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alastor-simp · 3 months

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Caught In The Fluff - Angel Dust X Reader

Its time to write for the hot spider now. Enjoy Everyone!

It was a slow day in hotel today. Compared to the ongoing chaos that usually happens with either fights or Sir Pentious blowing up a portion of the building with his inventions, it was a normal chill day. Laying on the couch in the lobby, your eyes roamed around the room and gazed at the other residents, as staring at your cell phone was not aiding with your boredom. Charlie and Vaggie happened to be constructing more advertisements for the hotel, as the table was covered with glitter and colorful stickers, yep this was definitely all Charlie's idea, but watching her and Vaggie being couple goals was wholesome. Husk was shuffling a bunch of cards in his hands, wearing a smile for once while Niffty was watching him in awe, eye sparkling with amazement. Alastor resided in the chair next to yours, humming a catchy tune as his focus was drawn to the newspaper in his hands. Sir Pentious was in the corner of his room, assembling a puzzle as his Egg Bois were watching and helping him look for the proper pieces. After scanning the room a bit more, there was a lack of a porn-star demon in the room. Odd? Usually Angel would be flamboyantly chatting away, which caused many eyes to roll at his antics, well, mostly Vaggie and Husk. Slowly rising from the couch, you waved your hand in front of the two females in front of you, hoping to draw their attention. "Yes, Y/N? Is something wrong?" Charlie said, looking up at you with a bright smile, while her hair was covered in pink glitter and some traces of crayons on her red-dotted cheeks. "Sorry for bothering you while working on your project, but have you seen Angel since this morning?" Worried eyes stared at Charlies as you saw her smile fall and she shook her head no. Vaggie, on the other hand, was quick to answer your question, clear frustration on her face. "That estúpido is probably still sleeping the day away in his room! UGH! You think he get off his lazy a** and help around a bit!" Vaggie blared out, drawing the attention of the others in the lobby before continuing with their activities.

A cough was heard next to you, as Alastor had folded the newspaper on his lap, before looking at the three of us. "Now my dear Vaggie! While I don't approve of many of Angel's antics! He does work for another employer! So while he may not be pitching in with this ridiculous redemption process! He certainly has his hands full with other business!" Wow, you weren't expecting Alastor to defend Angel a bit. Maybe he does care about the others a bit, despite his enormous ego. Vaggie's eyes glared with rage at Alastor, probably for jumping into the conversation when nobody asked for his opinion, but she relaxed once she felt a soft hand touch her shoulder. Thinking more about it, you remembered that Angel had to work for the gross moth guy, Valentino. That man was so creepy and his actions towards Angel made you sick to your stomach. Honestly if you were as strong as Alastor, that man's head would be mounted on the wall. But, Angel has been in his room since 8 AM. He didn't even have breakfast. "I'll go bring him some food and check on him" You announced, as you got up from the couch and started to head to the kitchen. The sounds of tap shoes appeared from behind you, as you turned and realized Alastor was following behind you! "AH! I will help you my dear!" His smile was outstretched across his face, while he walked with a slight jump in his step and hands folded behind his back. Smiling back at Al, you both headed to the kitchen to make something for Angel.

Angel was Italian from what you recalled during one of your conversations as he was ranting about a client and calling them multiple Italian curse words. Deciding on an Italian dish for him, both you and Alastor agreed to make some Penne Alla Vodka. Alastor was helping with the vodka sauce, adding in the tomato paste and crushed pepper flakes while you were cooking the pasta to al dente. Gazing at the pasta cooking, your thoughts wondered back to what Al said in the lobby. "Um, Alastor?" You asked, while your hands kept stirring the pasta in the pot. Alastor was humming a tune, before he stopped and gazed at you, listening to what you had to say. "Thanks for what you said back there about Angel." Softly gazing at him, Al continued to stare at you, his signature smile dropping down to a soft one. "He is a valuable patron of this establishment! While I don't really care much about him and the others, I prefer him more when he is in a jovial mood then a depressed one!" Alastor answered with an aloff attitude, yet you could see in his red eyes that he somewhat cared about Angel, despite his strong dislike of him always attempting to get touchy with him. Focusing more on Al and leaving the pasta for a minute to continue boiling, your feet carried you over to where Alastor stood. "I assume you say you don't care because of your reputation, yet here you are cooking a meal for Angel Dust with me. Seems like your actions contradict your words Alastor." Silence filled the kitchen as both you and Alastor were having a stare-off, wondering which one would speak first. Crimson eyes gazed into yours, as they glanced down back to the cooking sauce.

Maybe you overstepped it a bit. Stepping back from your position, you eyed the pasta pot that you left unattended. A warm hand had caught your wrist before you could leave, and you turned to see Alastor gazing at you, smile still prominent yet his eyes were stern. "Angel my dear, is under contract with one of the three V's, Valentino! I don't know or care about how he conducts his business! However! His actions towards Angel are something I do not particularly enjoy! While watching the scum of hell suffer through torment and despair is quite enjoyable. Seeing Angel suffering from that p̸̨͎̏͜i̶̛̼͉̚g̵̢̒̓ ̴͓͓̂͊̐m̵̟̔̑̌ỏ̶͎̻͇͝ṭ̵͆̂̈́ḥ̸̱͌ ̷͍̫̰̉ȯ̵̲̙͍͒ü̷̧̗ͅț̸̜̟̆͂r̶̯͌a̴̜͆̽g̵̩̓̍̾ē̴͎̪̚s̴͍͍͇̒ ̷̬̣͊̃̋ḿ̸̦̞̥e̷͕̋!” Radio dials flickered on Alastors face for a split second, then turning back to normal . Observing all of this through your eyes, you apologized to Al if you spoke out of turn, but your apology was cut off when the hand on your wrist made its way to your cheek. Alastor said there was no need for apologies, and gestured back to cooking the meal, as burnt pasta wouldn't be very appetizing for Angel. The both of you stood back at your pasta creation, feeling proud that it looked incredible. With a snap of his fingers, the plate was then transported on a tray and topped with a metal cover. Alastor picked up the tray and handed it to you. "Run along now my dear!" Two hands were placed on your back, as they pushed you out of the kitchen, and leaving you alone with the tray in your hands.

Heading over to Angel's room, you knocked on the door and called out his name. No response was given back, so you tried to open the door. Surprisingly the door was unlocked and you made your way inside. Angel's room was shrouded in a neon pink glow. Numerous posters covered the walls, and various clothes and wigs were scattered all over the room. His room smelled like sweet cotton candy along with smoke that was coming from the ash tray. In the corner of the room was Fat Nuggets, Angels pet pig. It was sleeping on its back, while covered in a soft pink blanket. Next to the small bed was the large queen sized bed that a certain spider was laying on. The blanket was half off the bed, leaving some part of Angels legs uncovered while his back was facing you. Placing the tray near the nightstand, you slowly approached Angel and placed your hand on his shoulder. Calling out his name and giving him a little shake had no effect on him as he continued to sleep. "Angel? Come on. Wake up. Me and Al made you some food." Angel still remained asleep. "Angel. The food will get co-" Your words were interrupted as four pairs of arms grabbed you and pulled you closer. Your face landed in something fluffy, as you realized that Angel had pulled you into his fluffy chest, and his legs began to wrap around you, locking you in place. "Mmph! Angel!" Calling out his name, you tried to remove yourself from the fluffiness, but Angels arms were holding you in place. "Oh~! Do it harder!" Angel was sleep talking, as he squeezed you tighter like a plushie. Great! He's hugging you while having a dirty dream. Wiggling a bit more, you realized that Angel wasn't wearing a shirt. Oh lord! Please tell me hes wearing pants at least. Luckily you looked down and saw that he was thankfully wearing underwear. You couldn't imagine the awkward situation if he was fully naked and hugging you like this.

Trying to move one of your hands, you resorted to poking Angel's belly, seeing if that would be able to wake him up. Angel soon let out a groan and began to slowly wake up. "Ughhhh. Huh?" Angel was slowly beginning to realize he was holding someone. Looking down, he saw you wrapped in his arms, face full of his chest fluff. "Heh~ Heya toots~. Were ya that desperate for my services~?" Angel wiggled his eyebrows at you, as he continued to smirk at you. Moving your head a bit from the fluff, you shook your head no. "I came to see if you were okay? You have been sleeping since the morning and missed breakfast. The others and me were worried. Alastor and I also made you some pasta to eat." Angel's smirk quickly disappeared and he looked at you in shock, before gazing at the clock on the wall, which read 2:34 PM. Damn he slept for that long? Figures after all the services he had to perform at Valentino's club. His body was tired out and his mental state deteriorated a lot yesterday. He was honestly surprised that the others actually gave a f*** about him, and wanted to see how he was doing. He ain't use to all that mushy s***. Still it warmed his heart a bit. Heaving a sigh, Angel slowly released you, allowing you to moved and stand back up next to the bed. The blanket was still covering his lower body as he began to sit up on the bed. "Had a busy day last night toots. Lot of pole dancing and what not." Angel moved his hair fluff with his hands, attempting to soothe the hairs that were out of place. He was still smiling, but the sadness in his eyes was visible. He was exhausted beyond belief and you knew who was to blame for that. Moving your hand towards him, you placed it on his cheek, startling him a bit as he stared at you confused. "Are you really okay?" Your voiced was laced with concern, as you continued to stare at Angel, waiting for him to respond. "Pfft! I'm fine toots! Doing all that dirty stuff is no problem for me given my amazing stamina~. Hell! I could last a whole day and wouldn't break a sweat! HAHAHAHA!" He was putting on an act. You could tell based on how he was smiling that he was forcing it. "Angel. Don't lie to me." Your voice raised a bit higher, letting Angel know you were being serious. Angel caught on to that and removed your hand from his cheek. "What the f*** is your problem, toots? I told ya I'm fine so deal with it." His face turned away from you, as he waved his hands at you, telling you to piss off. That was the last straw.

Grabbing both of his cheeks, you pulled his face to look back at yours, as his eyes were filled with shock. "YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY NOT FINE! STOP LYING TO ME AND TELL ME THE WHOLE TRUTH! Anger filled your eyes as you continued to stare into Angels own. His multicolored irises continued to gaze at you, as his mouth was left agape. Slowly, those eyes staring back at you began to fill with tears. Seeing his tears, you pulled Angel closer to you, and placed his head on your chest, hugging him close to you. His body moved off the bed, to where he was standing on his knees, and his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost as if you would disappear in front of him. He was bawling his eyes out on your chest. You hugged him closer and moved one of your hands to his hair, patting his white floof. The both of you stayed like that for a full 5 minutes before Angel's loud bawls slowly began to turn into soft sobs. Moving from his position, Angel moved his head a bit so he could look you in the eyes. "S-orry toots. I think I got your shirt wet." Chuckling, you patted his head and told him it was alright. Lifting him up from his position, you carried him back to sit on the bed. Grabbing the plate from under the tray, you walked back and sat on the bed and handed Angel the plate. "Its penne al vodka. I remembered that you liked Italian food so me and Al whipped this up for you. Wiping the tears on his face, Angel grabbed the plate and stared at it, before looking back at you with a soft smile. "Heh, if Smiles and you made this together, its going to taste incredible." You continued to watch Angel as he slowly began to eat the pasta, mumbling how good it was with his mouth full. Once he finished, you grabbed the plate and placed it back on the night stand, and returned back to Angel. Grabbing a napkin as well, you cleaned his mouth to help remove the extra sauce that remained there. Angel's face actually turned a shade of red at your actions. Damn, how sweet can you be?

"You feeling a bit better? Want to head down to the lobby?" You asked Angel, as you stood in front of him, smiling kindly at him. His eyes turned to the ceiling in thought, contemplating it. "Hmmm~ Nah~!" Angels arms surrounded you again, as he pulled you back towards him. His back hit the bed while his head was cushioned by the soft pillows while you were placed on top of him, right back into his chest fluff. "What?! Angel?!" Mumbling into this chest floof, you tried to push yourself off, but his arms had you trapped again, and he tangled his legs with yours. His eyes were gazing at with mischievously, and his sharp-tooth smile was in front of your eyes. "Come on, toots. Ya never had a lazy day before? Ain't against the law to sleep all day." Angel squeezed you closer, pushing your face more into his chest fluff. My lord, he was so soft! Not only was he soft, but he smelled amazing. You were going to get addicted to this. Seeing you stop resisting, Angel continued to smile down at you, as he moved one of his arms to pat your head. "Ya should consider yourself lucky! Not everyone gets to experience my chest fluff service~. Ya should enjoy it while it last toots~." Winking down at you, Angel continued to smiled down at you, as you felt your face heat up while laying on his chest. You continued to stare at him, and saw that he actually looked a lot better, as his eyes were a bit brighter and the smile on his face seemed more genuine. Your eyes were slowly beginning to close as the sensation of Angel patting your head and his cozy fluff was making you sleepy. Pretty soon, your eyes drew to a close and you fell into a deep slumber. Angel watched as you had fallen asleep, before bending his head down, to give you a peck on the forehead, before placing his head back on the pillow. "Thanks, y/n." He whispered to himself, as he squeezed you a bit more, and went back to sleep.

Peeping through the crack in the door, Charlie and the others had seen the whole thing. Charlie was hopping up and down, like a rabbit as her eyes were beaming with heart eyes. "Ohh! They are so cute!" Vaggie was shaking Charlie to try to get her to calm down, and also to lower her voice, so she wouldn't wake the both of you up. Husk was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, appearing not to care, but he did smile a bit at both you and Angel on the bed. Niffty was zipping back in forth in glee, matching Charlies energy. Sir Pentious was gazing at the both of you with a soft smile, while his Egg Bois were crying, finding the moment in front of them super sweet and adorable. Alastor was standing with his microphone in hand, smiling as always as he observed both you and Angel. Snapping his fingers, his powers had slowly closed Angels door and locked it. Looking back at the others, he placed his one finger against his mouth, letting out a quiet shush as he gestured for everyone to go back to the lobby and let the both of you rest.

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lovearthur · 27 days

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How would Arthur react if fem reader saved his life by using a carcano rifle as a rival gang was about to kill him along with the help of Sadie then gets mad at him for making her worry so much but is happy that he's still alive?

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5hCK3y4LK5M&pp=ygUWbWFnZ2llIHNob290cyBtb2JzdGVycw%3D%3D

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌! (𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓡𝓔𝓐𝓓! afab/fem! reader . talkactive reader . mild violence . sadie being sadie . arthur being a comfort . not proofread

╔══♡══════𐚁══════════════════════════╗ hate is one of many responses. pain, treachery and hate sometimes go hand in hand. but why accept feeling of being hurt if u can turn into something more? like revenge...

the o'driscolls. a irish-american gang of vicious outlaw men. who were nobodies that could ride a horse, shoot a gun and harm anyone without a second thought. the ang is ruthless and has no apprehension about murdering innocent folk, including women and children.

they weren't unknown to the van der linde gang. both gang leaders of dutch and colin saw eye to eye before colm started seeing things a lot more differently, which then cause the rivalry feud between them to start and its been going on for who knows how long.

the hate only got stronger once dutch killed colm's brother, and to retaliate.. colm killed dutch's lover, annabelle. and they have been at daggers dawn ever since. not a single soul liked each other ever since they hatred began.

╚══════════════════════════𐚁══════♡══╝

arthur was on his way back to camp after helping another stranger on the side of the road from the indignation of o'driscolls. he hated that gang; they were a dishonourable and loathsome gang of outlaws, even more heinous than the van der linde gang. he always thought, he was always taught. furthermore, he did his usual of shooting the few members of the o'driscoll boys before helping the stranger proper and riding on, but what he didn't know is that they planned to fight back. planned to fight against the most ruthless, threatening, and menacing outlaw in all of new hanover. they decided to get him back. once and for all. arthur wasn't too far now, he maybe thought that he was... an hour or two away from horseshoe overlook? either way, he knew it wasn't much farther to go. he was looking around in his environment, appreciating what nature had to offer, and then a deer gracefullly walked out the grass full of trees. it was the kind of animal he undoubtedly adored. how such a pretty animal can look so... innocent and fragile in spite of knowing that a predator can not be too far away while having the intense gaze on its prey. like the deer had no other meaning in the word than to be devoured by a threatening being...

"stop right there, morgan!" arthur immediately looked infront of him and there they were, he couldn't see their faces for the reason that they hid them with bags of some sort. one look at their rugged appearance and he then knew the 4 men belonged to colm o'driscoll. "now if ya wanna keep yer head, you'll get down from that horse, okay?" another one says as he points his gun at the older outlaw. he was sure to get out of this until he saw more of them appear. 4 men quickly turned into more of them. arthur was quite the confident man when it came to his draw of a gun, but this? this was... he wasn't sure anymore. still, arthur wasn't the one to back down from any conflict, like a coyote wouldn't be afraid to stand up for itself. so he kept his nervy feelings hidden behind his threatening facade.

"i ain't givin' shit." he says through gritted teeth, keeping his intense gaze on each of the vicious men. "last chance 'fore we let the shooter do the work, get down!" as those words were spat out, guns were taken out of holsters and clicked to be ready. arthur reached for his gun as another o'driscoll clicks his gun before bang! the gun was shot out his hand, but how? arthur didn't shoot him. bang!.. bang!... bang!... a few more become disarmed. arthur was grateful but he has never been so confused in his life! "goddamnit, he ain't alone!" one says as he holds in wounded shoulder. "can ya see anyone?" another one says before before anyone could reply- bang! bang! and a few more gunshots and each o'driscoll boy is disarmed and injured, each dropping to the ground like flies. arthur looks at his surroundings as he hitches off his horse, buell and then looks at the bodies, he was sure of himself that he was the only man out in nature like this. he saw no one else nearby or for acres ahead or behind him. "what the-"

"arthur morgan! damn ya fer gettin' her all worried like that!" says a raspy but feminine voice said behind him. seems like he wasnt much alone as he thought he was. but she was quite the woman. he turns around before seeing one of his closest friends in the gang, sadie adler behind a carcano rifle. sadie was one feisty girl, quick-witted too. even scarier during a gun fight.

"i had it under control! 'm fine as any fella. 'm still alive..." he replies in his usual rough tone, dismissing the situation like usual. "yeah, yeah. it sure seemed like it. never seen yer woman so worried fer ya." sadie replies as she backs away from the rifle, making her way to arthur to hit his shoulder in a playful manner. in a way to tell him off for getting u worried sick. "arthur! ye had me worried sick, ya silly man!" u say with ur usual sweet and soft tone. u were so so glad that sadie was okay for helping u find arthur. he was away from camp for so long. u quickly making ur way over to him, hitting his shoulder then going onto ur tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck. didn't take long before u felt his rough hands glide around ur waist tighter than ever. "'m fine, darlin'. aint no harm-" that silly man. "ye've been gone fer so long, i thought-"

- 𝘰𝘩, 𝘶 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, he thought. god, he felt so lucky to have u he 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 if u were both in the privacy of his tent. 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 ᡣ𐭩

"'m alrigh', sweetheart.. don't ya worry no more." he says softly by ur ear, u felt his hand move to the top of ur head, stroking your locks just as gentle as he was ever with u. "thank ya, mrs adler." he says as he looks over to sadie, who was looting the o'driscolls. she scoffed lightly. "ain't nothin' t'thank me for. they got what they deserved." sadie wasn't wrong, all of u thought the same about the o'driscolls. they were horrible men. "'nd see? i told ya he'd be fine, [name]." she added, looking over to u as arthur continues stroking ur hair, feeling sadie's eyes on u. "i know, but-" arthur rests his hand on ur shoulder, his other hand tilting ur head up to have u look up at him. "but nothin', she righ' 'cause 'm fine." he says, his blue-green eyes fixated on him. u nodded at his words while ur doe eyes remained on his face. "c'mon now, you two. time to get back." sadie says before she whistles for her horse and she hitches herself up.

being the gentleman he was, arthur helps u up on his horse before hitching himself up. u gave him a sweet "thanks" before wrapping ur arms around his waist in case u fall. "'m still mad at ya fer rilin' me up like that. john was makin' it out theat ye were killed before we got t'ya." u hear a small "'course he did.." from arthur as he rolls his eyes. him and john always had that sibling bond, it was sometimes funny to u. "don't u listen t'him now.. he's's still caught up on that wolf attack." he says in his usual rough tone which earned a small chuckle from u. "he appreciates ya really, arthur. y'know that, 'nd so do I." u say before u give him a kiss on the cheek which left a pink stained kiss Mark on his cheek. sadie gave a small "hyah!" to her horse to get going with u and arthur following behind... leaving arthur to happily listen to ur ramblings about ur day.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he felt such a lucky man to have u by his side.

#sadie adler #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #red dead fandom

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pali-writes-atiny-bit · 1 month

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Star Lost

Pairing: Chan x afab!reader (Y/N)

Summary: Y/N grew up stargazing with her father. In a way it has become a lifeline for her. However, you can't see the stars in Seoul.

WC: 1.1k

Content Warning: Intended for 18+ mature audiences, MDNI! Angst if you really think about it. Brief mention of parental death. Let me know if I missed anything else, I think it's just fluff though.

I imagine you in the night sky You comfort me somewhere Don't matter if you lose everything right now I'm holding out thinking about you I'll go anywhere - Star Lost by Stray Kids

You let out another deep sigh, at least your fifth in the last half hour (not that Chan was counting).

He embraces you, strong arms coming around you from behind. "Y/N, what's wrong, babe?" he whispers.

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder as you turn your eyes skyward. "It's been so long since I've seen a proper night sky with stars," you murmur back softly.

You're currently standing on the roof of Chan's dorm building overlooking the city. It's become one of your favorite places since you began dating. The night view of Seoul is beautiful with its shining skyline. But light pollution from the same skyline obscures the natural beauty of the night sky.

You tell him about how you grew up in the countryside and on clear nights it felt like you could see the entire universe unfolding in the sky. You explain how for years your father would lay in the grass with you and point out the various different constellations and asterisms. He would animatedly tell their stories and legends.

Chan listens to you reminisce fondly, but he can hear the sadness creeping into your voice. He draws you closer and presses a kiss into your hair, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You take a shaky breath and explain how although you lost your father to illness many years ago, you never lost his love of the stars. Whenever you felt sad, or overwhelmed in life you could turn to the night sky and imagine him with you. You would speak to him and find comfort in his memory. But here in the city you haven't been able to feel that same comfort.

You can barely finish speaking before you're choking back tears. He gently turns you around so that your face is pressed to his chest and lets you cry, your tears soaking his shirt.

Although you've only been dating a few months, Chan knows that you moved here more than a year ago. It saddens him to know that you've been missing the stars and your father for that long.

His hands idly draw soothing circles on your back and eventually your hiccuping breaths quiet. His soothing touch and the familiar scent of his cologne lulling you to sleep.

As he carries you down from the rooftop and puts you to bed, Chan resolves to take you out of the city for your next date. He smiles as he brushes your hair from your face. He has some planning to do.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Time skip ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

About a month later, Chan informs you he rented a small cabin for the weekend and tells you to pack a bag with comfortable clothes. Although you're not familiar with the area, you're excited to get out of the city for a couple of days.

You load your bags into the back of his car and get on the road. He's got a big smile on his face while you play music from the passenger seat. You sing along to all your favorites practically vibrating with excitement.

You're in the car for less than two hours when Chan announces you're here and pulls up outside a small but beautiful cabin. You quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and rush outside, breathing in the fresh air. He follows behind with the bags, grinning at your enthusiasm.

You spend about half an hour settling in before heading out to spend the rest of the day hiking in the nearby recreational forest. By the time you return to the cabin, you're tuckered out and turn in for an early sleep.

While you sleep, Chan prepares for the real reason he brought you out here. He takes a large blanket, some pillows and a couple smaller blankets outside to the small grassy clearing near the cabin. He lays out the large blanket on the grass and arranges the pillows. He leaves the smaller blankets neatly folded in case you get cold later.

At around midnight, he wakes you up with a gente shake and a kiss to the forehead. "Y/N, babygirl, wake up, there's something I want to show you."

You blink sleepily and stretch. "What's going on, Channie?" You ask through a yawn.

"Put on a sweatshirt and come outside with me?"

You nod sleepily and hold your arms.

He grins at you before slipping one of his big sweatshirts on you and picking you up. He carries you out to the clearing before setting you down on the blanket.

"Look up, babygirl! Let's say hi to your father."

You lie back on the pillows and look up at the sky before gasping and sitting straight back up. Out here the sky is clear and you can see the universe unfolding before your eyes.

"Channie! You remembered?" You exclaim. Neither of you had ever mentioned that conversation from the rooftop. You didn't expect him to remember and you definitely didn't expect him to plan something like this just for you.

"Of course I did," he says, grabbing your hand. "You mean everything to me, and I wanted to meet your dad."

You lay side by side holding hands as you look up at the stars. You begin speaking as if you were talking to your dad. You tell him about all your stress and worries and you tell him about Channie. About how he's the most perfect boyfriend. About how you think they would have gotten along so well.

Chan stays silent the whole time, but squeezes your hand every now and then.

Eventually you fall silent too, just staring up and the endless expanse above you, and that's when the first star falls.

You gasp and squeal, pointing up at where the streak was. "Channie, did you see?!" You barely finish your question before another streak appears in the sky. Then another.

Chan smiles at you and says "it's the Perseids, let's make some wishes."

You smile back and cup his cheek with your hand. You study the way his eyes seem to reflect the entire universe back at you. You slide your hand into his curls and whisper "I wish you would kiss me."

As he connects his lips to your in a soft kiss you think to yourself that you couldn't possibly wish for a more perfect boyfriend. If he’s by your side, you don’t think you’d ever need to see the stars again. You wish you'll STAY together forever.

You continue kissing under the falling stars until you both fall asleep in each other's arms

Little do you know, Chan made the same wish.

A/N: If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading. I've been lurking, reading everyone's skz fanfics for a while and I finally decided to give writing a try for myself. What a better time to make my first post than on the 6th anniversary of Stay and Skz?

If you have any ideas please drop an ask in the box.

A big thank you to @writingforstraykids for beta reading.

Banners by @cafekitsune

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #skz fanfic #skz ff #stray kids fanfic #chan fluff #bang chan fluff

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wintervalewritersecond · 1 year

Text

weathervane - xavier thorpe

requested: sort of! requests: open! i am begging for literally any kinda of xavier fluff 😭 can be fluffy fluff, hurt/comfort idc i love it all. i have no specific ideas i’m just desperate for more xavier

A/N: its not very original or special, but i hope you like it <3 not a lot of plot, just fluff <3

wordcount: 1,517 warnings: tyler is a bit of an ass, outreach day, she/her pronouns for reader, fluff

Xavier had gotten 'Weathervane' as his volunteer job for Outreach day. You, his normie girlfriend, decided to keep him company while he works.

"Oh my god," Xavier groans when he opens the blue envelope. "I got the Weathervane."

He has not stepped foot in that shop ever since Tyler and his friends tried to beat him up.

"Dude, can we trade?"

Ajax looks up from his own paper. He was actually quite excited about his offer. Uriah's heap. It was some kind of freaky store with loads of taxidermy. He hopes that Enid has the same pick. No way would he trade his volunteer job. For the Weathervane, you need people skills, and even if you don't have those, there will still be loads of people in there.

"I can't man," Ajax shrugs. "What if one of the snakes comes out and I accidentally stone someone trying to get a coffee? Besides, why don't you just invite your girlfriend to hang out with you?"

He immediately texted you afterward, asking what you were up to and if you were willing to keep him some company while he works. If he would be left there with Tyler, there surely would be some type of fight.

You immediately agreed. You had a day off from school anyway, as you were supposed to visit some of the places where the Nevermore students volunteer. Something about testing them, although some of your classmates also went only to bully them.

Xavier had already been working for two hours, having to start at 10:00 in the morning. A machine had broken, so he had to use Google Translate to get it working again while Tyler cleaned the rest of the restaurant. After that, he got lectured on how to perfectly pour coffee into a mug. Not his thing. After today, he probably can't even stand the smell of coffee at all. Before this, he used to love drinking coffee, but in the last two hours, he already downed four cups.

When the little bell above the Weathervane door tinkles, he doesn't even flinch. Who knew that in two hours, there could already be tens of people that hopped in for a coffee.

He is wiping the tables and collecting mugs when he hears a familiar voice.

"Hi!"

You stand at the register, a smile on your face and a bag on your shoulders. A smile immediately makes its way onto Xavier's face as well. Thank God, he isn't stuck with only Tyler anymore.

He immediately hops over to the cash register before Tyler can, leaning on his elbows with a grin on his face.

"Can I offer you a hot chocolate? On me."

You snort as you look at your boyfriend. You wouldn't often go to Weathervane by yourself, but you just wanted to hang out with him. There are not a lot of moments where you can really see Xavier. Not only do you attend different schools, but no one is supposed to leave or go to Nevermore without a proper chaperone.

"Sure," you smile before sitting down in a booth hidden in the corner.

It is right next to some sort of cork board which is filled with random pins and notes. You unpack some of your things. One activity you always love to do is drawing, which is the exact thing that was the start of your relationship with Xavier. The entire Weathervane was filled with people, and the only empty seat was across from him. It was cold outside and you craved your favorite warm beverage, so after mustering up some courage, you asked if you could sit by him.

He was confused at first. Most people in the shop avoided him like the Plague. They knew he went to Nevermore, so they wanted nothing to do with him except to spit on his table or 'accidentally' kick his bag. He moved his sketchbook to the side before nodding, allowing you to sit across from him.

The two of you started talking as you also grabbed your own sketchbook, doodling away as your hot chocolate got placed next to you. He showed you some of his art as you showed yours.

"I can show you something," he then whispered before pointing his fingers to the page.

He had drawn a spider on it, but before you could even blink, it started moving. The spider went in a circle on the table, his legs moving in a slow way before it crawls back onto the page. You had never seen something like it. Your mouth had fallen open as you looked from his hand to the sketchbook.

After that, you hung out together as much as you could. Be it at your house, his art studio, or somewhere in Jericho.

"One hot chocolate with whipped cream and caramel toppings."

You look up at Xavier who is standing next to you with a big grin as he places the drink on the table.

The day went by fast. For you, at least. At some points during the day, Xavier would subtly move his hand to make your drawings move, distracting you from whatever it was you were drawing. He also refilled your cup multiple times. You had taken a break from sitting in the Weathervane, taking an hour to stretch your legs and buying a sandwich from the shop nearby. Tyler didn't let Xavier have any breaks, so he must be hungry by now.

When you come back, you see your backpack in the same position. Xavier told you that he would keep an eye on it, that way you didn't have to carry around a huge bag with you. At the register are three boys, standing with their arms crossed and sour looks on their faces.

"We don't want a freak to serve us. What did you do to Tyler, huh?"

Xavier rolls his eyes before leaning over the register a bit.

"That lazy shit is taking his fourth break for the day. So, either I help you, or you have to wait until he is back."

One of the guys scoffs, looking at the rest of his friends.

"You hear that? A freak is cussing at us normies. Maybe we should teach him a lesson!"

You clear your throat as you stand behind the three, making them look down at you.

"Y/N!" They were your classmates. "I wouldn't go here if I was you. I don't know what this freak did to Tyler, but for the last few minutes that I was here, I haven't heard from him or seen him. Not to mention..."

He points to your bag.

"This freak here insists that he is just watching it, but we all know he stole it. Say the words, and I will beat him up."

You avert your gaze from the boy before loudly ringing the small bell that stands on the counter. After ten times, Tyler immediately emerges from the back.

"Oh, Tyler!" You say with a sickly sweet voice. "Something horrible happened and I need to take Xavier with me! You can handle Weathervane by yourself, right?"

Tyler has always had a weak spot for you. It annoyed you, but the least you could do is use it to get Xavier out of this building.

"Please? It is an emergency!"

"I uh- Yeah. Yeah, go ahead."

You grab your bag before taking Xavier's hand in yours, pulling him out of the store. When you are out of Tyler's sight, you both burst out laughing.

"What dumbasses they are!"

Xavier nods, he totally agrees. He is happy that you got him out of there. The two of you head to the center of the city. There are chairs set up there anyway, as a new Crackstone statue would be introduced in only an hour.

"I can't believe he didn't even give me a break," he groans. "I had to do all the work, I couldn't even eat-"

You immediately hold up the brown paper bag. The smell of sandwiches enters Xavier's nose as he gasps. He takes hold of the bag, seeing two sandwiches neatly packaged.

"Oh my god, I love you so much."

You take both out, giving him one while taking a bite of your own. It is the least you could do for him. You are already happy enough that you got to spend some time with him today, even if it meant having to run into your asshole classmates.

More and more of the chairs get filled up as Nevermore students finish their volunteering jobs.

The unveiling of the statue went as wrong as it could be. You don't know who did it, but the statue caught fire, making everyone evacuate the field. Xavier grabs your hand, pulling you away from the heat while laughing. You look up at him once you're safe from the fire. The only normie that stood with a Nevermore kid. But you couldn't really care less. If anything, Nevermore is interesting.

Xavier presses a kiss to your forehead, smiling down at you as you can only stare back lovingly. You can't believe that he is all yours.

It is never a dull day with a Nevermore kid around.

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe oneshot #wednesday imagine #wednesday oneshot #request

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triptrippy · 11 days

Note

I love your art so much! If you don't mind me asking what's your process for designing characters/outfits?

i had to think about this for a while

when designing characters sometimes im just thinking of a concept ive been exposed to and want to expand in my mind, like with my dunmeshi ocs there were multiple Things in dungeon meshi i wanted to play around with.

dwarves having high tech ruins with trolleys? telephones? there must be Some innovation going on with dwarven society, what if i made someone interested in that innovation but theyre not a dwarf. elves have magic but instead of casting, this character leans toward that tinkering mentality and they brew magic potions and make explosives. Then, i know the noble dwarves in the story are drawn like Rennaissance lords but they have telephones, so maybe there could be a little bit of a steampunk vibe. And then being an elf, around dwarves, they probably get their gender confused more often, maybe they actually dont mind that much and its fun. maybe they work for the dwarven noble in the party? i think that was basically my thought process for fry. and then for his physical appearence, i started drawing an elf and i was focusing on that "likes to have fun" part and i gave him sort of that elven shagginess/laid back look, and messed around with the color pallett until i picked something i liked. he almost had bleach white hair reminiscent of a mad scientist but brown felt more grounded. and its pink at the root because its cute!

i feel like i wing it with outfits but i think i use the same logic. hes an alchemist and lives around nobility, so he has kind of a suit as if hes in academia. but hes cute, so it has a skirt and no jacket. he has a magical prosthetic that he controls with a puppet spell like milsiril uses to control her puppets. it doesnt heal when hes healed because he was born without the arm, and it also doesnt count towards the 1/13th of body missing that would ruin a ressurection since it was never there to begin with. SORRY I GOT INTO THE LORE ON YOU umm yeah and then his head is very warm toned so his outfit i chose warm tones as well. i put goggles and gloves because safety first proper PPE. and thats it! i pick outfits that make sense for what i know of the character, their class(monetarily) how practical i imagine they are, what they would dress for on a daily basis. either before or during the design process im thinking of the silouette and color chemistry as well, but that can change with an outfit.

awesome question thank u!

#ill just put this in my #dm oc tag #cause i turned it into a fry post.

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project-reaper · 3 months

Text

Moving forward into 2024!

I haven’t really had a proper chance to say Happy New Years, so this will have to suffice, with a little breakdown of what’s been going on and what’s to come!

WHAT I'VE BEEN UP TO

I’ve been spending the better part of the last year working on new projects and endeavors. Both with Time Gate and outside of it. From vendoring at markets and working expo’s for the first time to working on art pieces completely outside of Time Gate, 2023 was a hell of a year and it makes me all the more hyped for 2024. That said, I’ve been carrying a weight with me through 2023 that’s made it difficult to enjoy it to the fullest - the weight of knowing that [AFTERBIRTH] is still on hiatus.

This isn’t the longest hiatus that I’ve been on, but it’s certainly starting to approach the record and I wanna get it back on track. Like getting back in shape after spending an entire winter hibernating and eating nothing but junk food, getting back into drawing [AFTERBIRTH] on a schedule is gonna be a process of rebuilding good habits and learning what I can do better to keep those habits alive and well.

The fortunate side to taking hiatuses is that it always does give me a new sense of perspective. In this case, I learned that I put myself through a lot at the start of [AFTERBIRTH]’s production. Like, way more than I realized. At the time I thought I was super capable - and I am! - but now in hindsight I can recognize it wasn’t healthy or sustainable for me to manage that sort of output all on my own. I’m still grinding away at comics like I always do with those other projects I’ve mentioned, but it’s still nothing near the amount of work I put myself through just to meet my own deadlines with [AFTERBIRTH]. I also have this thing called help now in the form of a background artist who’s been working with me on those other projects, which has been an amazing and enriching experience.

Having that time away from [AFTERBIRTH] not only gave me the breathing room I needed to recuperate from the burnout I got myself into, but also got me out of the routines I had stuck myself into, which has given me some new tricks and skills that I’m really hyped to bring back into Time Gate with me.

This does, in a way, mean that I’ve had to really reflect on Time Gate, a lot. It’s a project I’ve been writing since I was a kid, and drawing as a webcomic since I was around 18-19. It’s changed a lot in that time, but I’m finding while a lot of those changes have been reflected in the comic as it is, there are still so many more I want to make - because like the comic, I’ve changed a lot, too, both as an artist and as a person, and considering Time Gate’s always been a sort of personal extension of myself, I no longer resonate with a lot of parts of it that I’ve since outgrown. It’s not so much that I want to hide or take for granted those parts of it that are ‘uglier’, but I want the writing and art to be expressed in the best way it can be because at the end of the day, I’m trying to tell a coherent story that’s enjoyable to read and experience. I’m also the sort of person who learns best by just getting their hands dirty and learning what not to do, and boy, have I spent a lot of years doing just that through Time Gate.

GOING FORWARD

So, going forward, I’ve adjusted my schedule with my other projects to accommodate the time I need to both get back into Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] as well as prepare for the upcoming convention season. I’ve got a bunch of plans for this year’s markets with new ideas for prints and stickers and other goodies that I’m really excited to make! And I just, overall, want to pull myself out of the burnout funk. You can’t force recovery to happen on your own time but there does come a point where you gotta start taking steps otherwise you get stagnant, and I feel like that’s where I’ve been the last few months.

AFTERBIRTH FORMAT CHANGE

[AFTERBIRTH]’s format will be changing back to page format in its second season. Vertical format works for some projects and stories, but not for Time Gate. It’s been fun, but part of learning what I’m best at is learning what I’m not best at and the vertical format is too limiting for what I want to do with Time Gate in the future. Color will still be remaining!

REAPER RECOMPILED

I will also be working on the Recompiled editions of Reaper. These will predominantly be the first few volumes redrawn and rewritten to accommodate a tighter story down the road. I know, I know, “don’t get trapped redrawing/rewriting stuff”, but I feel the changes that I wanna make are so necessary that they’re part of what’s holding me back from continuing with [AFTERBIRTH] into Thread of Fate and beyond. There are a lot of really silly and otherwise unnecessary writing decisions I made back during Reaper that I currently feel aren’t working for what I’m trying to accomplish in its sequels, and let’s face it, I wrote it almost ten years ago when I was still very much learning, so it’s due for an upgrade. It'll be the last time too, because it'll be putting us on Loop 9999 and remember what Matty said about surpassing 9999-

This will be something I’ll be picking at slowly but surely. When it’s ready I’ll basically be replacing the old pages and updating any new mirror sites with only the new version (I’m currently planning on trying out NamiComi and Lemoon and of course I'll be continuing to post on ComicFury and GlobalComix).

THE BIG GREEN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM-

All of that will basically be working towards my biggest step - getting the flying fuck off Webtoons. Because let me tell you, I've basically spent the last two years like this:

Y’all know that I’m not really one to roll over and take shit from massive platforms, and Webtoons is no exception. I’ve been posting to it since 2016 and I’m very very much done with it; just like with Tapas it’s no longer the site it used to be and there’s fresh competition entering the market that I’d rather put my focus on. At the very least, I want my independence back, if I’m gonna be stuck having to market and network my own work anyways I’d much rather be doing it for my own site or platforms that aren’t constantly undercutting its creators by removing core features and not implementing necessary ones. I as well as many others have been doing our own investigating into Webtoons and we’re basically feeling like canaries in the mineshaft right now, picking up on some massive warning signs that we want to get ahead of. The worst that can happen is that I pull the same stats I pull on Webtoons somewhere else, what a tragedy that would be LMAO

LIVESTREAMING

And then of course there are my livestreams. Like learning the hard way that I shouldn’t have been drawing [AFTERBIRTH] on such a strict schedule, I’ve learned that streaming on the schedule I used to be streaming on just ain’t for me. Call it the ADHD but I’d much rather stream when I have something to legitimately talk about or showcase rather than force myself to stream even on days when I’m really not feeling up to talking. And I’d like to get back into doing actual video editing content, whether it’s speedpaints or gaming videos or commentary stuff, whatever have you. Now that I have a proper PC rig that’s actually built to do heavy duty stuff, the possibilities of what I can create are a LOT more vast and I wanna take full advantage of them!

That said, if you wanna see an example of what the streams will look like when we return, check out this lil’ time lapse demo:

Definitely couldn't do that on my old setup! It might not be regular streaming like before, but it’ll damn well be higher quality and more fun to watch haha

WELL THAT WAS A BIG WALL OF TEXT WASN'T IT

So yeah! That was a lot of words but I hope it clears up everything that's been happening on my end. Thanks for following along with my work all these years, whether it’s Time Gate or my lil’ secret projects or my streams, through all the ups and the downs. Long-term projects like these may take their toll but there’s so much joy in seeing them change and grow over time, and I want to fully embrace and reflect that growth as best as I can through what I bring you guys.

Thank you all so much, let’s make 2024 a good year <3

#time gate #comic #webcomic #project reaper #twitch #twitch streaming #hiatus #announcement

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solarmorrigan · 1 year

Text

Under My Skin - Stranger Things - steddie

[Ao3]

In spite of the extensive skincare regimen that Steve will not admit to having, the fight with Jonathan Byers leaves its marks.

The cut on his lip heals no problem, and the bridge of his nose is left without much more than a faint line, easily dismissed. The split on his left cheekbone, though – that one sticks. It probably doesn’t help that he’d never sought proper medical attention after that fight, had never had any of the cuts or bruises properly seen to (he’d been considering going to a doctor once he finished cleaning up his mess, but then an interdimensional monster had dropped out of the ceiling of the Byers’ living room and Steve had kind of forgotten everything else).

It's not the world’s worst scar, just a little starburst of shiny skin stuck in just on the far side of the apple of his cheek, but it’s enough to make Steve frown whenever he catches it in the mirror. His looks are his best asset, he’s always been told; hell, aside from athletics, he’s been informed that his looks are pretty much his only asset, so it really won’t do to be messing them up.

He takes to wearing sunglasses whenever he can. They don’t really hide the scar, but they direct attention away from it, and he realizes quickly that the sunglasses also tend to lessen the number of headaches he gets (lights have been brighter since he got his clock cleaned, and they’re likelier to trigger a nasty pain right behind his eyes, and Steve thinks now and then that he probably really should’ve been to see a doctor, because he’s pretty sure he’d had a concussion). This works for a little bit, but Nancy keeps telling him to take them off, that they look silly.

Steve doesn’t want to tell her that they help with the headaches he hasn’t even told her he’s been getting (he doesn’t want her to worry, or to see him as any less) and he definitely doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact he’s sensitive about a little scar (nor does he particularly want to remind Nancy of how he got it in the first place), so he stops wearing them.

After all, Nancy’s opinion has become devastatingly important to him (and it remains so, long after it should).

Billy Hargrove does a far more thorough job of wrecking Steve’s shit than Jonathan had.

Steve’s last coherent thought before he succumbs to pain and then darkness is that he’s going to die here, and that he’s fucking failed to protect the kids.

(His first coherent thought upon waking, incidentally, is that he apparently hasn’t died, but that the kids are going to fucking kill him.)

When all is said and done, he doesn’t see a doctor this time, either (why start now?), just spends a few days throwing up and swaying dizzily any time he tries to move while under the watchful eye of Hopper and Eleven in their cabin in the middle of goddamn nowhere, before he’s deemed healthy enough to go home.

(Steve might fudge the truth a bit and insinuate to Hopper that his parents are definitely home and that they will definitely make sure he doesn’t slip into a coma in his sleep, but he thinks Hopper and Eleven deserve to spend some bonding time together that doesn’t involve Steve and his head trauma.)

Someone (he suspects the joint effort of Dustin and Max) had done their best to close Steve’s wounds with colorful cartoon bandages they’d dug out of the Byers’ medicine cabinet, but in the end, it doesn’t seem to have done much. The cut on his forehead had been short but deep, but it fades into something that doesn’t look like too much more than a dramatic pockmark. The gash on his jaw, though—which, he can’t say for sure, but he thinks was caused by the broken porcelain of the plate Dustin says Billy had hit him with—that one is noticeable.

Even after it heals, it looks pink and raw and stands out as it curls up over the sharp edge of his jaw, a glaring flaw on his face and a glaring reminder of his failure to look after the people he’d promised to keep safe.

He tries not to think about it—tries really, really hard—but Dustin inevitably catches him poking at it while looking in the mirror of his sun visor.

“You just make it redder when you mess with it,” Dustin says.

Steve snatches his hand away. “I do not.”

“Okay, but you do. You should just leave it alone. It’ll fade eventually.” Dustin shrugs. “But in the meantime, it looks, like… kinda badass.”

Steve turns to face Dustin, one brow raised in patent disbelief. Dustin tosses his hands up in defense.

“I mean, yeah, you got it getting your ass kicked, but it looks pretty cool. You could make up any story about it!” he says. “Besides, chicks dig cool scars, right?”

Chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment, Steve manages a smile (a real one, even) for the kid. “’course they do, Henderson.”

Steve tries making up various cool stories about the scar, but he’s never been the most creative, and when people ask about it—and they do, inevitably, because even after it fades, it’s still noticeable, and people are nosy bastards—he just brushes them off by saying it was a stupid accident with a broken plate.

Close enough.

It hasn’t even been a year since his last encounter with someone’s fists when Steve becomes acquainted with a particular brand of Russian hospitality.

The ugly j-hook of a cut that his interrogators leave under his lip is small potatoes compared to… literally everything else that happens that night (and for having been, y’know, technically tortured and all, Steve figures he got off pretty lightly; sure, his headaches have grown worse, and his hearing and vision are a little fuzzier on one side than the other, and he’s having a little trouble remembering fine details sometimes, but aesthetically speaking – yeah, he got off pretty easy). Still, in quieter moments, Steve can’t help but run his fingers over the texture of the scar and ruminate.

He can’t say he regrets how he got it, not when he’d at least been able to keep most of the heat off of everyone else, but he regrets that they’d gotten into that situation at all. He should have done better than to let it happen, he should have come up with a better solution to getting them out of there, he should have fought harder, he should have, he should have, he should have.

Besides that, combined with all the other marks Steve has been collecting over the last couple of years, he’s pretty sure the scar on his lip tips the scale from “badass” to “unpleasant to look at,” with regards to his face. He certainly doesn’t like looking at it.

He tries expressing this to Robin one evening, driving home after the closing shift at the video store, when the sky is dark and close, and the streetlights make everything seem softer– safer.

“Oh my god, you are not unpleasant to look at, you insecure dingus,” Robin insists, reaching over and giving him a shove, ignoring his protest that he is driving right now. “The scars make you look… rakish.”

“That’s not a word,” Steve says.

“It is so.”

“It is not. Don’t make shit up just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not! It means, like, sorta disreputable, but also dashing. Like a gentleman robber or something,” Robin says.

Steve shoots her a look before turning back to the road. “You’ve been reading too many of those romance books they sell at the checkout.”

“I am super offended you think I read those. That’s rude,” Robin says, but she sounds like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Anyway, I’m not saying that I’m unpleasant to look at as, like, a whole, it’s just… they don’t add up to an inviting picture.” Steve shrugs.

Robin reaches over the center console again, but this time she just pats his arm. “I promise your face is still perfectly inviting, Steve.”

He knows she’s not trying to be dismissive, he just can’t properly articulate why he’s so bothered, so he just doesn’t bring it up again.

He successfully doesn’t bring it up again for nearly a year, until after the deep scrapes from getting dragged across the dry lakebed and the cuts and bites from the demobats have put the final nail in the coffin of whatever physical appeal he’d probably had left. Steve can definitely say goodbye to swimming at public pools ever again, but keeping his shirt on isn’t going to do much for the ugly laceration that damned bat’s tail left around his throat.

It doesn’t heal pretty, and Steve would have said given up on the dating scene—on the prospect of a relationship—entirely if it hadn’t been for Eddie.

Eddie, who, in spite of Steve’s many obvious physical flaws (not just the scars, but the symptoms that accompany getting a certain number of knocks to the head, which, by virtue of simply being around all the goddamn time, Eddie has been privy to), seems to be completely into him.

And Steve’s not going to question it, the way Eddie always wants to be in his space, the way Eddie never seems to tire of him, all the ways he invites Steve’s touch, the way he seems to have room for all the affection Steve wants to give him – Steve just wishes he’d cool it with the pet names.

Some of them aren’t too bad (things like sweetheart and baby are standards that Steve finds he doesn’t mind at all) and some are so ridiculous that he can’t really hate them (he won’t pretend to understand Eddie’s obsession with fantasy books, but if he likes calling Steve sweet things in fucking Elvish or whatever the hell it is, Steve isn’t going to make him feel bad for it), but there’s one that never fails to rub him the wrong way.

“Good morning, pretty boy,” Eddie murmurs into the scant space between them, leaning up to press a kiss directly to the scar that runs over Steve’s jaw.

Steve goes tense, but does his best not to flinch. “Can you not?” he grumbles, shifting against the pillows. “It’s too early for that shit.”

“Too early to say good morning to my boyfriend?” Eddie asks, dark eyes sparkling in the morning light. “Because if I wait too long to do that, it’s gonna turn into good afternoon.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Too early to be calling me that.”

“What, pretty boy?” Eddie’s grin grows as Steve squirms a little. “But you are. Even covered in pillow creases and drool.”

Self-consciously, Steve reaches up to swipe at the corners of his mouth, and Eddie snickers.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but even this early in the morning, you’re still pretty.”

“Eddie…”

“But if you’d prefer something else, I could go with beautiful,” Eddie says, pressing another kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Eddie.”

“Or handsome.” Eddie pecks a kiss to Steve’s cheek, just below the starburst scar, and Steve presses a firm hand to his chest, stopping short of shoving him away.

“Eddie, stop,” Steve grits out.

And Eddie does.

He stops and he pulls back a bit, looking entirely confused and more than a little worried. “Steve, what’s wrong?”

With a huff, Steve rolls so he’s not facing Eddie’s wide-eyed bewilderment. “Look, I don’t know if you think you’re only teasing, or if you’re trying to make me feel better, or what, but can you just stop?”

“Hey.” Eddie’s hand is gentle but very assuredly present on Steve’s shoulder. “Give me a little more to work with here, what the hell am I doing?”

“Calling me shit like that. Pretty. Handsome,” Steve spits out. “Whatever. It’s – you don’t have to keep saying it.”

There is a long, heavy moment of silence.

“Do you seriously think you’re not?” Eddie finally says, incredulous.

Twisting back around, Steve sneers at Eddie. “You cannot possibly have failed to notice that my face is kinda fucked up, Eddie.”

“Your face is perfect,” Eddie blurts, and Steve resists the irritable urge to shove at him again.

“My face is covered in scars, jackass.”

“So? Those are, like, surface-level imperfections. Literally skin-deep! Structurally speaking, your face is definitely perfect.”

When Steve moves to roll away from Eddie again, Eddie pounces, straddling Steve’s hips and using all his weight to keep him where he is. “No, no, I’m definitely right about this,” Eddie insists. “Besides this square jawed shit you have going on, your eyes are gorgeous.” He reaches up, cupping Steve’s cheeks and brushing his thumbs gently beneath Steve’s eyes. “And your smile is probably my favorite thing to look at.” Eddie lets his hands drift down to Steve’s jaw, then trail further, to his neck, his shoulders, his chest. “And the rest of you? I mean, are you kidding me with this?”

Steve is very much not kidding Eddie with this, but he can’t quite bring himself to say as much. His throat has gone tight for some reason; he’s been living with all these marks for years, so he’s not entirely sure why he’s getting choked up now.

“You don’t really think the scars make you ugly, do you?” Eddie asks softly, and Steve can only nod. “Steve… sweetheart, come on. I mean, look, I’m not gonna lie to you and say they’re not noticeable – and yeah, one or two even stand out, but they don’t take away at all. They add to the picture. I swear I am not fucking with you on this, you’re beautiful.”

Finally, Steve finds his voice. “They’re ugly because of what they stand for. It’s all my fucking failure carved into my fucking face.”

Eddie’s expression does something weird, getting stuck somewhere between anger and sadness. “That’s what you think they are?”

“Every time–” Steve’s voice grinds to a stop for a moment, but he pushes on. “Every time I’m supposed to be looking out for people, protecting them, they still get hurt. I get the shit kicked out of me and it isn’t even worth anything and–”

“You can’t take that all on yourself. You can’t,” Eddie breaks in. “You got all of these scars looking out for the people you love. Looking out for us. And I hate that you had to get them, but I gotta say – I love what they stand for.”

Steve doesn’t have a chance to get another word in before Eddie is leaning down and pressing a kiss to Steve’s throat. Steve flinches, just a little, because the skin there is sensitive now, but Eddie keeps it light – so soft it’s nearly reverent.

“This one was me, and Buckley, and big Wheeler,” Eddie murmurs, sitting up a little so he can brush his hands down the spiderweb scars on Steve’s sides. “And so were these. And I also kinda like ‘em because they match mine, if I’m being honest.”

One short sob of a laugh comes out of Steve at that, and he reaches up to run his fingers over the places on Eddie’s sides where the demobats had gotten a few good bites in before Vecna had been destroyed. Eddie smiles, then leans back down and kisses the scar that hooks under Steve’s lip.

“Buckley again, and Henderson, and Sinclair the younger,” he says. “I was terrified just listening to that story, but you– you kept their attention on you and off of everyone else.”

“I…”

Eddie doesn’t wait for Steve to find his words. Instead, he presses his lips to the gash on Steve’s jaw, where he’d started that morning. “Sinclair the elder. Red.” He moves up and kisses the smaller gouge in Steve’s forehead. “Henderson again. Small Wheeler. Standing up to a bigoted piece of shit who took his issues out on kids.”

You make it sound so much more heroic than it really was, Steve wants to say, but Eddie’s already moved on to the faded line on the bridge of his nose, and then to the little starburst scar on his cheek.

“You can’t possibly love that one,” Steve manages. “I didn’t get that one saving anyone, I got it for being a shithead.”

“Are you kidding? This one’s my favorite. This one was the eye-opener.” Eddie kisses the scar again. “This one saved you.”

If asked, Steve would say with a reasonable amount of confidence that he’s pretty thick-skinned. Harsh words don’t trip him up. Rough treatment might knock him down, but he’ll always get up, and he’ll come back for more as many times as he’s able. Steve can take a hit.

He can take many, many hits.

But it’s softness—the gentleness of Eddie’s hands and his mouth and his words—that finally manages to break him.

(“You’re even pretty when you cry,” Eddie says later, falsely aggrieved. “That’s not even fair!”

This time Eddie is definitely teasing him—nobody looks pretty when they cry—but Steve finds he doesn’t mind as much. It doesn’t seem as important, just at the moment. Instead of denying it, Steve simply sighs, “It’s a gift.”

Eddie snorts and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, where he’s scarred, and blotchy, and sticky with tears, but also entirely loved.)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #robin buckley #stranger things #basically I got to thinking 'hey what if all those cuts and splits on Steve's face didn't heal perfectly?'#and here we are #enjoy??#solar wrote #eddiesteve

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andypantsx3 · 2 years

Text

fingerprints | 4 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 5.5k of est. 20k words | 4th of 8 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

The days after your first two meetings with Todoroki–Shouto, that was–were incredibly strange.

Shouto was serious about maintaining contact. You apparently hadn’t scared him away at either meeting, as he had texted you multiple times a day since then, sometimes with the occasional phone call thrown in as if to make sure your heart rate wasn’t operating too steadily in his absence.

The first text had been apropos of nothing–a picture of a small black cat with a tiny bell on its collar next to one of Shouto’s boots, which he explained in a follow up text he’d met on patrol. He’d then asked about your day, which you answered and then asked about his, and the two of you had fallen into a light conversation.

Every day after that, he’d messaged you something random about his day, and you’d followed up with something from yours–he especially liked pictures of the little orange kitten, so you made sure to send as many pictures as you could; shots of her sniffing curiously around the reception room, napping on top of the desk, batting pens off and scattering adoption papers everywhere.

For his part, Shouto texted kind of like a grandpa, which was especially cute–all proper grammar and punctuation, weirdly straightforward but topically unpredictable, liable to switch streams in the middle of a conversation. You got pictures of his lunch, a drawing a kid had done for him as a thank you, a sunset as he closed out a patrol.

Sometimes if he hadn’t had time to text much, he called later in the evening, his voice all husky and low at the end of a long day. It might have seemed a little suggestive, coming from anyone else–but he was always polite, never lead the conversation anywhere with even the slightest hint of impropriety–just talked about the same things you might have over text, trading stories about your day, your friends, your families, anything that struck you in the moment.

It all just made you like him even more, even while your relationship continued to remain ambiguous.

You were under no illusion that just because the two of you were soulmates, that Shouto saw it as anything romantic. If anything, he seemed determined to forge a kind of friendship–drawn in by your soulmarks, but not amorously influenced by them.

In fact, he seemed to have his own alternative connections, if the media was to be believed. A few weeks after the soulmate story had first broken, news sources appeared to be no closer to locating Shouto’s soulmate, but they were tracking his public connections meticulously. Every week at the grocery store, you were assaulted with a barrage of magazines at checkout, bearing shots of Shouto at some event or another, accompanying pro hero Uravity down a red carpet or leaning in to speak to Earphone Jack while what looked like some kind of afterparty raged on behind them.

The most impactful shot had graced the cover of a magazine just this week, alongside a bolded caption reading: Shouto Soulmate Still in Question–Why the Pro Hero Might Prefer to Leave it That Way. It was a photo of Shouto and pro hero Creati at some high profile event, both of them tall and stunningly gorgeous in their respective red carpet wear. Shouto was leaning in, arm at Creati’s waist and his mouth at Creati’s exquisitely bejeweled ear. Creati wore a daring dress with a plunging neckline, and an unmistakably fond expression, her pert little mouth starting to pull upwards in a dazzling smile.

They looked intimate–-happy, close—exactly like a couple. There was no denying it.

A twisted pit of jealousy had knotted in your stomach at the sight of the photo, before you had to blink and look away, staring hard at your meager pile of groceries to get your focus off of the image.

You knew you had absolutely no right to him, and Shouto had never given any indication that he meant your connection to be a romantic one. There was no reason you should be feeling anything other than pleased for him, seeing that photograph.

It was you who was the problem here, you who’d left your grubby little fingerprints all over Shouto in the first place, you who acted like a schoolgirl with a crush anytime Shouto’s name appeared on your phone screen. You’d always known the soulmate connection wasn’t guaranteed to be romantic for everyone, although you’d always hoped that whoever was out there for you would want to make it so–that you would be so inherently right for each other in every respect that you would fall into it, easily and naturally and happily.

But that was your problem, not his. You needed to manage your expectations better, and you also needed to take a ten billion milligram chill pill, stat.

Regardless of your resolution to be better, however, there was no denying you were still nursing a little bit of hurt when Shouto texted you the day after you’d seen the magazine, telling you he’d like to see you again, and asking if you’d like to meet him at his apartment.

You knew the sight of him in person again would be absolutely too much for you, especially while you were being the dramatic little weenie you were. And under no circumstances were you to go to his apartment, given that you wanted to make sure you weren’t sending any signals of any untoward expectations. So you shot off a carefully opaque reply, heading his request off.

thanks for the invite!! you said. at the shelter though. if you’re free next week i can come by your office to return your gloves!

Of course, you got off the shift at the shelter early in the evening, but you didn’t want to make that clear to him. To head off any further discussion on the topic, you sent a picture of the orange kitten, looking utterly unhinged and deeply demonic as she attempted to gnaw through a blue pen, her tiny face all scrunched up. The princess says hi!!

You didn’t hear back from him in the next few minutes, so you assumed he’d bought it.

You assumed that for exactly twenty-two minutes, in fact, until the bells on the door jangled, and you looked up to see Todoroki Shouto himself stepping through your door.

Your heart shot into your mouth at the sight of him, your spine going numb as all your blood rushed right out of your brain. Your pen tipped out of your grip, clattering onto the table where it was immediately pounced on by the orange kitten.

Shouto’s eyes swept over you, mouth tipping upwards just slightly at the corner. He looked as devastatingly handsome as usual, in a grey coat and dark jeans, and white sneakers now that the greying snow had finally melted. He was handsome in the kind of way that sucked all the air right out of the atmosphere, even more so than you had remembered.

You focused on breathing normally.

“Hey!” you said in greeting. “I really didn’t mean, um, that you had to come by. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you, I’m super sorry.”

Maybe you should have just sucked it up and gone to his place.

Shouto looked unbothered, however. “I have the next few days off, it’s no trouble,” he said. He came closer, eyes falling to the orange kitten where she was still massacring your pen. She peered up at him, giving the back of his hand an interested sniff as he held it out to her.

The next thing you knew, she’d gotten her little claws into his sleeve and was slowly but surely climbing her way up his arm, almost as if she was picking up where they’d left off last time. Shouto held very still, letting her make her way up to his shoulder.

“Hello,” he told her when she made it, his white eyebrow raising.

The kitten rubbed her cheek on him in greeting, a quick little swipe of her face, doing a careful circle around his shoulder.

Your heart melted into a puddle. That was so cute, it actually should have been illegal.

“She’s been a little extra needy lately because all her siblings have been adopted,” you told Shouto, watching her settle into him.

He might not understand because she was so taken with him–and so weirdly well-behaved with him–but you’d watched as she oscillated wildly between haughty, disinterested, and absolutely insane when she’d met prospective kitten owners. You’d stood by six times as potential adopters fell in love with her brothers and sisters over her, taking home sweeter, more cuddly, and way chiller kittens.

It made you feel bad for her, even though you sometimes suspected she was actually Satan’s right hand woman, stuffed into a cute little container for portability. But you had a soft spot for the sort of girl who sabotaged herself by acting up when other people were around. You could kind of relate.

Shouto turned his head to look at her, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers softly through her fur. “No one wanted her?” he asked, frowning.

You shook your head. “She’s kind of the hugest handful in the world.”

Shouto looked skeptical–which on him, was just the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “She seems calm.”

“You have some kind of cat magic I can’t even begin to explain,” you said. “She’s normally drawn blood and shredded like eighteen adoption forms at this point.”

Shouto’s long fingers pulled through her fur in another slow pass, and he looked over at her speculatively. She yawned as if for effect, her tiny fangs flashing.

Shouto’s mouth twitched.

“I was hoping perhaps you might accompany me for dinner,” he said, finally, turning back to you. Those heterochromatic eyes rested fixedly on your face. “At my apartment. When I texted you, I did not mean I would not wait for you after your shift.”

Your face heated, instantly on red alert.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was still on the apartment thing?

Under no circumstances were you allowed to go there, not on your watch. It was way too intimate of a thing to go to a man’s house–and you were way too untrustworthy of a girl to go there with him in particular.

And besides, he would never have asked such a thing if he’d known you had designs on him. It was way safer to keep this relationship confined to text messages, phone calls, and the occasional coffee shop meet up.

You quickly wracked your brain for something to get yourself out of it, coming up with very little.

Where was Yoshizuki Ayumi when you needed to throw someone under the bus and make a quick escape again?

“Um,” you said, wincing when your voice came out kind of strangled. “That’s super nice but, uh—you don’t need to invite me over. You don’t need to feed me either. I should be treating you, really. I owe you one, remember? Except my apartment is…well—you wouldn’t like it.”

Then an excuse dawned on you, even as poor as it was, and you scrabbled to grab hold of it like a life vest. “Anyway you wouldn’t want me there after a shift at the shelter! I’ve got all sorts of dander and dog food on me and—well probably other stuff. Maybe some other time when I’m cleaner and haven’t been rolling around with the animals?”

It was so transparent, but good manners would hopefully compel Shouto to let it be. Plus if he ever found out you were developing a crush on him, he’d realize how narrow of an escape he’d made from you, and be glad you never got too wrapped up in his personal life.

Future Shouto would be thanking you.

Current Shouto, however, watched you for a long moment, his face going strangely still, almost like it had at the press conference. You watched his eyes flick to the kitten, lingering almost contemplatively. And then they cut back to you, something strange playing about his mouth.

“It is no trouble.” he said, finally. “In fact, I believe you might be in a position to help me, given your dress.”

Well that was an unexpected turn. What the hell did the number four hero need help from you for?

“I would like to adopt her,” Shouto said. “The kitten.”

Your mouth fell open, brain not fully registering what he’d said.

He wanted to what?

“I would like help getting her set up. At my apartment,” Shouto said. “I thought perhaps you might be willing to help me.”

And then, to your horror, he leaned in, catching your eye as his face drew nearer. “Will you help me, Y/N?” he asked, his voice going strangely soft and low.

The words were out of your mouth before you knew what you’d said. “Yes! Anything you need!”

You cringed reflexively at the gross, breathy register you’d managed to hit.

Shouto apparently didn’t notice, looking pleased. “Thank you,” he said, the hint of a smile at the curve of his mouth.

The way he said it made you strangely warm in the face, and you looked down, chewing your lip. “You’re sure, though, about adopting her? This sounds very sudden. It can be a lot.”

You could tell he obviously loved cats, considering the amount of patrol pictures of them he’d sent you over the past few weeks, and he obviously liked this orange kitten in particular, given how often he’d asked after her too. And he was clearly very careful and thoughtful about the people and things in his life, so you had no concerns there.

But you assumed he had to be busy, being the number four.

“I had wanted one,” he said. “Before I met you. I’m just taking the opportunity where I see it.”

The turn of phrase was weird, but his face gave nothing away as you looked up at him. He ran his fingers through the kitten’s fur again, murmuring something soft to her. She stretched out her tiny paws, claws flexing, and you saw a smile pull at the corner of Shouto’s mouth.

“No one wanted you, hmm?” he asked her gently, rubbing behind her ears. “I’ll take care of you.”

You could feel yourself dissolving into a pile of goop as he spoke, so you rummaged around on top of the desk for something to distract you from how disgustingly cute he was. You drew out a pile of adoption forms and the pen the kitten had been savaging when Shouto had walked in.

“Okay, you’re going to have to fill these out, and—I’m assuming you don’t have a carrier since I don’t see one?” you asked him.

He shook his head.

“Okay, we have some gently used ones we can sell you, too, if you want,” you said.

“I’d like that, thank you,” he murmured, leaning over the desk to accept the pen from you. You caught a whiff of his cologne again as he did so—light, airy, and horribly good—and you watched as the pads of his fingers brushed yours as he took the pen from you, leaving two stark fingerprints behind.

Shouto paused, and so did you–for just a moment before you blurted out, “Be right back!”

And then you all but threw yourself through the doors to the back, fingers tingling as if Shouto had electrocuted you. You stood there for a moment, heart racing abnormally fast. You took several calming breaths, trying to remind yourself that this kind of reaction was insane, considering the state of your relationship—you could do better.

You did a quick walk through the back, checking in on all of the animals and refilling food and water, giving a couple of ear scratches to calm yourself. When your heartbeat had finally slowed to normal levels, you went to collect a carrier for the kitten.

Shouto was still bent over the desk, filling out the forms when you got back, his broad shoulders throwing shadows over the papers. You tried very hard not to notice the line of his bicep, shifting under his jacket as he wrote.

As he finished up, you accepted his check for the adoption fee, and gave him the required spiel, going through all the kitten’s medical history, including her vaccinations and the deworming she’d gotten when she arrived at the shelter.

Shouto lingered thoughtfully over the last box on her paperwork, glancing over at you as he did.

“Her name,” he explained when you looked at him curiously.

You supposed throwing out names like Chaos, Our Lady of Death and Destruction, and Criminal Intent were off limits. Shouto’s eyes roved over you absently as he thought, until an idea seemed to strike him.

He quickly penned a name into the box, and you choked as he pushed the forms over to you.

Princess.

“You know she’s the actual worst, right?” you asked him. Shouto just gave you a flat look, reaching a hand up to his shoulder and petting her defensively.

“Shh love,” he said to her. “Don’t listen.”

You suppressed a groan. So this was how it was going to be.

You supposed that Princess was a fitting name, given the kitten’s haughty little attitude and general sense of entitlement to anything and everything in the shelter. You filed the paperwork away, tucking Shouto’s check in the drawer of the register, and gathered up all the kitten’s medical papers, a copy of the adoption agreement, and receipt for the check.

And then she was his.

Shouto lingered in the shelter with you for the remainder of your shift, the two of you making light conversation, drawing up a list of things he’d need to get for the cat, and teasing Princess with a pen when she finally decided she wanted down from Shouto’s shoulder.

Shouto’s suitability as her guardian was once again recemented when you tried to get her into the carrier at closing time. She wriggled wildly and resistantly, yowling and sinking her claws into the sensitive skin at the underside of your wrist, her tiny needle teeth tearing right into your thumb. Shouto carefully pulled her off of you and she immediately went pliant in his grip, suddenly sweet and calm and happy to be handed into the carrier.

“You’re an actual cat whisperer, oh my god,” you said, when he’d gotten Princess in and latched the door.

Shouto smiled, an unfairly charming pull of that full mouth. He leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you want to know the secret?” he asked.

You looked at him, intrigued. “You have an actual secret?”

Maybe he should be running a pet shelter.

He nodded seriously, but his eyes glittered. “I run warm on my left side. Cats have always liked it.”

You startled, surprised as Shouto offered both of his hands to you, palms upturned. His hands were unfairly pretty, fingers long and elegant, his fair skin littered here and there with the raised line of a fading scar or stubborn callous. Slowly, carefully, you reached out, pressing both of your palms to his. Fingerprints bloomed under your touch, staining his skin like watercolor.

It took you a minute to remember you were supposed to be focusing on something other than the way your touch left lingering marks on his skin. When you did, you realized he was right, and that you could totally feel it—Shouto’s left palm was noticeably hotter, deliciously warm, in fact, especially in comparison to the cold wind you could hear whipping just outside the door.

Shouto’s fingers closed around yours, pressing gently into your skin, and you fought down a furious flush as your skin answered him, color blossoming under the pads of his fingers.

“Um—yeah you’re right,” you said, your ears going just as hot as his left side. “No wonder Princess is a big fan.”

Slowly, carefully, you tugged your hands away from his, not wanting to linger and send the wrong message. Hand touching was another indulgence he would want to reserve for someone who wasn’t a little creep—the last thing he’d want to do was touch you if he knew how you really felt about it.

Besides, he had Creati. You had to remember that.

Shouto’s eyes were half-lidded as you looked up at him and told him you needed to lock up, you’d meet him outside in a minute. He seemed almost reluctant to go, but you shooed him out the door, stuffing the cat carrier into his arms.

You focused on not hyperventilating as you closed up the shelter for the evening, and the cold wind was a welcome relief on your feverish skin by the time you made it outside.

You made your way to a pet shop on the way to Shouto’s apartment, where you helped Shouto acquire a cat box and litter, bowls for food and water, food, some grooming tools, and a scratching post. Shouto seemed to want to buy Princess everything his gaze landed on, and by the end of the venture you were also laden down with a cat bed, cat tree, approximately ten million cat toys, and a collapsible tunnel stuffed with paper that rustled whenever you moved it.

Truly, a haul fit for a Princess.

Shouto’s apartment was also surprisingly close, in the same ward as his hero office, roughly a twenty minute sojourn from the shelter. It was one of those luxury buildings with a modern glass front and sleek, light wood paneling along the sides, with a doorman and reception desk in the lobby and everything.

As you passed through to the elevator, you resolved that Shouto would never, ever see your crumbling backstreet apartment, replete with garbage furniture that no one else wanted.

As he let you in, you realized Shouto’s apartment itself was also unbearably gorgeous, modern in build but accented in the old Japanese style, with inlaid tatami in some rooms, low tables, and woven textiles. It was an interesting blend of old and new, light and dark, understated and slightly masculine in bent–it looked professionally done.

“Momo recommended a designer to me,” Shouto said, looking kind of embarrassed as he deposited the haul of cat supplies by one of the low tables. “I let her do whatever she wanted.”

It took you a minute to realize Momo meant Yaoyorozu Momo–Creati–and jealousy simmered lightly in your stomach.

So. It was true.

They were definitely close if he was letting her–and her designer–call the shots on how his home was designed and decorated.

She was probably, most definitely his girlfriend.

Another hot spike of jealousy lanced through your gut at the idea that your soulmate had someone else, when you had always treasured the idea of a romantic soulmate connection. It couldn’t be helped, you knew–-there was no guarantee you might meet your soulmate in this lifetime and it only made sense to love and allow yourself to be loved by people who were also right for you, too. You would be a little witch for begrudging Shouto and Creati their happiness.

But it stung nevertheless, to find your soulmate having already lost him in a way, too.

You tried to gather yourself together, focusing on directing Shouto on setting up the cat things in a single room for Princess to adjust to the new space. He laid out everything in his bedroom, a room that made you hyperaware of his every movement while you were in it, eyes glued to the shift of his bicep under the light blue button up he’d been wearing under his jacket, the way he leaned into you to ask a question now and again.

His room smelled like him, light and fresh and expensive—and you spied a bottle of the cologne he must have been wearing on the dresser, along with a scattering of personal belongings you couldn’t help but nose through.

There was a small pile of discarded cufflinks and a watch in a dark metal, deposited absently in front of several framed pictures of what must have been Shouto’s family. Your favorite was a picture of him next to a slender, diminutive woman who was unmistakably his mother—the same white hair and ice grey eyes as Shouto had on his right side, the same full mouth and patrician nose, the same underlying grace and elegance in the set of their features.

“She’d like to meet you,” Shouto said near your ear, making you jump.

You whirled around, realizing he’d drawn close without you realizing, and that he’d already let Princess out of her carrier–-and she’d hauled herself right back up his left shoulder to settle into his warmth.

Apparently she’d have no trouble adjusting to the new environment.

“Your mom?” you asked, a little embarrassed to have been caught looking through his things. “She, um, knows me?”

You couldn’t think how.

Shouto nodded. “I’ve told her about you—about meeting my soulmate. She’d like to meet you for lunch whenever you have the time.”

Your stomach fluttered nervously. Oh, that made sense. And that was—nice. A nice thought, had you maybe been the more traditional kind of soulmates, the kind who would have been more than friends to one another.

It seemed kind of a strange offer, though, to meet someone who would float more on the periphery of her son’s life. You wondered if she maybe meant to impress on you that Shouto had a full life already—friends, family, a burgeoning career, a girlfriend.

You also absently wondered when and how you were going to scrape together the funds to have lunch with a woman who had been married to the number one hero and was mother to the current number four–a woman who was kitted out in clean designer sets in the photos Shouto had of her. You hoped she didn’t want to go anywhere too nice, considering.

You wondered if you shouldn’t refuse, but Shouto was looking down at you expectantly, and you could bring yourself to disappoint him.

“Um, next week could work,” you told him. “If that’s okay? My paycheck comes in on Friday so any time that weekend would work best.”

Shouto blinked, a crease appearing between his brows. “Your paycheck,” he echoed blankly.

Retroactively it occurred to you that discussing finances was kind of rude, especially in front of a rich person. “Uh yeah. Anyway, usually every other Saturday works! Um, how should I set it up?”

It was polite to bring a gift to the parents of your significant other when you first met them, but was it presumptuous to bring a gift to the mother of your soulmate when that soulmate was just a friend? You would have to google it when you got home.

Shouto frowned at you some more, and you quickly moved to distract him, pointing over at the litter box. “I’ll uh, get that set up then,” you said, and hurried to busy yourself doing just that.

By the time you’d managed to get the litter box set up in his ensuite and filled with litter, Shouto had built the cat tree and was too focused on arranging it in front of one of his floor-to-ceiling windows to continue frowning at you. But when he looked up at you, you could see a speculative light in his eye that you didn’t quite understand.

“I will tell my mother next Saturday, then,” he said. “What time may I pick you up?”

You froze. Pick you up sounded kind of like a date. And pick you up also meant he’d be at your apartment, and he was one million percent not allowed to see the inside.

“Uh, that’s fine. I can meet you wherever! No need to go out of the way,” you said. “Where should we go?”

Shouto was undeterred, however. “I insist. Will one o’clock be suitable?”

No. More like never o’clock, my good man.

“I’m not kidding, Shouto, I can totally meet you at—”

Shouto leaned closer, instantly cutting off the part of your brain capable of producing speech. Up close, his face was even more chillingly beautiful—his right eye glinting silvery in the light, left a deep cerulean. It was all you could do to go still, to not lean in and kiss him.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone gentle but firm in a way that made all your nerve endings prickle. “I insist. Will one o’clock be suitable?”

“Yes,” you answered automatically.

A hint of another little smile tugged at Shouto’s mouth. “Thank you. I will pick you up then.”

Your face burned. To your complete devastation and yet utter relief, he leaned back, and dipped a hand in his back pocket for his phone. “Now about dinner,” he said, “It’s too late to begin cooking. And you might not want me to.”

Between the two of you, you settled on a vegetable-heavy Mediterranean place—motivated mostly by the fact that you knew you’d be scrimping on the veggies for the next couple weeks in order to afford a gift and whatever lunch with Shouto’s mother entailed.

The food was incredibly good and the two of you ate stuffed together at Shouto’s coffee table, companionable and informal, watching while Princess sniffed interestedly around her new digs. She seemed to have very few qualms about operating in a new environment, padding about with the self-possession and assurance a true princess might have.

As usual, it was all too easy to fall into conversation with Shouto while you watched her. You traded stories about the shelter and plans for the rescue you eventually wanted to open, for Shouto’s stories about his patrols the last few days, his apprehension about an upcoming fan event his manager had wrangled him into. Apparently, some overzealous fans had taken to inking their fingers prior to meeting with him, in ill-conceived attempts to leave “soulmarks” on him, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty for inspiring their interest.

You scoffed at the mention of it, forgetting to behave yourself in front of Shouto. “If they want the full experience, they need to yell something absolutely insane and then book it. Bathed in blood and looking like they rolled right out of a dumpster. All of this lingering around hopefully in their cutest outfit is way too chill.”

A smile twitched at Shouto’s mouth. “Would you have lingered, had no one else been around?”

You looked at him like he was insane. “Are you crazy? Absolutely not.”

His eyes traced your face curiously. “Why ever not?”

You caught yourself before you could accidentally tell him he was the most upsettingly appealing man in the entire world and that meant you couldn’t be around him. “Because. I had places to be.”

Shouto laughed. “Ah yes—you told me you were busy, when I found you.”

You let out a rude noise at him. “And I was! You’re lucky you could get an appointment with me, you know. I’m very in demand.”

Shouto’s eyes were bright. “Yes, there were so very many people there when I arrived.”

The audacity.

You squinted at him, pointing your fork at him like a weapon. “You are way mouthier than advertised. I thought you were supposed to be the reticent, mysterious number four. No one warned me you came with so much sass.”

Shouto made a show of inspecting his fingernails, unfussed by this accusation. “I’ve made no such claims.”

You laughed, unable to help yourself. Shouto looked pleased at having drawn amusement out of you. “You and Princess are made for one another,” you told him.

He looked fondly over at the kitten, who was busy raking her little claws all down one of the nice walnut side tables next to Shouto’s couch. He didn’t seem concerned, just watched her with a hint of affection, even though you could tell the table cost more than your monthly rent.

“Well she’s certainly making herself at home here,” you observed. “She will be running this place in no time.”

Shouto’s eyes flicked over to you, twin points of grey and blue. He watched you for a moment, before pronouncing, “You may also make yourself at home here.” His tone was low, somehow insistent. “Since you are one of her loyal subjects.”

You laughed, startled by the bare kindness of the statement, the unaffected way he’d said it. Your face heated, and you could feel your stomach flutter at the open way he was looking at you. It was couched as a joke, but not pronounced like it. A genuine offer.

“I—um—thank you,” you said. “Anything her highness needs, I’ll be here.”

Another almost secretive smile pulled at the corner of Shouto’s mouth. “I would like that,” he said.

Simple, bare, and disarmingly honest.

And it was then, in that moment–-at Todoroki Shouto’s coffee table, with a kitten ravaging all of his furniture in the background—that you knew.

For all his beauty, for all his nobility, for all the very many things you’d started to learn and like about Todoroki Shouto—it was his innate kindness that you liked best. His innate kindness that would most certainly keep you in his life, even if only as a friend—

And his innate kindness that finally made you certain that you had fallen for him.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki

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nikikikiko · 2 months

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jumping rq on the afk arena found family ever (gavus, eugene and their kids) but ive been brainrotting and well i have some headcanons:

• Liberta and Lucilla did not come out of everything entirely unscathed emotionally and mentally. 10 years and becoming generals at young ages did not do them well.

• Likewise, it is a very real fear of Eugene AND Gavus that they’ll go to sleep one day and wake up right back in their respective prisons, alone.

• So the four tend to have some nights where they all just stay up instead of sleeping (much to the detriment of Gavus who wants his children to have healthy sleep habits) , typically nights like these are spent in each other’s company as a physical reminder that the bad is over now

• Lucilla tends to get overprotective at times of her brother and her fathers, because she doesn’t want to be separated from them ever again. This trait made itself especially well known when she and Liberta defected from the Hypogeans and Celestials, but has since calmed down.

• Liberta is semi verbal, because some days he can’t bring himself to speak.

• Eugene handles a lot of the practical advice side of parenting whereas Gavus handles a lot of comfort.

• Of the two fathers, Gavus is the one holding a more strict grudge against the Celestials and Hypogeans than Eugene is. This is mainly due to Gavus being overly protective and hard to let things go, which makes one realize where Lucilla got it from.

• During their time with the Celestials and Hypogeans, Liberta and Lucilla were treated oddly. Lucilla was trained only ever in the art of combat, she had a lot of friends but she wasn’t being given much formal education due to that not being her purpose. Her status as a weapon, as Dusk, made it so that nothing else mattered much except her combat prowess and destructive power so she could turn the war in favor of the Hypogeans.

• Liberta on the otherhand was educated academically but only ever with Celestial morals scattered everywhere as they didn’t want to repeat Gavus’s defection. However, he was not given proper treatment among Celestials and his feelings were often not taken into account on any decisions, as he was a weapon, Dawn, and weapons followed orders.

• These things do not go away so easily, and right after they left the two divine factions, they got into it a lot because they struggled to reconnect initially. It took some time and good ol bonding while looking for their dads to get them both as close as they are now.

• But even then, they still struggle sometimes. Lucilla struggles with learning how to not utilize violence to solve every problem she has with someone, whereas Liberta struggles to stand firm to his feelings rather than writing them off for the wishes of someone else.

• Gavus upon learning any of this found himself feeling absolutely Livid inside but inhale exhale his kids need their fathers right now

• And that’s not to say Eugene wasn’t angry either, but his rage was very much turned into energy and determination to make sure nothing would ever hurt his family ever again.

• Liberta is still just as eepy as he was when he was a kid. He naps anywhere at any time. Lucilla will draw on his face from time to time, Gavus will put a blanket over him, and Eugene just straight up carries Liberta to his bed.

• Lucilla can be best described as “what if I eat that” and she’ll always try to eat it. She has eaten candle wax, cardboard, a leaf, grass, paper, etc. and it is all due to curiosity, she never eats the same thing twice if its not edible or good tasting.

• Eugene very much bullies Lucilla in the same way a parent will lovingly bully their child. He makes fun of her but he’s always among the first to support her too. Eugene has been trying to help her focus violent tendencies into crafting instead, noting that it’s easier to destroy but more fulfilling to make. He has since received many a lopsided woodcarving of what could be a bear but might be a duck.

• Gavus is similar but he indulges Lucilla’s antics as long as nobody’s hurt. He also reads really bad YA romance novels with her, like Twilight levels of bad, and they’ll talk shit about it together. Lucilla isn’t one to be too involved with it but sometimes the plots get so wild and out of control it sends Gavus into a frustrated rant and sends Lucilla into orbit with how hilariously passionate her dad gets over stupid crappy romance books.

• On the flipside, Eugene definitely teases Liberta but he’s much softer with him since Liberta is a bit more sensitive than Lucilla is. He and Liberta share a love for puzzles and cool gadgets, if they go into the market and have some extra money, you can bet your everything that they’re going to go off looking for another cool and fun thing to bring home.

• Meanwhile Gavus and Liberta tend to cook together !! Since Eugene has been banned for abuse of spices and seasoning causing one too many dinners to be over seasoned or over spiced, Liberta has taken up the role as co-chief for Gavus and they use that time to talk about interesting things.

• Family Game nights but instead of games its debate nights where they take a topic and they just debate over why they’re right abt it. Yk like what kind of chair is better or whatnot. Sometimes they’ll do teams and sometimes it’s every man for themselves.

#afk arena #afk eugene #afk gavus #afk liberta #afk lucilla #i found these four #and #well now i cant stop thinking abt them

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neutron-stars-collision · 10 months

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Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 20 - In the glow of the moon

Chapter 19; Masterlist Summary: Some conversations cannot be avoided. Especially when it is Bruce, who becomes impatient... Warnings: Swearing; angst. Too much talking. Author's Notes: Alas, we've made it. This is where the story ends *sniffles*. While I've got a short epilogue in mind, it's going to be more of a post scriptum, so I'm treating this as the conclusion to the journey. And what a journey it had been! 🥺 It only took me a year and a half to finish the series, but I'm so glad I did. Those idiots did not make it easy, but I'll sure miss them. This chapter is a long overdue punchline some of you had been waiting for. I hope it meets your expectations. Thank you for reading, waiting and supporting me in the very rocky process. You all made it much easier to convince my brain it was worth continuing 💕 And thank you, Shet, for dealing with my whining, doubts and endless drama - always grateful for you! Hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think? Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5 (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

(gif credit: @1038276637)

In the morning, you dared believe the universe must have a soft spot for you within its core. As soon as your eyes opened, your gaze noted two things. One, Bruce was gone. Two, there was a note with his handwriting on your bedside table.

Without letting your mind run away with the first fact, undoubtedly working itself into a spiral like no other you rolled over to pick up the page. The contents were simple: “Sorry I’m gone. The hospital called to say Alfred had been signed out, so I went to pick him up. See you soon.”

The spark of relief drowned out everything else as you dropped the paper onto the covers and smiled at the ceiling. Everything was still fucked. But this was something. Something that could take your mind off the reality. It was easy to admit that one thought. You missed Alfred. Missed his clever blue-grey eyes that saw through your bullshit. Maybe it was what you needed… Maybe.

The thought was a motivator to drag you out of bed and into the closet, absentmindedly searching for anything you could wear. The first proper wake-up of the morning came when you entered the ensuite and found yourself facing the mirror. Finding mussed hair and a red bruise on your neck. A few more below, scattered like flares across your body. Drawing attention to what happened. Making it impossible for you to deny it, even before yourself. A wave of shame rolled in your stomach, erasing the budding hunger. You turned your head the other way and never looked back until you were ready to leave the bathroom.

It was cold enough for a turtleneck, anyway.

The distraction kicked in as soon as you made your way downstairs. A chorus of voices could be heard coming from the kitchen. A sound you had not heard in the tower since the explosion. A quiet sigh of relief was all the noise you made as you headed into the room. Eager to see what was going on. Having reached the doorway, you peered inside. Bruce was the first one you saw, leaning against the kitchen counter with a timid yet bright smile. He seemed happy. Lighter than when you had first met him.

Another dangerous thought you did not want to entertain. Your gaze slipped over Bruce to settle on Alfred. He was leaning heavily on his cane, but no bandages were in sight anymore. Only a fading yellowish bruise and darker circles underneath his eyes. Dory was talking with him animatedly, her hands gesticulating broadly. A grin broke out on your face as you stepped through the threshold, immediately drawing attention to your arrival. All three pairs of eyes landed on you. Without meaning to, you met Bruce’s gaze first. The look in his eyes shifted, but his face was still open. As if he was happy to see you. Even after the previous night. You never had the time to pull that revelation apart.

“Glad to see you join us, darling” Alfred crossed the remaining space towards you with a bright smile.

Affection filled the caverns of your heart, making it impossible to get rid of that one feeling. The one that reminded you that you had not felt this welcomed anywhere in a very long time. That this, the three of them, almost felt like the home you had lost twenty years ago. You swallowed past the lump in your throat to reply, a cheeky smile masking the emotions tearing through your chest:

“Pardon me, I didn’t know we’ll be having a kitchen party” an answering scoff from Bruce was enough of a validation for the weak joke, “It’s good to see you back, Alfred” you met the butler’s gaze with a fond look of your own, not hiding just how much you had meant it.

You knew he understood, instantly adjusting his stance to open his arms and invite you in for a hug with a quiet croon:

“Oh, c’mere,” you did not need to be asked twice, returning the embrace with care, mindful of his lingering frailty.

But Alfred’s hug was everything but frail, instantly making you sink into the comforting touch you did not know you had missed. After a beat, aware of the company and the prolonged silence, you pulled back, squeezing his arms one last time. Over Pennyworth’s shoulder, you caught Bruce’s gaze again. The softness in his eyes was replaced with something more tender. Almost as if seeing you close to Alfred meant much more to him than he could say. You sent him a small smile as the butler spoke again:

“I see my boy at least had the decency to invite you to stay for longer” the older man threw a pointed look over his shoulder at Bruce before setting his piercing gaze back on you.

You did wonder whether the blush on your cheeks was as telling as you worried it might be. Because there was no escape from it.

“Of course, I-” Bruce’s offended rebuttal was never meant to be heard.

Only because you feared what he might say and whether you could mitigate the effects without the scene dissolving into chaos. You threw Bruce an apologetic smile and interrupted him with faux chirpiness:

“He did. At least until everything settles down in the city,” the apologetic note was not easily eradicated from your voice.

Because no matter what, you still felt like perhaps you were a nuisance to them. Like maybe you should have disappeared a long time ago and never bothered them again. But then Bruce was the one to ask… And the previous night, he seemed happy with you staying… You barely resisted shaking your head against the barrage of thoughts as Alfred remarked:

“Well, we’re certainly not short on space” he glanced at Dory as if awaiting her approval.

You followed his gaze only to see the older woman smile at you warmly. Giving her blessing with your favourite question of the morning:

“Coffee?” she raised the mug to accentuate the gesture.

“From you? Always” there was no need to think as you flashed her your brightest grin and joined the woman by the counter.

Perhaps it was alright for you to stay. Just a little longer.

***

The illusion of peace lasted approximately 32 hours and 27 minutes. It shattered in the afternoon of the second day of Alfred’s return as Dory left the dining room table, leaving you alone with the older man. As if he had been waiting for the occasion to arise, Pennyworth instantly settled his heavy gaze on your face. You got as far as awkwardly clearing your throat before he launched the first question:

“How are you doing?” you knew the nonchalance in his tone was only a means of keeping you calm.

And making you stay at the table, despite the alarm bells in your head urging you to run away. Because hell knew Alfred was damn good at seeing through your bullshit. Unfortunately.

“I’m good,” you pasted what you hoped was a convincing smile.

Hoping it would be enough to deter him. Foolishly.

Alfred leaned forward, putting more weight onto his forearms as he levelled you with another long look:

“Are you?” your heart stumbled in your chest as if begging to say: No, I’m not; he paused, seemingly to find the right words before driving another striking blow, “Because it took me a little over a day to see that things are not exactly easy between you” you could see the tactful turn.

The exact moment when Alfred noticed he needed to be gentle with you. When he saw your fragility and discovered the cause without you needing to say it aloud. That need to run and hide only grew stronger.

“Well… we get on just fine” you shrugged, aware that it was a futile attempt on your side.

It wasn’t a lie. Even after that night, things were fine. As in, Bruce talked to you, still shared his work updates, and checked in on you throughout the day. But he kept his distance. And you tried your best not to dwell on the fact fearing the heartbreak that would follow if you did.

“I know that you do,” compassion in Alfred’s eyes told you he noticed it too, “But I also know Bruce. And I can see that he’s desperately trying to fix something, but he doesn’t know where to start” the hint of hurt in his face was enough to crack your heart.

It was one thing to know you had been hurting Bruce. Another to hear it from someone else. Someone who knew him more than you. A wave of shame threatened to drown you as you gasped quietly and trained your gaze on the table. A lone tear slipped from the corner of your eye and dropped onto the cloth. There would be no more pretending.

“What do you want me to say?” the hysterical note crept into your voice as you heard yourself spill confessions you never dared put into words, “I’m scared, Alfred. Always had been. Because there are feelings that I can’t get rid of no matter what I do” more tears rolled down your cheeks as the desperation you had tried stifling reared its head “I don’t want to hurt him, but…” you trailed off, your voice breaking under the weight of emotions.

But that was it. The truth was spoken for the first time and somehow more terrifying. You knew how it sounded. How utterly pathetic it was to be afraid of the thing many were willing to die for. But you could not help it.

“You’re also hurting yourself, though” Alfred’s gentle statement was enough to make you look up.

You fixed your red-rimmed eyes on his face, resisting the sudden urge to scoff. He was right, but that did not change anything. After twenty years of hurting, what was some more? An eternity? Easy. Much easier than whatever was going on right now.

“That’s inevitable” you could only shrug, staring at him blankly.

Because that’s just the thing. It’s inevitable. There is no outcome where you could have this and walk away unscathed. No such variant of the reality.

From the disbelief on Alfred’s face, you knew he disagreed.

“What if it doesn’t have to be like that?” you opened your mouth to protest, but he did not let you speak just yet, “What if you could have everything you wanted and be happy?” the conviction in his eyes was something you wished you could share.

But you couldn’t. It sounded like a fable, a tale too good to be true. It sounded like your childhood before.

“I don’t think that’s possible” you levelled him with a resigned look and brushed the drying tears from your cheeks.

Suddenly you wanted nothing more than to burrow underneath the covers and disappear from the world until the morning. Only Alfred had one more thing to say…

“I beg to differ” with his tone urging you to listen, you fell quiet as he continued, “I can’t tell you what to do or think, but… You make him happy” his gaze softened as your heart panged, barely able to sit idly for much longer, “And I know that’s mutual” though there was no need, you nodded weakly, confirming the correct assumption “Love is terrifying, but it’s also worth the pain” unable to withstand the vulnerable moment, you closed your eyes, hiding the pain he could find there; he hit the metaphorical bullseye “Don’t let the fear take it away from you” as Alfred finished the speech you let out a long exhale.

As if sensing you were barely holding on, he stood up from the table and left the dining room. But not without reaching out to squeeze your shoulder first. Only once you were alone did you let the tears flow freely.

You desperately wanted him to be right.

***

Only two days later, things came to a head with the most unexpected beginning. Although it was late, you were still busy with work, reading up on different witness accounts of the aftermath of the flooding. While you were still officially off work for another week, you wanted to make sure you had something to write about as soon as you could. And as much as you wanted to, Riddler’s case was off-limits. The decision was difficult to accept, but it was a no-brainer. You could not write about events that hit so close to home and expect it to be unbiased. And any good at all.

So, with a heavy heart, you began a quest to find something new. To your utmost surprise – Bruce offered to help. And help he did, sharing various stories he has heard during his patrols, dropping hints towards the whispers passed around in the dark. You were more grateful than you knew how to express.

Glancing at the clock in the upper corner of the laptop screen, you groaned at the late hour. Perhaps it was time to finish for the night… Perhaps you could- You never got to end the thought as sudden feedback sound rang out in the study. Its whine made you startle, head snapping up in rapt attention at whatever would follow. That was familiar. A memory from what felt like ages ago. It took you another moment to catch up and recognise the song. The subtle strumming was almost indistinguishable. And then…

You got up before you knew what you were doing. Like a siren call leading sailors to their demise, the increasing volume of the music dragged you down the stairs. Once you got closer, you could hear him sing. Quietly, as if he never wanted anyone to have heard him, but still. His low, gravelly voice was enough to increase the cadence of your heartbeat and make you pick up the pace.

‘You're just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world’

You knew the lyrics well enough to feel the familiar tension fill your chest when you reached the study and held your breath upon the sight.

‘I wish I was special

You're so fuckin' special’

Bruce had his back to you, the broad plane of his shoulders covered with a washed-out black t-shirt. Body hunched over the guitar. Without seeing his face, you knew that his eyes were closed. As the volume grew, his strumming got angrier. Dexterous fingers hit each note as they were supposed to. The pain in his voice perfected the picture and made you tighten your grip on the railing. It was terrifying to think about the song choice and what it meant. Whether it meant anything at all.

The longer you stayed, frozen by the sight, the more you knew you should have never given in to the pull. Because now you could not walk away. Not without talking to Bruce. Even if only just about the music. The longing got almost unbearable.

The guitar’s tone slowed; the riff returned to its gentle opening. Bringing the number to a close. Bruce’s voice turned smooth, rolling over your torn heart like a soothing balm. But only just so. Before you realised it, a solitary tear had rolled down your cheek. You whispered the closing lyrics alongside him:

‘What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here

I don't belong here’

Bruce finished the song with a long exhale. For a moment, you contemplated running back up the stairs like you had never been there. But you could not move. Your mouth opened on its own accord:

“You’ve got a beautiful voice” you winced as Bruce flinched, his body tensing as he turned to face you with a shock evident on his face; still, you trudged on and added, “But that was a rather gloomy choice, don’t you think?” an unconvincing smile graced your face.

Because you knew Bruce would see beneath the mask. He would notice the drying tear on your cheek and the pain in your eyes. That one look would be enough for him to tear you apart.

“It felt accurate” Bruce shrugged, his façade drawn up and ready to hide all hints of emotion.

But you could see him look at you, gaze searching and assessing. Noticing everything there was to see. Like he always did. Unable to withstand eye contact much longer, you let your gaze roam as well. Slipping over his forearms and hands, still carefully holding the instrument. As if he expected you to leave so he could continue. But it was not that easy.

“If you’re a creep, then I’m a weirdo” you gathered enough courage to look back up at him, finding Bruce still gazing back; it was enough of an encouragement to make you drop the nonchalance, a veiled confession ready on your tongue “Kindred freaks and all,”

For the first time since he looked at you, you saw Bruce’s mask slip. A flash of surprise passed through his blue eyes and, then, something more tender. The aching chasm in your chest grew wider as you stepped down from the landing and took a step closer to him. The movement woke him up. Bruce took off the guitar strap from around his neck and placed the instrument back on the stand. Silence echoed in the vast room.

“I didn’t think you’d hear me play” when he raised his head again, part of that wall hiding him from you was gone.

In its place, you could see wary curiosity. As if Bruce did not expect to see you tonight or have this conversation. As if you caught him by surprise. For some reason, the idea settled with heavy guilt in your stomach. Because maybe you were trespassing, bothering him with your presence when he would rather be alone. You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat and whispered:

“I’m sorry” your body had half made up its mind to turn around on your hell and march up the stairs.

Like you should have done when he finished the song. A goodbye was ready on your lips before Bruce spoke, making you freeze:

“Did you mean it?” the cautious tone arrested your attention.

As did the fleeting hope in his eyes. Gone so fast you assumed you had imagined it. Your heart skipped a beat as you understood what Bruce was asking. There was only one thing it could be. As if eager to spite you, your mind readily offered the memory. A sentence blurted out in a moment of passion. Your undoing, as it seemed. Heat filled your cheeks as you felt yourself shake. Panic took over; its job was simple – you couldn’t admit it. Not yet. Ideally never. So, you did what you do best.

“Mean what?” a confused smile was ready on your lips, masking the descending terror with a weak attempt at deflection, “The line just now? I-”

You should have known better. Bruce interrupted your pathetic one-woman play with a simple injection:

“You know what I mean” frustration rolled off him in waves, making him clench his hands into tight fists as Bruce stared at you with growing desperation.

Urging you to drop the act. But it was too late. The cold panic had settled, freezing you on the hardwood floors. Freezing your mind on that one thought – you couldn’t tell him. He can’t know.

“Bruce, I’ve no-” you tried again, without the foreign smile and bullshit nonchalance.

In your head, a pleading chorus was rising in volume. Drop it. Please drop it. But Bruce did not want to listen. He took a step closer, briefly reaching out his hand before letting fall back down. As if he wanted to touch you but soon realised that would not do.

“Please, just- Don’t lie to me” his voice broke on the last word, pain squeezing your heart like a vice; it only got worse when Bruce added, “I don’t think I can do this anymore” he glanced at you almost passively.

Almost as if he had not just crushed your heart in the palm of his hand with that one sentence. Cold fear rose in your throat as you took a step forward, voice wavering as you asked the only question you could:

“Do what?” even though you knew.

You could feel it in your bones. Bruce was done with this. With you. You could even guess why. And if that was it, the end, then you could not blame him, only yourself. A new wave of tears rose in your eyes as you waited for Bruce to cut the cord and end your suffering.

“This,” he vaguely waved his hand at the space between you before turning to pace the room, restless energy permeating every cell of his body, “It hurts too much to pretend. And- I mean, it’s pretty obvious. You must know by now” what? The question painted itself in the crease between your eyebrows as Bruce glanced at you with passion in his gaze, begging you to understand, “It’s not like I’m good at hiding it anyway” the following scoff was self-directed, as if Bruce was angry with his actions, or lack of them, as well.

But none of that explained what he meant. The bewilderment was evident on your face. You could tell Bruce saw it because he let out a long frustrated sigh. He stopped pacing, eyes trained on the floor as if taking part in a heated debate you were no part of. You reminded yourself to breathe, still frozen in your spot with no pointers towards where it was going. What was going to happen next. You opened and closed your mouth in a question that never quite came and went back to staring helplessly at Bruce. Fully aware of the pained look in your eyes and the shaking in your hands.

Later, you could pinpoint the moment he snapped. When the silence became too much to bear, and Bruce rushed in to fill it with words. More words than you had ever heard him say, unprompted. He walked back towards you, eyes wide and awake despite the late hour. But nothing you could see in his face warned you of what was coming:

“I know I’m new to this whole thing, but… I think I’m in love with you” oh. Oh. The breath hitched in your chest. The sincerity of his confession was the reason why you swayed on your feet, only just managing to grasp the railing before you fell at his feet – literary and figuratively; before you could process what Bruce had said and what it meant, he trudged on, seemingly unable to stop now that he began talking “Hell, I know I am, because nothing has ever torn me apart and put me back together all at once. No one else, but you” remembering to breathe, Bruce took a greedy inhale as his eyes met yours; the blue of his irises was set ablaze with that emotion you could never quite decipher. Until now, “I’m tired of pretending this is fine when it’s anything but. Nights like that last one are the worst because, for a moment, I get to feel what we could have, but then you- You leave, and it hurts twice as much because I know what I’m missing. What I’ll probably never have unless it’s with you” tears rolled down your cheeks as you stared, feeling the fear and love wage war in your heart. It was almost impossible to understand what was going on. And why the pain in his eyes only seemed to grow with each confession, the words dropping heavily onto the space between you, staining the floorboards with blood and despair. Yet still, Bruce’s next words slashed your heart anew, “And sometimes, I think… I think that maybe you’re the same” he looked at you again, the unasked question evident on his face.

A question you could not answer. The fear had won, claiming reign over your head and heart as you stared back. Still too frozen to move. Still unable to understand what had just happened. Bruce loved you. He was in love with you. He reciprocated, even though he did not know it. Fuck. All at once, you wanted to howl - be it from joy or pain, you could not decide. What now?

Your thoughts rushed a hundred miles per hour, spiralling and panicking. Worrying about every single what-if you could think of. All your mouth could form was a plea:

“Bruce, please- Don’t-” you did not even know what you were begging for.

Mercy, mostly. But with every second passing, you began to understand there was no way out of this. For better or for worse.

As if reading your feverish thoughts, Bruce closed the gap between you and reached out a careful hand, letting his fingers skim down the length of your forearm. Immediately, he had drawn attention to the chill you could feel settling in your bones as goosebumps followed his tentative touch. The sole-minded focus was still in his eyes:

“I swear I’ll leave you alone, detach myself from whatever is going on between us, if you’ll tell me I’m wrong” softening his voice a notch, Bruce searched your face, looking for the answers himself, “Tell me you don’t think of me like that and I’ll let it go. I promise” his hand clasped around yours, squeezing your palm as a reassurance that he meant it “Just tell me- Tell me you don’t love me” there, simple.

Or not so simple at all. A shudder went through your body as Bruce repeated the cursed word. Now it was entirely in your hands. The weight was resting on your shoulders, waiting for you to choose. For a second, you considered taking the way out that was still there. Faint and going against every promise you had made to yourself, but it still existed. You could deny everything, tell him he had it all wrong, lie and flee the scene with only the price of Bruce’s wounded heart on your conscience. But you couldn’t. Could not make yourself consider it beyond the basic set of assumptions and potentials.

Instead, you could only offer him an incomprehensible stutter, a collection of sounds paired with the colour draining from your face:

“I can’t- I-” the desire to run was still there, growing stronger with each second Bruce had spent staring at you.

He must have read it in your eyes for the moment you turned on your heel, body poised to run up the stairs, his arms were around you in a second. Caging you with your back pressed to his chest. Your shocked gasp was the only sound you could make.

“Don’t run away from me now,” Bruce’s plea was whispered right into your ear, making you shiver, “Please” only once you had the time to breathe, you noticed how lose his hold was; it would not take much to free yourself, should you want to “I’ve got you” the reassurance got through the white noise in your ears, making you relax.

Even if just by a fraction. You could feel the rise and fall of his breath at your back, the wisps of air across the back of your neck and cheek. One of his hands traced small circles on your arm, slowing your heart rate to a manageable pace. That was it. You couldn’t run from it anymore. You took a deep breath before you spoke:

“I’m so scared,” the admission was easy enough to utter.

A fragment of truth you owed Bruce. The reason for everything, as he would come to understand very soon. His embrace tightened slightly as he pressed a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head. It was almost enough to quieten the panic.

“I know, my love. Trust me. I know” the gratitude at his understanding was quickly overshadowed by the nickname he used.

The heart stuttered in your chest, unable to process it. My love. Two words that had never been aimed at you; have never related to you. A term of endearment you had come to envy in the quiet of your heart, yearning for something you never expected to have. But here it was, within your reach. If only you were brave enough to take it.

You closed your eyes, willing the courage to fill your veins as you pressed your back to Bruce’s chest. He wouldn’t hurt you. The statement filled your head like a mantra as you slowly forced more words out:

“You see me. The real me and it’s scary because what if you come to hate me? I don’t think I could survive that” it all came out in a rush of breath, leaving you gasping.

But it was out there. The truth for Bruce to hear and take in. The bravery was draining the energy from your body as you waited for a reply, a comment – anything at all. Anything to show you he understood.

He did not disappoint, offering you another gentle squeeze before speaking:

“I could never hate you” the certainty in Bruce’s voice was what you later considered as the thing that tipped the scales.

Because, for once, you pushed against the denial and believed him. After all, Bruce was the one with more to lose. The first to reach out. To come clean before you. Goddamn it, if he was brave enough, maybe you could be too… Maybe.

Cold shivers ran through your body as you tried to give voice to the words that had been choking you for days. If not weeks. You never thought to keep track and were too busy keeping them in. Despite everything. Perhaps there was no better time than now.

You squeezed Bruce’s hand to assure him you were not running away and turned in the embrace. It was better that way. Proper. You met his boundless gaze, now filled only with hope and the feeling you had recognised as the love he spoke of. It was enough. With a shaking voice, you released the confession from the prison you had made for it:

“Christ, I- I- I love you” the words came out wavered, and your breath stuttered with each syllable, but the light in his eyes was a reason to go on, “So fucking much it kills me” now that you started, the admissions did not seem to stop, slipping through your lips in a steady stream, slowly gaining speed “I’ve no idea when it happened, only that now you’re all I can think about. Every day, I go crazy because of you. Because I want you so much, I don’t know what to do with all those feelings. Sometimes it feels as though they’re going to tear my heart apart” running out of steam, you swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in your throat; it felt like a fraction of the weight had been lifted, now drowning in the blue gaze that did not stray away from your face. There was one last thing to add, a conclusion stating the obvious “But I’m still afraid,” the cursed punchline you did not seem able to shake off.

Only now, once the words were out, you allowed yourself to look back at Bruce. His shy smile acted like a magnet, drawing out your helpless twist of mouth. Your eyes followed the line of his nose (slightly crooked to the right) up to his eyes. Instantly drowning within the depths of blue irises filled with affection. Almost as if what you revealed did not change anything for him. As if, somehow, it would be alright. He would try rather than run away from you and your complex feelings no one seemed to fully comprehend. Not even you yourself. Too lost in his eyes, you only noticed he had reached up to touch you when you felt the gentle thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. Caressing your skin and quelling the worries.

“Of what?” Bruce’s simple question acted like the needed push in the right direction.

A reason to put into words and label what you never dwelled on. But now, you had no choice but to piece it apart. Even if only because Bruce deserved it from you. He earned an attempt at trying from you. Because, when faced with the reality that he felt the same, you knew you could not deny it anymore. It was terrifying. And oh, so hopeful. You let the feelings in his eyes anchor you in the moment as you spoke:

“That you’re going to leave. Or something takes you away from me” you could see the recognition pass through his face, making the addition nearly redundant “I don’t have a great track record with love” still, the sad scoff could not be kept in.

There was something freeing in seeing the knowing look on Bruce’s face. In knowing that he understood the feeling, perhaps better than anyone else ever could. That, no matter what happened next, you were placing your heart in the palm of someone who gets it. That you had fallen for that same boy you felt a kinship with days after your childhood ended. It was almost poetic.

“I don’t plan on leaving” when Bruce gave voice to the affirmation, you wanted to believe him.

Because he said it before. Every time you let your insecurities win. You clenched your teeth against the denial bubbling beneath the surface and asked a question:

“Why?” hoping he would know what you meant.

It was the only way you knew of asking him why you were the one to make him care. Why you? Bruce only smiled in response, leaning in to kiss your forehead before effortlessly meeting your gaze and baring his heart. Again.

“Because you’re incredible, beautiful, smart, and you see me. You see Bruce Wayne where everybody else sees a symbol, an idea of who I am” the sincerity of his words made your heart seem too big for your chest, each beat threatening to be the one that would make it implode, “Only you see me as I am” as did the gratitude and love in his gaze.

Showing you that the feeling was mutual. You saw Bruce just as he saw you. Like no one else did. The discovery was enough to make you sure – it was worth it.

Aware of the likely sparks in your eyes and the foolishly lovesick look on your face, you cleared your throat and whispered a question:

“Can I kiss you?” you did not know why it felt necessary to ask when you never did before.

When it was probably a given, considering everything he just said. The only thing you were sure of was that you had to let him know. Had to show how much it meant to hear him say it.

Bruce’s fond smile was an answer enough, but he still brushed away your concerns.

“You don’t have to ask” leaning in, he nudged your nose with his and waited for your decisive move.

After all, it was you who had asked. Getting onto your tiptoes, you returned the playful nudge and placed your hands on his shoulders. From then on, everything was a reflex and acting on well-practised instincts. Your eyes closed as you leaned in, slotting your lips over his in a tender kiss. Bruce responded immediately, tightening his hold over your waist and opening his mouth underneath your tentative tongue. The kiss quickly turned heated, drawing out a muffled gasp from your throat and a half-stifled whine from his. Your fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck as you gently sank your teeth into his bottom lip. Enough so to make Bruce groan and pull you closer.

That long-buried, sentimental part of your brain could tell this kiss tasted different. More carefree, unrestrained. Nothing stopped you from tracing the confessions on his skin as your tongue whispered words only Bruce could hear. You did not think anyone ever kissed you quite like that. Like it was the only thing he wanted to do until the end of time. Like the time spent caressing your lips and body was his holy ritual and never a waste of time. Like it mattered enough to be something Bruce devoted his attention to. Until you broke the contact to catch a breath, you were only his, and he was yours. Then, as your eyes met again, wearing matching infatuated looks, the kiss became a promise of more to come. You noted his blushing cheeks and offered a remark:

“I like what you called me, by the way” from the way Bruce’s eyes lit up instantly, you knew it was no slip of the tongue.

Even more so, it was a reason for your heart to beat faster. He meant it.

“My love?” his gaze traced the movement of your tongue, licking your drying lips.

And collecting the remains of the taste of his kiss. A pleasant shiver ran through your body as Bruce repeated the endearment. You could get used to it.

“Yeah, that’s new” you nodded, not even trying to school your features and erase the hope blooming there.

Bruce smiled, drawing out a gasp from your lips as his fingers crept beneath your shirt, lightly touching the skin on your waist. It almost distracted you from his next words.

“It can stay if you want,” without needing Bruce to elaborate, you knew what it meant; the feeling only grew stronger as he added, “If you’ll stay,” a meaningful pause signing off the conditional.

If. You still had a choice. At least, Bruce seemed to think so. What he did not know was that you had already decided. Or that your heart has chosen for you. There was no alternative there. But the slightest bit of uncertainty in his eyes told you he needed an answer:

“I’ll try to” the honest reply was a perfect opening for another question, one that you had been holding back for a while, “Are you mine?”

It was the final assurance you needed from Bruce if only to convince your head it was safe to give him your heart, body, and soul. For as long as he was willing to have them. For as long as he would have you.

Bruce used his unoccupied hand to squeeze your palm as he lowered his head to catch your eye. You had no doubt he caught the nerves lurking there; impossible to be exiled entirely. Unknowingly, you held your breath, waiting for his answer as if the world depended on it.

“If you’re mine,” Bruce’s reply was simple, bringing out your chuckle at the banter you had fallen into.

The joy was reciprocated, too, if the creases at the corners of his eyes were anything to go by. Not for the first time since you had met, you had been struck by a thought, a recognition that he was beautiful. The sharp features and striking eyes always pulled you in and made it impossible to look away. To stray your eyes from his. To find anyone else worth looking at. At this moment, in the dark gothic study, lit up only by the fireplace and the lamp, you knew it was always a lost cause. You had lost a long time ago.

Instead of replying, you kissed him quickly, relishing in the sharp gasp you got in return. When you parted, an answer was easy to conjure:

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one willing to put up with this” upon Bruce’s questioning look, you motioned at the meagre space between you, highlighting the truth he might have missed.

That there was no competition there. Only Bruce was willing to endure you for this long and in this way. He was the only one wanting your love and loving you back. You were not quite ready to piece apart why (or how) that could be.

“I’ve always been told I’m relentless” the cheeky uptick of Bruce’s mouth was a hypnotizing sight.

You did not miss the telling glimmer in his eye or the smooth move which resulted in your body being pulled closer to his. Almost flush against his chest. It was impossible to deny your brain’s desire to offer you a recap of every moment you had shared which had begun in that way. And to stifle the shiver and the knowledge that, if the universe were gracious, you would have many more coming. The reminder was enough to make you smile and return the playful smirk:

“Good for me” struck with sudden weariness and feeling the rapidly dropping adrenaline, you tugged Bruce’s hand and wordlessly led him towards the sofa; only once you had fallen onto the cushions with a sigh and curled up next to him, you asked the question “What happens now?”

You knew Bruce would get what you meant. He always did.

You felt him shift, one arm coming up to rest around your shoulders, drawing you closer. The other hand was placed on your knee, providing gentle warmth and helping you stay present with him. It was almost too easy to let go and fall back on his constant support to keep you grounded. The doubts were still there, rising and falling like the natural ebb and flow of the tide, lapping at the edges of your conscience. You suspected they would probably always be there, somewhere. Ready to take over at the tiniest chance of something going wrong. The best you could do was hope that would never happen.

As if sensing your mental chatter getting louder, Bruce leaned in to leave a trail of kisses on the shell of your ear and nuzzled your temple. The resulting sigh was effortless on your part. As always.

“We try not to fuck it up” he had his answer ready, eyes trained on you and waiting for whatever might come up.

You had to admit it sounded simple. Almost doable. But…

“And if we do?” you turned to catch his eyes with what you knew to be a wild gaze.

You needed Bruce to say it. To promise he would fight for whatever you were to become. It had to work. Please. You already knew you would be willing to sacrifice a lot for this fragile thing between you. It was already a fact.

A fact Bruce could undoubtedly see in your gaze, for the confidence bled into his voice as he replied:

“Then we’ll try harder” he grabbed your hand, which restlessly picked at the loose thread on the hem of your shirt and squeezed it.

On a reflex, you threaded your fingers through his and pressed your palms together. You had no choice but to trust him. To do the unimaginable and place your heart in his hands, surrendering control in the process. You swallowed past the fear in your throat and pressed your mouth to the corner of his lips. It felt like an apt conclusion to the conversation long overdue.

A little later, once another kiss had ended, and a new one had not yet begun, you raised your head from its comfortable placement on Bruce’s shoulder and fixed your gaze on the black and white guitar resting on its stand. An in-direct reason you had the conversation in the first place. You briefly contemplated sending a thank-you letter to the manufacturer but were struck with a better idea.

“Bruce?” taking pleasure in how his name rolled off your tongue, you marvelled at the rare peacefulness of the moment.

There was nowhere else to be, nothing else to do. Nothing, but feeling the low rumble of his voice as Bruce hummed.

“Mm?” he kept tracing letters onto the skin of your arm, leaving you to guess their meaning on your own.

Sometimes you were willing to bet he was repeating the confessions he just spoke of. The thought drew an involuntary smile onto your face.

“Play me something” you met his gaze with that same affectionate look in your eyes.

There was no need to specify the request - you knew Bruce would choose well. He only grinned at you in response and disentangled from your embrace to stand up and pick up the instrument. You watched his forearms flex, tendons dancing beneath the pale skin as Bruce placed the strap around his neck and bowed over the guitar. His eyes closed in concentration, but he was not tense. It was a far cry from how you found him over an hour before.

With a breath trapped in your chest, you awaited the first notes. When he began the rhythmic strumming, a fond chuckle escaped your lips. You had to admit Bruce was nothing, if not predictable. Humming the chorus alongside him, you met his questioning gaze. You smiled, mouthing the words that were no longer forbidden. Love you. Sweetheart.

“Something in the way, huh?” the laugh spilling through the gaps between the vowels.

“What? You did not specify” teasing edge you would have never even imagined becoming so accustomed to.

“I knew I didn’t have to,” and then, just to see him roll his eyes with that enamoured exasperation “Babe,”

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zealfruity · 3 months

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✨Evil artstyle check✨

I’ve got another one with an OC posted on my other account ( @zealsocemporium ).

Basically I’ve been seeing the opposite artstyle thing going around again and felt like doing it too! Drew Rex because it’s been a while since I did a proper drawing of him.

He looks silly here. Like a muppet. I love him. I might try doing this kind of style for some stuff purely because its fun and the characters always come out looking silly.

#art style #my art #tcw #tcw rex #clone wars #digital art #fanart

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november-rayne · 10 months

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Chapter Three: The Message

A/N: Being a God has its perks; strength, accelerated healing, stamina...

Word Count: 2200

Rating: Mature

Tags: Loki being a spoiled prince, implied smut, nothing too graphic

Chapter Index

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+ *Minors DNI*

Loki was famished by the time he had finished with the maid from the library. He had made her come three more times before he left her. He took her from behind in front of the fireplace. He had her on her back on the chaise. And the first time he took her, he lowered her onto himself, and she rode him hard while they were still on the sofa.

He forgot to ask for her name, but he made another mental note: ‘Housemaid, short, blonde: good kisser, eager to please, deft hands, comes easily.’

He walked swiftly through the palace with a broad smile, wholly sated but starving. He walked straight for his chambers, taking long strides. His library adventure had occupied most of the early evening, and he missed dinner in the main hall. Not that he cared much; while his parents were away on business, all the courtiers had been demanding too much of his attention, boring him with their tales of inferred affronts or trying to engage him in other political discussions.

“Brother!” Distracted by his daydreams, he almost ran into his brother, Thor, as he reached the top of the staircase. “I was looking for you at dinner.”

“I missed it,” he said, not slowing his pace.

“I do not dare guess why,” Thor observed the flush in his usually pale cheeks, the messy state of his usually kempt hair, and the disheveled look of his clothes. Not to mention the enormous smile pasted on his face. “Either you just won a fight, or you were dipping your wick somewhere.”

“You are too clever, Brother. I can keep no secret from you. I am just back from the training grounds.”

“Obviously.” Thor rolled his eyes at his brother’s weak attempt at deception. Loki’s promiscuous reputation was hardly a secret. Ever since he was a teenager, he had basked in the fleshly attention he received after growing into his looks. It was even rumored that he lost his virginity while in the company of two maidens from his history class.

He frequently seduced servants, nobles, and even commoners living in the capital city surrounding the palace. It was a power he loved wielding. He always made sure it was a win-win situation. He relished giving pleasure as much as he loved receiving it. He always used the proper spells to shield himself from getting a child on someone or catching an infection.

When Loki did court, it lasted only a short time. He found keeping company with the same person became tedious after a while. He usually broke things off before the other person got any ideas that it could be a long-term endeavor.

Thor, on the other hand, preferred to court his partners and only took them to bed once promises of commitment were exchanged.

“If you will excuse me now, Brother, I have worked up quite the appetite today and am desperate for a bath.”

“Of course. But if you could spare some time before breakfast, I would like to get your thoughts on the message from Mother.” Loki reached into his pocket, double-checking that he remembered the envelope.

“Yes. Yes. Nothing would make me happier.”

Thor’s eyebrows shot up, “You haven’t read it yet, have you?”

“Of course not. I told you I have had a hectic day—lots of meetings…and physical… combat training. I am ravenous. I will look it over once I have eaten, I promise.”

“It’s important.” Thor gave him a serious look.

“Of course. You have my word.”

“I will meet with you here before breakfast then. Rest well, Brother.” Thor left Loki at the double doors to his apartment.

Loki called for his chambermaid as soon as he entered his sitting room.

“Your Highness,” the maid called Sera responded with a deep curtesy.

“Draw my bath and lay out my robe. Send for my dinner, something hearty, and have it set up by the fire when I get out of the tub.”

“Right away, My Prince.” She hurried off to the bathroom that lay just beyond Loki’s bedroom.

He removed the message from his mother, still sealed with wax in its parchment envelope. He thought about opening it now but recalling his brother’s face when he asked about it; he decided to wait until he was fed and comfortable. He left it on his desk and sunk into his chair. The activities of the day played on repeat in his mind.

“Your bath is ready, Your Highness.”

Loki headed to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind him.

“Make sure those are cleaned and pressed,” he ordered unnecessarily as the chambermaid followed behind him, gathering the laundry as she went.

“Yes, My Prince.”

Loki sunk into the deep bathtub, submerging himself to wet his hair. Sera pulled a basket and a stool out of a nearby cabinet and settled down next to the tub. She selected the shampoo from the basket and began washing his hair. She used her nails to massage his scalp just the way he liked.

“Divine,” he whispered.

“Head back, please.”

He obliged as she rinsed his hair with a large pitcher filled with warm water and lavender essence. She gently wrung out the water from his shoulder-length tresses when all the suds were gone. Next, she took her time massaging the lavender conditioning oils into his scalp with the pads of her fingers.

She loved hearing the little sounds of pleasure the prince made while she was caring for him. It made her so proud of the job she did. She would do, and has done, anything the prince desired. She combed all the knots from his hair, loving how it felt like black silk under her fingers.

“May I join you in the bath tonight, Your Highness? I could scrub your back like last time.” She kept her voice low and quiet behind him.

“As wonderful as that sounds, I am afraid I will have to pass tonight.” As if on cue, Loki’s stomach growled loudly. “I will finish washing. You go and check on my dinner.”

“Yes, My Prince.” She sounded disappointed as she placed a stack of clean towels on the stool she just vacated. “You must be starving. I will make haste.”

Loki finished his bath; exiting the tub, he wrapped a towel around his waist. He took another towel and started patting his top half dry.

Looking in the mirror, he admired his “battle scars.” Light blue and purple mouth-sized bruises at the base of his neck, chest, and abdomen, and fingernail scratches on his back and buttocks. He gave himself a broad smile in the mirror.

‘Not bad for a day’s work,’ he thought to himself. Fortunately, as a God imbued with the magic of the Æsir, he had accelerated healing; soon there would be no trace of his lusty activities.

In his bedroom, he found his favorite robe lying across his bed. He put it on over his naked body, tying the sash loosely around his waist.

His dinner awaited him as he entered the front room of his chambers. He settled in at the little table beside the fireplace and ate his fill, enjoying every morsel. Clean and with a full belly, Loki was enjoying the warmth of the fire, almost ready to fall asleep in his chair as Sera came over to clean up.

Loki perked up slightly as he took in the view of the curve of her bum as she leaned over the table to clear it. “Thank you for your service, sweetling. You are the finest chambermaid I have ever had.” She followed his eyes as he ran his gaze traveled over her body.

She blushed as she stacked the dishes on the tray. “It is my pleasure to serve you, Your Highness.” She carried the tray to the table by the chamber’s main entrance and quickly returned to the prince’s side. She stared at his bare chest peeking out from his loose robe, heat rising in her body. “May I…will you be requiring-” Loki’s mouth cut her off. He kissed her deeply, wrapped one hand around her waist, and raised the other to massage her breast as he stood up from his chair.

“You have already served me so well tonight. Take the rest of the night off. I have work to do.” She looked stricken as he stepped away from her toward his desk. “And tomorrow morning as well. I think I still remember how to dress myself.” He picked up the message from his mother and eyed it warily.

“If you please, it would be my pleasure, My Prince.” She moved to his side again.

“Oh, of that, I am sure,” Loki said, chuckling, laying the envelope back on the desk. “I cannot have you getting too attached to me, sweetling. I will ruin you for all other men.”

Feeling emboldened, she untied the sash holding Loki’s robe closed. Her eyes drank in his beautiful, naked body. Her heart raced, and her skin felt like fire. She ran her hands down his chest, looking up at his ocean-blue eyes.

“Please?” she asked meekly.

“Mmmm….” He kissed her gently. “So bold.” He took her face into both of his hands. “I do have work to do.” He kissed her again. “But you do taste so sweet.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her body to his. “I have an early meeting with my brother, pet.” He gave her a deep kiss, pulling her hair ribbon, letting her hair fall from the knot on the top of her head like a chestnut waterfall down to her waist.

“He will be very cross with me if I am ill-prepared,” he kissed her again. He was untying her apron behind her back. “You should go sleep in your quarters tonight. I need my rest.” She pouted, her bottom lip jutting out, and looked up at Loki with mock sad eyes. He laughed and kissed her bottom lip before nipping it with his teeth.

“Let me warm your bed tonight, My Prince, and in the morning, I will wake you for your early meeting.” She raised her tiptoes so that her mouth was close to Loki’s ear, “I will wake you with my mouth. If it would please my Prince.” She ran her hand over his hip and cradled his length in her palm.

With that, the last bit of Loki’s resolve faltered. The message from his mother was all but forgotten as he lifted Sera from the floor, wrapping her legs around his waist. He carried her to his bedroom and threw her down on the bed.

Despite already having had copious amounts of sex that day, Loki obliged the chambermaid for hours more until she was happy and sated. She was amorous and eager, and he was delighted to please her. He was exhausted by the time she finally drifted off to sleep.

It was well after midnight when he slipped from the bed, pulling on his robe; he tried to make as little noise as possible as he shut the bedroom door behind him.

As much as he wanted to stay tangled up with the naked sleeping woman in his warm bed, he finally needed to read that message from his mother. He promised Thor, and Loki always kept his promises to his brother.

He carried the envelope to one of the large leather armchairs near the fireplace. With a wave of his hand, the fire roared back to life. Sinking in and getting comfortable, Loki took a deep breath and broke the wax seal. His eyes glided quickly over the paper covered in his mother’s elegant handwriting.

As he read, several emotions crossed his beautiful face: amusement, concern, horror, and finally, disbelief. He shook his head.

‘How? How could they do this to me? Mother knows my feelings. How could she think this is a good idea?’ As exhausted as he was a few minutes earlier, he made no move to return to his bed and the young beauty it held. Instead, he sat and stared into the fire, silently reeling from the news he had just received.

‘My dearest boys, your father and I continue our diplomatic tour of Asgard, hearing from the people and meeting with the Lords and Ladies of the realm.

We recently spent several weeks in the North. It is sparsely populated but extraordinarily rich in resources. Your father and I toured an emerald mine, visited the home of a local cattle farmer, and spent quite a bit of time with the Warden of the North, Lord Anderson and his family.

Which brings me to the main purpose of this letter. Your father was quite taken with their family’s story. Lord and Lady Anderson lost both of their sons and only male heirs in the battle of Svolder, leaving the sizeable demesne without an heir.

Your father, our King, has agreed to the betrothal of their daughter, Sigyn, to you, my sweet prince Loki. The betrothal contract has been signed and witnessed. You will inherit Smaragdberg on your wife’s behalf when Lord Anderson passes on to Valhalla. Until then, you and your bride will live at the palace and be tutored in Feudalism.

Your father wanted to wait to tell you when we returned, but I wanted you boys to hear it from me first. This is quite the announcement to have sprung on you in a letter. I am sorry to break the news to you in this way. Please forgive me.

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