but you still had the human decency not to create more work for others.

You managed a little nod to the desk clerk on your way by to the elevator. As you watched the numbers climb slowly down, you mentally questioned the fates if the world was against you. The elevator stopped on literally every- single- floor; All 25. Trying to maintain your composure, you leaned up against the wall and let your eyes flutter closed, slowly breathing in and out rhythmically. Just a little longer and you’d be in the safety of solitude. You could let it all out.

The ding of the lift doors opening pulled you out of your little meditative session and you immediately let out a grateful sigh of appreciation upon realizing it was empty. Being stuck in a small metal box with others for an undetermined amount of time made your skin crawl, much less when you were already on the edge of snapping. You mashed the close button repeatedly until the metal doors finally sealed shut and the elevator began to move. The rest of the journey was a blur until you stopped at your room door and fished your card out of your pocket, coming out with not only the plastic key but a large silver coin.

“The fuck?” you muttered.

As the door buzzed open, you flipped the coin over in your fingers, trying to think back on when you had gotten it. You were pretty sure you’d never seen anything like it before; completely void of any details on one side but the other filled with finely engraved words.

The loud startling thump of your keys as you threw them on the nightstand wasn’t even enough to draw your concentration away from the interesting little trinket. It took a few minutes and some good lighting but you eventually figured out what was written; the discovery only confusing you further.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“Yeah… that’s not creepy at all,” you sighed.

Tossing the coin on the nightstand next to your keys, you sloughed off your wet clothes and tossed them in the small hamper next to your duffle bag. After this horrid morning, you needed a long hot shower before you pondered on any strange coins or the mental shithole that had become your life.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you spent under the burning water but, by the time you exited, you were both hungry and in dire need of some caffeine.

“Or a nap. A nap could be heavenly,” you murmured to yourself.

Towel around your head, you dropped into the bed naked and took a moment to revel in the sheets against your freshly lotioned skin. There was hardly a better feeling. Thank god you had the good sense to buy some of your own sheets rather than rely on whatever the hotels had to offer. It made your day the tiniest bit better.

As you leaned back against the headboard, you snagged up the coin once more. The metal was cool against your warm fingers as you flipped it around and around. Did you dare give it a try? What was the worst outcome: You felt silly for believing a random coin and no one would ever know? Although, what if it was legit...?

Now that thought made you feel silly. A little chuckle passed your lips before you clasped the coin between your hands and brought it to your chest, closing your eyes as if about to pray.

“Alright, I don’t know how this works so I’m just gonna state my wishes out loud. I hope that works for, well, whoever you are. First off, I want that backstabbing business ruined. They fucked me over after I bent over backward for them, now they deserve to feel the same. Please. Second, I don’t know how you could do it, but I’d really like my insurance company to finally approve my apartment claim so I can find another place soon. Third-”

You trailed off as emotions immediately welled up behind your eyelids, the burning already tingling in the back of your throat from holding them in.

“My third and most important wish, please, if nothing else, find the one that put my mom in the ICU and make them pay. Those idiots down at the police department couldn’t find them, or so they say anyway, so just… give them what they deserve, please.”

With a stifled sniffle, you wiped away the few tears that had escaped and fell back against the headboard, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling as you let the pain wash over you; Rage, dread, hope, apathy, desperation. Eventually, the unending barrage became too much to deal with. This wasn't a new thing in your life, but it had certainly culminated into something worse with everything going on in your life; clinical depression exacerbated by a series of unfortunate events.

With no other plans for the day and the weight of your heart heavy in your chest, you chose to simply roll over and bury yourself, and your troubles, in the fluffy comforter. You’d feel better after a nap. You were almost certain of it.

Even as you drifted off into sleep, the tears didn’t cease.

When you first woke, you weren’t sure what had roused you but you knew it wasn’t good; All you could feel was bone-trembling terror. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, felt frozen in place with only the ability to stare at the now dimly lit wall; watching the shafts of setting sunlight ever so slowly creep down by the minute.

“Come now, darling,” a low voice crooned in the void behind you, “I know you’re awake.”

Like a rubber band snapping, the grip on your body suddenly released and you shot up in bed, immediately turning around to find out who had spoken. You weren’t sure what you expected but it certainly wasn’t the devilishly handsome man that was seated next to the window. The sunlight pouring down on him made it very obvious that his skin was lacking any range of melanin, rather being pallor shades of whites, blacks, and greys, but that didn't detract from his appearance at all. In fact, he looked like something out of a Gothic romance novel or a Tim Burton movie. Once the enchantment of seeing him began to wear off, you finally noticed what sat on the table next to him.

A human head.

“Holy fuck!”

A hellish screech escaped your lips as you hastily scrambled backward, trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible, only to go careening off the edge of the mattress. The pain of impact on the floor couldn’t even deter you. As your back hit the wall, you kept your eyes pinned on the intruder, watching for any sign that he was going to follow you or attack.

“While I’m certainly not minding the show, don’t you think you’re rather underdressed for this occasion?” he spoke suddenly.

It took a few moments for his words to sink in but the moment they did, you launched yourself back at the bed with a hushed curse and promptly pulled the sheets up around your naked body.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? I-Is- Is that real?”

Long clawed fingers made their way into the matted, bloody mess of hair and pulled the body part free from the table with a sickening pop.

“It is undoubtedly real, but I figured you’d believe me much quicker if I had a visual aide to my claims,” he replied, dropping the offending thing before tossing you a sharp, seductive, smile, “The name is Dark. I’m a demon and the owner of the coin you wished upon.”

Your tongue felt too heavy to move while you watched in horror as he licked the blood from his fingers like a cat bathing itself.

“I- I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” he supplied helpfully.

As he rose from his seat, you stared at him owlishly, unable to take your eyes off his graceful form as he nearly glided across the floor to stand in front of you.

“That coin,” he hummed, pointing at the metal disc in question, “It belongs to me. When someone makes a wish while holding it, I’m able to hear them. In your case, I heard all three.”

Trepidation tickled the nape of your neck when your eyes slowly rolled over to the head once more. It was as if you couldn’t breathe. Sick crawled up your throat and it took every ounce of your strength to keep from vomiting at the man’s feet. You don’t know how long you sat there, struggling to breathe and ease the nausea but, when it finally went away, rage took over.

“I didn’t want you to actually KILL them!” you shouted.

The demon casually arched a brow in your direction before saying, “You specifically wished for the one involved in your mother’s accident to get what they deserved.”

“Yeah! Like prison! Not death!”

A soul-trembling crack resounded through the small hotel room as he slowly craned his neck side to side, ethereal pulses of red and blue emanating from his being. Some of the previous ire slipped from your hold when he moved even closer, step by step until his knees were touching yours.

“I will never understand you humans and your sense of righteousness. Would it ease your mind to know this wasn’t the first time they had committed such heinous crimes?” he asked.

“W-What?” you questioned softly.

“I will not delve into details but rest assured that your embarrassing sense of compassion was lost on them; they were vermin,” he explained, “Now, that makes three wishes fulfilled. You have two remaining.”

You thought back on exactly what wishes you had made and were immediately overcome with dismay.

“Wait, what did you do?!” you demanded, jumping to your feet and glaring up at him, “You didn’t kill anyone else, did you?!”

A twinge of disdain passed through his features. His hand landed heavily on your shoulder and you were shoved back down onto the bed with a 'tsk' of disapproval, as if scolding a misbehaving child.

“Fortunately for you, no. Your previous place of employment has simply been condemned for multiple code violations that have mysteriously come to light during a surprise investigation, and your insurance company has been informed that they’re facing a lawsuit if they don’t reevaluate your claim with a more positive outlook.”

Relief flushed through your veins and you thanked him meekly. You wouldn’t have been able to live your life knowing you had caused the deaths of so many people, let alone friends.

“So, what now?” you asked.

“You have two more wishes before your soul belongs to me.”

He said it with such finality and ease that you almost didn’t react at first. Once his words settled in though, oh, panic quickly followed.

Gaping up at him in wide-eyed disbelief, you tried to stammer out some rebuttal or plea, but nothing would come out. Panic soon gave way to defeat as you realized there was no obvious way to get out of this ordeal. It had been clear as day on the coin.

Thinking on the offending piece of metal, you looked over and snagged it up, reading the inscription once more.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“So that’s what this meant,” you sighed quietly, before gazing at him once more, “And there’s no way to bargain out of this?”

He looked mildly pleased by your inquiry, letting out a little hum before falling back into an ornate chair that definitely hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“And what would you bargain?” he purred, “What could a simple little human such as yourself have to give to me, other than your soul of course.”

You cursed his infallible logic and stayed quiet as you tried to think over your options. Truly, you had nothing else to give him; no money nor gifts. Your soul was the only valuable thing you owned, and there was no undoing what had been done. A person had died because of your wish.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up to your full height and prepared yourself mentally.

“Is there a time limit? Do I have to make my wishes today or can I think about them?” you asked.

“You’re free to use them when and wherever you wish. However, do not think this a loophole. Choosing to postpone your wishes until death does not release you from this contract. Your soul will still belong to me when you die.”

Well fuck. There went that option. If you were doomed no matter what, you might as well make use of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity... right?

“I’m going to need time,” you whispered.

“Fair enough,” he replied, finally taking a step back, “You have my calling card. You can call for me if you have any questions, otherwise, you know what to do.”

He strolled back to the window and snagged the dismembered head, flashing you a wide smirk that framed his fangs perfectly.

“I’ll just be taking this with me. Hope to hear from you soon, darling.”