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barleyo · 6 days

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Daddy's Girl.

Step Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: Don't like? Don't read! Either way, READ THE TAGS. I'm starting to get pretty weird on this blog, so expect more stuff like this! A girl has to feed her fetishes, so feel free to tag along with me and enjoy what my sick little mind thinks up. Thanks for reading!

Tags: stepcest, step-dad/step-daughter relationship, cream pie, daddy issues, use of "baby girl" and "daddy's girl," daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), swearing, infidelity, p in v, cream pie, unprotected sex, LARGE AGE GAP (legal), 2nd person POV

Word count: 2.1k

As far as your mother was concerned, your father was worth less than the sum of his parts. He was fleeting idea, a mere concept in both of your lives ever since you could remember. Sure, you remembered a few odd Christmases with a surplus of gifts, all tagged "from Daddy," and a few daddy-daughter dates here and there, but that wasn't enough to make up for his true absence.

It wasn't a surprise when your mom eventually left him, scooping you up with her. Just you and her, and the rare postcard that your sperm-donor decided to ship off once a year or so. It was good enough then when it was just you two finding your way in the world, but it went downhill when your mom found a new boy toy.

Leon.

He wasn't a bad guy, by any means. Wasn't pushy, didn't make you call him "dad" or try to impose his will onto you, but his presence made the absence of your real father that much more obvious. You tried to ignore him for the most part, letting your mom have her little relationship with him to tide her over.

But then they got married. Leon became a more permanent fixture. That was no bueno.

You toughened it out, being cordial with him until you finally hit that mark of independence: sweet, sweet 18! The big one-eight, your ticket to freedom!

Everything was planned out for your big day. Mom and Leon made a cake, presents were given, and all birthday wishes granted, except for one. What you really wanted, was for your dad to show up for just this one day, just this once, to have him and not just his money.

You could never get that lucky, though, and that thought was cemented in your head when you found yourself waiting for him outside of your house. The driveway was empty, not even your mom's car was out there, she still had to head off to work. The world couldn't pause for a birthday girl, it seemed.

Stepping back inside to the house, you slammed the door behind you, practically throwing yourself onto the leather couch in the living room. The tears started faster than you could contain them, and quite honestly, you didn't want to contain them. It was your party, damn it, and you would cry if you wanted to!

"You okay, kid? I heard the door-"

Fuck. Him.

Leon's heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs, leading to his place in front of you. "(Y/N), are you crying?"

You sucked back a breath of air, steadying yourself as much as you could before speaking.

"No, 'm not, just-- go, just leave me alone." You let your face drop into your hands, staining your sleeves with tears.

Leon, being just the right amount of pushy, took a steps next to you a placed his hand on your shoulder. "Can we talk about it? I mean, I probably know what it is, but we could- you could say whatever you need to say." His face cringed a bit at his own words, feeling like he was already fucking this up. "No judgement."

You kept your face covered but obliged, knowing that talking about it, even with Leon, would make you feel a little better.

"My dad isn't here. He's been promising for weeks that he'd show, but he isn't here."

"Oh."

Your step-dad bit his lip trying to figure out how to make you feel better. He knew you weren't exactly fond of him, but he felt a twinge of responsibility.

"Fuck 'em," Leon finally decided on. "He's a liar and you don't need him. So, fuck 'em. Why would you want a deadbeat to bring you down on your special day?"

"Because, he's my dad," you said, like it was the most obvious thing. He was right, of course, but the absence still hurt you.

"No dad would stand up a sweet girl like you on her birthday. You only turn 18 once. A real dad wouldn't miss a birthday this monumental for anything. What's he worth, if he can't keep to his word?"

"I guess nothing." You sat up straighter, trying to make yourself calm down. "D'ya think it's, like, my fault? Why doesn't he want to see me?"

He suddenly got really serious, making his grip on your shoulder firm.

"Not at all. You are a wonderful girl. Your mom thinks so, and so do I. You are brilliantly smart, kind, responsible, sweet, gorgeous-- you're perfect and if that scumbag can't see that, then he's beyond saving."

He loosened his grip, letting his hand fall down to your lap, a bit close to the crotch of your jeans. You didn't look down, trying to convince yourself it was an accident, but he didn't move his hand either.

His other hand came up to your face, holding your cheek and to your own surprise, you leaned into his hand. His big, calloused, confronting hand.

Fuck him.

Something snapped in you when he leaned in for a kiss. God, it was wrong, so wrong, but you were so conflicted. Is this what a father's love really felt like? Hell if you knew, this was close enough in your book.

"Hmph-! Leon..." You pulled away from the kiss, wiping at your mouth roughly to get rid of the salvia strings connecting the both of you. "This is wrong, this isn't okay, my mom-"

"Is not here."

He placed another kiss on your lips, this one chaste and sweet, so unlike the passionate one you shared before.

"Just you and me. I know your dad isn't here, but I am. Let me make up for him, baby." His whispers pricked goosebumps over your body, lighting a fire deep in you. "Let daddy love you. Can I show you?"

His big hand looked nearly comical resting against the small button of your jeans, pawing desperately at them. So, so, so wrong. So fucked up, so not okay, so....

"Yes," you said breathily. "Okay, I-I want you to show me. Just be careful please, 'cause.." you trailed off a bit, feeling the pop of your pants opening.

Leon yanked them down, tossing them away quickly. "Fuck, that's good," he said, pressing his tongue flatly on your mound through your panties.

The fabric slowly grew a wet patch that clung to you, getting sticky. He placed a soft kiss on your clothed clit, then rested his head on your soft thigh.

"Anybody ever touch you here?" he asked, running a finger over your pussy.

You softly shook your head, mumbling out a 'no.'

"Mm, more for daddy, yeah? Gonna make you feel so good," he said, slipping your panties to the slide. His mouth made quick work, tongue already gliding up and down on your clit.

Your face was already twisting up in pleasure, eyebrows knitting together tightly.

"That's cute," he blew cool air over your cunt, keeping his eyes on your face. "You like it? My mouth all over you like this?"

"Mhm, please- don't stop. I wanna feel it again."

You reached your hand out to hold his head, wanting to push it down before bringing your hand back nervously.

"That's right, push my head down if you want. 'M here to make you feel good, so you use me. Just a wet mouth for you today, sweet girl."

You nodded eagerly, running your hands through his blond hair and taking taking firm purchase of a section of it. Your hands greedily pushed his face into your cunt. The feeling of his nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue dug into your tight hole made you feel fuzzy inside.

Leon was so vulgar with his noises; he almost enjoyed it more than you were. Slurp after slurp came from his mouth, accompanied by a moan or two while he tried to get himself off by palming himself through his pants.

The sight of him was just as good as the feeling of him. You had never been taken care of so thoroughly. Leon was opening a whole new world to you, a world where you could be selfish and take, because your daddy would provide, no questions asked.

"Lemme try somethin', yeah, baby?"

He shook your hand off and spat directly on your clit, spreading the fat glob with his fingers. Tight, fast circles were traced over your bud, back and forth. It felt like hypnosis, the way he reeled your body in closer to an orgasm.

"Daddy, please, 'm gonna cum," you said, face flushing of all color. "Your mouth, want your mouth," you shot out quickly, already obsessed with the feeling of his hot mouth tonguing you down.

He obliged, of course. How could he turn his princess down? Leon's lips again wrapped around your clit, sucking on the bud like it gave him life.

You came soon after. You seized and convulsed and the feeling of his eyes taking you in made the waves of pleasure crash down that much harder over your body.

"If he knew what a sweet fucking pussy you had," Leon said, licking a final stripe over it, "he'd never wanna leave."

"Wha--?"

"I said," Leon pulled away from your pussy, lifting his head to your ear, "that even your dad would wanna be tongue deep in your sweet, tight cunt. But it's all mine, isn't it?"

The sound of his belt unbuckling made you wetter, if that was possible, but it also sent a sense of realization through you.

You had your pussy in your step dad's mouth. And you liked it. And now, you would let him fuck you. And you would love it.

"I know you're a virgin, but fuck, baby, you're so tight." His voice was grumbly and strained while he tried to push into you. "Maybe I need to eat you up a little more," he teased.

"No, I need you inside, wanna feel it now." You let yourself go completely. Here you were, whining like a brat while Leon's fat cock stretched you. The pain with sharp, but immediately worth it. He fit inside perfectly, easily hitting your sensitive spots with a few thrusts.

He hissed, feeling you clamp down on his length. "Shh, come on, gotta get used to it baby. Don't want me to cum too quick, do you?"

"Yes, I do," you whined, desperate to know for certain that you were making him feel good too.

Leon's laugh softly rang in your ears. "No, I wanna make it worth your time. Wish I could take you all night long," he muttered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

He swallowed all of your moans, slipping his tongue into your mouth while he rocked into you. He tried to find a rhythm, but he was too lost in pleasure to be neat about it.

He'd fuck you nice and orderly another day, but for now? He just wanted to feel you gush around him, and feel your cunt get sloppy while he took you.

Your breathless moans caught his attention. He found the angle that made you get oldest and stuck with it, lifting your hips up with his hands so he could piston into your g-spot.

"Oh my god, right there! That feels-- oh my god."

"I know, baby," he said, thumbs digging into your hipbones. "Feels good f'me too. You're so good for daddy."

Your heart, and cunt, pounded the more he spoke. You were close and you knew it, you just needed him to keep talking you through it. "I am?"

"Yes, baby, you're perfect. Daddy's perfect little princess, taking my cock so good." His cock twitched, so he clenched his jaw, refusing to cum before you did. "You know what good girls get to do?"

"Hmph?" Your face was red and hot, mouth hanging open while he continued to fuck into your spongey walls.

"They cum hard on daddy's cock. Can you do that for me? Cum all on me?" He traced his hand over your cheek, letting his thumb land on your bottom lip while he egged you on.

Your body had never reacted faster, immediately creaming on his length. Your hole milked him, each contraction gripping his length and sucking the cum right out of him.

Leon let a shaky breath out before pulling out of you, scooping the mixture of your cum in his fingers. He rubbed it between two fingers for a moment and popped it into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

You came down from your own high and looked over at him, feeling guilt pull at your chest.

"Leon."

"Hm?"

"What about mom? She's gonna freak if she ever finds out. Did we fuck up? What's gonna--"

"Hey," he said, shushing you with his finger over your lips. "She's not gonna find out and she doesn't need to know. I might be married to her, and I get why you're stressed, but what we have is different."

He pulled his finger off of your mouth and pressed a kiss to your forehead cheekily. "You're daddy's girl. That makes you special."

#barleyxnighteye #smutfic #x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #smut #tw: stepcest #tw stepcest #stepcest cw #dead dove do not eat #Stepdad! Leon Kennedy

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cupid-styles · 7 months

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aren't you hungry?

the vampy h blurb!!!!! yay!

in which y/n's never been chosen as a feeder before, but harry changes that and things get... messy.

word count: 2.8k

content warnings: vampire h, blood, smut (dirty talk, impact play, thigh riding, slight pain kink)

masterlist | talk to me

fall/halloween blurb masterlist

. . .

"One of our members has requested your presence."

Y/N's eyes widen slightly at the well-dressed man standing in front of her. He'd tapped her shoulder, pulling her from giggling with her friends on a break from the dance floor. She'd expected some guy trying to buy her and her friends drinks, or maybe a drunk girl who lost her own friends — truth is, she'd never expected to see one of them behind her.

She's only visited this club a couple of times and she wasn't chosen the first time. It was fine with her — she figured she wasn't their taste and she was alright with that knowledge, especially since the kid in her class who mentioned this mysterious spot told her to keep her expectations low. He'd mentioned that he'd only seen a few people get picked before, regardless of how pretty or handsome someone was.

She and her friends kept coming on occasion, though, mainly when they'd had busy weeks and needed somewhere fun to unwind. It was a little far from the college town they lived in, a 30 minute drive or so, and it was less likely to see anyone they knew from school. For that reason, Y/N felt more comfortable letting loose and taking on a persona she normally didn't have.

She felt sexier here. Hotter. More confident.

And there's a twinge of anxiety plucking at her stomach when she realizes that she has been chosen. Her friends are equally as surprised but with raised eyebrows that say you better tell us everything, they encourage her to follow the man out of the main area and up to the private section upstairs.

He doesn't say anything else — no other details are revealed about who wants to feed on her, instead just guiding her away from the crowded, sweaty room. They step into an elevator and she watches as he presses the only button on the panel, folding his hands neatly in front of him. When they arrive, she follows him down a hallway and finally, stops in front of a closed door. He knocks once and walks away.

With a fluttering heart and sweaty hands, Y/N swallows harshly as the door swings open, revealing a tall man with long, curly brown hair. He looks only a few years older than she is, though she knows the age difference likely teeters on one hundred.

"Hello," he greets curtly, stepping aside to let her in, "How are you?"

She mumbles out a "good" as she nervously brushes past him. She's not sure what she was expected, but it looks like any old hotel room, just a lot darker — there are blackout curtains and plushy bedding in a deep red hue folded onto a large mattress. There isn't a television or any mirrors (she wonders if that old myth about vampires is true, then), and it doesn't look like the man who's requested her has spent any time at all here. Everything looks completely pristine.

She hears the door click shut behind her and she turns around to take him in. He's beautiful, but she's heard that most of them are. His face is angular, his stature intimidating, but she supposes that's not out of the ordinary for his kind. It's the first time she's ever been alone with a vampire.

"I take it you know why you were asked up here."

She takes a shallow breath, suddenly self-conscious of her rapid heartbeat, knowing that he can probably hear it from a foot away.

She licks her dry lips and nods, "I think so."

He nods, thumbing at the top buttons on his silky shirt, "Can I answer any questions for you?"

She shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably. "You're... you want to drink my blood, right?"

"Yes," he says with a slight smirk, "Anything else?"

"Why me?"

He furrows his eyebrows, a look of confusion painting his face as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"I'm not sure I understand. You know what this club is for, I'd assume."

"I mean, kind of, I just heard about it in one of my classes," she replies with a shrug, "I've just been here a few times and was never chosen before and I was wondering... like, why tonight, I guess. I figured I wouldn't be picked after that first time."

He nods slowly. "Can I ask for your name?"

"Y/N."

"Y/N, I don't come here often. I don't fancy the thought of feeding on desperate humans in a sweaty club, especially if they're poisoning their bodies with alcohol and drugs and whatever else. And on the nights I do come, maybe once or twice a year, I've never asked for anyone."

She swallows at that, her pulse quickening as he leans back on his elbows, the expanse of his chest shimmering through the soft fabric of his shirt.

"But the second you arrived tonight... I could hear your heartbeat and smell how sweet your blood is," he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his fingertips, "I couldn't fathom the idea of letting you go without getting a taste."

Her heart is beating even faster in her chest now. Everything about this situation should be triggering her fight-or-flight response, but instead, she's entranced. She doesn't know if it's because he has some strange vampire powers over her and yet, even if that's the reason, she can't find it in her to care.

"I apologize if that makes you uncomfortable. I hope you know you're not expected to do anything — to give me anything — if you don't want to."

She shakes her head quickly, the sudden thought of not allowing him to pierce her skin her worst nightmare. "No, I... I just don't understand what's so special about me, I guess."

He shrugs. The quick turn to nonchalantness bothers her.

"It may not be anything that you do or don't do. A lot of it comes down to biology. But if I'm being completely honest... I spent the first hour or so watching you downstairs with your friends," he admits, making her face warm, "You're kind, very considerate and sweet. Gorgeous, of course. It just made me want to know more."

"And you're not just saying that to drink my blood?"

He chuckles. "No, Y/N. I'm not just saying that."

"What's your name, then?" She asks, sitting down next to him and crossing her legs, "Since you know all this stuff about me."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and laughs lightly. "Harry."

"Harry," she repeats, allowing the syllables to roll off her tongue. She can feel him watching her, his neck turned slightly to keep his gaze on her side profile. "And how long have you been a vampire?"

He contemplates her question, lulling his head to the side as he does some mental math. It's been awhile since anyone asked him any personal questions, especially because the people he does hang out with on occasion have been around just as long.

"I think I turned sometime in the early 1900s, though I'm not entirely sure. The first few years are a bit of a blur."

Her heart speeds again, and his smiles to himself when he hears the swift pitter patter pick up.

"How do you normally feed? Since you said you don't come here often."

"Vampires have different ways of eating, similar to how humans do," he replies easily, flexing his ring-clad hands out in front of him, "I tend to favor blood banks, but other vampires will feed from animals. And some just prefer this, or having consistent feeders in their rotation."

She nods her head and purses her lips before turning to him, a defiant look on her face.

"Okay, then. How do you go about feeding from me?"

Harry quirks an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden change of subject. She's more... flighty than he anticipated, but he likes that about her. He thinks.

"Generally... I can feed from anywhere, but the neck is one of the more... sensitive spots that humans enjoy," he murmurs, eyes flicking to the soft skin covering her throat, "Um, it'll hurt at first, when I puncture. But it's quickly replaced with a euphoric sensation. I should warn you, some humans can... orgasm while they're being fed from."

Her eyes widen, "Really? Has that ever happened with people you've bitten?"

"Yes," he nods, quickly blinking away images of her desperately rutting against his thigh as he sucks at her neck. "It depends on the person. It has nothing to do with me, but again, it's a very pleasurable feeling. That's why humans enjoy doing it."

She nods her head and swallows, trying her best to seem cavalier about the situation. In reality, she very much wasn't — it was all very out-of-character for her, but there was still something pulling her in and drawing her to Harry. Thinking about how she was moments away from offering her neck to him and potentially orgasming in front of him was... overwhelming and nerve-wracking, but... what? Intriguing? She wonders if this is scratching some sort of itch she has for a one night stand. She knows Harry is an immortal supernatural creature, but she's only human.

His deep voice breaks her out of her thinking.

"If that changes things for you, please tell me. I won't be upset."

"No. I want to do this," she suddenly decides, "Aren't you hungry?"

If she thinks she's attempting to be flippant, Harry takes the cake time and time again. He shrugs his shoulders and presses his lips together in a thin line.

"A little, but I can go without."

A stroke of bravery strums through her body. Harry had wanted her up here. He's the one that made this happen. He requested her.

She understands he's probably fibbing for her sake, and she can appreciate that. But if this was going to happen, he needed to be clear.

Y/N straightens her posture and flips her hair to the side, her neck bare from any jewelry or marks. He notices a few beauty marks smattered along her jaw and chest — he thinks that if he was breathing, the oxygen would've hitched in his throat.

"Do you need me?" she asks, trying to ignore the twinge of embarrassment she felt at attempting to seduce a vampire, "You had him bring me up here. You watched me. Do you need me?"

If he's stunned, he maintains his composure well. Instead, he clears his throat, running his tongue over his teeth, feeling where his fangs threaten to jut from his gums.

"It's a yes or no, Harry."

His resolve is quickly crumbling and it warms Y/N's body to know that she finally has the upper-hand. He thinks for a moment, but the selfish, primal side of him that's desperately craving the taste of her blood is stronger than the sensible part he typically relies on.

"Yes." he finally answers, breathing out harshly through his nose, "Yes, I need to taste you."

"Do it, then."

When he receives her consent, everything moves lightning fast, making her head spin. Before she even realizes that he's touching her, she's being pulled into his lap, his strong arms wrapping her thighs around his waist. She gasps and he shushes her, the small expression of dominance making her core flutter.

"You're going to get a little floaty," Harry advises softly, ducking his nose into the crook of her neck. He inhales, using his last few moments of consciousness to counsel her through it. It makes her lips part but he squeezes her hip, bringing her back. "It'll be hard for you to know if it's too much or you need me to stop, and I promise to show as much self-control as I can."

"O-okay," she mumbles, tilting her head back slightly. He scowls into her neck, his other hand forming a tight fist in his lap.

"If you need me to stop, squeeze me or hit me or do something. Got it?"

She nods, already feeling entirely overwhelmed by his entire being. It's all uphill, she realizes when he noses deeper into her skin, and before she has the chance to process it's happening, he does it — two sharp punctures into her throat, a sting of pain making her gasp followed by the most intense, full-body ecstasy she's ever felt.

She's immediately floating on clouds of pleasure, whimpers falling from her lips as he sucks at her messily. Her eyes are shut but if they weren't, she doesn't even think she'd be disgusted by her blood trailing down his chin. Everything is lovely, shades of reds and pinks stroking her vision as she squirms in his arms, holding him impossibly closer as he drinks and drinks and drinks.

It all ends too quickly, she feels, but the cloudy sensation prevents her from realizing he'd been drinking from her far longer than he would've liked. When he pops off, licking at the wound to quickly repair it, she's still drifting with hazy eyes, helplessly rubbing her core against his thigh.

"Are y'alright?" he slurs, using the silky sleeve of his blouse to clean off his mouth. She bats her eyes open and nods slowly, unaware of the arousal steadily leaking from her. He can smell it, and it makes him swallow harshly.

"Why'd you stop?" she asks.

"Don't wanna hurt you, angel."

She pouts, wiggling in his lap. "I didn't cum. I would've if you kept going."

He's heard of this before — he knows humans can feel painfully horny after getting bitten, too, but it's never actually happened to him. When he's heard his mates talking about how they just had to get their feeder off after sucking at their necks, he always assumed it was some stupid way to brag about getting laid.

But now he believes them, because Y/N looks desperate with her moony eyes and sodden panties. He can feel her warmth through them and he grits his teeth, wanting nothing more than to keep biting at her skin, even if he knows he can't.

She doesn't say another word before she's grinding her hips against his, riding the thick of his thigh and pressing her clit into it. She gasps from the friction and it makes him feel insane.

"You're rutting against me like you're a puppy in heat," he mutters, steadying her hips with his hands, "Do you really need to cum that bad?"

She nods quickly, moaning when he stops her from moving. "Please. Feels so good, I-I need it."

"Can fuckin' smell you dripping down your thighs," he says, moving her dress up her legs and plucking the width of her panties to the side to reveal her swollen pussy. He groans at the sight, using his thumb to teasingly stroke her sensitive skin. "Go on, then. Make yourself cum. Show me."

It's somewhat humiliating to have him watch her get herself off, but she's not in a mindset where embarrassment exists, so she does as he says. The slick leaking from her pussy makes a mess on his trousers but he doesn't care. How could he, when he gets to watch this beautiful girl chase an orgasm?

"There you go," Harry encourages, separating her pussy lips to expose her clit. He thumbs at it, eliciting a load moan to fall from her mouth. "Did I find your sweet little button, baby? Is this what you need to cum?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, panting desperately. The coil in her tummy is getting tighter, threatening to explode as he presses small circles into the swollen bundle of nerves. It's so good — she's never gotten off so quickly before, her eyes misting at the overwhelming bouts of pleasure funneling through her bloodstream.

"Show me how pretty you look when you cum," he demands, winding his other hand behind their bodies. He grabs at her ass, giving one cheek a full squeeze before smacking it harshly, the slapping sound echoing through the room. She moans loudly and he smirks, doing it again. "Does my little slut have a pain kink?"

She nods helplessly, broken whimpers falling from her lips. She can barely even speak from the all-encompassing bliss.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Harry mutters, switching to her other ass cheek to slap that one, "Getting off on some stranger biting at your neck, sucking your blood. Such a naughty little puppy, hm?"

She squeezes her eyes closed and he growls, shaking his head as he lifts his hand, smacking her cheek and roughly grabbing her cheeks, smushing them together. "Eyes on me, slut. Keep them open while you cum."

It's the final bit of roughness that does her in; her pussy fluttering and contracting around gushes of arousal that seep from her hole and onto the fabric of his pants. He groans out as he watches her, never ceasing the movements on her clit. She's drooling down her chin when her orgasm finally subsides and he smiles, patting her cheek lightly.

"I'm gonna keep you, puppy," he murmurs, nosing at her jaw before pressing a soft kiss to the skin. She nods, panting loudly. "Yeah. You're mine now."

#writing #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #one direction

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juuuulez · 9 months

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📰 | part two: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour!Reader, female reader, father-figure Negan, enemies to lovers, forbidden romance, no use of (y/n) because immersion.

summary: During your first visit to Alexandria, when Carl misfires a gun, you’re instructed to “babysit” him. This does not go very well.

previous | next

I’m glad everyone liked the first part!! This one is definitely more juicy. Kids being kids. Writing the next part now, let me know if you have any particular requests!

Also (finally) titled!! Drawing heavily on Romeo and Juliet, except… more spiteful at the beginning.

A few days later, and you’re back.

The town of Alexandria is actually quite nice, when you aren’t being cooped up in a cell.

Your fellow Saviours seem to think so too, exploring the place, taking supplies they deem useful for the Sanctuary. After all, there’s mouths to feed, therefore you’ve stopped feeling bad for all these communities you bleed dry.

Well, you felt a little bad last night.

The lineup was rough, it always is. You hadn’t seen the brunt of it, instead sitting safe in the RV where Negan had all but interrogated you regarding your time locked up; coming from a place of concern for your well-being. But you stepped out just as dawn was beginning to hit, and saw the aftermath.

It was just for a few seconds, to retrieve a weapon from Dwight, but you felt a twinge of guilt as Negan taunted that poor boy.

At least he wasn’t wearing the stupid hat anymore.

Whatever, it didn’t matter. At least that’s what you told yourself. Guilt had no place in the apocalypse, especially not for the Saviours, a group of well earned apex predators in this bleak world.

That’s how you saw it.

You oversee the work of your people whilst Negan is talking with Rick. Everybody respects you.. or maybe everybody is scared of you. Scared of your father. Either way, it works.

You’re comfortable as a leader. Somebody who can give orders without hesitation. At the start, there was resistance. Who wanted to be ordered around by a teenage girl? But eventually everything fell into place, and people realised that you were a central part to this operation.

Then the sound of a gunshot rings through the air, putting everybody on edge. Weapons suddenly unholstered, dropping whatever menial task they were completing.

You command them to stand down with a wave of the hand, going to investigate yourself.

Fortunately enough, the situation has already been handled.

Or mostly handled.

“Just who I wanted to see.” Negan says with his usual prowess, however it’s dimmed by an underlying irritation. He brings you further into the room with a gloved hand on your shoulder.

He positions you there like a prize, something valuable. Or maybe a dangerous weapon. A constant show of ‘look at what’s mine, look at what she can do.’ You quite like that.

“Now, it appears that young Grimes is too trigger-happy for his own good,” Negan continues, to which you finally notice Carl standing in the middle of the room, “So why don’t you babysit him for me, darling?”

The boy is practically seething. That same expression you’d seen at the lineup, pure anger and rebellion.

You could feel yourself beginning to smile.

“Of course,” You agree, a grin spreading across your lips, “I’d appreciate a tour, to see if anything here interests me.”

There’s no reply. Carl glares at you, then shoots a pleading look at his father, but to no avail. Rick nods his head in the direction of the door, and you feel like you’ve just won the lottery. This was going to be good.

Now, you didn’t enjoy toying with peoples emotions, per-say. But getting them all riled up sure was fun.

And a teenage boy? This was like a gift from above.

Grown men grew tired of your commanding nature, they’d get violent, speak out of line. It was a dangerous game, one that you loved. Like a cat and mouse, or Icarus flying too close to the sun.

A teenage boy was much more in your ballpark.

“You play sports?” You ask Carl, who is walking a few paces behind you, begrudgingly following despite the fact he was meant to be showing you around. But you didn’t mind.

He doesn’t answer.

You turn to face him, shooting him a backwards glare of what the hell is your problem. “What, you took a vow of silence, or something?” It’s snarky, immature, prodding the bear.

But it works.

“No, I don’t play sports.” Carl answers reluctantly, his tone flat and unamused. It’s becoming more and more evident that when you’re in power like this, in control, you can be a nightmare.

You don’t bother to suppress your grin of satisfaction, turning back away from him, “Yeah, didn’t think so, stringbean. Bet I’ve got more muscle mass than you.”

This must do something, as suddenly Carl has closed the few paces between you, and is blocking your path from continuing. He’s in your face, closer than comfortable, but you love it.

“What the hell’s your problem?” He asks, clearly angry at your snide little comments. That righteous attitude is back. “You can’t come in here, and tell everybody what to do. We’re gonna fight back, and when we do, you’ll be sorry.”

You give him a firm shove, letting Carl stumble a few feet back, “Yeah, how’d that go for you back there, huh? Aim much?”

It’s a low blow, you know that, which is why it feels so goddamn good.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt him.

“Didn’t shoot me at the satellite station, either. I’m starting to think you’re more harmless than you’re letting on.”

“I’m not exactly in the interest of murdering children,” Carl retorts angrily, “What are you, twelve?”

“I’m seventeen!” You yell back at him, walking swiftly past the boy, but making sure to harshly bump your shoulders together. “Now show me your armoury. You’ve got something of mine.”

You’re walking too quickly for Carl to shoot back a comment, and he needs to awkwardly skip in order to catch up. This time he takes a few strides forward, making the effort to walk just fast enough to stay in front of you.

He wants to be in charge.

Luckily, you love to be petty.

As the pair of you reach the armoury, you swiftly side-step Carl, entering the room first, much to his dismay. You’re eyes are scanning the shelves, rows and rows of guns and weaponry, with one thing in mind. The bat.

“Too bad we’re confiscating all your guns, this is quite the collection,” You comment, finding a supply sheet to glance over, “Good job on that one, by the way. Aren’t you helpful?”

Carl essentially ignores your sarcasm, speaking from the other side of the room, “Looking for something?”

You turn, a momentary flash of confusion on your face, until you realise that he’s got it. The metal bat clutched in one hand, held up tauntingly. When you take a step forward to retrieve it, he only takes a step back.

“That’s not funny.” You say, a sense of agitation in your tone, that dominant and teasing persona gone in an instant.

It only causes Carl to grin, taking pleasure in this momentary inch of power he’s gained.

“You even know how to play baseball?” He asks, switching the bat into his dominant hand, pretending to slowly swing it.

“I do, actually,” You snap, reaching out to finally grasp the metal bat, taking it from his grip unceremoniously, “Wanna see? I can use your skull as the ball.”

This works to shut him up, judging by how Carl’s eyes narrow into a glare, but he doesn’t dare to say anything. You take this as a victory, once again knocking shoulders as you leave the small space, not bothering to shut the door behind you.

You’re not even a few meters down the street before there are footsteps again, Carl still following you, despite wanting otherwise. It makes that malicious grin to return.

“Aren’t you obedient?” You quip, not even bothering to look back at him as you speak, as if he isn’t worth the time. It’s a power trip, one you’re addicted to, one Carl is unknowingly feeding into. Or, maybe he does know, but can’t do anything about it.

Carl scoffs, “Coming from you. Do you always do everything Negan tells you to?”

It’s smart, getting you to roll your eyes in displeasure, that metal bat swinging by your side as you walk. “It’s called being a good soldier, like you would understand.”

“Yeah? Soldier, or pet?” He continues, and you can basically hear the grin in his voice.

The fuck does he know?

You finally spin around, grip tightening ever so slightly on the bat. Control is slowly slipping through your fingers, this stupid back and forth game beginning to get on your nerves, despite being the instigator.

“You wanna talk about pet?” You spit, closing in on his personal space, “Rick tells you to murder twenty people, and you do it? That’s called being a little bitch, okay, daddy’s boy?”

This works, as Carl’s face twists into a look of anger, his fists clenching at his sides.

But you continue, “This stupid group has had this coming for a long time. There’s no such thing as being the good guys, you’re just another bunch of stupid pricks, who need to be put in their place.”

It snaps something inside of Carl, because suddenly he’s giving you a harsh shove, where you stumble a few feet backwards. You mirror his childish temper, throwing your body at him with equal force, where the two of you awkwardly wrestle in the middle of the street.

You attempt to gain leverage, steeling your feet into the ground, bending your knees. Then, out of nowhere, you’re raising your arm with the bat, ready to try and dislocate his shoulder, or something. Anything. Just to show that you aren’t weak.

But before you can swing, there’s resistance, and you snap out of this little squabble to realise that somebody else is holding your bat.

“The hell are you doin’, girl?”

Negan swiftly lifts the bat from your grip, holding it at an arms length. You let go of Carl, whipping around to glare at the older man.

“He’s being a total jagoff!” You shout, twisting to see a similar look of discontent on Carl’s face, like he’s itching to leap back into your little fight.

It’s no use, because then Negan is holding your shoulder, giving you a gentle push in the opposite direction, “Truck, now. We’re making our departure.”

And you listen, despite everything telling you to continue. To prove yourself, maintain that power.

To make matters worse, Carl has taken this experience as some sort of mental victory, yelling out from the footpath, “Daddy’s girl!”

You can only turn, angrily giving him the finger as you storm off towards the gates, but it acts as fuel to the fire. Getting sick of that stupid expression, you turn back away, footsteps quickening in an attempt to seperate yourself from the ever so slightly humiliating experience.

Next time you’ll get him.

#twd x reader #the walking dead x reader #negan smith #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x you #twd x you #negan smith x reader

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kometqh · 1 year

Text

Return pt.2

╰┈➤ Ethan Landry x Female Reader

╰┈➤ Warnings: mentions of murder, blood, cursing, breakup, angst turned to fluff, ghostface! au, not explicitly following the events of the movie (Scream 6), alcohol, mean and sad ethan :(

╰┈➤ Summary: Ethan has to break up with Y/n, but regrets it instantly. Why? Because to him, she's the love of his life.

╰┈➤ Word count: 3,609k

╰┈➤ Part one

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

He'd done this before; same thing over and over. One victim after another. Something in him twisted and churned at the stranger's screams, their begging, their cries, but a more cruel, a more violent part of Ethan supressed that twinge of guilt. It's not like he could do anything anyway – his dad would skin him, and his sister would take it upon herself to make his life more miserable.

"Please no! Stop I beg you." A voice screeched in his ear, begging for mercy, bloodied hands grasping his own. They were in hysterics, using all their strength against him but to no avail. His mind was elsewhere, the screams becoming white noise as he continued to drive the knife up. Agonisingly slow, too. He could feel the skin cut beneath his fingers, the blade never stopping. "I don't want to die..."

Their voice became all but a whisper, their hands losing the strength they had just a moment ago. He chuckled quietly, before abruptly pulling the knife out, his chuckling turning into a full-blown laughter as they screamed, body twitching against the wall behind them.

"I'll make it quick buttercup, yeah? Would you like that?" He whispered into their ear, holding the knife too close to their neck for comfort. He could feel them tremble, even in their half-passed out state, their fear too overwhelming. A slight nod followed shortly after his words, and he tutted in disapproval, moving away to take in the sight, his work.

"Please- if you're going to kill me, do it quick!" They exclaimed.

"So much demand from someone in your position..." He wasn't impressed, nor was he content. He didn't like being told what to do unless it was coming from Y/n. Speaking of which, he looked around the room for something. A clock.

"Shit."

His eyes caught sight of the moving handle, it was coming close to 8pm, in 15 minutes he was supposed to meet Chad.

"Look buttercup, I would love to drag this out, but I'm running low on time-" He muttered, more to himself really, whilst flipping the blade in his gloved hand, the sound of his footsteps bouncing off the walls as he stomped towards his victim – a fellow student – plunging the knife into their chest repeatedly, choked stutters and gagging resonating within the room, followed by pure silence just a few short moments after.

"Fuck."

He wiped his knife clean on their clothes, turning to a window. His bag was there waiting for him, ready with his awfully stupid costume that Chad would force him to wear later on.

He heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head, muttering curse words under his nose as he awkwardly exited through the window and onto a rusty staircase.

Taking his mask off, Ethan inhaled a deep breath of air, shoving the damned thing back into his bag and instead placing on the wretched cardboard cut-out.

What even was it? He had no idea.

Down below, his bicycle was waiting for him, luckily it hadn't been stolen by some drunkard. Everyone seemed to be drunk and gone by this time, celebrating Halloween.

His feet moved quickly, the tyres spinning aggressively as he swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding a car. "Watch where you're driving dickhead!" He shouted, flipping the driver off in a fit of rage. After a couple of minutes, he could see heaps of students cluttering the streets, all dressed in silly, sexy or actually well-done costumes.

Some hollered at him as he hurried past, others swore as he swerved, his eyes finally settling on the half-naked figure of Chad, sported in some shorts and a cowboy hat, waiting outside their shared dorm building.

"Ethan what the fuck?!" Chad shouted, prolonging the 'fuck', flailing his arms in the air as he approached the teen, "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago! Where were you?" He continued, his arm wrapping around Ethan's neck as the boy put his bike away.

"Sorry Chad, I was in the - uhm, library?" Ethan said slowly, though it sounded more like a question rather than a statement. It wasn't questioned by Chad though, who seemed like he already had a few too many drinks for the hour it was. He was already swaying as he walked alongside Ethan, tripping over his own feet - earning a few giggles from passing ladies - winking and blowing kisses, flashing his pearly-white teeth in a boxy grin.

In all honesty, Ethan didn't expect to get away with his lie so easily, but Chad was such a frat boy he couldn't keep his hands off alcohol until they got to the party. He let out a relieved sigh as he heard music blasting out of a specific home - the 'go to' for everyone.

There wasn't a single week without at least one party, and that added onto the ease Ethan felt any time he had to go and slash someone up.

Because nobody would even notice he was gone. Not even the people that called themselves his 'friends'.

Okay - that wasn't the whole truth. There was one person that truly did care for him. A small smile tugged at his lips as he thought of her - her beautiful, soft and shiny hair, that smile that made her look like an angel sent by God himself - no, not even that, she is a literal Goddess - he thought, those little crinkles under her eyes as she smiled, the few tiniest freckles scattered across her cheeks. The way she would always lead him to the dance floor, enticing him, bringing a smile of his own to his face. His heart pounded, no, it clawed at his chest whenever she was around. She was his whole world, and she held his heart in her grasp. He was at her mercy.

But their relationship wouldn't last.

As much as Ethan loved Y/n, he would eventually be forced to kill her. She was heavily associated with the 'Core Four', as Chad liked to call it, being present at the Woodsboro event. She was there when his brother was brutally slayed by none other than Sam Carpenter.

A string of curse words fought to escape his mouth, but he fought against it as Chad pulled at his bicep, leading him away to a group of dancing girls - who in his mind - were the most awkward dancers possible.

"Ladies, meet my bro Ethan." Chad introduced, slinging one arm around Ethan's shoulder and the other around a blonde girl's waist, "Ethan, these are my classmates. They're all gorgeous aren't they?"

Ethan grinned at the group, doing his utmost best to look sweet, innocent and convincing. Chad wasn't aware of his current relationship status, and that was okay. Neither Ethan nor Y/n were bothered enough to tell anyone; they'd figure it out on their own.

"Hey there, nice to meet you guys!" He shouted over the music, lightly nodding in greeting as his cardboard helmet slid down and blocked his vision. He was about to move it out of the way, but a smaller hand did the job for him. He looked to his side, and was met with a big cheeky grin. The one he adored.

"Y/n? It's good to see you!" Chad erupted, arms raising high as he embraced her in a suffocating hug. Ethan's heart twitched, his stomach twisted with a tinge of jealousy. He did not like the sight of Chad acting all touchy with his girl - did he need to do so?

The answer was a simple no.

Y/n's hands awkwardly patted Chad's back, her eyes nervously moving from the other girls to Ethan's, though his seemed to have a darker look in them - he wasn't happy, "Alright Chad I think that's enough." She said quickly, clearing her throat whilst backing away from the taller male, and joining Ethan at his side.

She turned to Ethan, her gaze meeting his lovingly, "Hello stranger."

"Hey there, fancy seeing you here." Ethan said, clearly pleased as he bit his lip lightly, his hand itching to reach out for her own, and it would have if it wasn't for another body crashing into Y/n's back, arms slinging over her shoulders as lips entered Ethan's vision, a sloppy wet kiss was planted on Y/n's face.

"Mindy?! Ewww your breath stinks!" Y/n exclaimed exaggeratedly, fanning the space before her face as she moved her head away. Mindy chuckled at that, attempting to gift her with another kiss whilst fluttering her eyelashes and puckering her lips in, what she thought was, a seductive manner, "Oh come on! My kisses can't be that bad!"

Ethan looked to her, a questioning eyebrow raised, "Are you sure?" He scratched the back of his head, purposefully looked around the room to imply Mindy was, in fact, a bad kisser. Though he couldn't know really. The girl in question smacked the back of his head, a nasty snarl gracing her features, rolling her eyes in the process, "Thanks Ethan. At least I can pull the ladies, unlike someone..." A couple of 'oohs' and 'ahhh's' left the small group, and Ethan could almost feel the sting - only he didn't, because in his mind he did pull the best girl possible.

And she was standing at his side, stifling a couple of giggles.

"Come on Y/n, let's get some drinks." Mindy said, taking a hold of Y/n's hand as she lead her away.

Ethan shook his head and chuckled, sending a slight wave at Y/n, who had turned back to say something, but was far too gone to be heard. He reached into his pocket, fished out his phone, and was greeted with the sight of two missed calls from his sister - Quinn. He sighed heavily and excused himself from the group, making his way outside as he attempted to ring her back.

The phone rang for a long while, and Ethan was growing agitated the longer it took.

"Ethan? Why didn't you answer?" Quinn's annoyed voice rang through Ethan's ear.

Clicking his tongue, he retorted, "I told you I will be busy. I'm at a party, why are you calling me?"

"You need to break up with that bitch. Plans have changed." Her tone was cold, and Ethan let out a scoff at the insult. How dare she insult the one girl he cared about?

"Me and dad decided to let her live," She took a pause, awaiting any sort of reaction from her brother, but was greeted with pue silence as he anticipated her words, "If you break up with her, we won't kill her. We will only go after Sam, Tara, Chad and Mindy. Though I can't promise you that she won't be injured during the process."

"And if I don't? Maybe she can still be an asset." He argued, directing his attention at a stray rock on the side of the pavement, kicking it, "Then I will personally ensure she is gone. We need you to stay focused, Ethan." Quinn's voice sounded harsh, and it sent a chill down his spine, his eyes widening in horror. He never believed her threats were real; up until now. But she was giving him a choice.

"Ethan? Did you hear me?"

He took a moment to say anything, his attention shifting to how rapidly his heart was beating, how he suddenly felt so warm and self-aware, he felt as though he could feel every sensation on his body - from that miniscule itch on his thigh to the way his hair began to stick to his forehead unbrearingly.

"You'll let her live? If I break up with her?" He asked, swallowing down the invisible lump that had formed in his throat. He's never felt this way. What was it? Anxiety? Fear? Over the phone he could hear a male voice call for Quinn, and he visibly cringed, "I am very serious Eth. You think I wouldn't be up for the task?" She questioned, taking a puff of air, "Dad's getting impatient, and I'm being kind by giving you a choice. So act fast."

And with that, she hung up the phone.

His arm fell limp, and the blood pumping through his veins deafened him. His thoughts raced one hundred miles per hour, and yet did not come up with a single answer or solution to his predicament.

His sister, his own flesh and blood, was threatening what he deemed the 'love of his life', but was giving him the chance to save her life? He definitely needed a moment to think that one over.

A few minutes went by, the music coming from within the house never stopped. It worked as background noise as he pondered, talking under his breath about all the possibilities and pacing around, clearly anxious. Could he get out of this one? Was breaking up with Y/n really the ultimate choice?

He felt like falling in through the earth, down into its very core so that he did not have to make such a choice. He wasn't stupid though - he knew if he suddenly disappeared, that Quinn wouldn't hesitate for even a second - and Y/n's life would be in grave danger.

He couldn't let her do that. If anything, he would break up with Y/n, break her heart and have it crumble to pieces just to ensure her safety.

"What's got your pants in a twist cupcake?" A soft voice asked behind him, at first he was slightly startled, but then realised who it was. His damnation, "Y/n? I thought you were busy partying?" He exclaimed, hand gripping his chest as a nervous, toothy grin creeped up his cheeks.

The girl in front of him swayed a little, hands interlocked behind her back as she looked up, "Well I was, but you were gone for so long I started to think you snuck off."

He chuckled, shaking his head in denial.

"No, I wouldn't of left you here, alone." He said quietly, looking straight into her eyes cutely, "Chad would do anything for a chance with a girl as pretty as you." Ethan continued, now shuffling closer and closer, until their torso's were just a mere inch away from touching - so close he could see that dusty pink colour decorate her cheeks. That really did do a number on him.

"Well, luckily for you, Chad isn't my type," A small smile tugged at her soft lips, and she fought hard to contain it as she spoke, moving her hand to trail her fingers down his chest, keeping her gaze locked on it, "My type are sweet, cute, nerdy boys, with adorable brown puppy eyes and soft curly hair. Specifically, brunettes." She shifted her gaze, now looking into his wide eyes, the street lights reflecting in her pupils.

That light dusty pink colour from earlier? It now turned into a full-blown crimson blush paired with a wide smile.

"Are you embarrassed?"

"Why do you ask?" She looked at him once more, chewing lightly on her bottom lip, her blush intensifying further as she had indeed been called out.

"You're blushing. So much. It's quite cute actually." Ethan teased, his hand slowly moving to grip hers, sliding down to interlock their fingers together, "I think we should get out of here." At that, his heart picked up the pace, and nervosity took over him. Should he do it now? Maybe that'll be for the best.

His mind rushed as Y/n pulled him along, into the crowded streets and through dark alleys. Their breaths matching in pace and heartbeats matching in rhythms, their hands interlocked and feet moving synchronically.

Cars honked at them, street lights flickered and light rain pattered down, drowning out anything but each other's presence. Ethan kept trying to think of the right things to say, but her presence overwhelmed him, tugging painfully at his heartstrings. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving her. But he had to, for her safety. And so, his mind made the unconscious choice to let her go.

Even if it hurt.

It would be like acting, he told himself. His ears could barely process the words she was saying, the blood pumping through his head deafening him. He was getting anxious and fidgety.

His footsteps came to a slow stop in an alley, his hand pulling her backwards. Her breath hitched, and she gazed lovingly into his eyes, but he could see the growing worry. How am I going to do this? He restrained a smile, and blinked away the tears that threatened to gather in his eyes, not looking at her, but rather off to the side.

"Eth? What is it?" She asked worriedly. He could hear her laboured breathing, and gulped down the lump that formed in his throat.

"I don't know if this is a good idea..." Ethan's eyes met hers, his heart beating loud against his ribcage. He fought hard against his urges to grab her hand from his shoulder, place a gentle kiss on it before embracing her and muttering sweet nothings and reassurances into her ear, that she shouldn't worry and it didn't matter.

"You know what I mean," He continued, taking a deep breath, maintaining eye contact, "Us. This isn't working out."

He shook his head, seamlessly trying to rid his head of those thoughts, but to no avail. His heart panged with guilt at the sigh she let out, "Why are you doing this?"

"We both know this isn't working. It'll only end in us both getting hurt," He paused, taking a deep breath, an attempt to calm his racing heart before he blurted out, "I don't love you."

He put on a stoic face, letting go of her hand. Putting much needed distance between them. If he didn't, this simple task would become much harder.

"W-what do you mean? Just two days ago you were on about how you can't stand being away from me! What happened? What changed your mind?" A light smirk tugged at his lips, his nerves taking over every cell in his body - he was scared, terrified. That smirk was quickly wiped off as he saw the pain in her eyes - the one thing he never thought he'd be the cause of.

"Why are you doing this Eth?"

"I have to. It's best if we stop whatever this is."

"How do you know? Are you really thinking about what's best for me?" At that, his anger took over.

He was doing all this just to protect her. He was being selfless, and all that she was doing was making his life more difficult. He hated (loved) how she questioned his choices, never went down without a fight. His vein was visible on the side of his temple, and his teeth grinded on each other.

"Stop making this so difficult! I am doing what is best for me!" He shouted, breathing heavily, feeling his face became hot to the touch, he pointed to himself, but stuttered his words out as his hand almost slapped hers, "I-I don't give a fuck about what you want! Okay? This is over, we are over." Upon saying so, another lump formed in his throat. He wanted to take his words back so so bad. But how could he?

She nodded her head at him, and pushed past him, bumping shoulders. His eyes caught sight of the first few tears, and his heart shred into bits.

"Y/n! Wait!" He shouted after her, following in her footsteps, but she ignored him as though he didn't exist, "Come back!" With that, she entered the crowded streets and disappeared, from both his sight and his life.

"No no no. What the fuck do I do? What the fuck did I do?!" He questioned himself, one hand gripping and tugging harshly at his hair, the other dragging over his face, and he wished this was all some sort of a sick dream.

He couldn't believe he just did that - abandoned the love of his life and watched her walk away. It's for the best. He shook his head, slapping himself lightly before rushing into the crowds, in hopes of catching up to her.

'She must have gone back to the party, right?' He thought, looking ahead into the crowd. Hoping to catch up. His legs carried him, they ran, and his mind pleaded whatever God was above them, whatever fate chose this. The house party wasn't too far, as the pair hadn't gotten far before he made his declaration. Within 15 minutes he was there, his height bringing an advantage to his speed. He pushed through and into the house, looking around in a panic.

"Where is she?"

Sweaty bodies and spilling drinks blocked the path, hands raised in the air and swaying to the sound of music. Ethan received a couple of (accidental) slaps to the face, which helped sober him up a little from his panicked state. He had reached the kitchen, an island decorated with red solo cups and empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol, stood in the middle. And on the other side of it was Y/n, busy talking to Tara and Chad, her lips trembling and hands shakily bringing an alcohol-filled cup up.

His heart broke into a million pieces, just at the sight of what he had caused. Was begging her for her forgiveness now a bad idea? Probably. He listened to his better judgement, swallowing the lump in his throat harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. His hand wiped the forming tears away and he walked away, breaths heavy and trembling as his heart shook. He couldn't sabotage her safety - one which should have been guaranteed the moment those words left Quinn's lips. Though, his sister was renowned for being an immensely good liar - only that part seemed to escape his mind.

I just wanted to say a quick thank you, I am so grateful for anyone who has read Return, I'm thankful that you all enjoyed it and I really hope Before You is up to your guys expectations <3 For those who have read the pre-edited version, this new one has a few minor but important changes. Thank you for whoever reads this <3 - kometqh

Tags: @netey6m

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #jack champion x reader #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry fluff #fluff #angst #ethan landry angst #scream six #horror #gore #ghostface #Halloween #scream 2023 #scream imagine #scream franchise #scream movies

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dragon-kazansky · 2 months

Text

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Morpheus has had time to adjust to life after his imprisonment. Reunited with his friend, and of course his wife, he focused on his kingdom. However, a new element comes into play. A Vortex. Rose may just be what he needs to find his missing residents.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Long chapter ahead! This is the final chapter before the epilogue!

Chapter Ten - Blood and water

☆☆☆

You make your way to the throne room, head held high. You were determined to make Morpheus see reason. You were going to force him to accept help. You were also going to do all you could to stop him from hurting anyone else.

As you approached the doors to the throne room, you came across Mervyn. He bows his head to you as you join his side.

"Where are you off to?" You ask him.

"Im looking for Lucienne. Have you felt the quakes?" Mervyn asks.

"The quakes?"

As if waiting for its cue, the whole place shakes. You steady yourself. You look to Mervyn but he says nothing. You follow him through to the throne room.

Morpheus is looking at the window when you enter, and you can see why. A huge crack that seems to only have got bigger, reach up the window.

"What's happening?" You ask.

At the sound of your voice, he turns around and looks at you. You had been avoiding his company since Gault.

"I was, uh, gonna report to Lucienne," Mervyn says.

"About what?" Morpheus asks, turning his gaze from you to look at the pumpkin man beside you.

"The minor seismic activity... some minor damage."

"Then why not report to me?"

"Because you're busy?" Mervyn replies awkwardly. "Lucienne took care of all this stuff when you were gone, so I figured why with you-"

"Mervyn, things like this should be reported to Lord Morpheus. This is, after all, his realm," you say softly, trying to be kind.

Morpheus looks at you. The way he looks at you causes a twinge through your heart.vhe looks... desperate to be near you.

The room shakes again, and the crack in the window grows. You look to Morpheus.

"You want me to fix that for you, or will it just keep happening?" Mervyn asks.

"It will not keep happening," Morpheus assures him. "I will find the cause of the disturbance, and I will eliminate it."

You look at Dream with concern.

Mervyn leaves.

Morpheus turns his attention to you. "You came looking for me?" He asks.

"Yes." You nod.

He looks at you, waiting. You gather your courage to talk to him. "About earlier... I'm-"

"No. I'm sorry," he says.

You look at him now.

"You dreamt I hurt someone and then said I hurt you. Is that because I told you to stay here?"

"Morpheus, you have to let us help you. This isn't your burden to handle alone. You are not alone."

"I know that."

"Do you?" You ask.

"Yes, I do. I'm going to fix this. All of it." He speaks calmly as he looks at you. There is determination in his eyes.

"How?"

He slowly raised his hand out to you. "Come with me."

☆☆☆

You walk with him through the library toward where Lucienne is working. In one hand, he has some books. In the other, he holds your own hand.

"Lucienne."

"My lord." She turns to face him.

Morpheus lets go of your hand and takes a step closer to Lucienne. You hold your hands in front of you and listen.

"I have come to return these... and to assess the extent of the damage from the recent disturbances."

Morpheus takes a little look around. You decide to pick up some books off the floor to try and help a little.

"Have... you any idea as to what caused them?" Morpheus asks her.

"I assumed it was you, sir."

"Me?"

You glance up curiously at the pair.

"Maming further improvements to the realm... now that you're back."

Lucienne brushes past him to put some books away. You step to the side and gather some more from the floor.

"Lucienne, when we last spoke, I did not mean to imply that your efforts beyond the library are without value."

"Oh?"

"I really wish to relieve you of repsonbilities with which, had I been here, you would never have been burdened."

"I see."

Morpheus glances at you. You urge him to continue. He turns back to Lucienne.

"And... in that time, did you experience any... similar seismic disturbances?" He asks her.

"I did not."

She brushes past him again with more books.

"Have you any... theory as to their origin?"

"Speaking strictly as a librarian? I do. But you won't like it."

"Go on," he urges. You look at her and listen too.

"I know you're waiting to see if the vortex will lead you to The Corianthian and Fiddler's Green. The way she led you to Gault."

"She may yet still."

"Yes, but while you're waiting, she's putting cracks in the foundation." Lucienne states.

"Rose Walker has visited this realm before and done no damage. This is something else, something new." Morpheus replies.

"Perhaps. But if there is something new in The Dreaming and you did not create it, how did it get here?" Lucienne asks.

You look at Morpheus with worry.

"This is the vortex. I assure you."

Morpheus goes quiet.

☆☆☆

"Come with me."

You look up at Morpheus as you both walk through the palace halls. He's looking right at you with his beautiful blue eyes.

"Are you sure?" You ask.

"Yes."

You smile. "You want me to come with you?"

"I always want you with me. I... may need you." He cracks a small smile.

"You do need help. I told you."

"I know I don't admit it, but you are right. Lucienne is right."

You smile at his admittance. You reach out and take his hand. He relaxes at the feeling of you touching him.

"Then we shall find Rose together."

He smiles softly.

☆☆☆

"So, what do you think?" Matthew caws, looking down at Rose and Lyta as they walk toward the house at the bottom of the hill.

"Tell Lucienne she was right about the source of the tremors. And that I'm taking care of it."

You look at Morpheus.

He takes your hand and guides you down the hill. Matthew leaves. There is a certain purpose to his step as Morpheus walks, his coat bellowing out behind him.

You arrive at the house before the girls get there. Morpheus talks to Hector as you wait the other two. Rose and Lyta arrive.

Morpheus looks at them. You stand right beside him.

"Lyta, you remember I told you about Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams?" Rose says, pointing out who he is.

"What do you want?" Lyta asks.

"He wants us to leave," Hector says.

"Why?" Rose asks.

"Because a ghost cannot escape his fate by hiding in The Dreaming," Morpheus explains. "Nor can a living human being escape her grief here. Do you not see the damage your presence has done to this realm? I cannot allow you to stay."

"Is there anything we can do?" Hector asks.

"You belong with the dead. You must go to the place appointed for you."

You lower your gaze. That is not an easy thing to hear from anyone.

"I'm sorry, but you must say your goodbyes now," Morpheus tells them.

Hector nods sadly.

"No. I'm not losing you again," Lyta says.

Hector stands up and walks over to her. "I love you so much," he tells her.

"You're not going anywhere. Get out of our house," Lyta says to you both.

"Lyta-" Rose tries to speak.

"Enough." Morpheus raises his hand. Hector starts to disintegrate down to nothing. Lyta calls his name while Rose pleads with Dream to stop. You turn and hide your face in Morpheus' shoulder.

Lyta cries. She cradles her bump.

"Your husband died a long time ago. He was a ghost, and this is a dream," Morpheus explains. "The baby is yours... for now."

You look at Morpheus with confusion. "For now...?" You whisper.

"The child was conceived in The Dreaming. It is mine."

"What?" Rose asks, mortified.

"And one day, I will come for it."

"No, you won't. You'll do nothing-" Rose starts to argue.

"This dream is over."

He swipes his hand through the air. You're back in the throne room. You stare at the steps as you try to understand what just happened.

"You killed my friend."

Both you and Morpheus turn to see Rose standing behind you. She hadn't woken up.

"How did you get here?" He asks.

"In front of his wife, and then you threaten to take her baby?"

"Do you know why this happened?" He asks her. "A vortex gathering strength can weaken the walls between dreams."

"I didn't ask for any of this," Rose tells him.

"Even so!"

"No! I don't want you coming near me or my friends ever again."

"Rose, listen to me."

"I do listen to you."

You can only stand there and watch them both. Things are getting agitated, and you didn't like it. Morpheus can sense your unease, but he must focus on the girl first.

"You said that a vortex can create universes or destroy them. So I suggest you leave my universe the fuck alone."

"Rose-" he warns her.

"This dream is over." She says. She vanishes.

You stare at the spot she had been standing in a moment ago. You didn't know what to think or say.

Morpheus turns and looks at you.

You choose to say nothing.

☆☆☆

You both return to the library. Morpheus calls for Lucienne. She comes out from between some shelves.

"My lord. There's something I must tell you."

"And I will listen." He tells her. "But first, you must let me tell you that you were right." He speaks softly. "The vortex was responsible for the damage to our realm, and I was... wrong to risk our sagtt in the hope that she would locate the missing Arcana."

That's the first time you have ever heard him admit he was wrong.

"You were not entirely wrong, sir." Lucienne says. "She's found them both."

"What?" He asks. "The Corianthian and Fiddler's Green? Where? How do you know?"

"Fiddler's Green told me."

Lucienne turns, and you look up to see a well-dressed man step out from the bookshelves. You sigh softly as he comes over. He bows his head to you both.

"Apologies, lord, for having left."

"Why? Why did you leave?" Morpheus asks. "I tusted you. You were the heart of The Dreaming."

"No, sir. You were the heart of The Dreaming. And you were gone." Fiddler's Green says. "I was curious. And it turns out that life as a human contains substance I never imagined when I was here. Which is why I returned because... he's murdering them."

"The Corianthian?"

"He appears to have built up a cult of worshippers who kill for pleasure, endangering the waking world and the life of a friend called Rose Walker."

"The Corianthian has found Rose Walker?" You ask. A chill runs down your spine. Morpheus looks at you.

Another dream come true.

"Yes."

"Can you imagine the damage he could do with someone like Rose?" Lucienne says.

"You must tell me where they are." Morpheus demands softly.

☆☆☆

"So, he too spent the last century in the waking world?" 'Gilbert' asks. You look at Fiddler's Green in his human form.

"Yes, but he seems to have experienced the worst of humankind." Lucienne points out.

You look down quietly.

"Still, his time appears to have changed him as it has changed me."

"How so?"

"Lucienne, he came to and told you he was wrong." Fiddler's Green smiles. "It was very nearly an apology. The Morpheus I knew was incapable of that."

You chuckle softly.

"Then perhaps he will be merciful to you since you come back on your own."

You look up. "I won't let him do anything to you."

Fiddler's Green looks at you. "My lady, your heart is as kind and beautiful as I remember."

You smile softly at him.

"It doesn't matter what happens to me. What matters is that Dream stops The Corianthian and saves Rose Walker."

You shake your head. "You matter too. I'm going to go find Morpheus. I shall insist he takes me with him."

"Are you sure that is a good idea?" Lucienne asks.

"He is my husband. I shall not let him do this alone."

Lucienne smiles. You're a good wife to Morpheus.

"But... there is no saving Rose Walker." She states. You and Fiddler's Green look up at her.

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"She's a vortex."

"Yes... I know that."

"He's... he's going to have to kill her." Fiddler's Green speaks with slight panic.

You look at them both. "What?"

"Did he not tell you?" Lucienne asks.

"No!"

They both fall quiet. Lucienne can't help feeling like she's made things worse. Morpheus hadn't told you that for a reason, she assumed.

☆☆☆

You storm into the throne room. Morpheus hadn't left yet. You march down the hall and over to him.

"Morpheus!"

He turns and looks at you.

"My love."

You glare at him hard. "Don't you dare."

"Excuse me?" He frowns.

"You're going to kill her..."

A look of realisation comes over him. He lifts his head a little higher as he looks at you. He knows he can not hide his intentions any longer.

"It must be done."

"There has to be another way!"

"There is not."

You fight back your emotions. Getting upset won't get you anywhere with him. You try to remain calm.

"How can you possibly be so cruel?"

"The Corianthian is using Rose to do harm. She doesn't even realise what she's doing most of the time. I must put a stop to the vortex."

"By killing her...?"

"I have no choice," he states, looking at you with desperation. He can see your pain. He wants to comfort you, but doing so will not change the situation.

"Take me with you."

"No."

"Morpheus, please."

He sighs softly and closes the distance between you both. He takes your hand in his and throws his sand up with the other. You fo not look away from him as you travel to where Rode and The Corianthian is.

☆☆☆

The Corianthian appears to be giving a speech. A room full of murderers is listening to him. He is using Rose to power their dreams into one.

You stand with Morpheus in the aisle, looking up at the rouge nightmare.

"You disppoint me, Corianthian. You and these humans you've inspired and created... disappoint me." Morpheus walks towards him. You remain standing in the aisle.

"I've done my best to be what you made me," The Corianthian says.

"No, you've done your worst, which was in so many ways what I had hoped." Morpheus joins him up on the stage. "You were my masterpiece. A dark mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront."

"That's what I am. That's what I've done."

"No. Look at you, walking this Earth for over a century, infecting others with your joy of death, but what have you given them? What have you wrought? Nothing. Just something else for people to be afraid of. That is all"

"So what now?" The Corianthian asks. "You send me back into their dreams?" He pulls out a knife. "'Cause I won't go willingly."

"A knife against a dream?"

"You don't think dreams can die? Let's find out."

You gasp and move to join Morpheus, but your husband raises a hand to tell you to stay where you are.

"Enough." Morpheus raises his hand to The Corianthian, who stabs the knife through Dream's hand.

"No!" You yell out. Your Morpheus is hurt. His hand bleeds.

"I've got Rose Walker getting stronger every second while you get weaker." The Corianthian says. "She's taking your place at the centre of the Dreaming. She's bringing the walls down between the sleepers' minds, and now they're all dremaing the same dream. A dream that I inspired."

"No." Morpheus looks at him.

"It's already happening. There's nothing you can do. She's asleep and dreaming."

"Then she is not beyond my reach."

"Oh, I think she is. Now that she knows you're planning to kill her."

You shake your head and hurry over to Morpheus, placing your hands on his shoulders. Morpheus uses that boost you're giving him to appear in the dream. He is telling Rose to wake up.

"Don't listen to him, Rosebud." The Corianthian says, appearing on the dream. "You're the one with power now, not him. This is your dream."

"It's his dream, for your world." Morpheus says, walking into the room with them. You're giving him your strength in the waking world to appear in Rose's dream.

"Then let's make it yours. Whatever you want, Rose. A blank canvas."

The Corianthian removes the extra people from the room, including Jed. Rose asks where he is, and The Corianthian reminds her he is fine and that he is sleeping right next to her in the waking world.

"This dream is yours now. The Dreaming is yours now."

"The Dreaming is yours. Is that what he told you?" Morpheus asks, approaching her.

"He told me you were gonna kill me," Rose says.

"Did he tell you why? When a vortex brings down the walls between dreams, she creates a single volatile dream that will collapse in upon itself, and take the waking world with it. Your world. Everything and everyone will die."

"Don't believe him, Rosie." The Corianthian whispers to her.

"It's happened before. I failed my duty, an entire universe was lost."

"He can't kill you if you kill him first," The Corianthian tells her.

"Killing me may save your life, but it won't save the lives of those you love," Morpheus states.

"I'm trying to keep you alive here." The Corianthian urges.

"I'm trying to keep your world alive." Morpheus argues.

"You have to choose one of us, Rose."

"Enough!" Rose exclaims. "If in as powerful as you say I am, then I will find my own way. In the meantime, the walls go back up. Because I'm not dreaming anymore."

Rose gets rid of the dream around them. "Thanks to you two, I'm wide awake.'

Rose wakes in the waking world.

☆☆☆

You gasp as you let go of Morpheus. His hand heals up quickly. You take it in your hands and examine it. He looks at you softly before turning back to The Corianthian.

"If you think I'm going back to the Dreaming with you-"

"You're not going back," Morpheus says firmly. "I brought you into this world to serve humanity. Not to feed upon it."

"Do you know why I do it?" The Corianthian asks. "So I can taste what it's like to be human. And you don't care about humanity. You only care about yourself and your realm and your rules."

"I contain the entire collective unconscious. Without my rules, it would consume me." Morpheus explains. You hold his hand gently. "Humanity would be consumed."

"Or you might actually feel something." The Corianthian adds. "I am not the problem, Dream."

"You're right. This was my fault, not yours."

You look at Morpheus with slight confusion.

"I had so much hope for you," Morpheus whispers, looking at The Corianthian. "But I created you poorly then."

The Corianthian gets upset.

"So I must uncreate you now."

Morpheus raises his hand to the nightmare, and you watch as he undoes his work.

"I am only sorry I won't be here to see Rose Walker do the same to you," The Corianthian says before he completely disappears. He turns to a pile of ash as a small skull lands on top. Morpheus picks it up.

"Next time I make you, you will not be so flawed and petty, little Dream." Morpheus tucks the skull away.

"And you..." Morpheus looks at the waking humans in the room. Who call yourselves collectors, until now, you have sustained fantasies in which you are the victims, comforting daydreams in which you are always right. But no more. The dream is over. I have taken it away. For this is my judgement upon you, that you shall know from this moment on exactly how craven and selfish and monstrous you are. That you shall feel the pain of those you have slaughtered. And the grief of those that mourn them still, and you shall carry that pain and grief and guilt with you until the end of time."

All those humans leave that hotel with a whole new mindset.

Morpheus walks out with you. Matthew meets you both an the entrance.

Rose and Jed have driven away.

"You want me to follow her?" Matthew asks.

"No. When she is awake, she is not a threat. Tonight, when she sleeps, I will find her." Morpheus says. "And we will end this.'

☆☆☆

Rose Walker had brought all her friends into one dream. A whirlpool had opened up and one by one each of her friends fell into it. Even Jed.

The green fields turned to a cold and empty wasteland. Morpheus stood with you in front of Rose.

"You've caused a great deal of damage. Nothing that I cannot repair, at least at this stage." Morpheus tells Rose.

"What happened to Jed? To my friends?"

"They're asleep in their bed, but they're not safe. No one is. Not until the vortex is dead."

You feel your heart aching. You cannot let him kill her. Rose didn't ask for any of this.

"Death is not always such a bad thing." Morpheus says. "You could stay if you like. My raven was once a mortal."

"Wait! Sir!" Gilbert comes running.

"Gilbert? What are you doing here?" Rose asks.

"This is Fiddler's Green," Morpheus clarifies.

"You? You're a Dream?"

"I am. I, I left my post here to experience life as a human being," Gilbert explains. "A life which I humbly offer in exchange for yours."

"I'm afraid that's not possible." Morpheus tells him. "For the Dreaming and the waking world to live, the vortex must die."

"Then what's the point of a vortex?" Rose asks. "Why do we even exist?"

"Honestly..."

"I have a theory." Gilbert says, interrupting Morpheus. "When a human is at the centre of the Dreaming, is it not to remind us that we exist because humans dream, not the other way around? The miracle of humanity itself should always be more vivid to us than any marvels of power."

"I cannot find it in my heart to punish you for leaving Fiddler's Green," Morpheus says. "But it is time you took up your appointed position once more."

"It would be my honour, sir." Gilbert says proudly. "It was never my intention to abandon my role."

"What was your role? Who were you?" Rose asks.

You smile and answer. "Fiddler's Green is not a who, it is a where. He is not a person. He was a place."

"And after your death, if you stay in the Dreaming, visit me." Gilbert requests. "Walk in my meadows and my green glades. Rest beneath my trees."

Morpheus smiles slightly.

"Farewell, Rose Walker. It was a privilege being human with you."

Gilbert opens his arms, and you all watch as he turns into greenery and life. Your surroundings turn green, trees come into existence, butterflies fly overhead. Fiddler's Green has returned to his post.

"I do not wish to take your life," Morpheus says to Rose. "But we all have repsonbilities and this is one of mine."

You can't take it any more. You step out and stop between him and Rose.

"No. I can't let you."

Morpheus looks at you with concern. "It has to be done."

You start to tear up. "It's not fair. She has a whole life ahead of her..."

"My love..."

Rose takes your hand in hers and looks at you. Thunder rumbles and the clouds turn dark.

"I am sorry," Morpheus says sincerely.

"It's fine," Rose assures you. "Just do it," she looks at Morpheus. "Whatever it takes to save my brother and my friends."

You shake your head. Morpheus looks at you with a pleasing gaze. He wants you to return to his side.

Rose looks at you. "I'm ready."

You let a tear fall and watch Rose let go of your hand. You can't look. You turn away. Morpheus raises his hand up toward Rose. He can hear your soft cries.

"My lord, stop." Lucienne comes rushing over with another woman. You look up through teary eyes.

Morpheus stops.

"Unity?" Rose looks at the other woman.

"This is Unity Kinkaid." Lucienne introduces her.

"I am Rose's great-grandmother. And according to this book, I was meant to be the vortex of this age." The woman holds up a book. "But because you were imprisoned and locked out of the Dreaming, that fate was handed down to my descendants."

"I don't understand," Morpheus says.

"You're not very bright, are you?" Unity scoffs. "Come here, Rose."

Rose walks over to unity.

"I want you to reach down inside yourself and give me whatever it is that makes you the vortex."

"But how?"

"You're dreaming, darling. Anything is possible."

You watch as Rose reaches down inside of herself and starts to pull out something. You've never seen anything like this before. Rose manages to grab what she's looking for and holds it out to Unity.

A glass heart, a storm whirling inside.

You've seen a heart like that before.

Morpheus looks at you, and you look at him.

"Thank you, Rose, love." Unity holds the heart and turns to Morpheus. "I the vortex now, Dream King, as I should have been long ago. So, leave my great-granddaughter alone."

The heart begins to shatter. A bright light and Unity becomes weak. She has passed on in the waking world.

Morpheus holds onto her in the Dreaming.

"Unity?" Rose looks at her concerned.

"What happened?" Unity asks.

"You died. So that Rose might live." Morpheus tells her. Tears continue to fall from your eyes.

"I'm so sorry." Rose hugs Unity.

"No, don't be. I'm not." Unity tells her. "I was meant to have died a long time ago, Rose. But if I had, I would never have met my golden-eyed man, and we wouldn't have had our beautiful baby girl, and you would not have been born."

Golden eyes? You looked at Morpheus again. You know of someone with golden eyes. Morpheus, of course, knows them better.

"Wait, the father of your child had golden eyes?" Morpheus asks.

"I've never seen anything like them," Unity says.

"I have."

"Goodbye, Rose, darling." Unity says to Rose. They hug again. "Mr. Holdaway will see to it that you and Jed have everything you need."

"You and your brother are children of the Endless," Morpheus says to Rose. "You have suffered enough. You may leave this place."

"Goodbye, Rose," you say to her.

She wakes up, Jed right beside her.

☆☆☆

Morpheus goes to pay Desire a visit.

You remain at the palace. You close Rose Walker's book and sigh softly. Matthew perches himself near your throne.

"Well?"

"She will be just fine. As will Jed. They are kin to Morpheus, so shall I make sure to check in with them from time to time."

Matthew caws. "Don't you have any children?"

"No." You say softly.

Matthew tilts his head slightly.

"Morpheus did have a son, once. That's a story for another time."

Matthew says nothing else on the matter.

Lucienne enters the throne room and you both look up.

"Lord Morpheus has requested your presence." She informs you.

You smile.

"Then I shall not keep him waiting."

Matthew takes flight, and Lucienne joins you at your side as you walk.

"Is all well?" She asks.

You smile.

"Everyone is going to be juat fine."

Lucienne shares your smile.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @emarich7 - @lollipopsandlandmines - @mouth-whore -

#symphony of dreams #the sandman #morpheus x reader #female reader #dragon writes

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aurumacadicus · 6 months

Text

I haven't read much 616 comics-wise (I have read lots of fan fiction tho 👀) BUT I do write a lot of omegaverse so tell me if this is anything:

Tony isn't ashamed of being an omega, really. Life would be easier, certainly, if he was an alpha or even a beta. But he's done well for himself despite a lot of alphas in business thinking he's cute. He's pretty proud of the respect he's earned, even if he is a little bitter that that respect is just expected for alphas.

So he has no idea why, in the Iron Man armor, he tells Steve he's an alpha. (He knows a little. He's afraid of being kicked off the team for a multitude of reasons, not just being an omega. Being Tony Stark would be reason enough. Tony Stark isn't a hero, after all.) The armor is well-insulated, not just to protect him from hits, but to smother any scent that might tip someone off. He could have just left it vague.

It's fine, he figures. Steve likes have a fellow alpha to spend time with. He knows that Steve doesn't actually mind hanging out with others, but he's expressed that he's nervous around 'the more delicate sexes,' especially with the serum increasing his strength. So. He likes that he can put Steve at ease like that. He likes to be helpful. Besides, with the suit, he's basically at alpha strength anyway! It's not really a lie. In the suit, he's more physically alpha.

Anyway something something villains.

Steve is dosed with something that sends him into a rage, and the only person there for him to take it out on is Iron Man, who is locked in the room with him. (This is not a coincidence, I imagine villains want Steve to 1) suffer the guilt of killing his best friend and 2) thereby be easier to control, in theory.)

He's tearing the armor apart, and quite frankly, Tony's terrified with the anger naked on Steve's face. Steve is normally a very private person, even when it comes to his emotion, and he's never seen him even angry. Annoyed, sure, maybe, but even then, it had been good-natured. This is something else entirely, ugly and vindictive. He knows, logically, that this isn't Steve, not really. But Steve's torn one of the gauntlets off, nearly broke Tony's arm in the process, so he's got to figure something out before Steve really does kill him.

Perhaps foolishly, he reaches up to take the helmet off, fumbling with the catches as he lunges out of Steve's way. He doesn't make it far enough--Steve grabs one of his boots and yanks him back, lifts a fist so he can bring it down on the catches at the knee. Steve will break his leg if he finishes the move, Tony realizes, finally getting the catches open and shoving the helmet up, off. He can't help the gasp that he sucks in as the cool air hits his face, the scent of Steve's rage rolling across his tongue bitter and acrid.

"Steveit'sme," he says, and this isn't how he wanted to tell Steve, never how he wanted to tell him, but he knows, deep in his bones, that if Steve kills him without knowing who he's killing, it'll just hurt him even more. If he dies now, hopefully Steve will be angry at the villains for making him do it, making him hurt someone who can't even hope to hold a candle to his alpha strength, let alone his serum. Maybe Steve will focus on revenge instead of guilt.

Steve freezes, sort of, knuckles hitting the armor and then stopping abruptly. Tony feels a twinge, but he's relieved that it's only that. His knee will be fine. So long as Steve doesn't decide to kill him for lying, he thinks, biting his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from apologizing. He's not sorry he hid his identity. Maybe he shouldn't have lied about his orientation, but Steve had showed Jan cautious behavior that she'd had to scare out of him. Now Steve knows that Iron Man isn't just an omega, he's Tony Stark and the friendly but distant team benefactor. Maybe Steve needed the distance, Tony thinks, swallowing thickly.

It takes Tony a minute to realize that Steve's eyes are locked on his throat, and he has no idea why until he swallows again, watches Steve's eyes track the nervous up-and-down of his Adam's apple, sees Steve's pupils dilate even wider than they had been. He bites deeper into his lip to check if he's really seeing what he is or if it's just wishful thinking.

Steve's eyes dart up to his lips, and when Tony lets out a soft puff of breath, mouth dropping open in shock, Steve starts to lean in, looks angrier for a second, then turns his head away with a distressed grunt, hands flexing on Tony's armor until it creaks, and Steve lets go when he whimpers.

"Okay," Tony gasps, reaching up to wrap his arms around Steve's neck. "Come here. Come here. We'll get through this, Steve."

"Tony," Steve whispers, shaking with the effort of not moving. "It's you."

"Come here," Tony urges again, pulling down around his neck. "I've got you, Steve."

"Please," Steve whispers, and it's the most scared Tony has ever heard him, the rage and aggression giving way to despair, heavy and discordant after the terror Tony had been inspired to. "Why you?"

Tony will be hurt later, he figures. He never wanted to disappoint Steve. But Steve is still clearly feeling the effects of whatever they dosed him with. He figures he's lucky Steve didn't punch him when he showed his face. "It's okay, Steve," he tells him as kindly as he can manage, and Steve makes a hurt noise, or maybe a sound trying to negate what he's saying.

But Steve kisses him back when he finally draws him down, hands slowing as he mentally shifts to peeling Tony free instead of trying to bust in, and he pushes the hurt to the back of his mind.

#ideas #stony #lemon #tw: dubious consent #steve is upset not that tony is iron man #he is upset that this is the way he's having sex with tony #don't worry he's thought about it extensively because tony is fucking hot #and steve has working eyeballs

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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

Text

Selfish

TW: Smut. Angst/arguments. Language.

SUMMARY: Sarah’s reaction after finding you, her best friend, with her brother.

WORD COUNT: 1100

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Sarah walking in on reader (her best friend) and rafe and she gets mad because why would you date rafe after she told you how bad he is and why would he date her best friend but you get mad at her too and before Rafe can defend you you tell her she’s being selfish and that it’s her fault that she started hanging out with rafe because she hasn’t seen her at all since she started dating John b and rafe is like yeah fuck you sarah and enjoying seeing her gf mad at his sister and he thinks is kinda hot

Selfish

The way he felt pistoning in and out of your sobbing sex was enough to ignore the warnings made against him from his sister and your best friend, Sarah. You weren’t a stranger to his reputation for being intense and reckless, but it was also a large part of what it was that drew you to him to begin with. The sensation of his breath stealing your own through self-serving kisses had eradicated the wrath you knew he could harbor behind those same fingers now rushing over your curves as he sunk himself deeper inside of you.

“You feel so good, baby…” He groaned into your shoulder as your nails ate into his while you brought him further into you. Your bodies came together in a perfect collision of need and relinquishment, one folding as the other consumed. It always existed this way as you seemed to truly feed off of one another in every circumstance, but no more than when nude and driven solely by lust.

His nails ran down your back as you rocked against his hips as those eager fingers now wrapped at the back of your neck.

“You’re gonna make me come…” He grunted, “you feel too good…”

“Don’t I always?” You teased.

“Yeah,” He groaned, fingers tightening into your skin. “But this time it’s gonna be-”

“What the actual fuck?!” Sarah’s voice boomed behind you as Rafe was quick to ignore and allow his annoyance to broadcast over his face as you felt a twinge of guilt when seeing the betrayal in her expression. But you couldn’t deny how a part of you was relieved she finally knew.

“After I told you to stay away from him? God, are you that desperate to get fucked that you’ll just take it from anyone?” Rafe went to defend you, but you would beat him to the punch, climbing off of his lap and wrapping yourself in the sheets, as he dressed behind you.

“I have a right to be with who I want, just like you do with John B-”

“What does this have to do with him?!”

“If not for you ignoring me this last summer,” You motion between you and Rafe, “THIS might never have happened. But it has, so just get over it, Sarah-”

“You have no idea what I’ve been through-”

“It’s ALWAYS about you. I keep trying to be a friend-”

“Yeah some friend, fucking my brother behind my back.”

“You’re just selfish, Sarah. Thinking that you are the only one who can be happy-”

“HE makes you happy? What? With the lines of cocaine or threatening me and my friends?”

“God, do you hear yourself? It’s always about you!”

“Just fuck off, Sarah.” Rafe groaned, his hands pulling you back towards him at the edge of the bed as you were taken into his lap. The shameless display of care and sensuality made her even more enraged.

“Then don’t expect me to give a shit when he breaks your heart.”

“I wasn’t because he won’t.” You shot back as she shook her head.

“You two are perfect together. Both idiots.”

“Fuck you Sarah!” You finally spat. “I’m so tired of you always tearing me down and dictating my life. I was there through John B, Topper, even the ones before them. I have given up dates and weekends-happiness all to be a good friend and I’m actually happy and you tear at it because you know you and John B are doomed!”

“You have no idea-”

“I don’t? How far do you think it’s gonna go when the excitement wears off and reality sets in? You don’t belong on The Cut and he doesn't belong in Figure Eight. You will go off to college and meet someone else and he’ll hold you back and you’ll let him. Don’t be pissed off because the world stopped revolving around you, Sarah. And grow up…” You managed to walk her into the hallway outside of Rafe’s room as you spoke. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you interrupted something-” You shut the door, locking it this time, before turning to find Rafe standing in the center of the room.

“Get the fuck over here…” He groaned as his words and expression had taken you completely off guard. “Get on the bed. Hands and knees right fucking now…”

“That turn you on, Rafe?”

He forced your hand to his cock, feeling him at attention for you once again.

“Ass. Up. Now.” You bit your bottom lip, dropped the sheets, and crawled before him. A single slap to your left cheek would make you gasp before you felt him return to his home between your thighs.

“So fucking sexy all proud to be mine. Let her fucking hear it.” He ordered as he pulled your hair so your face was no longer buried in the pillows in front of you.

“YES! RAFE! DON’T STOP! DON’T FUCKING STOP!”

“Yeah baby? You wanna come on my cock, right?”

“I’M SO CLOSE!” You belted as he scoffed behind you.

“I can feel how close, baby. Let me have it…come on sweetheart…let me fucking have it.” You nodded, a series of groans, grunts, and pleas leaving your lips as he brought you to that edge, just as your body served as his outlet. And yet, as you expected him to pull himself out to face you, he only pulled you to his chest.

“You’re gonna squirt for me baby…I’m not stopping until you’re fucking shaking-”

“I already am…”

“If you can still talk, still walk, then I’m not done…I want all of you, all spent out for me. Call me selfish…” He shrugged, finding irony in his words as this had been one of the warnings she had offered you, only realizing that all of those threats she made had only been in your benefit. A benefit he used thoroughly, frequently, and with a continuously satisfying result…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @bethoconnor @belcalis9503

#rafecameron x reader #rafecameronfanfiction #rafecameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks #obx #outer banks smut #obx fanfiction #obxsmut #outer banks

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fairy-writes · 8 months

Text

Breathing Life into Metal 02: Viktor x Automaton!Reader

this may be a new little series, or i may abandon it after three parts. all i can say is that i’m watching playthroughs of detroit: become human, which is contributing to this idea nugget.

____________________________________________________________________________

a tall man storms into the room, the double doors swinging shut behind him with a bang.

he seems angry.

‘viktor’, on the other hand, rises up to meet him with the same anger.

“it’s progress.” he snaps, and the other man rubs at his face.

“you can’t just—you can’t—” he stammers, and you study his frustrated expression.

“why are you so angry?” you ask simply, and he visibly starts, as if not expecting you to speak.

“viktor wasn’t supposed to create you. you aren’t supposed to exist,” he says, and you frown,

“why not?” you shoot back, and viktor places a hand on your shoulder.

“best not rile him up with your questions,” he says, and your frown deepens. you open your mouth to ask another question, but he silences you with a look.

the two men leave you to your own devices as they take their ‘discussion’ and the robotic arm attached to viktor’s back, out into the hallway. you can hear their shouting and arguing through the walls.

whatever viktor did with creating you… it must have been exceptionally bad…

but you don’t think too much about it and instead set out exploring the space you are in. it’s messy with drawings and diagrams, and some of the papers are stained with what looks like oil. you absentmindedly stack the documents into neat piles and come across something.

an invention.

it’s a round ball with a flat bottom and a little spire coming up from the center. you shift from side to side and twist the spire clockwise.

nothing.

counter-clockwise.

also nothing.

you glare at the thing and begin to fiddle. your fingers of copper and brass push at the four little petal-like flaps that are closed tightly around the center.

nothing happens.

until…

you feel a twinge of electricity in the back of your head, and a spark leaps from your fingertips. the spire begins to rotate, and the device opens up.

there’s a teeny tiny figure in the middle of even tinier hexagons that are put together like a floor. the small figure turns and twirls to a twinkling little tune, and you feel a definition come to the forefront of your mind.

is this dancing?

you stand in front of the desk, mesmerized by the song and dance coming from the object, until you hear a voice behind you.

“how did you do that?” viktor asks, and you jump and whirl around, nearly dropping the thing in your haste to turn.

the taller man is standing behind your creator, looking upset but intrigued at the same time. viktor looks downright fascinated.

“i just touched it, and something sparked, and it opened. i—i’m sorry… was i not supposed to?” your tone turns worried, but viktor only shakes his head.

“not at all. no one has been able to open that for weeks. you are truly something special.” he says, and you break out into a brilliant grin.

“that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” you inquire, and the other man—whose name you still don’t know—lets out a noise that has you turning.

“we don’t know yet. we don’t know anything about you,” he says, and you cock your head,

“well, neither do i,” you reply simply.

the man finally sighs and gestures to the table,

“why don’t you have a seat? viktor wasn’t able to finish you before i came in,” he says, and you nod once before realizing you are still holding the invention.

“where should i put this?” you ask awkwardly, and viktor motions for you to keep holding it.

“keep it.” is all he says.

you scoot your way back onto the edge of the table, eyes locked on the dancing figure in the center of your new toy.

only for it to stop.

you panic.

“did i break it?!” you look at your maker only for the other man to answer.

“you just have to figure out how to wind it up,” he says, and you sag in relief.

you go to poke the figurine as viktor opens up the back of your head again to “finish the last few things,” and again, there is a surge of electricity, and a spark shoots from your fingers to jolt the tiny dancer into motion.

any movement in your head stills, and the men go silent.

“oh dear.” is all viktor says.

#arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #arcane x reader #arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane fanfic #viktor #fairy writes #breathing life into metal

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mysticwolfshadows · 17 days

Text

Taken - Zutara - Part 10

First / Previous / Next

Zuko does his best to tell Katara about everything he felt when she first came to the Fire Nation. How he felt getting to know her.

She was a light, for him, in the stifling darkness that was the Fire Nation Palace.

He wasn't always proud of how he handled things. He ran from her when his mother vanished, and he ran when he returned her to her family.

But he was ashamed of the Agni Kai.

He tells her about the war meeting, how he had gotten in and was allowed to sit with the generals, as long as he was silent. Zuko tells Katara about the plan that the general submitted. She is enraged, just as he had been, and for once, he feels vindicated. Uncle had always supported his decisions, but Katara only did when she truly believed he was right.

It's when he tells her about the Agni Kai with his father that Katara snaps.

"He did this to you?" she demands, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Your father did this because you refused to fight him?"

Zuko can't help but lean into her touch. The majority of his face on that side has lost all feeling, yet where her fingers touch seem to burn. For the briefest of moments, Zuko wondered if maybe she had somehow learned to firebend. But that was silly.

Zuko pushed on, explaining how he had woken to his father in his room, reading a proclamation that he was to be banished. The brigade he had felt the need to save, young and untested soldiers, would become his crew. And he would not be allowed to return home unless he had the Avatar.

"But the Avatar has been missing for 100 years," Katara counters, her voice soft and somber. "Zuko, it's an impossible task. The Fire Lord doesn't want you to succeed."

"I know," Zuko grit out. "But the crew is stuck with me as long as I'm banished. If I don't find the Avatar, and deliver him to my father, I can't go home. Which means they can't go home."

Katara stares at him, something unnerving about her expression. She had always been too good at reading him, and in the moment, it was daunting.

"Is that what you were doing in the swamp?" she asked. "Looking for the Avatar?"

Zuko jumped. The last thing he wanted was for Katara to know about what happened in the Agni forsaken Foggy Swamp. He'd gone because it was said that the veil between the mortal plane and the spirit world was thin there. People who entered reported having visions, sometimes of their past, occasionally of their future.

He had hoped that the Avatar would just be in the swamp. And, failing that, he was wanting a vision to help guide him to his future. Instead, as he and Uncle had stumbled through the swamp, he'd caught sight of long brown hair. At first he had thought it was his mother, but the figure had been too short. Then he had seen the coat he had ordered just for Katara, and had sprinted off into the swamp without thinking twice.

He chased the mirage through vines and trees, loosing his uncle. When he finally came to a stop, he was out of breath, standing on one side of a river. A mirror image of Katara kneeling on the other side. She had looked so dull and lifeless, as if that light he had seen in her had been snuffed out. In his panic and confusion, he had stepped into the water, trying to wade his way to her, only for a catgator to lunge out of the water. He couldn't remember much after that.

"The swamp was said to be very spiritual," he said instead. "But it was just the chaotic terrain disorienting people."

For a moment, Katara was quiet. She sat next to Zuko, her back against the wall, looking across the room.

"Zuko," she said, slow and careful, as if trying to not show how she was feeling. "If the Avatar is really out there, he's likely the greatest hope for the war ending quickly. What will you do if you find him?"

For a moment, he frowned. It seemed like a silly question to him. "I'll bring him back to the Fire Nation and return home."

Only, as Katara nodded, he saw the twinge of disappointment. He wondered why she would be upset, only... The answer was fairly obvious. The Fire Nation had slaughtered her people, kidnapped her, and forced her to serve the royal family for years. The Fire Nation had done nothing but hurt her in the name of this war.

If the Avatar was out there, if the Avatar could end the war, Katara had all the reason to want him to. She probably hoped that the Avatar would appear and remove his father from the the throne in the most painful way possible. Zuko felt his stomach roll at the thought. Not because he didn't want his father to perish, but because Katara had every right to want that.

First / Previous / Next

#fanfic idea #atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfic #katara #zuko #zutara #wip

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

You want angst? I got some angst for you. Best friend!reader who has been in love with Eddie for years and he finally starts to date her. But then she finds out it’s only because he’s trying to get over Chrissy. I love youuuu 💚

- @corroded-hellfire xoxo

You: Eddie x Reader angst, please. Me: Chrissy x Reader fluff? You got it!

Warnings: mentions of smut (18+ minors DNI), bisexual!Reader, bisexual!Chrissy, mention of male masturbation, allusion to dacryphilia, Eddie is an idiot and not in a cute way

WC: 2.3k

A/N: My first time writing Chrissy x Reader; please be kind!

If someone took a Hellfire Club meeting, subtracted the matching shirts, and added beer, it would equal Jeff’s graduation party. The guys just finished a D&D campaign and are now hanging out in the kitchen, arguing over who gets to choose the radio station.

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs in your ear, one arm slung over your shoulder, “will you please tell Henderson that Duran Duran is not party music?” You giggle as he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. Back at the start of senior year–your first and only, his third and last–the two of you were just friends, but you’d always hoped for something more. So when he kissed you on Halloween, tasting like cigarettes and Reese's peanut butter cups, it was practically a dream come true.

Dustin rolls his eyes and flips him off. “Stop making your girlfriend do all your dirty work for you.” He leans over and turns the volume up even louder, shooting Eddie a smug look.

“Aww, but I love when she does dirty stuff,” Eddie taunts, and you smack the back of your hand against his chest. “Ow!”

“Don’t be gross,” you warn him, but when he brings his arm around your waist and pulls you in for another kiss, your irritation melts away. You can hear Mike Wheeler making retching noises, but you’re too wrapped up in Eddie to care.

You finally break away to excuse yourself to the restroom, both your lips and Eddie’s swollen from the day’s various makeout sessions. The whole summer stretches ahead of you, and you plan on spending as much of it with Eddie as possible before you leave for college. The two of you already have a plan: he’ll stay in Hawkins for a year to work at the plant with Wayne, save up money, and move to Indianapolis with you. You’ll live on campus until Eddie comes, and then you can get an apartment together.

You’re reapplying lip gloss when you hear your name come up in conversation, and your ears prick up.

“So, you and Y/N got it all figured out?” Gareth asks your boyfriend, who relays your future plans to his friend.

“Nice,” Jeff chimes in, clapping Eddie on the back. “We’re happy for you, dude.”

“Yeah, man,” says Lucas. “And we’re especially glad you’re finally over Chrissy.”

You can’t help the way your face falls slightly. It’s no secret that Eddie had harbored a crush on the head cheerleader for years, but you still feel a pathetic twinge of jealousy at the mention of her name. But he’s yours now, you remind yourself, trying to cheer up.

Jeff’s laugh interrupts your thoughts. “I told you; there’s no better way to get over Chrissy than to get Y/N under you.”

“Shut up, man!” Eddie hisses, but it’s too late. You’ve heard everything.

The guys are silent as the bathroom door slowly creaks open. Tears are falling from your eyes, sliding down the cheeks that Eddie had just kissed moments earlier. “I-I’m gonna go,” you choke out, grabbing your bag and dashing out of Jeff’s house as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Shit—sweetheart, wait!” Eddie calls out, running after you. You ignore him, but he catches up in just a few strides. “Baby, baby, please talk to me.”

“Why did you kiss me on Halloween?” you blurt out, swiping at your eyes. “Tell me!”

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. “I was selling at a party, and I saw Chrissy leave with Carver,” he mumbles. “And the guys said that you had a crush on me and—and that I should just go for it, because I needed to move on from her…”

“And I wouldn’t say no,” you finish for him, a harsh laugh leaving your throat. “You could get your dick wet and I wouldn’t know any better, is that it?”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, vehemently denying your accusation. “No, baby, I—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” you seethe, clenching your fists.

It’s Eddie’s turn to cry now, and a sliver of satisfaction worms its way into your pain. “It was never about sex,” he says softly. “Yeah, okay, I asked you out to get over her. But I genuinely love you, okay? God, I love you so fucking much.” He reaches for your hands, but you pull them away and turn back towards your car.

“No, you don’t,” you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “Maybe you think you do, but when you love someone, you don’t fuck with their emotions like you did. Tell me, what would you have done if the kiss wasn’t good? Or you didn’t like being with me? Would you have kept on pretending? For how long?”

Eddie’s silent, gnawing at his lower lip. “I-I don’t know,” he finally stammers out.

Through misty eyes, you take one last look at him. “Did it work, Eddie? If Chrissy Cunningham showed up right now and professed her love for you, who would you choose?” His hesitation tells you everything you need to know. “That’s what I fucking thought.” You yank open the driver’s side door and slam it shut before speeding down the road.

With the help of your friends and myriad flavors of Haagen-Daaz, you’d managed to get through your first Eddie-less summer in years. Even before you were dating, you’d been attached at the hip. Now, you've done your best to avoid him.

College move-in day comes and goes, and you eagerly anticipate the first day of classes. The campus is huge, so when you finally find your English lit class in Kinney Hall, you plop into the first available seat.

What you don’t realize is that you’ve chosen to sit right next to Chrissy fucking Cunningham.

“Y/N, right?” she asks. Her strawberry blonde hair falls in gentle waves. “It’s so nice to see a familiar face around here. That whole ‘small fish, big pond’ saying is totally true.”

“Mhm,” you reply tersely. You have to mentally tell yourself that she’s not at fault here, and you attempt to smile.

Chrissy picks up on your resistance. “Is everything okay?” Worry creases her forehead, and you realize she’s genuinely concerned.

You sigh. “It’s a long story; wanna grab coffee after class?”

“I’d love that.” She reaches over and squeezes your hand, and you feel a spark jolt through your body.

You relay the saga to Chrissy over steaming lattes in the dining hall. Her crystal blue eyes widen when she hears how Eddie used you to move on from his crush on her.

“What a little weasel!” she shouts, slapping her hand over her mouth when other students glare at her. “Men are the absolute worst.” She takes a sip of her coffee.

You raise your eyebrows. “I take it you and Jason…”

Chrissy scoffs. “Over and out. He dumped me the day before I left, saying he ‘didn’t wanna be tied down,’ which is basically code for ‘I wanna fuck a bunch of sorority girls.”

“Well, now you can fuck a bunch of frat guys,” you jokingly offer.

“Yeah,” she muses, averting her gaze to the ground, “or…or sorority girls.”

Oh.

“Cool,” you say slowly. “I didn’t know…I mean, I’m really glad you can be yourself.” Why are you getting so tongue-tied around her? Sure, she’s beautiful, and sweet, and funny, and understanding…

Oh.

The first time you kiss Chrissy Cunningham is in her dorm room. You’re both sitting cross-legged on the bed, proofreading each other’s midterm essays.

“You know,” she starts, “I was always jealous of you in high school.” She laughs at the bewildered expression on your face. “I’m serious! Don’t give me that look!”

“I’m sorry, but I refuse to believe that the Queen of Hawkins High was jealous of me.”

Chrissy giggles again, and the sound is music to your ears. “I felt like I had to try so hard to be a version of myself that other people liked, even if I didn’t. But you’ve always been so…authentic. And people loved that about you.”

“Well, I wanted to look as cute as you did in a cheerleader uniform, so we’re even.” Your cheeks heat up at your admission, and you try to move on. “Plus, you were always so nice to everyone. Like, you could’ve been a total bitch to anyone who was different, but you weren’t. Which, by the way, made it nearly impossible to hate you after the whole Eddie fiasco.”

But Chrissy’s still caught up on what you’d said previously. “You thought I looked cute?” A blush creeps into her cheeks.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Still do.” Before you can chicken out, you press your lips to hers. She tastes like strawberries, and you can’t get over how soft she is. It’s like you were made to kiss each other.

You’re both wanting for one another, but nothing’s rushed or too hungry. Chrissy makes her way onto your lap, straddling your waist as though she’s done it a thousand times before. It’s not until you hook your pointer finger through her belt loop and tug her a bit closer that she realizes what she’s done.

“Shit, I-I’m sorry,” she stutters. “Got lost in the moment, I guess.”

You shake your head. “No, I liked it. A lot.” Your nerves ease when you feel hers do the same, and you both smile.

Chrissy presses her forehead to yours. “You’re so beautiful, y’know that?” she murmurs. Not used to receiving compliments, you just start to kiss her again. You never want to stop.

The two of you become inseparable, with all of your new friends declaring you campus’ cutest couple. You practically live in each other’s dorm room, snuggled up in tiny twin beds.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more.

So it’s no surprise that you continue this when you return to Hawkins for the holidays. You’re in your kitchen, watching Chrissy pour a bag of chocolate chips into a bowl of raw cookie dough.

“You’re a natural, babe,” you tease. “Have you considered dropping out of college and going to culinary school?”

She plays along, draping her arms over your shoulders and saying, “but I would miss my pretty girlfriend too much!” Her dramatic pout makes you smile, and you kiss it tenderly.

The doorbell rings, and you offer to get it while Chrissy mixes in the chocolate.

You swing open the door, expecting to see your mom carrying in the groceries. Instead, Eddie’s standing there. His face lights up when he looks at you, completely juxtaposing your scowl.

“What do you want?” You can’t hide the anger in your voice; quite frankly, you don’t want to.

Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets. “Can I come in?” he asks timidly.

“No.”

“O-Okay,” he stammers, running his fingers through his hair. “I just, um, I saw that you’re home from school and…God, I miss you s’fucking much,” he admits. His whole body sags with the confession. “I want you back…need you back, if you’ll take me. Unless you’re with some big-shot college guy now,” he adds wryly.

You stifle a laugh. “Not quite.”

Right on cue, Chrissy flounces over to the entryway. “Baby, do you want me to put the cookies in the ov–oh,” she stops in her tracks and narrows her eyes. “Can we help you?”

“He was just leaving,” you reassure her, starting to close the door.

“Wait–did she just call you…” Eddie's eyes dart back and forth between you and Chrissy, trying to process what’s happening.

Chrissy snakes her arms around your waist, hugging you from behind. “I called her baby,” she repeats, pressing a chaste kiss below your earlobe. “Just a term of endearment for my girlfriend.”

You place your hands over hers as she nuzzles closer into you. “I figured if someone was worth ruining our relationship over, I should see what all the fuss was about.”

You think that Eddie’s eyes are going to pop out of his head. “But…but…you and me,” he says to you before turning his attention to your partner, “and…and you and Carver…”

“Yeah,” you retort, “it’s called bisexuality, dumbass. We like men and women.”

“But we only have eyes for each other,” Chrissy informs him.

“Plus,” you add snidely, “no one’s faking anything in this relationship.” Chrissy bites down into your shoulder to keep herself from cackling at your insult.

“You–you didn’t fake–with me?” Eddie sputters, barely able to choke out a coherent thought.

“Oh, Eddie, right there, you’re soooo good,” you dramatically moan, and neither you nor Chrissy can hold back your laughter as his jaw drops. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have cookies to bake.” With that, you slam the door in your ex’s bewildered face.

“Babe, that was so badass,” Chrissy says, and you preen at her praise. “You know that pervert is gonna go home and yank it thinking about us, though, right?”

You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Probably gonna cry while he cums, too, because he knows he can’t have either one of us now.”

Chrissy wrinkles her nose. “Now that’s a visual I didn’t need.” You swat at her playfully, and she continues. “Not like how you made me cry when I came the other night, though. That was something totally different.” Her grin is mischievous, and you know exactly where this is leading.

“Wanna see if I can do that again?” you ask, cupping her cheeks and kissing her gently.

“You read my mind, baby.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #chrissy cunningham #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham x you #chrissy cunningham x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic

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lostonehero · 1 month

Text

More of the new mech au

Because I'm thinking about it and I'm stuck at home with pneumonia

It's an absolute shitshow when the mechs (minus Nastya because she has her limits but did warn Martin beforehand because he made her a matching blanket and taught her how to get Jonny to drink tea) start working at the Institute

Jon is furious he was not informed of new assasitants he didn't approve of and he fucking hates Jonny to no end.

Martin blames himself but does appreciate GP Tim bringing in homemade bread pudding, saying it reminds him of home.

Jonny doesn't have his guns on him because he would never risk hurting Martin, but he is ready to grow out his horns to gorge Jon, and he despises growing his horns out.

Tim didn't realize GP last name was also Stoker, so he's very confused, and GP isn't helping anything by telling the truth. Tim honestly just thinks he's insane.

Sasha thinks this is hilarious but is also grateful to have other people to experience the weird things and maybe have someone check out that appearing yellow door. She has bo idea that they are aliens nor that they are immortal.

Martin only knows they are aliens.

......

New archive chat

Jonny D'ville has been added

Gunpowder Tim has been added

Jonny D'ville changed his name to Jonny

Gunpowder Tim changed his name to GP Tim

Jonny: the cooler Jon is finally here.

Jon: Why did you even get a job here? Why did Elias hire you?

Jonny: don't care

Martin: Jonny, please be nice. Also I brought your favorite mug don't steal Jon's.

Jonny: ok

GP Tim: Man, killed with kindness

Martin: Oh, right, Gp, I also baked a tray of biscuits as a thank you for the bread pudding. I'm almost done with the sleep Mas you requested.

Tim: dude don't tempt Martin. He got rid of all the starters shit in the breakroom when I accidently mentioned I was allergic.

Sasha: to be fair strawberries would actually kill you.

Tim: at least I can handle kindness I can see Gp and Jonny covering their faces. I think Jonny threw his phone.

Martin: he did. Although I didn't mean to embarrassed them. Oh, right, I do crochet and knit, so if you guys want anything, I have an overabundance of yarn from TS who doesn't understand what restraint means.

Sasha: can you teach me to knit?

Tim: Oh me too we can have a knitting club.

Jon: I know how to sew it, and it can't be much different. I shall join you.

Martin: I sure yeah that can be fun.

.....

Marius is sent down to check on everyone. He's in a posh suit, and his hair is barely able to cover his pointed ears.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" Jonny raised his brow putting down a statement.

"Mr. Bouchard requested that I uh change my wardrobe. I'll be honest I don't enjoy it, and having my hair slick back is quite er.... unfortunate." Marius can see a small twinge of sympathy from Gp Tim, who knows he had nerve endings in his hair. He found out by accident giving him a surprised haircut as a prank, and there was a lot of blood and screaming. "He asked me to come down and observe how everyone is getting along. Raphella is in artifact storage, I don't know how she got there."

"Figures." Jonny rolls his eyes.

Marius waves at Jon, who heads out of his office. "Oh, Mr. Bouchard also asked me to tell you that TS in artifact storage needs to give a statement. It said that a ring master ripped their voice out, and it was uncomfortable to grow it back."

Gp Tim mumbles. "Why would someone steal a voice?"

Jon nods. "I will head over there."

Sasha raised her brow. "Who are you?"

Marius opened his mouth and then shut it. "Marius, I'm Mr. Bouchard new assistant. How are you doing with new coworkers?"

Sasha hums. "It's fine. Weird having two Tim's."

"I'm the original Tim. Thank you very much." Tim smirks tossing a crumpled ball of paper at Gp Tim.

"Just because that's true doesn't mean anything." Gp Tim smiles, catching the paper ball.

Sasha sighs. "Boys, please."

"An assistant?" Jonny snickers.

"You're one too, Jonny." Marius huffs. "Please try not to hurt your coworkers."

"I make you no promises." Jonny scoffs crossing his arms.

Martin smiles softly, handing Jonny a mug of tea. "Hello Marius, don't worry, I'm keeping an eye on him. And Jonny finish that you need to drink more fluids."

Jonny smiles softly sipping his tea the heat not bothering him.

Marius smiles. "Are you adjusting well, Martin?"

"Oh, it's quite nice having Jonny and Gp here. Although Jonny can get a bit jealous, which isn't bad but it wouldn't really matter if he didn't keep trying to fight Jon, our boss." Martin smiles sheepishly.

"You're word than Jonny." Gp raised his brow.

Tim slides his chair over to Gp. "Tell me everything."

Sasha does the same. "Our soft boy Martin, who couldn't hurt a fly, gets jealous?"

Martin covers his red face knowing damn well he would kill for Jonny if he asked.

Jonny matches the blush, hiding his blush with his mug.

#tma podcast #the magnus archives #tma #the mechanisms #the mechs

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shoto-brainrot · 1 year

Text

Ns fw Shoto headcanons

I think he absolutely loves seeing your scratches on his back. He would feel pleased knowing you enjoyed yourself (and that he pleased you). I think he would be one of those guys who wouldn't expect to like pain during sex but it'll feel so deliciously good during that he wouldn't realize it until afterwards. He's used to pain and while it's never been pleasant/something he's number himself to, it'll be a pleasant surprise to find that there is pain he enjoys having.

> imagine: he'll have the smallest smile on his lips when he feels a twinging sting during a bench press. Flashes of the night before will play his mind, your nails dragging in sweet pain along his skin. Your lips trembling and, Oh.. the dazed look in your eyes...❤️

> Notice how I mentioned these things, he's more turned on mentally than physical aspects of sex. The context of the session will matters just as much to him as the sex itself

> I feel like the guys might see it in the locker room once (he didn't notice earlier since he doesn't look it in the mirror often) and will be very stoic about who it's from. Denki and the others would pry and hoot about it but he'll probably say something along the lines of:

"I've been told, that one should not kiss and tell."

"Why should I tell you? / It's none of your business."

> he would be very careful not to let it happen again. Not because he's ashamed but he's just very private and likes keeping you to himself (not in a possessive way, but more in a, he doesn't care to share more than he has to kind of way). It's also for your privacy too, I'm sure he would care more more that you wouldn't get pestered/embarrassed. I think he has this perception that girls are shy/particular about their image and he will not be the one to breach that. He's is a very kind, polite boy.

He wouldn't be initially into degradation but once, either you or he brings it up, he would be super into it. And he's really fucking good at it too. I think he likes teasing you about how much you love everything he's does to you - kind of like how he taunts izuku during the sports festival

"Are you really that beat up from defending against my attacks?"

"Are you really this pliable/soft/wet from just my touch/fingers/words?"

> Mental stimulation remember? He'll figure out exactly how to turn you on with just his words

> Which is surprising, right? But no, seriously he's willing and good with communicating. He'll know exactly when, how, and what to say and in what sequence.

He masturbates often

I don't think he watches pron. I don't know if it's a shame thing, not knowing about it, pron itself looks too undignified or he doesn't want to be found out by his nosy dad (I don't think it's the last one since endeavor said he finally got shotos contact through fuyumi in s5)

He loves hickeys but I don't think he would like it in obvious places. He might make an allowance for a small one peeking out of his collarbone (like barely showing) on occasion. If you guys are on vacation or somewhere where he doesn't know the people, he might allow one or more depending on how much you insist

> He truly he does love you and want to show it off but he's a very polite boy and is respectful of those around him (might be partly Japanese culture. I don't know if he would care if you were in America - aside from caring about how he represents his dad, culture, etc, bc I know the Japanese worry about that)

I think he's very sensitive.. he seems that way. I think he would be gentle but part of me also thinks he would be intense and focused in bed - depends on the mood I assume. Or some combination of both, fuck.

He would want to be in charge with how everything unfolds but will make sure that everything is to your satisfaction

He'll let you take the lead sometimes, esp when he gets more comfortable but he would still want to be in control

He would be methodical in how he figures out what you like. He isn't nervous but he is confident in his ability to figure things out on logistically. He'll be cautious and patient, listening to every hitch of your breath, feel every tremble, take in your eyebrows pulling up - be tuned in to your every reaction and he'll have a fairly good mental map of how to proceed. He's observant and learns quickly, ugh

TlDR: He's annoyingly good at everything he does and sex is no exception. It'll take practice but either through intuition, luck methodical exploration, or natural ability, he'll figure out your spots and rhythms with wicked accuracy

> other guys will fumble and be awkward, but with Shoto, it's just inevitable, focused, learning 🤷 I can see him figuring out a bra in a couple tries at most. Or he's probably clever and will ask you to take it off for him asdfghjkl

The build up and excitement leading up to it is pretty important, dinner, candles + privacy

Privacy means it'll be easier for him to mentally get a space where he feels comfortable and able to let go

He researches, he wouldn't come unprepared and he'll make sure you know his intentions beforehand

He needs, sort of like approval (for lack of a better word) to let go. And that comes from your reassurances And his personal conditions that need to be met first

That's all for now until I can think of more :))

#truth writes #shoto todoroki #bnha #shouto todoroki #todoroki shoto #my hero academia #todoroki #shoto hcs #shoto headcanons #shoto todoroki x y/n #shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x y/n #shouto x reader #shouto #shoto #todoroki shouto

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toasecretsanta · 5 months

Text

(1 of 2 fics)

Merry Christmas ToA fandom!!!

I [@firealder2005] was given @literallyjusttoa this year, and this fic is based off her prompt of Poseidon and Apollo bonding time!!!

I will have the fic up on my Ao3 once the submission is posted :3

Warnings: Just to be safe, I have the fic rated M for implied noncon because. well. Ancient times be ancient times, you know?

This was meant to be combined with the other fic I have but uh. I got carried away lmao

Let us begin!

Save Me, ‘Cuz I’m Fallin’

A soft curse left his lips as he adjusted his grip on the stack of bricks in his arms. Apollo blew a puff of air towards a curl of hair that had fallen into his eyes, warily scanning the people around him as he set his bricks down. He tucked that free strand back behind his ear, wiping his dusty, achy hands on his tunic as the slowly-growing wall before him casted a long shadow over him, the sunset looming from behind.

“Hey!” Apollo slightly jumped as a hand clamped down on his shoulder, roughly spinning him around. One of the guards stationed around the wall glared at him, eyes partially obscured by the helmet on his head. Apollo wondered why people wore those if they obstructed their view. It was terribly constricting.

The guard shook him again. “The king demands your presence. He’s not happy with you.”

Apollo swallowed and began surreptitiously looking for his one and only ally within these ever-growing, ever-entrapping walls — Poseidon. In the years he’d been quite literally slaving away in Ilios, he always felt a lot more comfortable dealing with its king without the older, formidable god at his side. Even if at times there wasn’t much Poseidon could do…

Apollo was thankful to catch sight of his uncle. Poseidon’s hair had grown unruly during their punishment, yet he was still able to cut an imposing figure through the polis as the slaves of Ilios were finally able to pause their back-breaking work and rest.

“Come on!” The guard grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. Apollo stumbled, the sandals on his feet slipping over the pebbles beneath them, and the guard snorted as he fell onto his knees. “Get up!” he barked, the fold of his cape snapping as the former god staggered back to his feet. “We don’t have all night!”

Apollo ducked his head and mutely nodded, wincing a bit as the scrapes on his knees stung. A quick look told Apollo they would heal within seconds, but it did little to reassure the nervousness growing in his throat. Gods, he hated it when Laomedon called for him…

He attempted to swallow the lump. No luck.

Glancing almost desperately over his shoulder, Apollo managed to catch Poseidon’s eye and gave him his best HELP! LAOMEDON WANTS TO TALK TO ME! look. It must have translated quite well, for Poseidon began shoving his way through the dwindling crowd and stormed after Apollo and the guard, who still had not removed his adamantine-grip from his arm. Rude.

“You! Guard!” His uncle’s voice boomed through the air. A slave he may be now, but nothing could ever take away the blood-freezing depths of his words. “Where are you taking my nephew?”

The guard’s head had snapped around to face Poseidon, who loomed a good foot taller than the Dardanian. Despite the angry behemoth before him, the guard clearly had a nice stash of bravery somewhere within him — or he was stupid, depending on your point of view.

Personally, if Apollo had been on the receiving end of the furious stare Poseidon was giving this Dardanian, he would have scampered out of the way faster than Arion could run.

“Your indolent nephew,” the guard sneered. “Is to come to the king. He has some words to share with him.”

“Very well,” Poseidon tersely replied, eyes storming like the Adriatic Sea on a bad day. “Lead the way.”

The guard hesitated, his grip on Apollo’s arm loosening a bit, much to his relief. He pulled it out of his grasp and hid a wince at the twinge that shot up to his shoulder. Thanks a lot, he grumbled, rubbing at the blossoming bruise. Not like that’s gonna make carrying bricks even more of a pain or anything…

Then again, he healed fast. Maybe he wouldn’t have to deal with a stinging arm in the morning.

Though…Apollo nervously folded his hands together as the Dardanian guard jerkily motioned for him and Poseidon to follow. By the attitude of the guard, he clearly didn’t think Apollo would exist when Eos decided to paint the sky pink with her fingers.

Apollo kept his eyes fixed on the dirt below, ignoring the sleepy city around him. He stifled a yawn that pulled at his throat, and jumped when Poseidon nudged his shoulder with his own.

“You good?” he murmured under his breath, eyeing the guard marching before them with an intense look of dislike.

The younger god nodded, shakily inhaling as he muttered a “yes” in response.

“Tired?”

“As always.”

A ghost of the jovial grin Apollo remembered appeared on his uncle’s face. “Just remember — once that stupid wall is done, we’re out of here.”

Apollo felt his own lips curl into a smile just as the guard quickened his pace and entered the throne room. Yeah, he couldn’t wait for this stupid punishment to be over. Apollo swatted at the sheer curtains hanging from the doorways, tensing as he spotted the king of Ilios seated on his throne, fingers tapping the armrest ominously.

“The slave you ordered, sir,” the guard bowed.

Laomedon barely gave Apollo a glance. “Why is he here?” He idly lifted a finger to point at Poseidon, who crossed his arms and glared at the king.

The guard cleared his throat, mouth opening as he clearly scrambled to explain how he was cowed into letting Poseidon in, when the king sighed and waved him away.

“Nevermind,” he inspected his nails. “Just go.” The guard quickly bowed once more before shuffling off.

Apollo clasped his hands before him and kept his gaze on the three steps leading up to the throne as Laomedon’s stare finally declared him entertaining enough for attention.

“So,” the king idly leaned forward, eyes fixed on Apollo. It made him distinctively uncomfortable. “I read the recent report on my wall’s construction.” A beat passed. “And I saw something…rather disappointing.” Laomedon rose from his throne and stood at the top of the stairs. “You do remember why your father made me your master, correct?”

Apollo silently nodded as Poseidon’s glare darkened.

“Good,” Laomedon took a step down. His voice darkened. “Then why,” Another step. “Are you failing,” His robes swished as he took the final step. “To meet your assigned quota?” The king’s scowl was harsh, burning into Apollo’s skin as he bit his lip.

“I–I,” Apollo stammered. Damn, he knew this was going to come back to bite him! “I know, I was supposed to get it done by today but I had to cover Aeacus’s quota too—”

“Quiet,” Laomedon’s eyes were still dark as Apollo’s jaw snapped shut against his will. “I don’t want excuses, Apollo. Zeus said to make sure you and Poseidon learned your places in the presence of a king, and that is exactly what I shall do.”

Apollo gulped and tried to hold back a tremor as Laomedon’s ruthless gaze pinned him down. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve been late,” Apollo dropped his gaze from Laomedon’s. “I let those be then, because I thought perhaps you still needed a little extra time to learn. Apparently I was wrong.”

Laomedon’s face split into a smirk. “Come here,” he snapped to the empty space in front of him. “Now.”

In less than a second, Apollo moved to obey. He gritted his teeth, once again attempting to fight against the compulsion, but like every single time before, it was no use.

A hand flashed out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. Poseidon’s gaze was as sharp as a shark’s as he stared Laomedon down. “No. He can stay right here to listen to what you have to say.”

Laomedon tutted. “Poseidon, let him go and stay put. Apollo — come here.”

Jerkily, Poseidon’s hand released Apollo and the younger god attempted to shoot his uncle with an assuring smile. He feared he only managed a grimace.

Taking a steadying breath, Apollo rolled his shoulders back and approached Laomedon, who was still smirking at his fuming uncle before snapping his dark eyes to him. The way the king steepled his fingers gave him an eerie resemblance to Zeus.

Of course, Apollo reflected as he steadily met Laomedon’s self-satisfied stare. He doesn’t quite have the intimidation factor down nearly as well. Though he had to admit, the way the king’s eyes flashed at Apollo’s nerve to meet him eye-to-eye was also very reminiscent of Zeus.

Apollo didn’t know if he meant it as a compliment or not.

Laomedon sighed, as if Apollo had caused him immense stress and disappointment. He tipped his head and clucked his tongue. “Now all that’s left is to find a proper punishment for you.”

The god recoiled at that, but Laomedon didn’t let him get far. He snatched the front of Apollo’s tunic and yanked him back toward him and grabbed his chin. “Since the wall isn’t tough enough work for you, perhaps a few months tending my lovely fields? By yourself?”

The ichor in his veins turned to ice. “That’ll take forever!” he protested.

“The winter months are almost upon us,” Poseidon added. Apollo couldn’t see his face, but he knew his uncle must be thunderous by the dark rumble of his words. “Not only would it be impossible for Apollo to accomplish alone, even with his lyre, but it would deprive your people of much-needed food the next year. Surely you’d know this.”

Laomedon’s eyes glanced behind Apollo, where Poseidon presumably was, hands still tight on Apollo’s tunic and face. He hummed. “I suppose,” he shrugged. “I would hate to have to punish my people because of you, Apollo.” The king’s brow furrowed, as if contemplating his choices. Personally, Apollo didn’t think it was a very good look on him.

Then the king got a wicked gleam in his eyes that also wasn’t a good look on him and set Apollo on edge.

“Of course…” Laomedon nearly purred and wow, his grandmother Rhea’s lions would be offended by how bad he made it sound. The king’s lips curved, a cruel tilt to his head, as he bared his teeth in a grin. “I could just sell you. Though I’d hate to be deprived of your company…”

A sharp inhale was sucked into Apollo’s lungs just as Poseidon let out a snarl.

Laomedon tilted Apollo’s head from side to side. His brows furrowed once more, though in a way that was like a lazy housecat able to play with an exhausted mouse at its paws. “You would fetch a fine price with that pretty face…”

The heart in his chest cavity thumped like a lone, rabid wolf ready to lash out to defend itself from a band of hunters. Apollo swallowed and shook his head.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t,” he nervously laughed. Under any other circumstances, he actually would have been quite offended at the idea that he wouldn’t be worth a lot of drachma, he was a gorgeous, talented god after all thank you very much, but he didn’t fancy getting tossed in the amphora and haggled over like livestock either. “Like you said, I’m awful at work — who’d want a slave who can’t work?”

“They would if they were a god,” much to Apollo’s growing horror, Laomedon seemed to actually be considering the idea, like actually thinking about it. “I’m sure Zeus would understand that you needed a harsher hand.”

“Absolutely not,” Poseidon interjected, his own scowl as harsh as the suggestion Laomedon had put forth. “First of all, my brother assigned us to you — he would not approve of you selling Apollo off. Secondly…” the older sea god drew himself to his full height and pinned the king with a raging stare. “I will not let you. You try it, and I swear I will kill you myself.”

Apollo hardly dared to breathe as slave and master — or god and mortal, he reminded himself — stared each other down. Poseidon’s face was simultaneously as stony as the walls of Ilios itself, and as wrathful as the seas he ruled. He was a true contradiction, and one not to cross.

Laomedon seemed to have realized that himself. His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing with a hint of…unease, perhaps? Wariness?

A cruel master Laomedon may be, but at least he wasn’t a stupid one. Poseidon would have killed him long ago if he had been.

“Then tell me, Poseidon,” Laomedon sounded equally irritated and irate. “What should Apollo’s punishment be?” The unease in his dark eyes was replaced with a brief flash that instinctively made Apollo wary. “Perhaps serving me more…directly in my palace?”

Apollo scowled. “I’d rather fight Python again.”

“Not to mention,” Poseidon called. “We’ll be down a worker for the walls — you said you want them built within a year, yes? Taking Apollo away from it would slow production.”

Laomedon gave a long sigh, absently brushing his thumb over Apollo’s cheek as he gave Poseidon a look.

“Well, since you’re so interested…” Laomedon released Apollo’s jaw — much to the god’s relief — but kept his grip on his tunic. The younger god attempted to subtly rub at his chin as Poseidon drew forth, the salty scent he carried with him drifting around Apollo. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at his uncle’s closeness.

“You can decide,” the king triumphantly declared. The relief Apollo felt was instantly squashed, and he stared with wide eyes first at Laomedon, then at Poseidon. His uncle had tensed, jaw clenched as he glared at Laomedon with nothing but pure dislike. “But of course,” Laomedon added slyly, finally relinquishing his hold on Apollo’s tunic with a lazy shrug, flicking at a strand of golden hair. “I retain the right to deny it and proceed with my idea.”

A wail of despair welled in Apollo’s throat, though he thankfully managed to swallow it back down. Though maybe a whimper escaped in the process.

This was it. Laomedon wasn’t going to be deterred by threats of what Zeus would do to him. There was no way he was going to accept whatever idea Poseidon came up with, not if he could humiliate a god of Apollo’s caliber.

Apollo silently cursed his father for taking off with Laomedon’s uncle. Why, oh why did Laomedon have to take his anger out on the most gorgeous god on Olympus? Was it because Ganymede had been snatched for his beauty and he was trying to make himself feel better by demeaning Apollo in such a way?

If so, he was so petty. Apollo hadn’t even been involved in that whole fiasco!

Poseidon had yet to say anything, his silence brewing a dangerous hurricane of potent emotions.

Laomedon, on the other hand, seemed to almost be enjoying himself. “We don’t have all night,” he tutted. “And I have a dowry to begin preparing for Proclia’s future marriage, so please do not waste my time.”

Apollo vaguely remembered Proclia. She was about thirteen, with long red hair and kind brown eyes. She had kindly given him some water one day when he’d been exhausted from brick-laying — much nicer than her pig of a father.

He hoped she was married to someone good. Though Laomedon didn’t seem to have an eye for such suitors. Maybe he could nudge Hymenaeus into helping…hmm…

Poseidon crossed his arms, face still shadowed with his storm, before he tersely nodded. “Very well. I suggest Apollo protect your cattle in the fields of Mount Ida. It’s been attacked lately by wild dogs, wolves, and other various beasts, am I correct?”

Laomedon frowned and tipped his head. “You are,” he agreed. “I have been losing the young cattle lately…ever since my father was king, anyway,” he added with a curl of his lips. Apollo winced and inwardly thought, Ganymede. The youth had used to protect Ilios’s herd of cattle…up until he caught Zeus’s fancy.

Apollo then arched a brow. Was it possible Poseidon was trying to appease Laomedon’s resentment of his uncle’s apotheosis with Apollo’s services in the very fields Ganymede had been taken from? He supposed it would be best to temper that anger…

…though did it have to come at the cost of him?

Laomedon, however, didn’t seem convinced. “Difficult that service may be,” he mused, fingers steepled once again. “I’m afraid I’m not quite satisfied with it. Any amendments to make? If not, I’ll be all too happy to get your nephew started on his new assignment.”

Assignment! Apollo scoffed, yet his hands shook at the possibility. He clenched them tightly as a low growl left Poseidon’s throat. “An amendment it is, then,” he clenched his own fists and sarcastically muttered; “Do you have any suggestions?”

The king thoughtfully hummed. “You know, perhaps I do.”

Poseidon blinked. Apollo tensed. Clearly, his uncle had meant the comment in jest, but Laomedon had not taken it that way.

“How about this…” Laomedon crossed his arms and studied the two of them. “Apollo works in the fields, protecting my prized cattle, while you, Poseidon, take on his work on the walls. I’m sure you can handle a double workload better than Apollo.” Apollo quietly huffed at the slight. “Aeacus is almost recovered from his bout of sickness anyway,” Laomedon continued. “So he can continue his third of the wall soon enough.” The king then raised a finger. “But the condition is that Apollo will also get the mortar and bricks you will build with…from my palace.”

Apollo glanced at Poseidon out of the corner of his eye. His uncle caught it. Despite his unease, Apollo knew this was the best deal they were going to get. He gave a slight nod — I can do this.

Poseidon inclined his head. “We accept the terms.” He announced.

Laomedon slyly smiled. “Good. Now go,” he pointed at the curtain-covered door behind them. “Best get some rest. You have work tomorrow.”

Work they had, indeed.

Over the months, as Eurus’s autumn winds turned away and allowed Boreas’s chilly breath to descend over Ilios, Apollo spent his mornings quickly gathering as much mortar and bricks as he could, thanking his godly strength that he was able to carry so much, dodging running into Laomedon in the process, and delivering it to Poseidon before rushing to Mount Ida and perching on an outcrop, keeping a careful eye on the cattle and the wintry woods around him. A few times he had to fend off a particularly hungry wolf before communicating to it about a much better place to hunt, with deer roaming despite these barren months. The little guy had given him a thankful nuzzle before darting away in the direction Apollo had pointed.

“Never seen a wolf do that, before,” a feminine voice made Apollo jolt and he spun around, still half-kneeling from where he’d been speaking with the wolf. A girl around his age — that is to say, his human age of eighteen — stood before him. Her pale hair was braided, like bundles of flax woven into a fine basket. Pearls sat in her braids. Her dark skin was clean. Her eyes were like pools of fresh, spring water. Her peplos a rosy pink, like Eos’s lovely dawn. “They usually growl when they see humans.”

Apollo self-consciously adjusted his straw hat, thankful the only thing marring his own visage was the occasional smudge of dirt, though that itself was minorly annoying when faced with a pretty girl.

“Well,” he modestly shrugged and rose to his feet, casually leaning against his shepherd’s staff. “I suppose that’s because most humans don’t have anything good to say.”

The girl considered him. “I suppose,” she nodded. “I wouldn’t know the first thing to say to a wolf anyway. I’d probably communicate something along the lines of ‘I want to eat your young’ instead of ‘Hello, my name is Ourea. What’s yours?’.”

Apollo cracked a grin. “Was that an indirect way of introducing yourself? And to get my name?”

The girl — Ourea, Apollo noted, a name meaning ‘mountains’, as well as the name of some of Gaea’s offspring — smiled and gave a modest shrug of her own. “Perhaps. Not everyday you meet a man who can speak wolf.”

“It’s sadly a lost art,” Apollo mock-sighed. “Very few are able to master such a skill.”

“Oh?” Ourea drifted closer and intently stared at him. Her eyes were very distracting. Apollo had never really paid attention to the beauty of water before, but wow. It definitely deserved a few odes, perhaps even a sonnet. The way the sunlight shone off her eyes…it was like marveling at a sunset over the sea.

“Care to teach me?”

Apollo smiled. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Ourea was rather good company. She was in the field waiting for him when he came to watch the herd, and he would impart to her the language of wolves — their code, their way of life, and how they communicated. She had trouble with it at first, which was a given. Mortals weren’t usually interested in learning about each other, let alone an animal, but he was fascinated with Ourea’s determination to push through his lessons.

They met everyday. Winter began to wane. Poseidon would give him a sly look every morning he came to drop off the day’s delivery of mortar and bricks, and shot a shit-eating grin his way at night when he returned a bit more flushed than usual and his tunic ajar.

Some people would think it weird that Poseidon wasn’t objecting to Apollo dating his daughter — after all, fathers were supposed to want their daughters to actually be able to marry the man they were seeing.

Poseidon though wasn’t a mortal father. He rarely interacted with his children, though he lent a hand if they asked for it. When Apollo had inquired about his opinion, his uncle had merely shrugged and said; “If Ourea wants you, I see no reason why she can’t.”

Apollo had to admit. Ourea’s presence was becoming a particular bright spot in Ilios. Not only would she meet him in the meadow, but also at the walls in the mornings and watch as he passed the materials to her father, waving cheekily at him whenever he playfully wrinkled his nose at her.

One particular bright spot was a nice night between them the day the walls were finished. The formidable stones rose high into the air, fortifying the main city even better than the outer city’s walls did — because they were built by two gods, of course.

And maybe Apollo had helped speed the process up a bit by playing his lyre as the construction came close to the end. His godly power had been greatly reduced thanks to his punishment, but he’d been able to manipulate the bricks into their proper places, creating a strong barrier to protect Ilios’s people — people who included Ourea…and his own child now.

He still remembered the day she told him, breath lingering around his ear, eyes shining as she whispered; “I’m expecting!”

Poseidon had clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated both of them. And nine months later, Ourea failed to arrive in the meadow. Apollo spent the rest of the day anxiously pacing the field, his restlessness no doubt warding off would-be attackers, though few they were as Notus’s summer sighs began.

Apollo practically ran back to Ilios in his haste to find Ourea, and find her he did. Her mother was busy attending to her, while his lover sat up in bed, a bundle in her arms. Her hair was down and pearlless, but her smile was as bright as the sea’s gems.

“Ileus,” she said. “After our city.”

The god bent down and placed a gentle kiss first on Ourea, then on Ileus. “Perfect,” he murmured. “He’s perfect.”

He and Poseidon were still technically in Laomedon’s service, even with the walls complete. Thanks to their godly intervention, the walls were finished earlier than planned — which was good, for Apollo could pop in and visit Ourea and Ileus more often, but also irksome. He missed having his full godly power at his disposal. He could’ve properly helped Ourea’s birthing pains. He could’ve — would show Laomedon what happens when you treat not one, but two gods cruelly.

Though despite the disgruntlement and unease Laomedon put in him, Apollo made a silent promise to protect this city. Not all of its inhabitants were as demeaning as their king — most treated him and Poseidon with the respect gods of their caliber deserved, and very few had dared to belittle Ourea for having a child out of wedlock, not with the knowledge that Apollo had fathered him.

All in all, Apollo was in high spirits. The walls were done. He and Poseidon were about to get paid for their work once autumn came about. Ourea swore Ileus was trying to imitate a wolf’s howl the night before — bless his little soul, already taking after his parents!

The snakes put a bit of a damper on his mood, three months later.

It happened fast. The guards along the walls raised the alarm as three massive drakons rushed the walls. Apollo had been transfixed to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away as the first drakon rammed into Poseidon’s wall. It screeched when it failed to topple it.

The second attempted the same with Apollo’s wall. It too fell prey to its invulnerability.

Meanwhile the third…Apollo remained rooted to the ground as it crashed through Aeacus’s third of the wall. Stone crumbled. Mortar cracked. Ash was flung into the air as the drakon stomped through, roared triumphantly, before turning tail and charging away, its brethren on its heels, screaming like a battalion of armed warriors.

Faintly, Apollo heard Poseidon swear and sensed Ourea clutch Ileus to her chest, as if afraid the drakons would return and snatch him away. The baby’s bright blue eyes stared at the drakons in awe, his pale hair askew.

Equally as faintly, Apollo could hear the rumbles of stone falling, though the walls around him remained intact, except for Aeacus’s third. He could feel the tremors echoing through the ground, the clanging of bronze-on-bronze.

A war would be fought here. A great one.

Apollo’s smokey green eyes rolled back into his head and his breaths turned harsh;

“Unyielding walls, made of stone,

Heed my words and be known.

None shall shake your roots of steel,

But beware the tenth year.

Red-haired Pyrrus to pluck you down,

And Ilion will fall by Aeacus’s crown.”

Hands grasped his shoulders and shook. Apollo dazedly jerked his head, blinking with bewildered pale gold eyes at the creased face of Poseidon.

“Apollo,” his uncle’s dark green eyes were fixed on him with a serious, intent expression. “Apollo, was that…”

The younger god swallowed and nodded. “I believe so.” He breathed through his nose. “It was a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?” Ourea breathed, blue eyes as wide as the pools of water in Ilios’s forests. “But what…what could it mean?”

Apollo frowned, biting his lip for a moment as he considered the prophecy, absently snapping his fingers for a papyrus scroll and reed pen. He quickly scrawled the prophecy down, studying the words.

Prophecies were tricky things. They liked to make you think you figured them out, or successfully averted them, before pulling the rug out from under you. (Just ask Acrisius)

However…he squinted suspiciously at the words before him.

Unyielding walls, made of stone, heed my words and be known.

Apollo eyed the walls of Troy as citizens and slaves alike clustered around the broken wall, clamoring over each other about how to fix it.

None shall shake your roots of steel, but beware the tenth year.

Unease filled his stomach. Beware the tenth year…tenth year the walls were built? Or perhaps…

The sound of bronze weapons clashing and the ground cracking apart from an earthquake ripped through his ears once more.

No. Beware the tenth year of war.

Red-haired Pyrrus to pluck you down, and Ilion will fall by Aeacus’s crown.

The wall. The wall that fell…it was built by Aeacus, not a god. That made it the weakest point, the prime place for attack…

Or it meant —

Apollo shoved the thought away. No. No. Ilion couldn’t…

“Apollo?” Poseidon asked. “Do you know what it means?”

The younger god glanced between the intense eyes of his uncle and the anxious ones of his lover.

“I have…a suspicion,” he admitted. He met Ourea’s worried face and softly said; “I think it says the walls will fall…and so will Ilion.”

Ourea pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes widening as she held Ileus tighter, making him whine as he attempted to wiggle out of her hold, making grabby hand at Apollo. He held out his fingers and allowed Ileus to snatch them, lips curving slightly as the boy attempted to stick them in his mouth.

Poseidon had turned and stared consideringly at the walls. Apollo stiffened as he heard him mumble “Good riddance” with a slight vindictive gleam in his storming eyes as people darted around, beginning to hastily repair the damage done to the wall.

Apollo couldn’t find it within himself to agree. He knew Poseidon only said it because of how harshly Laomedon had treated them, but personally, Apollo didn’t believe Ilion deserved to crumble to the ground because of the actions of one lousy king.

Plus…Apollo fervently looked into Ourea’s concerned eyes. Placing a kiss on her lips before ruffling Ileus’s hair, making the child babble, he knew one thing about himself.

Ilion was his city. And he would do his damndest to circumvent its fate — or at the very least, delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

They were his people, just like he was their god. And nothing would ever change that.

He eyed the palace with wariness. Steeling himself, he tapped Poseidon’s shoulder and said; “We should talk to Laomedon. He needs to know.”

Poseidon hummed and shrugged. “Very well. He’s also due to pay us back for our work.”

With that, his uncle marched towards the palace, leaving the commotion of the crumbled walls behind. Apollo took Ourea’s hand and gently squeezed it, smiling lightly as he clutched the papyrus with Ilion’s fatal fate written upon it.

“We’ll be back,” he whispered. He hesitated, then drew both her and Ileus into a hug. Ourea’s free hand rested on his arm as she laid her head on his shoulder. “And don’t worry,” he added quietly. “I’ll keep Ilion safe.”

“How?” Ourea’s words were muffled slightly. “If it’s prophesied…”

Apollo rubbed her back and kissed her hair. “I’m the god of prophecy,” he grinned. “I’ll find a way.”

I hope, he left unsaid.

----------

“No.”

Apollo blinked, mouth slightly open as he stared incredulously at Laomedon. The king sat on his throne, as relaxed as a lazy lion, the side of his face leaning on his hand as he coyly smirked at the two gods.

“No?” Poseidon spat. “That was the deal, you ungrateful, impious bdelyròs!”

Laomedon clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “No need for that kind of language, Poseidon. Especially around your nephew.”

Apollo glared at him. “I’ve heard worse, thanks.”

The king shrugged. “I suppose you have,” he agreed, raking his gaze over the younger god. “You have had some…choice words, at times. But I digress,” Apollo scowled at how relaxed Laomedon looked, like he wasn’t insulting them — oh, he knew very well how demeaning this was! It wasn’t enough that ordered them about and yanked them around for his own amusement, abusing the control he had over them, but now he denied them their deserved pay!

“You have made a very unwise decision,” Poseidon softly stated, mouth curving slightly into a snarl. “When we regain our places on Olympus, we are no longer in your service, nor under your command. We are free to do as we please…” he narrowed his eyes and gave the bored king a mocking smile. “I can promise you my wrath will be felt quite soon.”

“Ah…” Laomedon clutched his chest, as if suddenly struck with a heart-attack. Apollo secretly wished for it to happen, for the terrible man to bite the dust. “The thing is, Poseidon…neither of you are allowed to harm me, even after your punishment is finished.” He bared his crooked teeth in a grin. “I’m untouchable, while I can still very much touch you.”

Apollo clenched his fists, the papyrus in one of them crumpling, before crossing his arms. “Says who?” He demanded.

“Says your father,” Laomedon’s grin was sharp as he sat up straight in his throne. “After all, the lesson was all about not challenging a king, was it not? Taking vengeance on me would mean you haven’t learnt your lesson.”

Apollo was furious. He wasn’t allowed to give Laomedon a piece of his mind? To throttle him for everything he put him through? Completely unfair! How could father let him do this?

Angry, Apollo stalked up the stairs and slapped the papyrus onto the throne’s arm. “Maybe this will get you to rethink,” he hissed as Laomedon’s dark stare first roamed over him before idly glancing at the papyrus. “Or do you not care about Ilion’s destruction?”

Laomedon’s face twisted and he seized Apollo by the strap of his chiton, yanking him close enough for him to murmur darkly; “Careful there,” His hot breath made Apollo flinch away. “I still own you.”

He ripped himself out of Laomedon’s grip and gave him a vehement stare. “You own nothing,” he muttered contemptuously. Apollo glanced over his shoulder to Poseidon, who had his arms crossed and face twisted into a mean scowl.

Apollo turned back to Laomedon. He pointed to the papyrus. “The future of your kingdom is on that scroll,” he darkly warned. “I really think you should reconsider this choice — it may lead to Ilion’s ruin.”

Laomedon gave a disbelieving snort. “Ilion is the crown jewel of Anatolia,” his nose scrunched up as he gave the younger god a condescending look. “Our warriors are of the highest caliber. My children married to powerful allies. Very few would dare to challenge us — let alone be able to destroy us, dear Apollo.”

He then leaned forward, finger tapping idly on the papyrus as he hummed. “Not to mention you are our patron god, duty-bound to come to our aid.” He glanced at the scroll and lightly snorted. “Barely half of this makes sense! Garbled nonsense.”

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Smart men can decipher a mystery,” he growled. “Wise men learn from it.”

His stomach twisted as Laomedon pretended to not hear him. Apollo glanced at his uncle, whose stormy expression made him shiver.

He had warned Laomedon. He warned him of the present and future danger to Ilion. But he refused to listen.

And that arrogance will cost him. Dearly.

It is, after all, part of the duty of a god, Apollo reflected as he and Poseidon silently exited the throne room, stalking through the grand halls with glowers. Hubris is so commonly a mortal’s fatal flaw…and Laomedon will be no different.

—

I refrained from my usual rambles so if you want my rambles see my Ao3 for the fic upload there! :3

#submission #toasecretsanta #firealder2005 #literallyjusttoa #trials of apollo #toa #trials of apollo fanfiction #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #pjo apollo #pjo poseidon #pjo laomedon

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astralstarlight · 2 years

Text

an inkling

pairing: rindou haitani x reader

summary: you try to surprise rindou for his birthday, but he catches you before you can even finish decorating his cake.

word count: 1k+

notes: it's his birthday!! he's been my favourite for so long!! he deserves this.

Rindou Haitani isn’t a big fan of surprises. He has a notable ability to sense when they’re coming, and he always successfully manages to wriggle his way out of them at all costs. It hadn’t always been this way. This newly found dislike of surprises had only appeared sometime between Tenjiku and Bonten, and then it had stuck. And you, somehow understood him immediately and had never given him any trouble at all.

He barely makes it into his apartment before he stops. You’re here. You’re here when you're not supposed to be. Somehow, he’s missed all the signs and walked straight from one problem right into another.

Escaping one of Bonten’s dreaded meetings is one thing, but there isn’t any possible way of retreating out of his own apartment without making you feel awkward. And you must already be feeling something, judging by the way the icing in the piping bag is falling onto the countertop instead of the plain, white cake perched prominently on a cake stand. There’s a guilty look in your eyes. He lets the door close shut softly behind him.

‘I’m sorry.’ You say. But you don’t sound sorry. It must be difficult to look anything but ridiculous when you’re frozen in place, one hand in front of the cake as though it’s going to make it disappear from his sight. It takes Rindou a couple of seconds to move on from his shock and actually see what’s going on.

One, there’s a plastic lid settled on the table, which means you hadn’t even baked the cake at all, merely bought a plain one from the supermarket to decorate over. Two, there’s a small, wrapped box placed neatly on his dining room table, next to a bouquet of flowers that he definitely would have remembered buying for himself. He can picture you giggling to yourself as you place the items down, completely unaware of the fact that he was getting ready to drive home before any of his lovely Bonten co-workers pounced on him. It almost makes him want to say reassuring words to you first.

Almost.

‘So that’s why Ran wanted me to stay behind so bad.’ You give an awkward laugh, both hands settling the piping bag down on the table as you finally realise the mess you’re making. ‘Honestly,’ he continues. ‘You can never really trust Ran to do anything right.’

‘Ah, I’ll remember that for next time.’ Crossing your arms, you lean forward onto the countertop, flashing Rindou a smile. ‘Guess planning a last minute surprise isn’t such a good idea, huh?’

‘Trust me.’ Rindou kicks off his shoes at the door. ‘I would have figured it out if you had been planning this any longer.’

‘You’re scary sometimes, you know that?’

He snorts, placing his arms down on either side of you. Rindou really can’t be mad at this. The entire plan didn’t even go through anyways. All the surprises have been avoided and seen. So then, why does he feel a small twinge of guilt? He wraps his arms around your stomach and leans his forehead onto your shoulder. It’s funny. He must have done this so many times over the past years, yet your breathing still becomes slightly uneven. A warmth fills his chest when you relax back into him. You’re warm, so very warm, and–

Oh.

Your eyes are closed, a small smile still evident on your face. You’re so comfortable like this, and honestly, this is what Rindou misses all the time. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so comfortable around him. You make a questioning sound and he blinks back down to see you staring up at him, eyes wide.

‘What are you thinking about?’ You ask, head slightly tilted. It’s the same voice you use when you’re laying next to him in bed just before you drift off to sleep.

Rindou thinks about what he should say, thinks about whether this is the right time to tell you he might be in love with you, or whether you would still want to be with him if he tells you every single wrong deed he’s ever done in his life, wonders if you would still stay when he bares his soul completely to you. So he thinks again.

When Rindou thinks of surprises, he thinks of big, grandiose gestures. He thinks of chaotic parties and mess and people he might not even know pretending to know him. But this isn’t like that. You’ve never been like that at all. You’re simple, so very simple, in the best way possible. And maybe this is alright. Maybe it’s okay sometimes to have a small, unexpected thing happen in his almost solidified routines and habits.

But because he’s Rindou Haitani and he still partially has his guard up when it comes to things like this, he says something completely different.

‘I’m thinking,’ Rindou says slowly, leaning down to whisper into your ear. ‘That we shouldn’t let the icing go to waste.’

He watches your face as the words leave his lips, noting exactly when you understand what he’s implying. A light blush tinges your cheeks, and you quickly turn your gaze away from him to take a breath. The slow rise and fall of your chest pushes against him, and he recognises the act as you gathering courage to say something in retaliation. A smirk crosses your lips and you turn back to look at him.

‘Well, tomorrow you’re having a proper celebration and party with Bonten. No escaping it.’ You add, one finger raised to his lips to stop him from refusing. ‘But tonight,’ your hands fiddle with the bottom of his tie and his eyes follow the movement shamelessly. ‘It’s just us.’

Rindou lets out a hum of acknowledgement.

‘It’s just us.’ You repeat, quieter.

Rindou straightens, placing the plastic lid on top of the undecorated cake before returning to your side. You’re still standing there, patiently waiting for him with such a hopeful look in your eyes that he knows he’s going to cave later and let you decorate the cake for him. He can almost hear your voice saying: “You deserve a little treat every once in a while too, you know?” But you don’t say that.

‘Happy birthday.’ You smile at him, that same fond smile you give him all the time, and yet…

Rindou thinks he wants to kiss you.

And so he does.

#rindou haitani #rindou haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokrev x reader #haitani rindou x reader #haitani rindou #— alathea writes

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albatmobile · 5 months

Text

Cardinal Sins Chapter 1

𓅪 Living with your vigilante boyfriends for the past year has been amazing, well, almost. Butting heads, old wounds resurfacing and a deadly threat still looming overhead could threaten the sanctity of everything you've ever fought for. Will you finally overcome your tainted past and survive the trials and tribulations, or will your relationships and your faith crumble under the pressure?

Rated: M | 6.5k fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist] Previous in Series: Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds

Chapter One: Everybody Wants to Rule the World

It’s only been mere hours since Bruce had handed you three sets of keys.

You’d met him in the lobby of your current place after you got a random text that he was in the neighborhood.

“The keys activate the elevator,” He dangled a set of gold keys in front of you before handing the rest over. “These act as keys to your new place.”

“Mine?” You questioned with a raised brow.

Time’s really flown.

You, Roy and Jason had been dating for a year now and your lease at your old apartment was coming to an end next week.

He smiled, patting you on the shoulder, “The lease is in your name.”

“That’s too much!” You shook your head, making to give back the keys but he refused the action with a chuckle.

“You’re practically one of my own.” Your heart thrummed in disbelief. “It’s the least I can do, seeing as I own the place and all.” You didn’t know why, but you though you saw a twinge of pride in his eyes. “Alfred’s cooking a Sunday roast for the family,” He opened the lobby door and began to walk backward out of the building, facing you all the while. “The four of you should stop by the manor once you get settled in. The movers should already have new furniture all set up, so it’s just a matter of unpacking.”

Ever since freshman year of high school, you’d found your life intertwined with everyone who’s stepped foot in that manor.

Damian had taken you in as a stray within your first week at Gotham Academy. Soon so did Tim, your lockermate and Stephanie, his on-again off-again girlfriend. After that, you were over at the manor daily and spending the night nearly every night of the week.

Jason had been unexpected, having quite literally crashed into your life.

After him, Roy had been an easy addition; that is, as soon as you got through Jason’s prickly exterior. They were both three years older than you, but it hadn’t stopped you from chasing after them.

When Jason and Roy had disappeared before their graduation, you hadn’t realized you wouldn’t hear from them for another 5 years.

That’s right- it wasn’t until nearly two years ago that they finally reached out to reveal what had kept them from you for so long. Though, it hadn’t actually been that easy because, well, Jason and Roy are also Red Hood and Arsenal.

You showed up at their apartment door to find Roy with a bionic arm and a kid and only much later did you figure out their secret identities.

Soon after they reappeared in your life, your parents did as well. Them and a barrage of Gotham’s finest criminals, which ultimately ended in a dockyard fight with you and the entire Batfamily.

“Sounds good,” You’d waved him goodbye, smiling as he sauntered away with his Bruce Wayne persona. “Thank you for everything, Bruce!”

At his name, flocks of people turned around and began to pull out their phones. He’d turned around to shoot you an annoyed, yet obviously mirthful look at the fact that you’d started a media frenzy.

You stood there a moment longer, watching as he avoided questions with grace before disappearing into his flashy Lamborghini with a small wave back.

Now, here you are piled into a fancy elevator with Jason, Roy, Lian and a shit ton of boxes.

“Old man never gave me shit,” Jason grumbles as he turns the key in the penthouse slot.

You were surprised by the generosity as well.

You’ve always considered Bruce a father figure ever since he stepped in to help you fight, well, your actual father. That dockyard battle for example??? Yeah, that shit had all been organized by your biological parents.

Ever since your conception, it had been planned that you would be Gotham’s reckoning.

Your parents had created a trust fund for Gotham’s criminals to funnel money, meaning your death had been planned from the start. All the while, you were to be used as a lab rat for the Joker’s experiments, which were to then be used on the organization’s enemies.

Picture this: 15 years old, wearing a ballgown your mother had stolen to the Wayne Gala only to get beaten and injected by the Joker and his goons. Now, picture 20 years old, surrounded by your found family while your actual family tried to murder you for the

Talk about trauma, right?

Lian giggles at Jason’s curse, leaving Roy to glare in the raven’s direction. “Oh, so the safehouses he paid for don’t count now, Jay?” Jason merely glares at him in response, undoubtedly saving Lian’s ears from any further cursing.

Recently, Lian’s taken to repeating everything. Literally everything.

From the weather report, to Titus’ barks, to curses and anything and everything she hears from her superhero cartoons, she repeats it all.

You can’t help but feel stuck on what Bruce said when he’d handed you the keys.

“He said I was ‘practically one of his own,’” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, looking to Jason for an answer.

“Told you,” Roy mutters under his breath, seemingly to no one and everyone at the same time.

Ever since your biological family had given you up, you’d felt misplaced and unwanted.

Yes, you had Jason, Roy and Lian, but you wanted a parental figure, something you’d never had. Part of you was starting to feel like Bruce was that, but you could never be too sure. The man kept his cards close and his emotions closer- practically the paragon of a closed book.

“I do, you know,” You trail off self-consciously, rubbing at your forearm for comfort, “view him as a father figure.” You’re not sure who chokes first, but both of them immediately begin coughing. “I mean, like, in the least weirdest way possible!” You attempt to rectify your statement, but it’s too late. Your cards are on the table.

You see, while Jason isn’t biologically related to Bruce and neither are you, you both see him as a father, which does tend to make things… odd.

“Well,” He drawls, “that didn’t sound grammatically correct in the slightest.”

Of course he’d deflect.

You let out an annoyed sigh, “Fuck you.”

So, the honeymoon period is definitely a thing.

For real.

Not that it wasn’t currently still going on, nor do you doubt the feeling will ever truly wane with two men like Jason and Roy. All you’re saying is that cracks in the relationship and points of contention have been becoming more obvious. You tell yourself that it’s only natural this happens, though you’re not entirely sure since this is your first long-term relationship.

One point of contention being: Jason dodging any and every serious conversation.

Example: right now.

Even Roy, who seems to rely on humor to get out of tough situations can sit down and talk it through. Jason, on the other hand? He needs a lot of coaxing and it’s not the way you roll.

“Hey,” Roy rubs your shoulder with his bionic arm before the two of you can start squabbling. “We’re just glad you have family and to be your family. Technicalities and all,” He gives your shoulder a light squeeze as the elevator comes to a halt.

The doors open to reveal a penthouse not even Damian could dream of.

“Holy shi-,” Jason’s elbow to the chest prevents Roy from finishing the curse, though Lian already has it memorized.

“Oh, shit!” She squeals as she breaks into a run. She manages to dodge Jason and Roy’s attempts to collect her and calm her down by squirming and ducking under all the new, read: expensive, furniture.

“Looks like the latest edition of Architectural Digest in here,” You whistle lowly as you take in the expansive room with wall-to-floor windows.

Roy’s too busy following after Lian, grabbing falling lamps and vases that she’s run into to respond.

Jason still seems stuck on your irritation in the elevator, but, as usual, he says nothing. All you want is validation from him that you belong in his family, yet he refuses to give it to you and you can’t pinpoint why.

“Since when have you read that shit?”

You know moving’s hard, so you take it easy on him.

For now.

“It’s called manifestation, whore.”

It’s at this exact moment, of course, that Lian sprints into the main living room with an attached kitchen and dining room.

“S’called manifestation, roar!” Lian screeches with a devilish smile.

“Oh, thank fuck she heard that wrong,” Roy hurriedly runs past you and Jason who are still stationed in the entryway.

“Oh, thank fuck!” She maniacally giggles as she crawls out from under the couch and makes her way back over toward you and her daddy.

As she’s passing, you reach down, catching Lian in your arms. She attempts to keep running even in your strong grasp but eventually tires out like a wind-up toy reaching the end of its winding.

Eventually, she settles down for a nap in her new lily pad styled bed. The whole room looked straight out of Princess and the Frog with dreamy shades of green, purple, pink and blue scattered throughout.

Tiny pixie lights were strung up and cascaded their twinkling glow down the walls.

While she’s conked out, you, Jason and Roy set to work on unpacking the few boxes you’ve brought. It doesn’t even take two hours, but it’s enough to leave you exhausted.

You plop down to your new sectional with a tired huff.

Jason and Roy are in the same boat.

Jason groans as soon as his body hits the couch, “God, I can’t wait to not fucking do anything.” He closes his eyes and rubs at the bridge between them, “We’re going to stay on this couch and order pizza.”

“Pizza,” Roy tiredly agrees from next to you. “Definitely pizza.”

“I forgot to mention,” You clear your throat, catching both of your boyfriend’s attention as you do. “We’ve got dinner at the manor.”

•••

When you get to the manor, everyone’s already mulling about, laughing as they help Alfred set the table.

Once you’ve greeted everyone and handed Lian off to Dick and Wally, everyone helps themselves to a plate from the kitchen and takes a seat.

It’s truly a full house with your family of four and Bruce and Alfred, of course. Dick brought along his fiancé Wally, while Damian seemed to have a similar idea as Jon is also milling about in the kitchen. Barbra’s here, but what you can’t figure out is why Tim and Stephanie seem to have both brought Conner Kent to dinner.

You vaguely remember him from the college party all those years ago, but since when had either of them been that close to Connor? As far as you’d heard, Tim and Stephanie had been official ever since the dockyard battle, soooo what the fuck is Kent doing at Sunday dinner?

Everyone seems to be thinking the same thing, but with him being a half-blooded Kryptonian and all, no one raises the question.

“You wanna talk embarrassing?” Dick scoffs, “Wally, over here, decided last Hanukkah,” Wally groans, shaking his head in his hand, “that it’d be a good idea to do a ‘Secret Santa’ for it.”

“Dick, dude, do you even know the definition of embarrassing?” Roy goes into a whole reenactment of the coffee shop debacle, back before you knew about them being heroes. By the time Roy gets to the main part of the story, nearly everyone’s in tears, “And then she smashed a toilet lid over his head, swear,” Roy has to catch his breath, “funniest shit I’ve ever seen in my life. Jay went down like a ton of bricks and the whole time I had to stay in character.”

Where Dick, Babs and Steph are doubled over laughing, Jason looks like he’s already planning where to hide your other boyfriend’s body.

Damian ‘tchs,’ “Pathetic, Todd. You allowed an untrained girl to disarm you so easily?”

“You,” Jason brushes him off easily, “you, I don’t want to hear from.”

“Refusing to hear the truth?” Damian scoffs. “Even more pathetic than I thought.”

Connor looks around the room, gauging everyone else’s reactions, though everyone’s already used to their constant bickering.

“No one likes you, pipsqueak,” Jason sneers like the true older brother he is.

“I like him,” Jon pipes up, smiling sheepishly when Jason’s heavy glare falls upon him from across the table. “But, you are being a bit over the top, Dami. You should apologize.”

You’re pretty sure, no, you know it’s Dick who ‘coos' at their interaction and you can’t help but agree.

Jason’s glare drops as he, instead, nods approvingly Jon’s way.

Throughout your friendship, you and Damian had been in a tangled web of miscommunications, hormones, and wrong-doings. Once Jason and Roy came back for good, you knew you and Damian were meant to remain as friends.

Damian and Jon, though? They’re definitely made for each other.

Damian, honest to god, pouts at his boyfriend before turning back to sneer at yours.

“Todd,” His voice rumbles lowly.

“Brat?” Jason’s smirking now.

Damian mutters some unkind words under his breath he’s lucky Alfred’s too old to hear before continuing, “I apologize. It appears I’ve taken things too far, though your skills still are very much questionable to me.”

Jason huffs, “Whatever.”

Tim waits a moment for the chatter that follows to die down a bit before he brings up what everyone’s been dancing around.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors that, uh,” Tim shoots an uncomfortable look at you and Jason, “Joker’s back. A few of my sources say if he hasn’t broken out already, he will soon.”

You watch as Jason’s fists clench under the table, noting how Roy’s hand immediately chases after to soothe it.

Dick shakes his head, “He’s as good as locked up. Bruce, Damian and I checked out Arkham last week. He hasn’t moved since they put him in there after his Thanksgiving bombing.”

Tim still seems unconvinced, “He’s still making moves, then.”

“Do you want him to escape, Tim?” Jason sneers, “Because that’s what it’s sounding like.”

Connor bristles, though Stephanie’s gentle hand on his shoulder has him backing down immediately. Your brow raises, thinking back to Roy’s similar gesture with Jason just moments ago. Are Stephanie and Tim back on?

Jon looks as completely bewildered as Conner does as they observe the Batfamily semantics.

Wally and Roy look like they want to step in but, ultimately, don’t want to get involved in family drama.

For Barbra and Stephanie, this is just another Sunday.

“Master Jason,” Alfred’s wise timbre stirs from the end of the table not occupied by Bruce, “Master Damian. Is it too much to ask for just one civil dinner?”

“Sorry, Alfred,” They both grumble in unison.

Soon, everyone begins catching up once again.

Alfred cuts Lian’s roast for her at the same time Roy cuts her potatoes, Jon keeps leaning over to whisper things to Damian that draw a small smile. Dick, Wally and Roy reminisce about the Titans, eventually going over their wedding plans with Barbra and Stephanie’s excited input, while Tim and Jon argue horror movies with Jason and Connor.

And there Bruce sits; all the way at the end, hands clasped watching it all.

Your stomach is warm, filled with the inexplicable feeling of love in the room.

You listen in on it all with a huge grin that’s been present on your face ever since you arrived. You go to drink your water when, suddenly, your hand falters.

One moment, you’re there in Wayne Manor at the dinner table with your family and now you’re….

You look around, watching as groups of men swarm a truck. A group of two men present you with a box, which, when opened, reveals a stem.

You blink.

Suddenly, you see people in some kind of uniform running all around you. When you look to the right of you, you want to stumble back, but your body only continues to run.

Joker?

You must’ve been out of it for a while because, when you come to, you’re left with 13 pairs of concerned eyes on you.

“Uh,” Stephanie chucks a potato from her fork from across the table at you. “Are you having a ‘That’s So Raven’ moment, or are you and the dickwad’s using a remote-controlled vibrator?” You shake your head, mind still clearly picturing what you’d just seen. Stephanie’s words, however, go unnoticed. Suddenly, you hear her saying your name, “You good?”

You blink.

You��re back in the manor, back at the dinner table, but your mind is clearly elsewhere.

“What?” You ask, looking around the table at everyone’s concerned faces.

Jason’s brows are furrowed in a silent question of ‘are you okay,’ while Roy’s hand rubs gently at your back.

Are you okay?

You clear your throat and force a smile you know won’t pass in a room full of detectives, but, hey, what can you do?

The last time you had a vision that intense had been…

Your brain screams with a sting of sharp pain that leaves you clutching the tablecloth for relief.

In the dockyard, Joker had injected you with two syringes. Immediately following the initial toxin, you’d been met with a vision right as the Joker made his escape in the helicopter. Though you’ve tried hard to remember what you’d seen in the past year, for some reason it had never been clear until now.

Joker’s hands, the glaring lights of the city below, the scrawny man beside him…

“Yeah,” You clear your throat again as you force another smile. “Acid reflux,” You shrug to solidify your false excuse.

The table’s conversation slowly stirs again, though Jason and Roy’s eyes never leave the side of your face. You’re not ready to meet their eye contact, knowing you won’t be able to meet their concern.

“So,” Bruce begins, “I’ve heard you’ve been somewhat involved in their operations for some time now. Have you thought about what your future involvement may look like?”

“What do you mean?”

He takes a coy sip of water, “I mean, are you content with staying behind the screens? Or, is there a plan to eventually join them in the field?”

Point of contention #2: neither of your boyfriends ever wanted you involved in any confrontation.

Sure, behind the screens as ‘their own personal Oracle,’ as they called you was fine. Anything else?

Nope. No. Nada.

They wouldn’t have it.

Total double standard, but they’re too fogged in their love for you to care.

“Says the man who threw three kids into the field before they’d hit puberty.”

“Believe me,” Bruce says tonelessly, “you’d hit puberty, Jason.”

“Old enough to see through the bullshit, maybe,” Jason snaps back easily. “Dick was fucking 8, Bruce. Damian, 10. You don’t care about the logistics, let alone the safety. I do,” He glares at his father, “and I don’t want my family getting hurt.”

“Jay,” Dick frowns, making to put his hand on Jason’s for across the table, but Jason easily retracts his hand. “I love you and appreciate you, really, I do,” He puts his hand over his heart, “but I don’t need you to stick up for me. We’re all working on our issues; it takes time but I know we’ll all eventually get there.”

Damian seethes quietly across from you, though you know it’s in defense of his father.

“Get there eventually?” Jason snorts, throwing out his hands dramatically. “I’m sitting here, a few years off of 30 and still fucking going through it. You think she needs to go through this contention too?”

“She,” You start with purpose, “is not a child,” You reference his earlier rebuttal, “and she can stick up for myself! Uh, I mean, herself.” You shake your head in annoyance before starting over. “I’m a grown woman and I appreciate you wanting to look out for me, but that’s so hypocritical when you’re both going out every other night to do the very thing you don’t want me doing; isn’t it?”

It’s deadass quiet.

Like, you’ve never heard the manor so quiet with this many family members in it.

“Speaking for me,” Barbra’s sweet voice stirs slowly as if she’s picking and choosing her words carefully. “I went from Batgirl to Oracle, not the other way around like you.” You nod, interested in where she’s going with this. “Being Oracle has made me so much more aware of everything, regardless of physical training, being Oracle comes with its own set of skills none of you possess and that gives her an edge.” Your heart swells. “We’ve all seen her on the battlefield and seen how she can handle her own under pressure.”

“You’re a strong woman,” Stephanie concurs, saying your name as she does so.

“At the end of the day,” Roy finally speaks up from beside you. “What you’re all saying is true and we can’t stop her. It’s her decision and we’ll support her either way.”

An actual end to the contention?

Your head snaps over to catch Jason’s reaction, but he’s glaring at the painting behind Tim’s head, “I guess we’ll just have to see how it goes.” His teeth aren’t necessarily gritted, though it sure sounds like it.

No one speaks, there’s only the clinking of forks and Alfred’s low humming to occupy the large dining room.

“Well,” Bruce’s domineering voice suddenly captures the attention of everyone at the table in an instant, “if you’re going to be going on missions, you’ll need to have a suit.”

He gives you a pointed look that you can’t help but smile at.

“I,” You trail off, looking down at the mahogany dining table. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I’ve got that part covered,” His smile is warm, however small it may be. “You’ve got an appointment with the new co-chair of the R&D department. Right, Damian.”

Damian glares from a few seats over, correcting his father, “Head.” No matter how old he gets, he never outgrows his signature scowl.

Bruce smiles lightly, “Of course.” Though his correction is largely ignored by his youngest son.

“Tomorrow, 10 o’clock sharp,” Damian’s eyes narrow your way. “Don’t be late.”

•••

You arrive at 9:55 in the morning out of nerves and sheer excitement.

Jon’s already there to greet you with another man you’ve seen around at a few Chrismukkahs at the Manor. The raven is quick to explain that Damian got caught up in a meeting and introduces you to the gentleman in the suit.

“Meet Luke Fox,” Jon stands a few inches taller than the darker gentleman in front of you, but he’s still quite a bit taller than you. “He co-chairs the department alongside Damian.”

The man in front of you offers a smooth smile and a firm handshake to match. “I know I’ve seen you at parties, but I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced.”

You nod, “Definitely nice to finally put a name to the face.”

He then gives you a tour of the entire floor dedicated to R&D, though you haven’t been able to get one thing off your mind.

Luke seems to sense your staring and turns around to smirk, “What?”

“You said co-chair,” He nods politely, meanwhile, Jon seems to know exactly where your line of questioning is going. “Why is Damian the head?”

“Have you met the kid?” You and Jon both snort. He flashes his badge at a scanner on the wall before dragging the two of you through another long hallway. “My dad, Lucius Fox headed this department for decades before he was finally made CEO about three years ago.”

Suddenly, Jon cuts him off as a loud gust of sound affronts your ears.

“Woah!” Jon grabs your hand and pulls you over to one of the windows in the hallway. It looks into a lab where someone’s using a flamethrower to torch a small piece of odd-looking metal.

“This is the innovation section of the floor,” Luke explains. “Right now, they’re testing on something called Nth Metal.”

“Neat,” Jon nods, sufficiently satisfied with his answer and finally allows your group to move along.

You fall back into step with Luke and Jon.

“So, when did you start at R&D?”

He scratches at the back of his head, “Probably around that same time.” His laugh is as charming as his professional disposition. “Damian and I seem to know what the other doesn’t, so it’s been good to have him around.” He leans in like he’s telling you a secret, “Well, that and I get paid more, but he doesn’t need to know that.” You smile easily, failing to hide your snort. It’s something Jon catches immediately and quirks a brow at, but Luke continues on like nothing happened. “Co-chair just means I can spend less time leading and more time nerding out.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a Wayne heir right alongside Damian. Hell, you know Luke’s probably 10x more professional compared to Damian’s order-barking leadership style. With what Luke said, though, it seems like they’re a pretty functional team.

“Trust me, Luke,” Jon sidles up beside you like a coy cat. “This one knows all about nerding out.”

“Shut up,” You stare at him with an admonishing glare. He merely rolls his eyes, snickering all the while. “Besides, you know this is the nerdiest thing I’ve done in a while.”

Regardless of your previous warning, Jon takes it upon himself to catch Luke up on the past, oh, six years of your life? Well, as long as he’s known you for, that is, so Sophomore year and beyond.

You’re all rounding the corner to come face-to-face with a giant vaulted door, but Luke seems to move swiftly past it.

Too swiftly.

Your eyes narrow slightly, tuning out Jon’s excited chatter to catch every detail you can.

There’s a giant red ‘ACCESS LEVEL: 84T BADGE ONLY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED,’ sign that takes up a majority of the door, but there’s a smaller print beneath it.

You quickly glance ahead. Luke and Jon are still just in front of you, but you’re clearly lagging. You shoot one more glance at their retreating forms before taking a look at the fine print.

You shake your head, confused, but Luke seems content to get as far away from the door as possible.

“Ah,” Luke says a little too smoothly for someone who just rushed past a super-secret vault, “here we are.”

He inputs a lengthy code, then scans his retina before the door finally budges to reveal the impressive space.

The design room is huge, yet somehow, there’s not an inch of free space.

Mannequins and large rolls of fabric take up a majority of the space with the rest taken up by drawing boards and fancy-looking sewing machines.

“Not gonna lie,” Jon nudges you as he guides you further into the room, “Luke and I have kind of taken on this project by the horns, so I wanted to be here when you went over design ideas!” You look down at the table and begin shuffling through Damian’s sketches. He laughs when you shoot him a teasing brow, “No, I did not sketch those. You’ll never let me live down my drunken art skills from Damian’s penthouse party, will you?”

You snort, “It was so fucking bad, Jon.”

“Fuck off,” He bumps into you playfully. “Oh, wait! Go back a page.” You easily comply. “Okay, the body of this sketch,” He trails off as he searches through the pile. Luke easily hands him a sketch that compliments the previous pick, “Oh, for sure with these ears.”

“So, you haven’t entirely figured out the final design yet?”

“Of course not!” Jon says at the same time Luke speaks up.

“Wouldn’t really be your suit if you didn’t actually have a say.”

You can’t argue with that logic.

With that, you peer over their shoulders at their mismatched collage, realizing that you don’t have any critiques. “Well, I like what the two of you have done so far, but what about functionality?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Luke nods, stepping back from the table pensively. “What weapons would you be comfortable with?”

You think back to Jason’s advice. The one that’s rung clear in your head from the moment he’d said it.

“Nothing that I wouldn’t want used against me.”

Jon shoots Luke an inquisitive brow as if to ask if he has any ideas.

“I think we can work with that,” He says before he begins on a rough sketch. It’s obvious to you now that Damian was the most likely culprit behind the original drawings on the table.

For the next few minutes, you and Jon both chime in with ideas as Luke switches between erasing and drawing.

When he’s finished, Jon nods excitedly. Once you give the thumbs up, Jon uses his quickly arranges the final look.

“Okay,” He sets down the last paper with a wide grin. “What about this?”

“Honestly,” You squint down at the selection but are, ultimately, unable to put it all together, “Damian probably needs to sketch it out for me to fully see it.”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Damian’s signature deadpan scowl graces your line of sight.

“I heard my name,” Damian makes his dramatic entrance, sidling up beside the two of you. Jon ruins the entrance, however, by giving him a sweet peck on the lips that sends Damian into a brief state of shock. He blushes, obviously startled by the action and clears his throat and greets you both by your last names to cover it up. “Glad to see you’re still punctual.”

“Glad to see you’re still not,” You tease easily.

He ignores you in favor of flipping through the selected pages, “Oh, good. You’ve both shown her the sketches.”

Jon nods excitedly and begins explaining the new design. You watch in amusement as they work together seamlessly to transfer the three of your ideas to paper via Damian’s hand.

After another hour of planning, you hold the final design in your hands.

Damian clears his throat, catching your attention. “I’ve been preoccupied with some other cases recently, but I wanted to get back into what happened last year.” You nod, feeling very much in the same boat. Jason and Roy seem eager to put it in the past, but you have the gnawing feeling no matter how much they try to bury it, the situation will resuscitate regardless. “Deadshot’s a good place to start. He might have a good lead that you can follow.”

Deadshot.

The same man who’d been sent to kill you not even a year ago.

“Great,” You trail off. Meanwhile, Damian seems like he’s biting his tongue. “What?”

He sighs, looking over at you with his hazel eyes for the first time since he’d greeted you. “You don’t have to do this, you know? It’s not fun and games being a hero; people die. Heroes die every day. That’s what you’re getting into when you put on the suit.” He’s staring deep into your soul, stealing your breath as he does so, “This isn’t a comic. There is no next page, there is no second run and there is no do-over. This is real life,” Your name is barely a whisper. “You already came so close last time…” He trails off, “Just be sure this is what you really want.”

Before you can open your mouth to defend yourself, Jon butts in.

“I just got my powers. I’ve been going out almost every night on patrol and I’ve never once heard this talk from you, so why are you giving it to her?” It’s not a jealousy thing, but rather Jon pointing out his hypocrisy. “You think that just because I’m half Kryptonian doesn’t mean all of that doesn’t apply to me too?”

You nod appreciatively in Jon’s direction as Damian takes in his words.

“I,” Damian trails off again, looking at Jon for confirmation on what to do next before finally giving in, “apologize.” He briefly meets your eyes, then looks back at the design. “Do you have any questions?”

You smile lightly, accepting his apology easily. Luke, however, appears dumbfounded by words he’s obviously never heard from the Wayne heir. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

Damian speaks up, “You’ll have it sent to your new apartment before your next mission, trust me.” He scans your face up and down, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

If he means the suit, or the hero life, you don’t know.

What you do know is that you’re ready for it all.

You look it over for a moment before facing them, “Does it come in red?”

•••

You want that lead.

You text in your group chat with Jason and Roy about Deadshot as soon as you get out of Wayne Tower.

Jason responds instantly, ‘Meet us at the park.’

The park wasn’t an unusual place to meet.

You try to go on walks and let Lian run around the playground there every day if you can, seeing as it’s just a block away from the old apartment. Now, it’s a bit more of a trek to get to, but it’s well worth it.

When you arrive, you’re expecting to see Jason, Roy and Lian.

You’re definitely not expecting to see Deadshot.

You don’t see Jason or Roy anywhere, so you immediately take up a defensive stance.

“Still got that spark, eh, kid?” He smiles placatingly at you and steps aside to reveal Red Hood and Arsenal sitting peacefully on the bench. “Not here to kill you this time, beautiful.”

“Watch it,” Red Hood’s robotic tone warbles from behind as he stands up.

Deadshot’s hands immediately surrender, though he’s wearing an obvious smirk. “Can’t hate the player.”

“I can,” Red Hood threatens lowly.

The heart-stopping click of a gun’s safety being turned off is enough to wipe the smirk from Lawton’s face. “Now, now. Let’s play nice.” He tilts his head off to the right where, off in the distance, you notice a security guard. “Wouldn’t want anyone stepping in on our fun, now would we?”

It’s a thinly veiled threat and you know it.

Luckily, Arsenal steps in calmly. “We’re just here for information.”

Deadshot scoffs in amusement, crossing his muscular arms, “Didn’t think to wine a dine a gent? Just went straight to threatening?” He sighs dramatically. “What’s this profession coming to?”

“Listen,” You speak up. Everyone seems startled you’ve spoken, so you take their moment of surprise to get what you came here to get. “We need to know who hired you.”

The evening was coming on with the sun nearly being set as you all stood there in the desolate park.

Tiny songbirds spouted out as they settled into their homes for the evening while a chorus of crickets chirped a cacophonous background melody.

“You’re cute,” He starts, regaining his smirk as he continues, “but we both know you’re not that naïve.” He chuckles, stepping away from Hood and Arsenal to come closer to you.

Immediately, your boyfriends flock to your side, but Deadshot pays them no mind. He backs you against a tree, putting a hand right beside your head to trap you. “What’s your game?” You ask before your partners can intervene.

“Well, ring-a-ding-ding,” He drawls with a slight purr. “That’s what I’m looking for now, right?” He smiles at you like he knows he’s about to get whatever he wants. “An exchange is only fair in this business, right, gorgeous?”

He makes to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear, but you smack his hand away before he can even get close.

“I know about Task Force X,” It’s your turn to smirk. “Now, talk.”

His face instantly drops and his voice deepens, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, little girl.”

You don’t dare look over Deadshot’s shoulder where Arsenal’s undoubtedly holding Red Hood back from doing something stupid. No, instead you focus on the mercenary who’d been trying to kill you a year ago.

“I’m not a little girl,” You put all your power into pushing him away from you. He stumbles backward, nearly tripping over the bench they’d originally met on in the process, “and I do know what the FUCK I’m talking about.” You come up on him and send him flipping over the bench anyway, advancing on his fallen form before he even has time to draw his guns. You straddle him, pinning his arms above his head as you knee him in the chin. “TALK!”

“You know,” He drawls, “even when you think you’re not giving me what I want,” Deadshot winks, “you’re still giving me exactly what I want.” As if to prove his point, he bucks his hips up. You know it’s an attempt to throw you off, but you hold steady and land another knee on him- this time his side, “Hgg!” He laughs through his pained grunt.

“Information,” You knee his other side as you continue to straddle and pin him. “Now, Lawton.”

He scoffs, “You’re don’t get to call me that. Not unless you actually give me what I want, gorgeous.“ You continue to glare at him until he rolls his eyes and continues, “You do realize I’m letting you do this, right, doll?”

You wring his wrists at the same time you knee his side with all your might, unleashing a yelp from the man.

“Yeah,” You twist his wrists tighter until his face twists up in pain, “that’s exactly what’s happening here. Besides,” You start with an airy tone, “I thought you said I was giving you exactly what you wanted.” You turn your head menacingly at him, “Now, which is it, Lawton?”

You give him your best intimidating look, which is apparently enough to finally break him.

“Fine, fine,” He winces at your grip. “Black Mask hired me.”

You finally break eye contact with Deadshot to peer over at your partners You motion down with your head at him and they nod, so you release him.

When he stands, he rubs distastefully at his wrists.

“What did Sionis want with her?” Arsenal asks.

Deadshot sighs, “It was a two-parter. Protect the package, kill the girl.”

“What package?” Hood demands lowly.

“Dunno,” Deadshot shrugs disinterestedly. “They switched out hired guns halfway through.” He side-eyes you, “Picked up the damn thing from Gotham Botanical Gardens, but that’s all I have to offer. Merc’s honor,” He places a sarcastic hand over his heart, but you believe him.

Red Hood and Arsenal go over a few other things with him, but all you can think of is your vision.

You’d seen a rose and Deadshot’s lead was, well, leading you to a garden.

It couldn’t be a coincidence, right?

“Not that this hasn’t been fun catching up, but I have a girl at home waiting for me,” He snickers at your horrified look. “Don’t look so jealous, beautiful; it’s just my daughter. Anyway, au revior.” He gives a half salute before disappearing off into the night.

By now, the sun had completely set, though you weren’t itching to get home just yet.

You looked between Red Hood and Arsenal with your hands on your hips, noting they seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“We need a plan.”

A/N: my first sequel!! super excited to share this with you and to introduce the badass on the cover!!!

keep an eye out for the next chapter where more will be revealed! in the meantime let me know what you think!

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#my fic: cardinal sins #reader x jason todd x roy harper #jason todd x reader #reader x roy harper #reader x jason todd #cover characters created by stais-world but would stronglyy caution against working w them #x reader

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