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m4rv3l-girl · 3 months ago

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Slowly…

Bucky and Y/N have been dating for a while, but have yet to explore anything more intimate than making out like teenagers. Maybe things will change when Bucky finally faces his fears.

Warnings: smut. Oral f!recieving. Protected p in v sex. Slight fear of intimacy. Touch starved Bucky?

The hum of the Stark Tower HVAC system was basically white noise.

Bucky Barnes sat sprawled across the couch, one arm looped loosely around Y/N’s shoulders, the other cradling a steaming mug of chamomile tea. Both of them contently sleepy. The windows stretched tall across the living room wall, casting gold-tinged light from the setting sun over the exposed brick and sleek furniture, remnants of Tony’s compulsive over-design.

Y/N, nestled into Bucky’s side with a blanket tugged over both of their legs, sighed softly. Her head was tucked perfectly beneath his chin, like it belonged there. Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot more than he’d ever admit aloud. Especially since Sam would absolutely never let him live it down if he caught wind of Bucky Barnes being the little spoon. Again.

“You know,” Y/N said, voice low and thoughtful, “you’re actually not as terrifying as everyone makes you out to be.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, lifting his mug in mock salute. “Thanks, doll. I’ll make sure to update my LinkedIn.”

She laughed against his chest, the sound vibrating into his sternum and tugging a rare, genuine smile from him. “No, seriously. You’re... sweet. You hold the door open. You bring me coffee just the way I like it. You’re weirdly obsessed with The Great British Bake Off.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Oh, come on. You cried when Rahul won.”

He groaned, tilting his head back against the couch and covering his face with the vibranium hand. “I didn’t cry. I just - had feelings. That’s normal. Rahul is a very talented man.”

“You’re soft.”

“I’m six feet tall and made of war crimes.”

She snorted. “You’re my soft war crime.”

“Jesus Christ.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. The kind that only came after months of slow trust-building, of soft confessions over late-night tea, of tentative hand-holding and the quiet awe in Bucky’s eyes when she didn’t flinch away from the cold press of metal fingers. It wasn’t perfect, Bucky still had nights where he woke up gasping, sweat-soaked and angry at ghosts only he could see, but Y/N never left. Never treated him like he was broken or dangerous. Just… human.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed being seen as human until she came along.

“You ever think about…” Y/N began, then paused, fingers tracing idle shapes along his thigh. “Us. Like, going further?”

Bucky blinked, the words taking a second to register through the sleepy haze.

“Further?”

She tilted her head to glance up at him, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Like… more than just kissing on your couch and pretending we don’t both want more.”

Oh.

Bucky’s breath hitched, but not from discomfort. Not exactly. More like the entire world had suddenly gone still and very, very focused.

He’d thought about it. Of course he had. He was a hundred and six years old, not dead.

But there was always a wall. Not one she had built. Y/N had never rushed him, but one he’d carried with him since Hydra carved up his mind like Thanksgiving turkey. Intimacy meant vulnerability. And vulnerability had always gotten him hurt or used.

“I do think about it,” he said finally, voice soft. “All the time, actually.”

Y/N shifted slightly, giving him room to see her expression. She looked open. Patient. Like she wasn’t expecting anything except honesty. That helped. That grounded him.

“But I also think about messing it up,” he admitted. “I think about what if I freeze up? Or what if I have some flashback in the middle of it and ruin everything?”

“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” she said immediately. “You could never ruin this.”

He wanted to believe her. Hell, part of him already did. But old instincts didn’t die easily. He reached for her hand with his metal one, letting their fingers twine together. That felt real. Solid.

“I guess I just need to know you’re okay with taking it slow. That you don’t feel like you’re waiting for me to turn into someone else.”

Y/N’s smile was soft and fierce all at once. “Bucky, I didn’t fall for the Winter Soldier. I fell for the guy who leaves sticky notes on the fridge reminding me to drink water. Who calls Sam ‘bird brain’ like it’s a love language. Who watched all three Lord of the Rings movies with me even though he thought Frodo should’ve just used the eagles.”

“Don’t tell me I was wrong.”

She laughed, then leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay with slow. I’m okay with whatever pace you want. I’m here because I want you.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, tension he hadn’t realized he was holding bleeding from his shoulders. “Okay,” he murmured. “Then yeah. Maybe we take that step. Sometime soon.”

A beat.

The quiet stretched out like a warm blanket, thick with anticipation. Bucky’s thumb traced the line of her knuckles, and the room felt too hot and too cold at the same time. He knew he could say no. He knew she’d understand. But the way she said it - so gentle, so earnest - he couldn’t find the words to refuse.

“Soon,” she murmured, reading the hesitation in his eyes. “Whenever you’re ready. I just - I want you to know that I’m here. That I want to be there for you, every step of the way.”

Bucky nodded, his throat tight with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel in so long. It was strange, this feeling of safety, of belonging. It didn’t sit easily with him, but it was growing more familiar with every beat of her heart against his side. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.

“You make it easier, doll,” he said finally. “You make a lot of things easier.”

Y/N leaned into him, her arm curling around his waist. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut shampoo and mint toothpaste. The scent was comforting, like home.

“I’ll always be here for you, you know that,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “For all the hard parts. And the easy ones too. For the baking shows and the bad jokes and the quiet nights just like this one. I’m all in, Bucky. Whatever it takes to help you feel whole again.”

The weight of her words settled into his chest, nestling in alongside his beating heart. It was a heavy burden, but somehow, with her, it felt lighter.

They watched the light change outside the window, the sky deepening into shades of purple and pink. The sounds of the city grew distant, swallowed up by their shared warmth. Bucky’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she curled into him, her hand coming to rest over his heart.

It was a promise. A silent vow.

He took a sip of his now lukewarm tea and sighed, the warmth of her against him a stark contrast to the cold metal of his arm. It was moments like these that made him feel alive, made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he could have a life beyond the shadows of his past.

“What’s the first thing you’d wanna do?” he asked, turning to look at her. Her eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt or fear. But all she’d find was the truth. The reality was that, at present, their sex life was non-existent.

Y/N thought for a moment, her expression softening into a smile. “I don’t mind….what would you want to do..?” She didn’t want to commit to something that he wasn’t comfortable with.

Bucky considered this.

"I just want to be with you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I want to hold you, and kiss you, and just… explore. Nothing crazy, just… us. Getting to know each other that way."

Her smile grew, lighting up the room even as the shadows grew longer. "That sounds perfect," she whispered.

The air was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. He could feel the pulse of her heart beneath her palm, and he knew she felt his too, a steady rhythm that grew stronger with every breath they took together.

They sat for a while longer, just watching the day turn to night. Bucky's mind raced with the possibilities of what this could mean for them, but he forced himself to stay present, to enjoy the simplicity of their entwined fingers and the warmth of her body.

Eventually, Y/N sat up, her hand slipping away from his heart to rest on his cheek. She turned to face him, her eyes searching his, looking for any trace of doubt. But all she found was a man who was ready to take the next step.

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s go slow. We’ll figure it out together. No pressure, just us getting to know each other more intimately. I’m here, Bucky. We’re in this together, remember?”

Bucky nodded, his pulse quickening at the thought of what lay ahead. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to be this open with someone, to let go of the fear that had become second nature. But with her, it felt possible.

They stood up, and he set the mug of tea down on the side table with a gentle clink. Y/N reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She led him to the bedroom, her movements sure and unhurried.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to allow the fading light to cast a soft glow over the bed. Bucky felt his heart rate spike as she turned to face him, her gaze never wavering from his own. She stepped closer, her hand sliding up to his chest, then around to his neck.

Her touch was tentative at first, a gentle question. But as Bucky leaned into it, she grew bolder, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her thumb brushing against his lower lip. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, and she leaned in to capture his mouth in a kiss that was sweet and full of promise.

Her other hand slid down his side, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Bucky’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, the heat between them growing with every second. The kiss deepened, and he felt the first stirrings of something he’d almost forgotten - desire, untainted by fear or duty.

When they broke apart, panting slightly, Bucky opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. She reached for the hem of her shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. He watched as she lifted it over her head, revealing the soft curves of her body.

He took a deep breath, his metal hand hovering over her bare skin for a moment before he let it rest gently on her waist.

Y/N's eyes searched his, looking for the answer to the unspoken question. Bucky nodded, his decision made.

They moved in unison, Bucky helping her to remove the rest of her clothing, his movements slow and careful, as if handling something fragile and precious. Each piece of clothing that fell away revealed more of her, and with it, a part of her soul that he hadn't seen before. Her trust in him was palpable, a silent demand that he not break her. And he knew, with a sudden fierceness, that he never would.

Her skin was warm under his touch, and she shivered as he traced the outline of her collarbone with his thumb. He felt his own heart racing, a thunderous beat that echoed in his ears.

They lay down on the bed, the mattress giving slightly under their combined weight.

Her eyes never left his, the same gentle expression on her face that had been there since the moment she’d brought it up. He felt the pressure of her hand, the softness of her skin, and the way her breath hitched as he kissed her again, his metal fingers brushing against the softness of her stomach. It was a strange sensation, this mix of cold and warm, of hard and soft, of past and present.

Bucky’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but he pushed them aside, focusing only on the here and now. He didn’t want to think about the past, didn’t want to ruin this moment with the specter of his former life. This was about them, about what they were choosing to build together.

He leaned over her, pressing tender kisses along her neck and collarbone, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath his lips. Her skin was like silk, and her scent was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and vanilla that he’d come to associate with home. Her breathy sighs were music to his ears, each one a silent encouragement to explore further.

Her fingers danced over his shoulders, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she guided him closer, urging him to explore. His heart hammered in his chest, a reminder of the life he had reclaimed, the humanity he had fought to keep.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were both trying to convey the depth of their feelings without words. Bucky’s hand traveled up her side, feeling the curve of her hip, the softness of her skin, the warmth that emanated from her core. He was acutely aware of every touch, every breath, the way she arched into his mouth when he kissed her just right. It was as if he was mapping out a new territory, one that was uncharted and full of wonder.

The room was filled with the sound of their mingled breaths, the rustle of fabric, the quiet sighs that escaped their lips. Y/N’s hand slipped under his shirt, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. He stilled for a moment, waiting, but she didn’t pull away.

Bucky felt something unlock inside of him, a door that had been sealed shut for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. It was a rush of sensation, of need, that made his head spin and his heart race. He kissed her again, harder this time, his hand sliding down to the small of her back, pressing her closer.

Y/N’s legs parted, inviting him in, and Bucky’s heart stuttered in his chest. He’d never been this intimate with someone who knew all of him, who had seen the darkest corners of his soul and chosen to stay. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He took a moment to breathe, to steady himself. He didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want to scare her away with his intensity. But when he pulled back, her eyes were dark with desire, matching the pulse in his veins. She didn’t look scared. She looked hungry.

They moved together in a dance that was both new and familiar, their bodies speaking a language that didn’t require words. He felt the heat of her skin, the softness of her curves, the way she molded against him as if they’d been made for this. It was a revelation, a reminder that he was more than the sum of his parts.

Bucky’s hand slid up her thigh, his thumb brushing against the lace of her underwear. He felt her shiver and knew that she was just as ready as he was. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart. This was it. The moment he’d feared and craved in equal measure. But with her, it didn’t feel scary. It felt right.

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of his shirt, her eyes never leaving his. He raised his arms, letting her pull it off. The cool air of the room kissed his bare skin, making him shiver. She traced the lines of his abs with her fingertips, her eyes taking in every inch of him with a mix of awe and affection.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice a warm caress against his ear.

Bucky felt a blush creep up his cheeks, a rare and welcome sensation. He’d never been one for compliments, but coming from her, it felt like the most profound truth he’d ever heard. He kissed her again, his hand sliding up to cup her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

They moved together, exploring each other with gentle touches and whispered sighs. Bucky’s mind was a blur of sensation, each new discovery a revelation. The way she tasted, the way she felt, the way she made him feel. It was like coming home after a long, cold war, finding warmth in the most unexpected of places.

He felt her hand on the elastic of his sweatpants, and he stilled for a moment. This was the part that had always been a minefield before. But she didn’t look up at him with fear or hesitation. Just love. So he let her continue, his breath catching in his throat as she touched him, skin to skin.

Y/N’s hand was warm and sure, and Bucky couldn’t help but gasp as she touched him, her thumb rubbing against the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband. The fabric was the last barrier between them, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear.

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached down to help her, his heart racing as he pushed his pants down. The coolness of the air against his skin was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and he watched as she took him in, her eyes wide and filled with a hunger that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t been in decades.

They kissed again, a kiss that was more than just a meeting of lips, it was a declaration of trust, of love, of the shared hope that this could be the start of something beautiful. He felt her hand slide down, her fingertips dancing against his skin, until she reached the bulge in his boxers, and he let out a soft groan that seemed to resonate through the very core of his being.

Her hand was tentative at first, exploring his hardness with gentle strokes. But as Bucky’s grip tightened on the sheets and his breathing grew ragged, she grew bolder. Her touch was a whispered promise of what was to come, a gentle reminder that she was here for him, that he wasn’t alone.

He slid his hand down to cover hers, their fingers intertwining as they found a rhythm that sent shockwaves through his body. The warmth of her hand, the softness of her skin, the way she looked at him - it was almost too much to handle. But he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it, craving more.

With a tremble, Bucky reached for the clasp of her bra, his metal digits fumbling slightly. But she was patient, smiling up at him as he finally managed to free her from the garment. Her breasts were perfect in his eyes, the soft mounds fitting perfectly into his palms. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, watching as they pebbled beneath his touch, and she gasped into his mouth. The sensation of skin against skin was electric, sending currents of pleasure through him that he hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like he’d feared. It was gentle, it was kind, it was everything he’d hoped for.

He broke the kiss to kiss his way down her neck, her chest, her stomach. He took his time, savoring each new inch of her that was revealed to him. Y/N’s breath hitched as his mouth reached the apex of her thighs, his tongue tracing a line along her inner thigh before dipping closer to where she was wet and waiting for him. He felt a small twist of doubt and self consciousness, he hadn’t actually done this since the 40s.

Her legs fell open to encourage him, and Bucky took a moment to breathe her in, to appreciate the trust she was giving him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She assured. He kissed her gently, his tongue teasing against her slit, her taste a rich mix of sweetness and desire. Y/N’s body arched off the bed, and she let out a soft moan, her hand sliding into his hair to guide him, to show him just how she liked it.

Bucky took his cues from her, his touch gentle and explorative. He’d never been with someone who knew the extent of his past, who had seen the monster he’d been made into. But here she was, her body open to him, welcoming him in. Her thighs trembled around his head as he worked his way down. His tongue found the spot that made her gasp. She was wet, slick against his mouth and he groaned, his cock pulsing with every soft whimper she made.

He could feel the tension coiling in her, tightening like a spring. Her hips began to move in time with his strokes, her breath coming in short and sharp gasps. He didn’t know how to do this, not really. But he knew he wanted to make her feel good. So he listened to her body, her sounds, her whispers of need. He focused on her reactions, learning what she liked, what made her squirm, what made her moan.

Small, quick flicks of his tongue over her clit seemed to send her reeling.

Y/N’s hands tightened in his hair as he worked her over, her body shaking with the force of her restrained pleasure. He could feel it building, the way she moved against his mouth, her legs tightening around his head, her breaths turning to pants. Her nails scraped against his scalp, a delicious pain that only served to drive him on, to make him want more, to make her feel more.

And then she was coming, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, her muscles clenching around his tongue. Bucky felt a surge of pride, of accomplishment, of pure, unadulterated joy.

He pulled back, kissing his way back up her body, feeling her pulse throb against his lips. She was beautiful, so beautiful, laid out before him like this. “Bucky,” she breathed, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure. He leaned over her, his forehead touching hers. “You’re sure?” he whispered. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Bucky reached for the bedside drawer, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled out a condom. He’d had them there for months, hopeful and terrified, but they’d remained untouched. The foil packet crinkled in the quiet room, a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the wake of their shared intimacy. Y/N watched him, her eyes never leaving his face, her trust in him unwavering. He rolled it on, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest, the echoes of fear that had haunted his every intimate moment. But as he positioned himself over her, her legs wrapping around his waist, he knew he could do this. For her, with her, he could overcome his worries.

He pushed inside her, slowly.

The world outside the window had gone dark, but the room was bathed in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Her eyes were wide, watching him with a mix of excitement and concern, and he knew he had to get this right. For her, for them. Her heat enveloped him, and he felt his own walls crumbling, the last of his barriers falling away. He’d never felt this connected to anyone before, not like this. It was as if they were two lost pieces of a puzzle finally finding their place.

Their movements grew more frantic as the passion built, their kisses deep and desperate. Bucky felt the ghosts of his past trying to claw their way back in, but he pushed them away, focusing solely on the woman beneath him. Her nails dug into his back, her legs tightening around him as she matched his rhythm, urging him on.

The sounds of their bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of sighs and gasps and moans. Each thrust was a declaration of his need for her, each kiss a promise to keep her safe. Bucky’s heart thudded in his chest, a drumline of hope and desire. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like the horrors he’d anticipated. It was raw and real and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Her nails scored down his back as she arched up to meet him, her breaths growing shallower, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. Bucky felt the tension in her body, the way she tightened around him, the soft mewling noises that escaped her throat. He’d never felt so alive, so present in the moment. Each stroke was a promise, a declaration that he was here, with her, and nothing else mattered.

Their bodies moved in harmony, a dance that transcended the chaos of the world outside. His metal hand found hers, their fingers entwining as if to anchor themselves in the present. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, the way she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. And maybe, in a way, he was.

The world narrowed down to just the two of them, the only sounds the slap of skin and the harsh pull of their breathing. Bucky’s eyebrow was furrowed. He watched her face, the way her lip got pulled between her teeth in concentration, the softness of her cheeks flushed with passion.

Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as she neared the precipice again.

Their passion was palpable, a force that transcended the physical, reaching into the depths of their souls.

Her eyes flew open, meeting his, and in that moment, something changed. He saw her, not just the woman he desired, but the person who had seen his darkest moments and chosen to love him regardless. And she saw him, not as the damaged soldier, but as the man who had fought to survive and come back to life.

Their movements grew more deliberate. Bucky’s rhythm slowed, his strokes deepening, as if trying to etch himself into her very being. He felt her inner walls quiver, a sign that she was close, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. But he wanted to give her everything she needed, to show her just how much she meant to him.

Y/N’s breath was a pant on his skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He leaned in, pressing kisses along her jaw, her neck, the soft skin of her collarbone. They were both hurtling uncontrollably towards the edge…

Her body tensed around him, a silent plea, and Bucky knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. He thrust into her, feeling her nails dig into his back as she cried out his name, her body shattering into a thousand pieces. He watched her come undone, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure that sent him over the edge.

With a guttural groan, he followed her, his orgasm tearing through his muscles, leaving him trembling and spent. He collapsed onto her, his heart hammering against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. The warmth of her body was like a medicine to his soul, a gentle reminder that he was more than just a weapon, that he was loved.

They laid there for a few moments, their hearts beating in sync, the only sound in the room the gentle rustle of the blanket around them. Bucky felt the warmth of her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, and the reality of what they had just shared settled heavily on him. It was a moment that had been months in the making, a moment where fear had been vanquished by love and trust.

He leaned up on his elbow, looking down at her. Her eyes were closed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. He couldn’t help but trace the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling the heated skin under his fingertips. He’d never felt more alive, more human, than he did in that moment.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him with a softness that made his chest ache. “More than okay,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her lips. Her hand slid up his chest, her touch featherlight and reverent. It was as if she knew just how much this meant to him, just how much of a milestone it was.

They lay there, tangled in the sheets, their bodies still slick with sweat. Bucky’s mind was racing, but in a good way. He’d done it. He’d faced his fears and come out the other side. And she was still here, her arm wrapped around his waist, her breathing evening out as she snuggled closer to him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still rough from their earlier exertions. Y/N opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. “For what?” “For making it okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “For making me feel like I can do this. Like I’m not just some… some broken toy that nobody wants to play with anymore.”

Her eyes had a glassy pain in them. “Bucky, you’re so much more than that. You always have been. And I want to play with you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound low and warm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

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A small gift 🎁🫶 (We’re ignoring mistakes)

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky fluff #bucky smut #soft bucky #fluffy #Be gentle with bucky #Touchstarved bucky

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radiance1 · 1 year ago

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Danny wears sunglasses 24/7.

So much so that slowly it's been ingrained into everyone's minds that he's never taken them off. Like, they can't even remember a time where he hasn't worn sunglasses.

It's just like, his thing.

Why does he wear them? Well, because Danny's previous blue eyes changed to a startling, glowing green that he knows the GIW would eat up and use as a reason to force him into their custody.

Solution?

Sunglasses.

His parents? Oh yea they went all in when he they found out why he was wearing them (Reveal gone right au babyy). They made them extremely durable; they can film audio, take pictures, take videos, see through walls and even track down ecto-signatures for whenever he's tracking down a ghost in human form, see through walls and self-cleaning.

(The ectoplasm tracking system is for when they aren't close enough to set off his ghost sense.)

He honestly believes his parents watched a spy movie before they built him these, but it's not like he's going to complain about it. The only time he isn't wearing them is when he goes ghost, you know as a way to not link him to Fenton or whatever.

So, Danny meets John Constantine while the both of them were on the hunt for a ghost who was causing problems in the area. Danny manages to find them first, the ghost in question being an animal who was terrorizing a place because it didn't understand the fact it was dead yet and wanted to protect it's children.

John Constantine comes while Danny is pacifying it. He watches as Danny calms it down enough to get to the babies and sends it to the Ghost Zone after promising it to get them somewhere safe.

John Constantine also saw his eyes, because he pulled his sunglasses off to show them to the ghost as a silent sign to trust him. John Constantine of course asked what he was going to do with the babies, and Danny just sent them over to Sam.

After that he decided to keep an eye on Danny because of his eyes. Which were the eyes of a ghost, and he was genuinely thinking Danny was possessed before that went out the window. So he thinks Danny is a ghost pretending to be human and wasn't able to hide his eyes so he wore sunglasses.

Danny neither confirm nor deny that.

So Danny just kinda followed him around until Constatine eventually made him into a contact whenever he was dealing with ghosts that he could peacefully deal with instead of just forcefully banishing them to the Infinite Realms.

This, eventually, comes to light when Constantine goes "I know a guy." In front of the whole Justice League, bonus points if they somehow come to the conclusion that Danny is Constantine's secret child, sidekick or both.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #Right Danny isn't the Ghost King.#Mostly because I don't headcannon that #he's literally just a guy

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bitebitekxll · 5 months ago

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Do they purr - genshin non-humans

៚ Zhongli ✧ Xiao ✧ Wanderer ✧ Albedo ✧ Venti

Notes: Holy hell how do I have 50 followers??? THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR SUPPORTING MY SILLY MUSINGS. This literally was just my way to learn how to write smut and post self-indulgent head canons but I’m glad people are enjoying this with me :DDDD

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈 ᥫ᭡

Yes, 100%. He will deny it every time but lay on this man’s chest, maybe press a kiss to his jaw, and his chest is going like a fucking engine. He will insist that it’s not a purr, it’s simply a content growl— or perhaps a rumble, at most. He isn’t some measly cat, after all, he is a mighty dragon, the Prime Adeptus—

It’s definitely a purr.

Get him a cat ear hairband. He will give you the most long-suffering, unamused look while he wears them, but he will wear them. Anything for his beloved ♡~

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 ᥫ᭡

No, unfortunately. You have found no evidence that your stone-faced Yaksha is capable of emitting a purr, or purr-like sound (though certainly not for lacking of trying).

However… there is the matter of whether he is able to trill or coo like a bird, given that is his true nature.

He gets annoyed when you ask him, adamant that is not something he can do, and how dare you even entertain such a notion. Have you no respect for the adepti? Hmph.

…but you swear you’ve heard him chirp when you catch him off guard: kissing him without warning or praising him unabashedly.

It seems this will require further investigation.

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 ᥫ᭡

Not purring, but whirring!! Got this idea from @seabirdtxt ‘s Glitch in Irminsul fic (it’s SAGAU focused on the diff vers of scara existing at the same time, go read it it’s great) and it just makes so much sense to me.

As a mechanical puppet, and an advanced one at that, Scara has tons of machinery going on inside of him. Though it usually can’t be heard, if you get especially close to his chest— a privilege only reserved for you and maybe Nahida during hugs —you can hear the whirring and clicking of his moving parts inside. It doesn’t sound the same as a purr, not exactly, but it’s pretty damn close.

Most of the time it’s pretty faint, but sometimes Scara might just make it louder— it’s got nothing to do with the way your face lights up or how you smile when you hear it, don’t be stupid.

Of course, the only way he can make the noise louder is by overworking his system, making the parts inside move faster than they’re supposed to. If he does it too much or for too long, well…

You’ll know it’s time to lecture him on taking better care of himself when he starts burning up. Overheating is the first sign he’s about to overload his system and shut down (or from everyone else’s perspective: pass out).

You’re the only one who can make him stupid enough to be willing to break his own mechanisms just to see that adorable ridiculous expression on your face. (He might come back to his senses in a petulant huff if you start calling him a cat, tho)

𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐎 ᥫ᭡

Sadly, purring is not a feature homunculi come with. But this is Albedo we’re talking about, he can definitely figure it out.

He won’t tell you just what idea you’ve sparked with your question— you always worry when he starts self-experimenting —but it’ll be fine! He takes all the necessary precautions, limits any risk, because there’s always some risk in life, and downs a concoction or two in his quest to see if he can change the makeup of his own body. As an artificial life form, he’s less delicate than an organic one, so he doesn’t need to worry about pesky issues like rearranging his (non-existent) organs in a fatal manner.

And it works! Well, sort of. You come back home to a boyfriend that is fully capable of purring!! And also!! Has, uh, cat ears…

Albedo would consider it a success— he accomplished his goal, even if there were a few side effects. And you get a pretty catboy equipped with the cute, twitching ears and a fuzzy blonde tail; everybody wins! ♡

Of course, there’s always the chance his experiment just turns him into a cat entirely… but it wears off after a day or so, so it’s not the worst thing Albedo’s done to himself.

Either way, congratulations, he can now purr for the next 24 hours. And regardless of his cat-to-boy ratio, he will be expecting pets. Get to it~

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 ᥫ᭡

He has bird vocalisations! Except he’s worse at hiding it then Xiao may or may not be. It’s not outright chirping, but it is a cooing trill in the back of his throat, too vibrational to be a regular hum.

It’s the sound he makes when he’s perfectly content, laying in a warm patch of sun on the soft grass, sat atop a roof with alcohol warming his veins, and curled up in your arms, round cheek smushed against your chest. He takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with your scent, and then releasing it in a sigh, accompanied by the musical tones of his little trill.

He makes shorter ones when he’s pleasantly surprised; when you unexpectedly toss him an apple or pat his head. He’ll grin or lean into the touch and make that sound in his throat. Too quiet to be heard by the people around you over the din of the town, but you’ll hear it. It’s a sound just for you ♡

#salemwritesathing #genshin hcs #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #wanderer x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #albedo x reader #venti x reader #genshin fic

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sunderwight · 3 months ago

Text

More Demon Saint Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he endured more of his older sister's griping about the loss at Cang Qiong.

Give him a break, okay? He couldn't win that match! The stupid, worthless System that he had transmigrated with had perked up for the first time in literal years to start badgering him about how Luo Binghe had to win or else it would deduct enough points to guarantee him a one-way ticket back to being a corpse. He had tried to tell her that it wasn't his fault, but he supposed that from the outside, it probably did look a lot like he'd deliberately sabotaged her.

Oh well. That kind of thing really wasn't unexpected between demon siblings.

Actually, the two of them got along unusually well considering that they were expected to be trying to kill one another for their inheritance. Sha Hualing had never been Shen Yuan's favorite wife when he first read the novel 'Proud Immortal Demon Way', which was the setting for the world he had transmigrated into. She was just too mean and vicious and interwoven with all the stupid harem intrigue plots that he liked least about the story. But she was still a prominent character, a popular and even iconic one, and it had been exciting in a way to realize that he had transmigrated into a demon NPC.

Though, being a man in the world of a stallion novel was a dangerous proposition unless one was the stallion in question. Shen Yuan's only hope lay in that he was the male relative of a main wife, someone who could at least expect not to become the direct target of the protagonist's ire as long as he didn't make the mistake of becoming said wife's 'evil' relative. Given that, Shen Yuan had always gone to great lengths to make it clear to his older sister that he didn't want to inherit their father's lands or titles, that he was much too lazy and more interested in things like the arts and writing, and was additionally more interested in playing with frivolous things from the human realms than in conquering anybody.

For some reason, this led to many demons in their father's court to refer to in the same breath as the old Junshang, Tianlang-Jun. Luo Binghe's mysterious father. But at least Sha Hualing saw him more as a lackey than a threat, and only sometimes got suspicious of him or tried to sabotage his own doings.

In light of recent events, Shen Yuan knew to expect her to retaliate somehow. She had already mangled his hair piece, which was an emblem of his rank. Father would probably punish him for letting it be destroyed, though he wouldn't punish her for destroying it. Those were the kinds of standards that he had for such things. However, he knew she wasn't seriously rejecting him, because she'd still deigned to smack him around.

As counter-intuitive as it was to the human part of his brain, the smacking around stuff meant he was still accepted as 'didi' and hadn't moved to being a serious threat in Hualing's eyes. If he'd really fucked up, she would have begun ignoring him or else outright trying to kill him. Demons healed from injuries ridiculously fast, especially demons from the more powerful lineages. Shen Yuan's broken arm had all but completely fixed itself by the time they got back to the southern realms, and his sister's smacks barely even registered as painful when they'd landed. He supposed this explained why demons were generally more violent towards their loved ones. For them a few stab wounds or some broken ribs were little more than love taps.

He struggled to return that kind of affection, but he made a point to smack Sha Hualing's arm when she left an opening. She huffed at him, but she also (finally!) settled down after that.

"At least I saved us some shred of dignity by winning my match," she grumbled. “Even if I was the only fucking one!”

Their father's lackeys, the soldiers she'd hand-picked for her scheme, all but fell over themselves agreeing that of course the young Saint had been incredible, powerful, strong, amazing, blah blah blah. Shen Yuan wandered off to let them puff up her ego, escaping to his own rooms to go lick his wounds in peace.

It wasn't as if he didn't have any pride. That match had been legitimately harrowing! Figuring out how to let Luo Binghe win without just tossing aside his spear and forfeiting on the spot wasn't easy! The System had told him that wouldn't work, though, and even he could concede that it would have made no sense. He'd wanted to throttle Hualing when she'd suddenly decided to pick him for the third match.

Though... as he finally settled behind the door to his rooms and sealed it behind him, Shen Yuan could admit that it had been kind of cool.

He'd finally met the protagonist!

He did a little jump for joy.

Luo Binghe shone with the glory of a thousand suns! His aura was almost too much to handle. Not only that, but he was somehow too pretty for words. Still young, of course, but a promising figure on the cusp of his manhood, with beautiful features and a compelling aura of potential. Small wonder that the ladies would soon start falling all over themselves to win his favor. It had taken a lot of effort on Shen Yuan's part not to try and whisk him away from his scum master and the abuses of his disciple days.

Luo Binghe, come live in the demonic realms right now! There are still plenty of things that will try to kill you, but at least they're honest about it?

That was, of course, an absolutely ridiculous proposal, so he'd had to bite his tongue and ended up saying too many other things instead.

To think that poor kid was going to end up in the Endless Abyss in the near future! It really was unfair. Sure he was forged in the fires of that trial, but seeing him in person, anyone would seethe at the injustice of it.

Or worry about the results. After all, as soon as that kid got out of the Abyss, his next stop was the demonic realms. Specifically, conquering them. Shen Yuan wasn't exactly attached to his demon father, but he didn't look forward to the kind upheaval his death would cause either. But that would be how things would go. First Luo Binghe would subdue the North and win Mobei-Jun's allegiance. Then he'd turn his gaze out towards the rest of the realms, and form an alliance with Sha Hualing. Their father would die, Hualing would inherit, and through her Luo Binghe would take control of enough of the minor kingdoms and fiefdoms to be named Junshang. Only after that would he return to the human world and start ingratiating himself to Huan Hua Palace. Who knew how Shen Yuan would fit into that plot? Hopefully he could scrape by as an unremarkable side character, without also getting dragged into too many of his sister's schemes. His best bet was to remain her loyal subordinate, and yet, that put him in the position of having to back her up even when she was concocting frankly terrible schemes.

He would have to be careful not to cross the line from being the ally of one wife to the enemy of others too, considering that most of Hualing's targets were Binghe's other wives. Hualing would never be punished. But her disposable, adjacent male relative?

Shen Yuan shook his head. He wouldn't say his life as a demon prince had been easy so far, but it was probably going to be a cakewalk compared to what was coming next!

"So how did the glorious invasion go?"

The sudden intrusion of a familiar voice into his musings was startling, but Shen Yuan suppressed his reaction and did not show it. Instead he just sighed in exasperation.

How this development had occurred was still unclear to him. Granted, the novel hadn't gone into much detail at all about what state the Elder Dream Demon was in before he met Luo Binghe, but obviously he was incorporeal, and in some contact with the Sha clan of demons in order for Sha Hualing to set him onto Luo Binghe after his surprise victory.

Shen Yuan had known to be somewhat on the lookout for him, but in his defense he had been born into this new life as an infant. He had a lot on his plate! Relearning how to do absolutely everything, plus navigating the weird social norms of demon society, and trying to figure out how to be a 'good' brother despite his father basically throwing him and all of his siblings into a fighting pit and encouraging them to thin the herd. He'd had a lot more older brothers and sisters than just Hualing back then, and hadn’t done his welfare a lot of favors by throwing himself between his plot-relevant sister and all the bigger, meaner siblings who were out for her blood. But somehow he had managed to survive, despite being perfectly unwilling to murder baby demons. Well, to be fair most of them had only really died during the adolescent trials that started at age ten, which he tried desperately not to remember or think about at all.

It had only been a couple of years ago that he had to start worrying about the plot itself, and it was around that time too when he'd followed Hualing into sneaking into one of the fortress vaults, and picked up a weird looking statue. The statue drew his attention because such crafts were pretty rare in the demonic realms, and most commonly stolen from humans.

But this one didn't look like any of the usual human designs. In fact, it looked distinctly evil in nature. Shen Yuan couldn't have even said what it was supposed to be a sculpture of. It was a little larger than his palm and very abstract, depicting swooping whorls and eyes, grasping, clawed hands, and the implication of entwined figures. It reminded him more of modern horror art from the world he'd left behind than an ancient artifact, but a lot of 'demonic culture' items were pretty much ripped straight from anime and Hollywood aesthetics. Shout out to the hack author for his stunning originality.

The sculpture had begun to glow, and then it had spoken. And then Shen Yuan found out that he'd accidentally picked up Meng Mo's tomb.

Or anchor. Coffin. Totem? Whatever one wanted to call it. The sculpture was currently helping keep what was left of the dream demon somewhat connected to this world after losing his body, though it had been running low of energy to sustain him. The System had chimed in to let him know that he needed to ensure it didn't run out, and Shen Yuan had dutifully tried to foist the object onto his sister, but it hadn't worked. Hualing must have taken it herself in the original story. If he'd been smarter, Shen Yuan would have thought to pretend he desperately wanted the object. That would have had her stealing it from him in no time. But instead he tried to give it away, and she'd been instantly suspicious and refused to touch it.

Which left him saddled with the annoying old geezer.

Usually Shen Yuan kept him in his study, not the main room, but ever since he began feeding more energy into the statue, Meng Mo had gained a supernatural ability to move it around. He liked to spy on people even outside of dreams, and seemed particularly fond of turning up on Shen Yuan's desks and tables and demanding tributes or respect or attention. Like an ill-behaved cat that was also a cursed tchotchke.

"Why aren't you in your spot?" he groused.

The statue glowed faintly as the dream demon chuckled. Parts of it shifted around so that one of the eye-shaped pieces seemed to stare at him.

"It went that well, huh? What a shame, I thought that sister of yours might have a chance if none of the peak lords were around."

"One of the peak lords showed up," Shen Yuan admitted.

"Hm, I'm surprised you're not dead in that case."

"It was only one."

The System chose that moment to chime in, sounding fainter and looking a bit more flimsy than it had when he had been in Luo Binghe's presence, when it had opted to start yelling at him over point deductions. He wondered if it worked less well when the protagonist wasn't around. Yet another good reason to try and avoid the plot, he supposed. Though the System's intervention in his life had been minimal so far, almost all of it involved threatening him with death unless he cooperated, and saddling him with troublesome things like Meng Mo.

Plot Point: Luo Binghe's Demon Tutor is a necessary component of the narrative. Please ensure the Elder Dream Demon encounters Luo Binghe and accepts him as a student. Warning: failure to comply will result in loss of B points.

See? Like that!

At least this presented an opportunity to get rid of a certain freeloader, and get Luo Binghe the teacher he desperately needed in the same stroke.

"Say, Elder, do you know of any cases where a demon had their potential sealed, and pretended to live as a human?" he asked, suddenly very interested in the prospect of getting this plot going. Meng Mo wasn't really so bad, he supposed, but he'd be happier to send him off to help Luo Binghe and wouldn't weep for the number of inkwells no longer passive-aggressively knocked off his writing desk. Or the hassle of having to find stuff to feed the old bastard.

"That's a strange thing to ask," Meng Mo replied. Shen Yuan could hear the frown in his voice, but also an underlying note of intrigue.

"When the peak lord showed up at the invasion, Da'jie proposed a series of duels to resolve the issue without us all getting slaughtered. I fought a young disciple, but his power was strange. He fought more like a demon youth than the other humans did," he explained.

"Hm," Meng Mo replied. The statue twisted around in his perception, shifting in minute, eerie ways that Shen Yuan had never been able to concretely pin down. He couldn't have said which pieces went from one place to another. "Sealing demonic power happens, but if that was the case, such a person would be too weak and devoid of talent to ever be taken in by human cultivators. Humans can't just train any one of them up to potential. Most of them don't even have an ounce of ability to cultivate, which is why they're so weak. It's only a few who can ever be on the level of demonkind."

Shen Yuan rolled his eyes. Yes, yes, demon superiority, blah blah blah. It was a complicated social issue in its way, since demons, despite being overall stronger, struggled as communities. It might have been different if demons could live in the human realm, which was a lot less harsh, but there were enough human cultivators to ensure that they were always beaten back or hunted down any time they tried. Demon culture had a lot to say about the superiority of living in a region full of big hostile beasts and plants that would either fuck you or eat you or both, but given half the chance, most would probably love to live where the fortress walls didn't have to be meters thick or buried underground. The only downside would be potentially eating their way through the whole ecosystem and then accidentally starving as a result. But then again, it wasn’t as if humans didn’t routinely do that sort of thing too.

"Well what if he had some potential anyway?" he suggested.

"Ha! For that kind of thing to work, your little disciple would have to be a rare kind of halfbreed," Meng Mo mused. "Nearly impossible. I've lived a long time and even I only ever heard tales of such things."

"Nearly impossible?" Shen Yuan pressed.

"Extremely unlikely. Especially if he’s part human. Even strictly among different kinds of demons, most hybrids that survive infancy just strongly favor one parent or the other. Or else they turn out ugly freaks. Was this kid an ugly freak?"

"No!" Shen Yuan insisted. "He was beautiful!"

There was an awkward pause.

"...So your interest in this human disciple, it's...?"

For some reason he felt a little flustered.

"He just seemed weird, alright? I thought you might know. But if Elder doesn't-"

"Hold on, hold on, when did I say I didn't know? You're the one making snap judgments here, all this elder has to go off is some brat's description of another brat! If I saw him, I'd be able to tell you!"

Shen Yuan resisted the urge to pump his fist in victory.

"Okay then, you should go tonight," he agreed.

"What? Go where?"

"Into his dreams, obviously. How else are you going to assess him?"

The statue flickered a bit.

"Now wait just a minute, it takes a lot of energy to do that kind of thing," the old demon protested. "I'm not going into some brat's dreams on the whims of your say-so, just because he's got a pretty face..."

"What's his face got to do with anything?!"

"Kids these days, thinking they can just boss their elders around, there's no respect-"

"Are you telling me that the great and mighty Master Dream Demon, who terrorized generations of demons so badly that the mere mention of his name was considered a curse, doesn't have the strength to go spy on a simple human disciple? Even after all the tributes I've given? How pathetic. I guess I'll just throw this old rock out into the trash," Shen Yuan goaded, moving towards the table that Meng Mo had situated himself on.

"Mouthy fucking brat! You wouldn't dare!" the dream demon protested.

"What good are you to me if you're so weak?" Shen Yuan reasoned, well-acquainted with demonic cultural attitudes on this point. Such a shitty eat-or-be-eaten kind of a world. Didn't the author know these tropes were unenlightened and problematic these days?

"Weak, who's weak? Of course I can do it! But it's been so long since you gave me any energy at all, why waste it?"

"I fed you before I left!"

"And I spent that energy well, entertaining your mother in her dreams!"

Shen Yuan made a rude gesture at the sculpture, but the old demon just cackled. The jab didn't really land anyway. Shen Yuan didn't mind his mother in this lifetime, but she wasn't terribly maternal. Mostly she treated him like an investment which she expected to see pay dividends someday, and was disappointed in his lack of ambition or willingness to murder his older sister. But she was one of the lord's favored concubines, not his main wife, and also not interested in being killed by the main wife, who was Hualing's mother. So she was pretty diplomatic and circumspect about her disappointment in him, and focused most of her attention on keeping his father's favor. If she really was fooling around with Meng Mo on the side, he just didn't want to know.

"I'm dumping you in the trash," he insisted again.

"Alright, alright, calm down! I'll spy on this pretty boy of yours for you. But after that, you better bring me something good! Dream Jade or dragon scales!"

Shen Yuan made a show of disagreeing, mostly because those kinds of offerings, though rich in energy that could sustain the dream demon, were pretty expensive and hard to come by. No one would agree to that sort of deal easily. But of course, Meng Mo would not be able to collect once he latched on to Luo Binghe and started using his energy to sustain himself, so in the end he agreed and let Meng Mo gloat (as much as a disembodied voice and a weird sculpture could) before shoving him in a desk drawer as retribution.

"Disrespectful little ingrate!" the dream demon shouted after him.

Figuring that his rooms would be too noisy for a while, Shen Yuan headed out again and made his way to the eastern courtyard, where his youngest siblings could be found.

They were the children of less favored concubines. He felt badly for them, but there also wasn't much he could do without challenging his father directly, and if he did that he would have a hell of a mess on his hands even if he managed to actually beat him. Which wasn't likely, at least not at his current level. Even though he was smarter than the average child thanks to his memories, he was only thirteen years old. He still wasn't even as big as Hualing, who was quite petite, and despite his potential he wasn't the kind of thirteen-year-old that could beat up opponents more than twice his size. Not unless they were pretty weak. His father was built like an ox, in the standard fictional paradox of the big ugly man whose daughter was still somehow dainty and fair, and had crushed lesser demons to death with his bare hands.

In other words, his father wasn't a pushover and there was a reason he was acknowledged as one of the most powerful rulers around.

But in the meanwhile, Shen Yuan at least tried to make sure his younger siblings hadn't yet been completely poisoned by the might-makes-right nature of demon society. They were pretty cute in fact, despite that they all seemed to love biting him. And biting anything else that got within biting range.

"Da'ge! Da'ge!" the little voices chirped as soon as he finished passing through the tunnel that led to the above-ground courtyard. Over in this part of the fortress the weather was less kind, and dust storms had passed over the walls, making everything taste like ash and grit. He covered half of his face with his high collar, but let himself be mobbed by little demons.

"Did Da'ge bring snacks?"

"Treats? Treats for Meimei?"

"Did Da-jie get killed by mad cultivators?"

"Can we eat her bones?"

"Don't be stupid! Da'ge will have eaten her bones first! Right after her heart!"

"Wouldn't Ge save us a little of her bones? Just the bones! I'm sure he would!"

Shen Yuan sighed. Well, maybe he was deluding himself if he thought they weren't already vicious little fiends. He reached into the storage pocket of one of his sleeves, and pulled some live lizards and frogs out. With a mental apology to the poor creatures, he let them go. His younger siblings cheered like he'd poured out a bag of candy, and immediately set about catching them and trying to shove them into their mouths.

Back when he was such an age, Shen Yuan had worried his mother by refusing to eat anything that was still alive.

"Da'jie didn't get killed," he explained. "She's perfectly alright, so no one can eat any of her bones or her organs at all."

A chorus of disappointed groans greeted this announcement. mitigated only by the crunching of lizards between tiny, sharp teeth.

Honestly, Shen Yuan had no idea why they were so struck on the notion of Hualing dying. Did he seem like the kind of guy who ought to be in charge of a demon fortress? Not that he expected a bunch of feral demon babies to understand the burdens of leadership, but still. According to most demon standards they should have been bigger fans of Hualing. Then again, maybe she got these conversations in reverse whenever she happened to visit?

He wouldn't put it past his little siblings to play all the angles. Demon kids just grew up that way. Whoever was the strongest in the room, that was who you sucked up to unless you were the strongest in the room!

Shen Yuan watched as they caught the last of their slippery prey, and broke up a few fights over the legs, before he let himself be used as a jungle gym. The feral buns clambered over him and tugged at his sleeves and his spirit ribbons, chewing on his hair and biting at his ankles. He swung them up and tossed them into the air, and roughhoused with them for a while. Honestly even with demon instincts he didn't care much for hurting them, but if he didn't leave at least a few tiny bruises they got upset and confused, so it was a balancing act. And it did sort of satisfy something in his instincts to make playful growling noises and put on a big fake display of pain any time one of them jumped on him.

Sometimes not-so-fake after all; those little elbows were pointy, and the milk teeth were sharp.

Eventually their mothers came back from their hunts, bringing whatever spoils they could collect from the windswept wilds beyond the fortress. Sometimes low-ranking concubines and slaves tried to run, but the terrain outside was difficult to navigate and they almost always got brought back by one of his father's servants, so usually it was only the newcomers who made the attempt. And of course, sometimes they didn't make it back for other reasons. Shen Yuan lingered just long enough to be sure they'd caught something and that everyone had returned in one piece, then he pried his little siblings off and made his way back out again, not eager to intrude on the fullness of meal time. It wasn't pretty.

He'd tried not to make a lot of uncomfortable things that went on in the fortress his business. It was just asking for trouble. But it was easier said than done, when one spent their life being raised in such a place, and came to it with sensibilities forged by a different society.

Shen Yuan was the type of person who could easily settle in if he was reasonably safe and distracted, even if the circumstances weren't ideal. That was how he had managed most of his first life. But that approach depended on a certain minimum of comfort, a decent place to hunker down and hide from the problems of the world. The demon realms offered few such places, and those that existed were temporary in nature. A person couldn't become too comfortable or complacent or else they'd soon become dead. And as to distractions, well, books were not really all that popular among demons. He owned more than anyone else around, and the collection had taken a lot longer to build than it took to read.

So he found other things to keep him from dwelling on some of the ugly realities vying for his attention. But that meant getting involved, like it or not.

He probably shouldn't have gone along with Hualing on her invasion, even though she'd ordered him to. It was courting trouble to even look upon the protagonist. And yet, he couldn't resist.

Shaking such thoughts away, Shen Yuan pursued his next distraction. He headed for the fortress stables.

Demons mostly did not ride, and what they rode was not any normal type of horse. But his father kept a grand carriage for making processions. Until recently, that carriage had been pulled by decently strong slaves, who were themselves not treated much better than beasts of burden. Shen Yuan was no moral paragon but he found the situation intolerable, so over the past several years he had painstakingly trained some of the Dark Sea Hippo Oxen that ranged in the marshes to the southeast, and then convinced his father to give the slaves to Hualing and use the trained oxen to pull his grand carriage instead. The beasts looked a lot more impressive, and his sister was content to have big demons move her furniture and look cool whenever they flanked her on her diplomatic trips. Such trips were increasingly frequent, supposedly to secure her a good match.

Not that his sister actually put any sincere effort into that goal. Shen Yuan had no worries about Hualing being married off, and wouldn't have worried even if she'd shown the slightest interest in the prospect. She just went along with it because it let her take vacations away from their father.

The downside to this arrangement, however, was that the Dark Sea Hippo Oxen only ever really seemed to listen to Shen Yuan. He'd tried to instruct some of the servants in their care, but it was slow going. He wasn't sure if it was just the nature of the servants he'd been assigned or if all demons struggled with the concept of domesticated livestock, or if they just didn't want the job and knew he wouldn't have them executed for failing, but the end result was that he'd mostly put them in charge of cleaning the stalls and did everything else himself. Luckily the big beasts were pretty self-sufficient, as long as there was a comfortable place to sleep and food to eat they came back to the stables, and if they didn't then Shen Yuan needed to only go out with a bell and some treats and eventually they'd come back to him.

The Hippo Oxen had broad backs that could easily carry ten of him. Shen Yuan opened the gate from the stables to let them out, checking first that the dust storm had indeed passed over them, and then hopped up on the biggest to ride out. The two stable servants scattered as if they feared being trampled, even though there was plenty of room.

He sprawled like he was on a comfortable couch as the herd set out, watching the oxen to make certain none were limping or showing signs of discomfort. They'd all been stuck in a thicket of carnivorous dragon plants when he'd first found them, struggling and miserable as they slowly suffocated in the relentless vines. It had taken some doing to get them out, but they'd each made a good recovery, and being demonic beasts they were especially durable. The only real worry was if someone in the fortress tried to poison them or something, but so far no one had dared to.

The air tasted dry and the wind carried grit over to them. After a while Shen Yuan drew one of his war fans and waved it, channeling a thread of demonic qi into the motion. The gust cleared the air ahead of them. Senior Hippo Ox grunted in approval, while a couple of the younger ones made the earth shake as they hopped happily up and down and uncovered a big patch of mud.

That was his cue to get down!

He slid off of Senior Hippo Ox's back and moved away, letting the big beasts go splash around in the fresh mud pit and forage among the vibrant plants at the bank. When he was satisfied that nothing really dangerous was around, he took a seat on a nearby patch of earth and pulled some drawing tools and paper from his storage sleeve.

He mixed some crude ink (his own recipe), and then he sketched the oxen. It was his millionth attempt, and he'd definitely been no artist before his rebirth, but he thought he was getting better. He'd abandoned trying to make realistic looking renderings and instead focused on stylized versions, letting the kinds of strokes he could make with a simple brush and limited pigments dictate the form of his illustrations. After a while a Soul Biting Blister Beetle wandered onto a nearby rock and began doing one of its territorial dances.

Since Shen Yuan was still sat a safe distance from its venomous spittle attack, he switched subjects and started drawing the beetle instead.

He stayed out until he lost the good light. Another storm was threatening on the horizon. He didn't even need to call the oxen, as they'd also had their fill of the mud pit. This time he walked, of course, not interested in getting himself covered in mud as well. When they got back to the stables he left the oxen be; in the morning the mud would be dry and flaking and easier to clean off, and as he'd learned, they preferred it that way.

He was out of daylight by then, and with a deep internal sigh he headed back to the inner corridors of the fortress to try and escape to his room.

The main banquet hall was lit, sconces bright against the dark walls of the inner chambers, with smokeless fires burning blue, purple, orange, and black. Demons allegedly didn't really make a lot of artistic craft items in the way that humans did, and yet, they did still make a lot of art. Fires and lights were common displays, as were manifestations of qi. Jade was hard to come by, and wood was mostly reserved for structural uses, but bone carvings and chimes were common. Since demons healed quickly, piercings and tattoos didn't last as long as on humans, but that just meant they were constantly being refreshed or redesigned. Textile work in the demonic realms was often ludicrously difficult, due to a lack of supplies and stable supply chains, which meant that clothing was made to last as long as possible and imbued with as much protection as possible.

But, clothing was uh... pretty scarce. Especially in these warmer climates.

Shen Yuan averted his gaze from the nude demons settled in the banquet hall, and the ones who were nearly nude, the vast expanse of skin that he'd never entirely gotten used to. Men and women alike, no less! Hualing was no exception, lounging topless at the main table while she regaled some of their father's people with accounts of her singular victory at Cang Qiong. Next to her, a pair of her lackeys were busily doing one another's tattoos; baring their teeth and laughing through the pain.

"Didi!" she called, and he cursed that she'd caught sight of him. "Come join us!"

"No thanks!" he called back.

"Get over here!"

There was enough snap in her tone to know that she meant it. Kissing his hopes and dreams of a quiet evening goodbye, Shen Yuan reluctantly turned and headed into the hall.

At least their father wasn't there. Small mercies. He wouldn't be back from his latest campaign for a while yet, according to Hualing's own projections. She would know better than him, given that she was the favorite and held their father's ear, for all that she seemed to loathe every minute spent in his company.

Why couldn't she loathe every minute spent in Shen Yuan's company?

Oh right. Because he didn't want her future husband to kill him.

Hualing nodded approvingly as he navigated the minefield of the banquet hall and settled onto a cushion that was, with some shoving, cleared next to his sister. She plonked an empty bowl beside him, and he dutifully filled it with wine for her. Demon wines mostly tasted like either blood or vinegar, but their father had particular tastes for fruit wines from the human realm, so Shen Yuan poured some for himself as well. It wouldn't get him drunk the way that a demon wine would, but that was better off anyway. And it almost tasted nice.

"I was just telling everyone about my fight," Hualing said, as if her voice hadn't carried well beyond the banquet hall.

"You did well," he assured her, even though he honestly thought her match was idiotic. She did win it, though, somehow. Everyone agreed on that point anyway, even the other side, so it had to be true.

"Of course, of course!" Hualing agreed, thumping a fist over one of her breasts. "I'm the greatest of our generation! But what the hell was with your fight? Everyone's talking about it, even more than mine! It's a bigger mystery how you lost than how I won."

She sounded displeased with that. Of course she is, he thought. She wants them all praising her, not wondering about her weird brother's weird behavior.

That thought brought a nostalgic feeling, almost. His old meimei and Sha Hualing were like night and day, but he'd also used to overshadow his sister's accomplishments with bad news in that life. Not that he meant to do it, in either case.

He sighed, and accepted that he wasn't going to keep dodging her questions forever. He probably wasn't even supposed to. She should be getting interested in Luo Binghe around now, shouldn't she? Well she'd laid eyes on him so of course that would be the case. As long as he kept the attention there, it would only further the inevitable bond between the protagonist and his future wife.

"Didn't you notice? That disciple was really strong," he said.

Sha Hualing made a face at him. It wasn't a dreamy, 'oh yes he was' sort of face at all.

"You had him beat in the first few minutes."

"He wasn't really fighting in the first few minutes."

"But since when do you care about fighting? You've never been eager to see someone's 'potential' before! Not even mine!"

Hualing pouted, as if recollecting their own past matches. Shen Yuan would rather forget those. They were so unpleasant. He couldn't win, but he also couldn't lose so badly that his own sister killed him. It was like walking a tightrope covered in ice on a dark winter night. He was glad they were past the age where their father would throw them into a pit together and demand they prove that they were worth feeding and housing by ripping into one another until he was satisfied.

"I was just curious," he settled for saying. "Something about him was unlike the other humans."

"Unlike them how?" Hualing narrowed her eyes. But she looked like she was considering it.

"If I could easily say what it was, I wouldn't have tested it by challenging him," he bullshitted, quite reasonably.

"Hmm."

"I was right, though. He did beat me. He had a lot of power. That piece of shit master of his just didn't teach him anything about using it."

For some reason that comment made Hualing grin at him.

"You thought the Xiu Ya sword was a piece of shit?" she latched upon, amused. "I think that one's ranked second in the Cang Qiong hierarchy, isn't he one of their strongest?"

"Not necessarily. His peak has the second most authority, but the Bai Zhan War God is surely stronger," he said. Then he hesitated. Liu Qingge would be dead now, wouldn't he? Murdered by Shen Qingqiu. What a waste...

Sha Hualing shrugged.

"He still must be tough, though. Surely they only make the strongest ones successors? How else would they hold onto their power?"

"Lots of ways. Money, family connections, vital skills that the others can't replicate... but he did seem pretty strong, even if he had to use underhanded tactics."

"That's because the demon race is always superior! Even the strongest humans can't win otherwise!" Sha Hualing announced, and cheers went up.

Shen Yuan finished his wine.

"Good talk, I'll be going now," he tried, but Hualing rolled her eyes and yanked him down into the seat again before he could go, and forced him to endure more 'celebrating'.

The sky was fully dark by the time Shen Yuan managed to escape. Despite his having lost his match, he luckily didn't get dragged too hard by the others at the banquet. Maybe because only Hualing had won, or maybe because it was kind of a dull sport to try and make him feel bad over things that he didn't care about. He ended up drinking most of the fruit wine and nodding along to his sister's boasting before finally fleeing back to his room, and by then he was tired enough that he only stripped and fell into his bed, and was soon unconscious.

"Hmph. Took you long enough!"

Shen Yuan blinked himself to awareness, and found that he was standing back at the pavilion on Qiong Ding Peak. Or rather, that this was what the dream around him looked like at the moment. He knew the signs quite well, after looking after Meng Mo for this long. Contrary to his sleeping state, Shen Yuan was back to wearing the same outfit he'd worn during the invasion, complete with his weapons and all.

Near to him stood a projection of the dream demon; Meng Mo had the look of an esteemed elder, well-dressed and meticulously groomed, in a fashion that hadn't been seen in the demon realms since before the last big war with the human realms. He stroked narrow fingers through his white beard.

Shen Yuan made a face.

"What? Why am I here?" he protested. "I thought you were going to investigate Luo Binghe?"

"Is that his name?" Meng Mo groused. "You didn't give me much to work with!"

"I didn't think the Esteemed Elder Dream Demon needed much," Shen Yuan countered, irritated enough to let his distaste show. Just why was he being involved?! He didn't want the protagonist associating him with an awful nightmare! Shoo!

"I don't," Meng Mo snapped. "Insolent brat. You'd think you'd show a little more appreciation for the lengths I'm willing to go through at your say-so. If I'm going to delve into this random human's mind, I need to know what I'm looking for. I'm not going to waste energy all night just rooting around when there's probably nothing to find!"

Shen Yuan wanted to protest. Wasn't that what the dream demon had done in the novel? Why were the rules different if Shen Yuan asked him to do something instead of Sha Hualing? You shitty old bastard, this poor transmigrator is doing you a favor! Don't you realize that the protagonist is your last hope of living as anything other than some random decor item? That he's going to be your greatest student that you can pass all your teachings onto? A host with enough power that he can sustain your existence indefinitely?

"Just do it yourself," he protested.

Meng Mo glared.

"If it's not worth your time, why should it be worth mine? Useless."

The dream started to dissipate. Shen Yuan raised a hand.

"Okay, wait, stop. It's definitely worth the time," he declared. At the older demon's skeptical expression, he snapped. "Why are you being so difficult? Haven't I taken care of you all this while? And when have I ever led you astray? What an ingrate, do you want to spend the rest of your existence depending on me to keep you around? At this rate I'm going to get tired of you and let you rot in a cupboard 'till all your energy runs out!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Your statue is ugly!"

"It is art! High art! Like the kind not seen in this world for centuries!"

"It’s trash."

"You-!"

Meng Mo paused. For a moment Shen Yuan thought that he'd legitimately run out of comebacks, and was a bit concerned. He'd never seen that happen before. But when he opened his mouth, the elder raised a hand and stopped him. His dark eyes narrowed. Then the dream around them began to change, shifting like something out of Inception or a high-end video game. The Qiong Ding pavilion disappeared, stone by stone, to be replaced with the structures and buildings of a rundown city street. Not a modern street, thankfully, not something like the kind from Shen Yuan's past life, but one that would be perfectly at home in Proud Immortal Demon Way.

"Found him," Meng Mo murmured.

So he had been looking. Maybe he genuinely did struggle to pinpoint Luo Binghe this time, for some reason, and brought in Shen Yuan's memories of the invasion to help. He felt a bit chagrined at that. True, Meng Mo didn't seem to need much to try and stalk a victim, but he probably hadn't given as much detailed information as the Sha Hualing of the novel had when he tried to put him onto the protagonist. After all, Sha Hualing would have been gushing like a lovestruck girl, not calmly and objectively explaining the situation the way Shen Yuan had done.

A moment later, Meng Mo's appearance shifted to resemble one of the faceless NPCs that populated most dreams. This was a common trick of his for observing things without drawing notice -- just blend into the background like some other less-formed part of the dream.

Shen Yuan followed the direction of his gaze. Sure enough, he found himself looking at Luo Binghe. Ning Yingying was beside him, holding on to his arm.

Their gazes met.

The protagonist's eyes widened in recognition.

Then the dream faded away as Meng Mo unceremoniously booted Shen Yuan out of it. He wasn't sure if he felt more relieved or disappointed, though of course that was foolish. Like he said, it wasn't as if he wanted the protagonist to associate him with a nightmare!

But even with that mere glimpse, perhaps the damage had already been done?

Dear Meng Mo, haven't I done you a bunch of favors by now? Please go easy on that kid, don't give him such a harrowing trial that he blames me for all of this later on!

#long post #svsss #scum villain #bingqiu #scum villain's self saving system #wip #fanfic #demon saint shen yuan #shen yuan #luo binghe

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lomlhwa · 8 months ago

Text

bite me (l.hs)

pairing: vampire bf!heeseung x human gf!reader

preview: heeseung loves to scare you. so tonight, you've agreed to a sick game of hide and seek. better pray he can't smell you.

tags/warnings: fem reader, lots of biting, blood drinking, marking, kinda cnc, edging, chasing through the woods, "if i catch you, i fuck you" type shit, pet names (whore, slut, cockslut, baby), impact play, monster cock heeseung, heeseung is MEAN, degrading, color system, masochism, fingering, kinda public sex but it's late at night in a forest, fear play, kinda predator/prey, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, sweet aftercare

trigger warnings: kinda cnc

wc: 2.2k

song recs for this fic: bite me by enhypen

a/n: little late from halloween to be posting a vamp fic but here we are

you open your front door, finding that your house is pitch black and empty. you feel around for the light next to the door and flip the switch. you’re met with a sticky note stuck to the banister of the stairs. you walk over and pick it up. ‘hide. if i find you, you’re fucking mine.’ cold sweat drips down your forehead. you love when heeseung plays this game. you crumple up the note and book it. you head for the bathroom just as you hear the front door open, indicating that your hunter is here.

you scramble to try and find a hiding spot, opting to jump in the bathtub and shut the curtain. you plop yourself down in one end of the tub and put your hand over your mouth to stifle how hard you’re breathing. you hear heeseung climb his way up the stairs, humming to himself. “where are you, my pretty whore?” he says in a sing-songy voice. “i know your pussy is dripping for me right now.” you clench your thighs together, hating how well he knows your body. you can hear him wander into your shared bedroom, clicking his tongue when he doesn’t find you in there.

you hear him walk towards the bathroom and stop in the doorway. “i know your pretty cunt can’t wait to be filled, isn’t that right…” he trails off as he walks over to the bathtub and throws the curtain open. “gotcha.” his eyes flash bright red and you can’t help but scream. you’re frozen for a moment before you clamber out of the tub. you manage to sprint past heeseung, down the stairs and out the front door. you head for the forest behind your house, despite it being late at night. you look over your shoulder and spot heeseung walking very confidently after you. you swerve and try to get yourself out of his line of sight.

you take a corner too fast and catch your foot on a branch. you come crashing down to the ground, catching yourself on your elbows. the sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through you pushes you to get up and walk it off. you run for a while more until your legs and lungs are positively aching. you come across a fairly large tree and decide to hide behind it to catch your breath. you peek around the tree and can’t spot heeseung, so you start to relax.

that is until a hand wraps around your neck and slams your back against the tree, knocking the wind out of you. “you fucking thought you could outrun me?” you wrap your hands around his wrist and do your best to shake your head. your eyes fill with pure fear as he bares his fangs at you. you dig your nails into the skin of his wrist, desperate to get him to release you. “color?” he asks, loosening his grip on your throat. “g-green,” you respond, gasping for air while you can. with this confirmation, he tightens his grip once again, lifting you up and dropping you to the forest floor.

he gets on his knees at your feet, grabbing your ankles and forcing your legs open. he’s quick to slot himself between your legs, right at your core. he traps your head between his arms, slamming his palms down onto the ground by your head. “i didn’t expect you to run out of the house, baby. i guess you just really wanted everyone to listen to me fuck you, huh?” he taunts you, grinding his hips against you, earning him a whimper from you. “get off me,” you demand, trying to roll away. he catches you, shaking his head. “the little brat doesn’t know when to give up, does she?” he grabs your wrists with his hands and pins you down. his irises flash bright red again as he leans down to connect his fangs with your throat. you cry out, kicking your legs to try and escape his hold on you.

he lets your hands go and trails them down your body. he finds your skirt and flips it up, grabbing at the waistband of your underwear and tugging them off you. he discards them somewhere in the woods before connecting his fingers to your cunt. he circles your clit as he begins sucking on your neck, relishing in the iron taste of your blood. the mix of pain and pleasure has your mind spinning, your whole body trembling. “h-heeseung,” you croak, pushing at his head to try and get him to stop draining you. “y-yellow,” you add and he immediately pulls his teeth away.

you cough and wipe the extra blood away from your neck as heeseung inserts a finger into your hole. your back arches at his attempt to distract you from the pulsing pain in your neck. you look up at him, his face illuminated in the moonlight. his mouth is covered in your blood and he can’t help but smile at you. “you’re always so fucking delicious, slut.” he emphasizes his words by adding another finger and prodding at the spot where you need him most. your back arches off the ground, a strangled moan leaving your throat. heeseung forces your shirt up and over your breasts, his free hand coming up to pinch at your sensitive nipples. “i think you need a punishment for being so fucking disobedient,” he feigns pity, raising his hand and landing a hard slap to your face. “answer me,” he demands. “yes, i d-deserve a punishment,” you answer.

he lands hard smacks across your torso, leaving bright red and pink handprints all over you. he thrusts and wiggles his fingers around inside you, the pleasure between your legs growing. you reach up and dig your nails into his shoulders, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. “c-close, heeseung,” you mutter, the chord in your stomach tightening. a sinister look spreads over his face as he gets you closer and closer, before pulling his fingers out of you completely. “you really think dirty, disobedient whores deserve to cum? let alone without asking?” he removes himself from between your legs, flipping your skirt back down. “run some more, i like hunting my prey. and if you wanna cum, beg me to fuck you while you run,” he stands up, gesturing to the expanse of the forest.

you’re quick to get to your feet and run, your speed significantly diminished. overcome by heightened emotions, you begin to cry. “seung, please,” you cry out, ducking and dodging branches. “please fuck me, i’ll behave!” you scream, wiping your eyes of their tears. you pause and look around, finding that heeseung is nowhere near you. “heeseung! please!” you take off running again, having no idea where you are or where you’re going. you’re overwhelmed and scared in the thickly wooded forest. you’re crying so hard your chest hurts and you can barely see. you collapse to the ground, holding your head in your hands.

“heeseung stop hiding, i know you’re out there,” you mumble, wiping your eyes for what feels like the millionth time. you know that if you say the word, he’ll put an end to the game. but under all your very real terror, you still want him to fuck you. you feel a presence behind you and you turn your head to find your boyfriend towering over you. “is my prey sacrificing herself to her predator?” he asks, crouching down and examining your face. you nod, pouting at him. you no longer had the energy to run from him.

he grabs you by the hair on the back of your head and forces your neck to bend at a weird angle. “tell me you want me to fuck you. beg for my cock like a good whore,” he demands of you, despite having you run and beg just moments prior. with the angle your head is bent at, you have the perfect view of how hard his cock is straining against his pants. you've never made him this hard before. “heeseung please, i need you to fuck me. i’ve done everything you’ve asked of me,” you sob, your whole body aching. he almost takes pity on you for a moment before returning to his mean headspace. “good girl, lay down on your back,” he gestures to the ground with his eyes. you’re quick to follow orders, wanting to be on your absolute best behavior from here on out.

you dig out a couple of sticks from under your spine before fully settling onto the forest floor. heeseung is quick to get between your legs, the rough fabric of his pants rubbing against your exposed clit. you gasp, throwing your head back. heeseung reaches down between you to undo his pants. he doesn’t bother removing them all the way, opting to slide his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh, just enough to let his pink and swollen cock free. he drags the tip of his cock up and down your slit, gathering your arousal to make getting inside you easier. he leans down to kiss you, his tongue swirling with yours. he nips at your bottom lip as he sheathes himself into you. your body shudders, the relief of finally being filled sends a new wave of desire through you.

heeseung wastes no time in drawing his hips back and slamming into you. his tip slams into the gummy spot deep inside you, making you see stars. you can tell that despite his demeanor, he wants you just as bad as you want him. he groans against your mouth, your pussy clenching around him in the most delicious way. you suck him in perfectly, your cunt begging for more. “what a slut. d-desperate for cock even deep in the forest. fucking pathetic,” heeseung can’t help but let out a sinister chuckle at the way you clench with the way he talks to you. “just so cock drunk and i’ve barely done anything.” heeseung fucks into you with so much force that your whole body is jerking on the floor. your back arches and you dig your head into the forest floor. you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the pleasure. this displeases heeseung and his grips your face with one of his hands. “open your eyes and fucking look at me. i wanna see how fucking good i make you feel,” he demands and your eyelids flutter open.

you hold eye contact with heeseung as he loses himself in the sensation of your soaked heat. you breathe heavily as you feel your orgasm approaching, your body becoming desperate for release. “seungie…” you whine, gripping his forearm and digging your nails into his soft skin. you wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him as close to you as possible. “f-fuck baby, if you do that i won’t be able to pull out,” he whines, his own orgasm approaching him swiftly. “d-don’t pull out, give me cum,” you blabber, your thoughts getting fuzzier by the second. “please let me cum,” you beg, your eyes welling with tears. you move your hands from his forearms to wrap around his neck and pull his lips to yours. “cum for me, baby,” he says between kisses. he thrusts into you at the perfect rhythm, drawing you closer and closer to your orgasm until you’re twitching uncontrollably. “oh fuck-” he stutters as he releases into you soon after. his hips stutter as he rides out his orgasm, relishing in the way your walls milk him dry.

he stops moving and for a moment just remains inside you, catching his breath. he admires your tear stained face in the moonlight, finding you the most beautiful in moments like these. he pulls out of your slowly, a small whimper erupting from you at the emptiness. heeseung pulls his pants back up and scoops you into his arms. he carries you all the way back to your house, all the way up to your bathroom where he had found you just a while ago. he places you on the counter before turning around to run a hot shower for the two of you. as the water heats up, he helps you out of your clothes before removing his own. he lifts you again and holds you up under the warm water. you hum at the comforting warmth of his body heat mixed with the water. “hi baby,” he finally speaks, tucking your hair behind your ear. “hi seungie,” you respond, looking up at him with a giddy look. “i love you,” he adds, a stupid smile spreading across his face. “i love you too,” you rise to your tiptoes to give him a quick kiss.

“you’re so pretty. you’re perfect and i wouldn’t trade you for the world. you know that, right?” he stares at you as you nod. “i know.” heeseung spins you around and lathers shampoo in your hair, aiming to remove the leaves and sticks that remained in your hair. “did you have fun?” he asks after rinsing your hair carefully. you nod, smiling. “i was genuinely scared at some points but honestly i think it made it more fun,” you giggle. heeseung sighs in relief. “well, i’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” he embraces you tightly, wanting as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. he takes you out of the shower, drying you off and running to your room to get some comfy pajamas.

he holds you tightly as you settle into bed together, whispering sweet nothings about how much he loves you and how he would never want to actually hurt you. his soft, honey voice slowly lulls you to sleep, your muscles finally relaxing for the first time since before you got home.

#lomlhwa #enhypen #enha #heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen smut #enha smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut

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clockwayswrites · 1 month ago

Text

Birb.... back?! Part 36

masterpost am sick, be kind

finally unstuck this!

By later afternoon, Bruce was officially worried. Even with Lian put down for a nap, Danny was no where to be found. Bruce had been telling himself that Danny was making himself scarce because of the active toddler, but even that felt flimsy with how fondly Danny spoke of his own niece. Though of course, that was without wings in play.

Maybe Danny was trying to avoid having his feathers pulled on.

Maybe Danny was afraid of himself.

“Alfred, have you seen Danny?”

“No sir,” Alfred said as he looked up from the dinner he was preparing. “Perhaps he went with Master Damian to help at the animal shelter?”

Bruce shook his head. “I’ve already checked. Tim, Cass, and Steph are still out. Duke just got home. Dick went with Jason, much to Jason’s annoyance.”

“He did remind to text me as much, as they may not make it back for dinner,” Alfred said. “But it remains that I have not seen Danny. He never came round for lunch, either.”

Bruce gave a little hum to show he heard the concerning news. That was far more than simply avoiding a toddler. He went over to the phone in the kitchen that Alfred still insisted on having and pulled down the false panel next to it. On the revealed screen, Bruce went through the biometric log in process: meant to be as quick as it was secure. As soon as he was in the system, Bruce activated the infared camera for the Manor and surrounding land.

Him and Alfred in the kitchen, Lian in her room, various pets, Duke in the study having just come up from the Cave…

There.

Bruce closed out of the system, made sure it was all the way out, and closed the panel up before he headed off. The only other human sized signature (and at least it was human sized), was in the guest wing. It was tucked away in some shuttered an unused lounge. It had to be Danny.

Not wanting to startle Danny, Bruce gave a soft knock on the door before he opened it and slipped inside. The room was still in that way only a room that hadn’t been used for decades could get. The furniture was cloth covered, the valuable and useful items all moved to other rooms where they would be looked after. The rest was just there like ghosts of Wayne Manor past. The only disturbance to the room was the drape of the window seat, just barely pulled back where it was pushed open by Danny’s knees.

“Danny?” Bruce asked. He worked to cross the room as carefully as Danny had. Not a cloth was disturbed.

“Do you think Alfred would have the time to drive me back to my apartment before dinner?” Danny asked. His voice calm in a way that felt detached. He didn’t look towards Bruce. “I should… get back. I should check on my plants. I should do some work. I’m sure that in this case Lucius would understand me keeping some awkward hours, but I should get back to it.”

Bruce continued to slowly cross the room. He sat against the arm of a cloth covered chair across from the window. Danny was back lit by the light, making him hard for Bruce to see. “I’m sure Lucius would understand you taking more time if you need it.”

Danny just gave a soft hum.

“If you really want to go back home, I can drive you back,” Bruce said. “Though I assure you that there’s no rush to leave from our side.”

“You’re supposed to be spending time with your granddaughter,” Danny said. There was an off warble to his words.

“She’s napping and will be out for another hour at least. Structured rest time is apparently very important for toddlers,” Bruce said, still amused at the lecture that he had gotten from Jason on it all.

“Structure helps them know what to expect so that they can better cope with the day at an age where they are constantly experiencing new events and sensations,” Danny parroted back. Apparently he had some lectures of his own.

“Your sister and niece,” Bruce said with a little nod. “You can of course do whatever you feel most comfortable doing, but I did a bit expect to see you around with Lian some today.”

That was the wrong thing to say, by Danny’s slight flinch, or maybe the right thing to say for getting to the bottom of what was wrong.

Danny wrung his hands. “I didn’t… Jason didn’t…”

When Danny seemed unable (or at least unwilling) to continue, Bruce reached out his hand. It felt like reaching across a divide. It was a relief when Danny reached back.

Gently, Bruce curled his hand around Danny’s, mindful of the overly sharp fingernails. He brushed his thumb over the dusting of fine feathers there. A thousand variables spun through his mind about why Danny was continuing to change now and what could be done about it.

“Jason is worried I could hurt Lian,” Danny explained in that same detached voice. “And when this happens… it’s easy to see why he fears that.”

“That’s less about you, I think, and more about things that Jason fears most,” Bruce said. “When Jason… when he was dead to us, it was because I failed him.”

“Bruce—”

“No, it’s true,” Bruce said with a shake of his head. “I was trying to protect him. Protect him from the world and the ugliness of things and his own anger… but I did it poorly. I didn’t know I needed to explain myself or where to even start. And that led into him trying to find his birth mother and—well, everything else. Lian may not be his, not yet, but it’s really just time. And I think that Jason’s biggest fear is to fail to protect her. It makes him overly cautious.”

“But is he wrong?” Danny asked.

“Yes,” Bruce answered without hesitation.

Danny snorted. “Such easy belief.”

“When did this happen?” Bruce asked. He ran his fingers over Danny’s taloned fingers to make it clear what he was asking.

“…when I got how afraid of me Jason was.”

Bruce “When you saw yourself as a monster because of it. Perhaps a bit of a self fulfilling prophecy then?”

Danny gave a tired little snort. “You and my doctor would have a grand time talking about the psychology of this whole change.”

“Well, I’m a fan of psychology. It helped save my relationships with my family,” Bruce said. “But for what it’s worth? This? Your hands? That doesn’t make you a monster.”

“Doesn’t it?” Danny asked.

“No,” Bruce said before he brought the hand up to press a kiss to it. “Now, if you really want to go home, I’ll take you, but don’t go because you’re running.”

Danny gave an over the top sigh. “No?”

“No,” Bruce said with a little smile.

“Okay. I’ll stay at least through the night,” Danny agreed, “but I do think that I should go back tomorrow. I should check on my plants, check on work, take some time to just… think.”

“That sounds like a much better plan. As does getting out of this room.” Bruce stood, Danny’s hand still in his. “Alfred would hate to know that you were in a room that wasn’t properly set up.”

“Oh, well, for Alfred then,” Danny said as he stood and let Bruce lead him from the gloomy room.

“Of course, for Alfred.”

#dp x dc #spirit halloween ship #danny/bruce #birdritch #this part fought me SO MUCH

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mariasont · 17 days ago

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Copper Changes Color - A.H

all you wanted was to stop your new kitchen from flooding. what you got was a crash course in home repair, body awareness, and what mr. hotchner looks like in a dripping dress shirt

pairings: aaron hotchner x intern!reader warnings: suggestive themes, mild accidental injury, clothing transparency, mentions of aging (el oh el), slow burn (with water damage), sexual tension but we r making it neighborly, age gap, home repair as foreplay, science girl flirts via plumbing vocabulary, ballcock failure (swear) wc: 1.9k

Water sluices through your shoes in persistent little pulses, seeping into your socks and establishing a semi-permanent colony in the crevices between your toes.

You purse your lips and pitch yourself forward, clutching at the hem of your tank like you might peel the cold from your skin if you just squeeze hard enough. It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t.

The fabric clings tighter instead, now suctioned to your spine, a damp, vindictive second skin with a grudge. (Hydrophilic fibers. That’s why. Cotton loves water. An ironic choice, in retrospect, for someone who knows that cellulose absorbs up to 27 times its own weight.)

So now you’re mid-drip, mid-shiver, mid-existential reckoning over the catastrophic intersection between you and the American household plumbing system when the door swings open.

And there he is, framed in clean lines and afternoon light — your neighbor, your new neighbor, your prohibitively attractive, aggressively symmetrical new neighbor.

What a great impression you seem to be making judging by the look he gives you, as if trying to discern whether this is a cry for help or just your natural state of being.

You realize, belatedly, that you don’t even know which one you’d prefer him to believe.

“Hi! I — okay. This is probably the weirdest neighbor interaction you’ve had all month. Maybe all year. But my kitchen kind of exploded? Not exploded-exploded, there weren’t any flames or concussive blasts or flaming shards of sink shrapnel, just… water. A lot of it. From a valve? Under the sink? It’s called a ballcock, which sounds fake but it’s a real word, I checked. Anyway there was, like, geyser-level water pressure shooting into my ceiling and I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here. Not because I thought you could fix it, necessarily, unless you can? But mostly because I panicked. Which I don’t normally do.”

He regards you silently for a moment, his expression closed off, reminding you of a combination lock, one your brain immediately fumbles through every numeric permutation it can conjure to open it.

“I can come take a look. And call a plumber.”

He gestures for you to lead the way, falling in step behind you, or maybe beside you. It’s hard to tell. Spatial awareness takes a backseat the second his eyes dip toward the distressingly see-through state of your shirt.

He jerks his eyes away in gentlemanly fashion, burning himself on a hot stove.

Clearing his throat, he recovers, “Do you know if your water main’s outside or under the sink?”

You cross your arms, an attempted picture of casual confidence, though realistically more akin to frantic self-containment via strategically placed limbs.

You hope he doesn’t notice.

“It’s under the sink, I think. I mean sixty percent of residential shutoff valves are installed there, though some new models route to an external main, especially in cold climates, but this house predates modular plumbing standards so — yeah. Probably the sink.”

He nods once, as if you had offered a completely ordinary and appropriate response. As if normal people regularly volley niche plumbing statistics at each other in casual conversation.

Most people — regular, socially adjusted humans — would’ve blinked. Or winced a little. Or at least made that polite, closed-mouth “ah” sound that universally signals, please, for the love of god, stop talking.

But not Mr. Hotchner. (Aaron? Hotchner? You weren’t sure which name was appropriate.) He just steps into your house, either unfazed by you or polite enough to hide his confusion exceptionally well.

He crosses the kitchen in three measured strides, slacks neatly creased, white dress shirt still buttoned to the collar.

His posture practically screams executive burnout, like he spent his entire day navigating high-stakes conference calls and patiently explaining things to people he silently considered throttling.

You conclude swiftly and confidently that he must be some kind of CEO. Something complicated, lucrative, and mildly sinister. Finance, perhaps. Or no, something with a more predatory reputation. Venture capital? Private equity? Arms dealing? (Okay, not arms dealing.)

Whatever it is, you’re sure it involves quarterly earnings calls, shareholder appeasement, and an extensive collection of expensive ties.

But then again, he does live here. In this neighborhood, which is lovely, sure, all quiet and sun-dappled, all responsibly pruned hedges and tasteful porch lighting. You love it. You also could never have afforded it if the house hadn’t been, you know, inherited.

Still, it’s not exactly executive-suite-level real estate.

Unless, of course, he’s one of those hyper-rational finance-blog devotees who preach aggressive saving strategies and believe visible wealth is for amateurs. You could picture that. Actually, it fits him perfectly. Or at least, it fits perfectly with the version of him your brain is assembling based on fifteen seconds of sidewalk interaction and your wildly unused behavioral science coursework.

You haven’t exactly been studying him, per se, but certain details lodge themselves in your pattern-attuned brain. It can’t be helped.

He leaves early. Returns late, consistently solo, and displays zero evidence of a cohabiting partner. There’s no second vehicle, no conspicuous brunch plans on weekends. His grocery trips result in single-serving bags and he waters that one sad potted plant but never waves at Mindi Daugherty across the street who strategically times her daily walks past his house in distinctly flattering activewear.

He also runs every morning. You know this in the same way you know tides shift or birds migrate because he passes your porch at precisely 6:12 AM.

Same routine, same pace, same gray T-shirt darkened at the collar and clinging to upper-body definition. You’ve taken to waking up early under the noble guise of catching the sunrise before class, gaze angled vaguely toward the horizon, which just so happens to intersect with his jogging path.

But now, with him crouched at your sink, sleeves pushed past his forearms — which, by the way, are absolutely in the top percentile of forearm presentation — you confirm those jogs have a definitive purpose. Strong legs. Powerful quads capable of door-demolishing force. Not that you’ve considered that.

“Can you hand me that towel?”

You comply instantly, arm extending stiffly, acutely aware of the warmth radiating off him in slow, magnetic waves, like a space heater, or maybe a heat lamp, but one inexplicably gifted with superb genetics and bone structure.

He takes it, fingers brushing yours in an accidental collision. You would think it’s negligible by most standards, and yet your entire sensory network lights up simultaneously.

Without a word, he resumes his investigation beneath the sink, using the towel as makeshift padding for one knee.

You shift your weight, then decide proximity is crucial for educational purposes, lowering yourself onto the tile, whose damp chill promptly seeps through your leggings. Not enough to dissuade you.

“What exactly are you looking for?” you ask, voice soft so it doesn’t bounce too loud in the small kitchen.

“Fault point on the fill line. If it’s clean, it’s a seal issue. If it’s corroded, you’ll need a full replacement.”

Your lips turn to a frown.

“If it is corroded, is it something you can patch temporarily or is it full replacement only?”

He turns to respond, but his gaze slips past your eyes, dropping downward for what seems like the seventh time in ten minutes, and precisely then, his arm brushes the loosened valve with just enough force to dislodge it.

Water explodes in a vicious surge, hitting him squarely in the chest and smacking you on the cheek.

Before you can move or breathe or curse, he’s already between you and the line of fire, arm braced against the cabinet, deflecting the brunt of the stream. Water barrels into his side, soaking through his pristine shirt in seconds.

Amidst the roar of rushing spray, you hear the metallic groan, the protesting grind of something finally surrendering beneath the steady force of his hand, and at last, the deluge tapers.

He exhales and then turns to look at you, shirt molded to his pecs, sleeves dripping onto the floor.

“Sorry,” he says, voice low but not annoyed, if anything, it’s amused.

You offer him a weak smile, still blinking through droplets. “No, it’s — this is my fault. I should be the one apologizing. I mean, I’m the one who dragged you into this mess.”

He huffs a laugh, and there’s a dimple there, you realize, half-hidden beneath rain-slicked skin and a mouth pulling into something between wry and warm.

His hair drapes across his forehead, coiling slightly now that it’s wet.

You’re still smiling, you think, though hopefully in a restrained, adult, totally-not-enamored-neighbor sort of way.

He tilts his head at the pipe, then looks back at you over one shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re going to need a full replacement.” He gestures vaguely at the sad, dripping underbelly of the sink. “I can shut it off from the main for now, but it needs to be looked at professionally.”

“Right.” You nod. “I’ll just add this to my ever-expanding list of adult learning experiences.” He moves toward the shutoff as you wipe water from your eyes with the edge of your tank top. “Seriously, though, thank you. I know this isn’t exactly a neighborly favor on the usual spectrum of things.”

“This was… not the worst emergency call I’ve had,” he says, almost smiling.

You’re about to respond, standing from your spot, to ask what could possibly be worse than this, when your heel skids across the drenched floor.

Your arms flail instinctively, grabbing at the nearest available support, which, of course, is him. He moves quickly, to his credit, trying to stabilize you, but the momentum carries you both backward. You tumble gracelessly into a slippery, tangled heap.

He mostly succeeds in cushioning your fall, though the resulting thud against the floor elicits a sharp grunt from him. Your palms, meanwhile, end up planted squarely against his very wet, very muscular chest.

You freeze, trapped somewhere between outright panic and complete sensory overload. His hands rest firmly on your waist in a futile attempt to salvage the situation, but the situation is well beyond saving, you’re adhered to him, nipples peaked against a top that’s now suctioned to skin. He has to feel it. And worse, your hair is now stuck across his face, one curl draped over his temple like an attempt at decoration.

His face, you notice, is stupidly handsome this close up. You can see the exact shape of his jaw, the way his lashes cluster into tiny spikes, the faint suggestion of stubble shadowing his skin, a brow that ticks just briefly as your breath catches against his collarbone.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine!” you blurt, immediately launching into what can only be described as an anxious, full-body scramble off him. “Are you okay? Because I landed right on your — well, your thoracic region, technically, which absorbs impact better than your lower back, but still, that was a lot of force and you’re older —” You stop. “— I mean, not older, I just mean relatively speaking, like, statistically, the male spine starts to degenerate past thirty-five and — okay, I’m going to stop talking now.”

He stands with a grunt, more from effort than pain, and offers you his hand.

“You know,” he says, clasping yours as he lifts you to your feet. “I didn’t realize I was old until you mentioned it.”

Your face goes hot. “I didn’t mean you specifically, it was a general observation about musculoskeletal aging and —” You cut yourself off with a wince. “Right. Not helping.”

He exhales, a laugh almost, then glances at the kitchen. “I’ll call a plumber I know. They should be able to come out tomorrow and I can come by and oversee it, if you want.”

“Oh. Really? You’d — yeah. Thank you. That’d be great.”

He gives a nod, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you standing in a ruin of your own making. Then he opens the door. “Try to get some rest.”

And you will. Probably. Eventually.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#🌺 maria writes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds fluff #hotchner #hotch

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rottingghosty · 3 months ago

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Little Talks | DC X DP

part second part to the ghostling au !! this is just something to give you guys food while i write the fic

also usual errors will be made im only one person blah blah. hope you enjoy, as usual this is scheduled to post at 7am

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny lazily blinked at the person in front of him, his brain slowly rebooting itself as he released a small yawn. The person was green. A green person. Huh. Alien? He was exhausted, he spent so long aiding new systems and cradling stars that died and spread their dust around so they would be reborn again. He wanted to sleep but this person was in front of him and it’d be rude to ignore him. Pandora taught him better than that.

“Mrrp?” Danny felt his ears twitch, he wanted to feel mortified at the fact he made a sound like a cat in his own head but he really can’t be blamed because the moon he was around was really comfortable and he had no shame. He lazily tilted his head as the person’s shoulders seemed to loosen? A shake in his body. Weird.

Oh. He’s trying not to laugh at Danny’s response. Can Clockwork rewind so that didn’t happen. Of course CW ignored him like usual when it came to embarrassments like these.

“I do not mean any harm friend.”

The voice in his head echoed and it made Danny shiver in response, it was odd sharing a head space with someone else. He didn’t retaliate or cause any harm. His core could feel that this person was friendly, curious and respectful. He gives a head tilt in response.

Friend. Safe. Okay.

Danny gave another yawn, feeling his jaw open a tad wider than it should in normal human circumstances but who could care less when he has a Martian— an actual martian in front of him even if he’s too sleepy to actively be excited! He’s tired okay, it’s not everyday he gets to indulge on his obsession heavily on an everyday basis. He’d been so deprived that he’d gotten sick and it’s what made the others decide to give him the boot so he could enjoy his time before he got the crown.

“What is your name, little one?” Martian Manhunter softly asked in Danny’s head after the younger one winced from the volume earlier after he began to wake up.

“Danny.”

“Why are you out here?”

“Old man said I needed my enrichment.”

“One of my allies called you a baby ghost of the Infinite Realms, is this true?”

Danny released another cat like sound, this one more curious than the other when he had just barely woke up. Someone knew what he was? How curious, it wasn’t often Danny stumbled in dimensions that knew he was from the Infinite Realms… much less the fact that he’s even a ghostling.

“Mhm, ghostling is the proper term. We usually calculate age by how long we’ve been dead. In ghost terms I’m like three.”

Martian Manhunter seemed to pause, as if listening to something. Danny gave another yawn before he finally decided to change into a more normal size instead of the large form he had used to travel through the void easier. His form shifted in a bright light before he floated over to Martian Manhunter.

He quickly realized he was a lot smaller than he’d been and he supposes this is what CW meant when changing forms, he’d most likely reflect the age he’s in ghost terms. He doesn’t think he’d handle if Martian Manhunter treated him like a kid.

“When you said enrichment…?”

“Oh! Clocky said to play nice with my cousin? I think her name is Wonder Woman? Um he’s ah known as Chronos?”

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pomegranatelifethis · 2 months ago

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New Robin

The Batcave smelled like motor oil, leather, and the faint tang of Alfred’s freshly baked cookies, which you were currently swiping from a plate on the workbench. You, the newest and youngest Robin, were sprawled across a chair, one leg dangling, a cookie in one hand and your phone in the other, giggling at the latest chapter of your very spicy Batman fanfiction. The working title? “Caped Crusader’s Forbidden Night.” Pure genius, if you did say so yourself.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” Dick Grayson, the first Robin and current Nightwing, leaned against the Batcomputer, arms crossed, giving you that annoying big-brother stare.

You grinned, popping the cookie in your mouth. “Training’s boring. Punch, kick, dodge, blah blah. I’d rather write my masterpiece.” You wiggled your phone at him, knowing it’d make him squirm.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you’re not still writing that… stuff.”

“Oh, I am. And it’s steamy. Wanna read the part where Batman—”

“NO.” Dick’s voice cracked, and he threw his hands up. “I’m begging you to keep that away from me.”

You cackled, loving how easy it was to rile him up. Being the youngest Batfamily member had its perks: you could get away with murder (figuratively, of course). At sixteen, you were a whirlwind of chaos, a Robin who preferred pranks over protocol, jokes over jabs, and daydreaming over discipline. Bruce had taken you in after catching you hacking into the Gotham City traffic system to create a smiley face with the lights. He saw potential; you saw a playground.

“Focus, kid,” came a gruffer voice. Jason Todd, Red Hood himself, stomped into the cave, wiping blood off his knuckles. “You ditched sparring again. I was gonna go easy on you.”

“Easy? You threw me into a dumpster last time!” you protested, sitting up.

“That was an accident,” Jason said, smirking. “Mostly.”

You stuck out your tongue and went back to your phone, typing furiously. “Batman’s cape billowed as he pinned the mysterious stranger against the wall, his gravelly voice a low growl…”

“Yo, what’s she typing?” Tim Drake, the third Robin and resident caffeine addict, peeked over your shoulder, then immediately regretted it. “Oh, God, no. Why is Bruce in this? Why is there romance?”

“It’s art, Timmy!” you declared, clutching your phone to your chest. “You wouldn’t understand true creativity.”

“It’s a crime against humanity,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples. “Bruce would have an aneurysm if he saw this.”

“Then don’t tell him,” you said sweetly, batting your lashes.

“Tell me what?” The deep, unmistakable voice of Bruce Wayne—Batman himself—echoed through the cave as he stepped out of the shadows, cowl off, looking like he’d just survived a board meeting and a gang war.

You froze, phone slipping from your fingers. “Uh… nothing! Just, um, writing my… mission report?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’ve never written a mission report in your life.”

“Rude!” you gasped, hopping to your feet. “I’m a great Robin! I stopped that bank robbery last week!”

“You stopped it by rigging the sprinklers to blast ‘Baby Shark’ until the robbers surrendered,” Dick pointed out.

“And it worked!” you shot back, hands on your hips. “Admit it, I’m a genius.”

“You’re a menace,” Jason said, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to be training. Being Robin isn’t a game. It’s discipline, focus—”

“Blah blah, I know,” you interrupted, mimicking his gravelly tone. “‘I am the night, I am vengeance.’ Lighten up, B! I’ve got this.”

The cave went silent. Dick looked horrified. Tim looked impressed. Jason snorted, muttering, “She’s got guts, I’ll give her that.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, but before he could lecture, Damian Wayne—the current Robin and your reluctant partner—stormed in, katana in hand. “You skipped our patrol route planning again!” he snapped, glaring at you. “You’re an embarrassment to the mantle!”

“Oh, chill, Baby Bat,” you said, ruffling his hair, which he dodged with a scowl. “I was busy creating culture. Besides, I already memorized the routes. West End, Crime Alley, then the docks. Easy peasy.”

Damian sputtered. “You—how dare you call me—Father, she’s insufferable!”

“Join the club,” Tim muttered.

You grinned, undeterred, and tossed Damian a cookie. “Eat a snack, Dami. You’re cranky.”

He caught it but looked like he wanted to throw it back at you. Bruce, meanwhile, was still staring, clearly debating whether to ground you or just give up. “You’re on probation,” he said finally. “No patrols until you complete a full training session.”

“Probation?!” you whined, flopping dramatically onto the floor. “This is oppression! I’m being silenced!”

“You’re being disciplined,” Bruce corrected, turning to the Batcomputer. “And delete that fanfiction.”

“Never!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet and bolting for the stairs. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

Jason laughed outright as you sprinted out of the cave, Alfred’s voice calling after you, “Miss, your laundry is still unfolded!”

Hours later, hidden in the manor’s library, you were curled up with your phone, adding another chapter to your fic. “The mysterious stranger smirked, tugging at Batman’s utility belt…” You giggled, knowing full well you’d never delete it. Being the naughty, carefree Robin was too much fun—and the Batfamily, for all their grumbling, wouldn’t have you any other way.

#robin reader #robin x reader #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #bruce wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader #yandere dc #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem reader #tim drake x you #yandere damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x female reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #x reader

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swaps55 · 1 year ago

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So. The Pillars of Creation are in the Eagle Nebula, which is of course a system you can visit in Mass Effect. But I have seen theories that the Pillars actually no longer exist. We just can't see their destruction yet, because they're 7,000 light years away and the light that would show it to us hasn't reached us yet.

Which now has me doing a lot of thinking about what humanity sees in their night sky on Earth verses the reality that's available with FTL and relays.

Imagine being a quarian who could look at an alien sky and still see a Rannoch that was theirs?

Imagine being someone who had loved ones in the Bahak System, looking through an alien telescope and seeing it still unbroken and whole?

Survivors of a reaper cycle could flee to the other side of the galaxy and look back to a time where reapers didn't exist.

It's gone forever. You can still see it in the sky.

I'm going to go lie down for a while.

#mass effect #mass effect meta

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yandere-daydreams · 3 months ago

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Title: Four Walls, Two Windows, No Doors.

Pairing: Yan!Wolverine|Logan Howlett x Reader (X-Men).

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Dub/Con, Fem!Reader, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Mentions of Human Experimentation, Logan Gets Hurt (He's Fine), Mentions of Pregnancy, and Controlling Behavior.

This Was Supposed To Be A Warm-Up. It Got Out Of Hand.

The cabin was about an hour’s drive from the mansion.

An hour and a half if he took his time, less than thirty minutes if he rushed it. He brought back supplies once a week, maybe twice if he knew he had a mission coming up, but your constant reminders that you’d rather burn down the cabin with you inside than starve to death because of the man you hated most in the world were usually enough to keep the pantry stocked. There weren’t many things Logan was willing to go out of his way for, but you were an exception. You were special, you guessed, as sick as the idea of being special to someone like him made you feel.

He arrived a few minutes past sunset, while there was still light in the sky. You heard the low rumble of his bike, the hollow weight of his footsteps as he made his way across the raised porch. You were able to count out the seconds it took him to undo each of the shining, silver deadbolts mounted above the rusted-out doorknob. It was more than excessive, but you knew how he justified his security measures, how he rationalized your continued isolation. From his warped perspective, you were a problem child – the type to make bad decisions when left to your own devices. Since hiring a babysitter wasn’t on the table (an idea you’d not-so-playfully suggested more than once), limiting how much trouble you could get yourself into was the next best option.

The last deadbolt was slid out of place, then stillness. You could picture him on the other side – waiting for you to move, to yell, to throw yourself against the door as soon as it was unlocked. Fine. If he wanted to play, you’d play.

With a shoulder braced against the wood, he pushed open the cabin door and crossed the threshold. There was a flash of silver in the dull light, the weight of his body against yours as you barreled into him, then your knife buried in his stomach.

The strain was sharp, familiar. It took more effort than it should’ve to pierce the skin, to break the tension, to stab into whatever felt the most vital and twist. You didn’t wait to see his reaction – pulling the knife out and spinning on your heel, throwing yourself towards the open door. His fist was wrapped around the collar of your dress before you could make it so much as a full step, your body hauled back into the entryway without the slightest hint of strain. You swung for his throat, and he let you. It wasn’t until your knife was half-buried in his jugular that he grunted, catching your wrist. He didn’t squeeze, but he didn’t have to. Your meager weapon was already clattering to the floor, forgotten in the same time it took for the skin and muscle of his neck to knit itself back together.

His voice was raspy when he finally spoke – whether from whatever damage you’d managed to inflict or a long day of barking orders to super-powered brats, you couldn’t be sure. You’d like to think it was the former, if only to give yourself the satisfaction of having left some kind of mark on him. “Get it out of your system, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” You thrashed against his hold, kicking and clawing where you couldn’t stab. Of course, you were about as dangerous as a kitten might’ve been to a lion, and of course, his only reaction was a breath of a laugh, an arm wrapped around your waist as he carried you back into the cabin proper.

He claimed it was a gift – on lease from some vaguely wealthy, vaguely telepathic employer. In another context, you might’ve enjoyed a rustic getaway to a one-room cabin small enough to feel intimate but large enough to dampen the all-consuming sense of claustrophobia slowly mounting inside you, and yet having your world confined to four walls and a handful of bullet-proof windows had lost its charm quickly. Logan dropped you onto the fleece-drowned mattress and crossed to the kitchenette, rummaging through the well-stocked liquor cabinet. “Most wives greet their husbands with a kiss, y’know.”

“I’m not your wife.” Denial came first, the dread second. “If you ever try to marry me, I’ll hang myself with the veil.”

“Do what you want– I’m still getting a ring on that finger.” When he resurfaced, it was with a glass of wine in one hand and a highball of whiskey in the other. The latter was for him, obviously, and the former was slid into your hand as you dragged yourself to the edge of the mattress, a knot of ache quickly forming in your neck, your wrist. It was embarrassing, honestly. You could drive a knife into his lungs and he wouldn’t even flinch, but a few seconds of mistreatment was enough to leave you sore for hours.

Thankfully, physical exertion wasn’t exactly at the top of your list of concerns, not with Logan. While you pretended to nurse your drink, letting the wine wash numbly over your pursed lips, Logan downed his in a single shot and, with a bark a laughter, pulled your body back into his arms. This time, you were deposited in his lap as he collapsed onto a broken-in sofa. There was an darkened fireplace a few paces away, a century-old radio on the mantle above it, but his attention was already elsewhere, his eyes already wandering. With both hands planted on your waist, he hauled your hips against his, forcing you to straddle him. You rolled your eyes and moved to get up, but there was a row of fingers drummed against your side by way of warning, a sudden sharpness to his lazy smirk, and you fell into place.

Satisfied with your lack of resistance, he let his touch slip under the skirt of your dress. Logan didn’t have the patience to pick out your outfits by hand, but he decided what made it into your closet, how much skin you were able to cover day-to-day. His preferences skewed pastoral – all sundresses and frocks, occasionally one of his patched-up flannels or a pair of jeans too tattered to make you feel any more secure. While you couldn’t be sure if it was an intention or a happy coincidence, easy access was a reoccurring theme. His thumb slipped under the seat of your panties, dragging the thin fabric aside. Two fingers traced the shape of your cunt, pausing to rub circles into your clit.

Logan leaned back, his head settling against the armrest, his body spread out underneath yours. “Keep talking.” There was a slight drawl to his voice, a lull in his tone. You bristled on instinct, memories of bourbon-tinged kisses and metal claws pressing into tender skin bubbling up from the deepest recesses of your mind, but you pushed them back down quickly. He wasn’t drunk, just relaxed. You only had his normal brand of unbearable to deal with, tonight. “Tell me what you did today.”

“Fuck all.” His touch dipped lower, heel of his palm grinding into your clit. “You were gone when I woke up. Again.”

“Left you a present, though.”

He must’ve meant the new hickey on your collarbone. You’d found it while you were brushing your teeth and spent the next forty-five minutes sobbing into your pillow.

“’s just boring. The closest thing I’ve seen to a person all day was a herd of deer, and your cameras scared them off.” Dampness staining the inside of your thighs, his ring finger slipping into your pussy. You shut your eyes, biting into the inside of your cheek. The stretch was far from alien, but no less painful for its familiarity. Every part of him was too big – from his shoulders to the corded muscle laid over his back to the unnaturally pointed canines you sometimes caught a sliver of when his lips curled back. It spoke to the universe’s boundless cruelty that fingers weren’t the largest thing he could force inside of you. “You know I don’t like being alone.”

Your voice was cold, but it was true. You’d been alone when he found you – all curled up in the darkest corner of that prison cell, little more than wild terror and waking nightmares. It’d been a mutant testing facility, set on crafting living weapons out of whatever specimen they could get their hands on. Your mutation wasn’t dangerous, but there’d always been something new to learn, another needle to force into your veins. It’d been torture, but your captors hadn’t seen it like that. Your isolation, broken up only for the application of a new drug, a new pill, a new injectable, was a means to end. You weren’t a person inside the concrete walls of their laboratory, and they hadn’t thought of you as one.

And, when Logan’s lips split apart into an unabashed grin, it was clear that he didn’t, either. “I know, darlin’. Still remember the way you held onto me, how long it took you to let go.” His middle finger, next. You clenched your eyes shut as his palm rocked against you, encouraging your body to sway, your pussy to clench around his digits. “Thought you might’ve actually liked me, back then. But you were always gonna latch onto whoever let you out of that cage, right?”

“I was—” He curled his fingers inside of you, and you cut yourself off, swearing softly under your breath. His affection was slow and heavy-handed, no harsh thrusting or unnecessary spontaneity, just steady grinding and his fingers splitting apart inside of you. You crossed your arms over your chest, digging your nails into your bicep. “I was scared.”

You were still scared. It was just that, now, your kidnapper wanted you to pretend you weren’t.

“Exactly. Scott eats that shit up. Ororo, too.” You could feel his cock pressing into your ass, rough denim against flimsy cotton. He was hard. Obviously, he was hard. Blood loss was probably the only reason he hadn’t fucked you as soon as he stepped through the door. “You’re lucky you ended up with me. Either of them would have you on a leash, by now.”

A leash would’ve been better than a cage. Being a pet was better than being locked inside of a box, left to gather dust until he wanted something warm to dig his teeth into. You bucked your hips into his hand, fisting at the fabric of your dress, doing your best to block out Logan’s chuckle, to ignore his free hand kneading at your thigh. Like everything else he did to you, your climax was slow, humiliating, and terrible. You managed to swallow back any sounds that would’ve furthered your embarrassment, but tears leaked from the corner of your eyes, a pitchy whimper rising from the back of your that. Logan picked himself up, cupping your cheek as he pressed what, if you were feeling more generous, might’ve been called a kiss into your forehead. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he was trying to comfort you.

He nursed you through your orgasm, only drawing back after the last of the aftershocks had faded. Sniffling, you were lowered onto the floor – your back pressing into the bear-skin rug in front of the unlit hearth. You kept your eyes on the ceiling as he positioned himself in the space between your legs, as he eased himself into you. There was no pretense of a condom, and you weren’t on birth control. You’d lie awake that night wondering if he’d finally managed to knock you up, but it wouldn’t do any good to voice that anxiety in front of him. You could still remember the way his eyes lit up the first time you begged him not to finish inside, the strain as he pushed your knees into your chest, the tremor in his voice as he muttered something about swollen tits and ‘tying you down for good’. Now, you just tried to keep your mouth shut.

His hips pressed into yours, the veined shaft of his cock filling your cunt to its breaking point. Like his foreplay, sex with Logan was vicious, unrushed. It was worse when he was mad, unendurable when he was drunk, but most nights, you could melt into the faux tenderness of it all, let yourself drown in the colorless, shapeless, stomach-turning pleasure. You tried to let your head lull to the side, to drift, but Logan was quick to drag you back down to Earth – catching you by the chin and pulling you into a tragically undeniable kiss. Only half-consciously, you wrapped your arms around his neck, let your thighs clench around his waist. When he drew back, more to leer at you from a better vantage point than for air, you managed to spit something out.

“I want to go outside.”

His smile lulled into something more sympathetic. “That eager to run back to the mansion, darlin’?”

“N—not the mansion, just outside.” You dug your nails into his shoulders, breaking the skin, and Logan groaned. You guess it made sense. Pain was bad because it meant injury, and injuries were bad because they meant you were that much closer to death. He couldn’t die, and he never stayed hurt for very long. After a while, the pain would have the pain would have to turn into something else, something less unpleasant. “Just into the city, or town, or wherever. I’d settle for a walk, I just—”

Your voice broke as he pulsed inside of you, his pace growing more erratic. “Tough luck,” he muttered, all gruff and edge and acid. Still, his expression softened, his eyes taking on that half-lidded, lovesick look. He liked it when you needed him, when you were dependent on his help. Maybe if you’d been more aware of that during your recovery, been more proactive about asking him to open jars or help you shower, none of this would’ve had to happen.

“Logan.” His hips pressed into yours. You couldn’t remember the last time you said his name aloud. “Just a walk. Please?”

It was awful, the way he looked at you. No shame, no decency, just his stare burning into your skin as he spilled into your cunt. Cursing under his breath, he buried his face in the crook of your shoulder, lapping and sucking at the curve of your throat – the very same spot you’d driven a knife into less than hour ago.

His body pressed into yours, radiating searing heat. Cum dripped around his shaft, down the inside of your thighs, and you forced yourself not to think of cradles and bloating and pain, so much pain. Minutes later, he resurfaced, pulling back with a rasp of an exhale. You laid still – weary, but not quite catatonic – as he positioned himself on his knees in front of you, guiding your legs over his shoulders.

“Five minutes.” His lips against your skin, teeth against flesh. “Tomorrow morning. No farther than what you can see from the porch.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you smiled, nodded, played as eager and as doe-eyed as you could. Logan only chuckled, burying his head between your thighs. You’d gotten what you wanted, if a bit less. That was good – or, a good start, at least.

It might’ve been less bittersweet if you didn’t have to wonder how much he’d take, in return.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere x men #x men #x men x reader #yandere wolverine #yandere logan #yandere logan howlett #wolverine x reader #logan howlet x reader

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 11 months ago

Note

Ooo you’re doing Pressure!!

May I request an artist reader who, throughout the journey found some paper, pencil and made a little makeshift sketchbook and when later bought Sebastian’s document decided to try and draw him? Like maybe both when human and current (and maybe the monsters)?

Perhaps he saw them sketching, got curious and decided to look through it when reader left it somewhere or just straight up snatched it and held it out of their reach and sees those sketches of him. Could be hurt/comfort or angst/fluff.

Of course you’re free to change any of the details but please keep it platonic TwT

Aw love this idea! And it works considering all the paper and notebooks in the drawers of the blacksite.

............

"Great, [y/n]. One moment, you're doing some harmless graffiti on a brick wall nobody cares about. And the next, you're risking your life for a stupid crystal in hopes you'll get a federal pardon.."

Sighing, you held onto the overhead handles within the sleek black submarine, feeling it shake and rumble as it breached the water's surface. And after hearing the chime, the door hissed and opened up, the platform extending out onto the dock of a place already familiar to you: Hadal Blacksite.

'No place like home..' As you stepped out of the submarine, you could hear HQ over the PDA system informing you of your objective in reaching the crystal and collecting any "loose assets" you find along the way...

As if you needed any reminders of what you were doing here.

Immediately, you unlocked the first door with the keycard and began your journey to room 100. Along the way, you found a good handful of research data. Nothing too special aside from folders, USB drives, and a couple blue DNA vials.

Then after narrowly dodging the Angler in one area and avoiding Eyefestation's gaze in the next, you reached a room requiring yet another keycard to exit. You checked the nearby office cubicle, finding it in the first drawer you opened.

But that isn't what made your eyes light up. Rather, it's what was right next to the card that did:

A brand new pencil to go with the sketchbook you've been carrying with you.

Because you weren't given the luxury of doodling while sitting in jail for over 90 days, you felt your creativity flames being snuffed out, leaving you itching to draw something again.

Before all of this, you had a decent following on social media with your art skills, and you could imagine that they're worried sick over your sudden absence. But you hoped that, if you survive and succeed in this mission, you'll be able to come back and reassure them that you're very much alive.

And perhaps show them what Urbanshade has been hiding from the public...that is to say the sea monsters that have taken up residence in the Blacksite since its lockdown, freely roaming and haunting nearly every room you step into.

With the makeshift sketchbook you had (and somehow kept even after death), you've filled its pages with simple and detailed sketches of each creature you encountered.

But you doubt that they would let you leave with physical evidence of entities nobody else in the world should know about...unless you somehow convinced the guards that they were "original characters" that so-happened to look like them, but you had a feeling that excuse wouldn't fly.

Regardless, they've given you tons of artistic inspiration, despite your many close-calls with them in pursuit of studying their features from afar.

Thanks to the files Sebastian Solace has shown you, you've learned how to safely observe the Angler from a distance and better remember their details. They were merely a grotesque face surrounded by smoke, so you didn't have to worry about drawing any limbs or tails (assuming they had those).

You encountered their variants so many times that you could recall the little things that made each them unique--like how Pinkie had four pupils, how Blitz was missing pupils in one socket completely, how Froger was..well..a big frog with lots of needle-shaped teeth, and Chainsmoker was a sluggish blobfish through all that smoke.

Making eye contact with Pandemonium was a death sentence..as you've already learned after trying (and failing) to safely observe him through a glass window. So you draw him as you see him in his file.

The Squiddles' "intimidating" faces were scary in the dark when you least expected them, but they served as amazing inspiration. You even had a page full of what faces you'd think they make up to frighten others. It's too bad you couldn't show them, however, as that required you getting in their personal space.

Eyefestation, Good People, and the Wall Dwellers were quite..risky to observe, as they had ways of quickly and painfully sending you back to square one if you weren't careful. Even so, you made some pretty damn good sketches..and you wish you could show them off to them, too, especially to the shark who'd probably appreciate a human's drawing of herself.

Even the DiVine, who were always frozen in poses for some reason, joined your ever-growing list of muses. The oxygen gardens were a nice place for you to rest and appreciate the flora for a few moments--before an Angler came along, of course.

Then there was Sebastian.

While he was fully aware of your artistic passions, in the beginning he seemed a bit annoyed whenever you came into his shop just to sketch.....or if you took an unusually long time to reach him. He just assumes you've stopped to "doodle" and wonders if you really care about getting out of this place alive.

He'd remind you that HQ could get suspicious if you're off their radar for too long, but you've stayed in his shop for 10-20 minutes at a time and not once did your diving gear beep. So you reassured him not to fret.

It was kinda sweet that he worried over you, an expendable, although maybe that's because you actually treat him with decency..and don't take his snarky comments to heart whenever you died.

Aside from the occasional eyeroll whenever you brought out your sketchbook, he did inquire about some of the things you've drawn, and you'd show him, bearing a little pride in your work.

All you'd get in response was a "neato" or "wowie, that's how you see them?" and nothing more.

It wasn't insulting, so...you'll take that.

Obviously he was more concerned about how much research data you were willing to fork over in exchange for supplies, and how far that equipment will carry you before your next demise. So you'd eventually close the book and barter with him for whatever wares were on his tail.

Unbeknownst to him, you've actually started sketching him as of late. Now that you've met him dozens of times, it was easy for you to recall his features without needing to stare at him for reference every five seconds.

That would not only be rude, but very creepy.

Then one day, you showed up to Sebastian's shop with enough data to be able to afford his document, which described him as Z-13, "The Saboteur" who the company wanted "dead on sight" if he was spotted or trying to escape.

When you had time to read the file on your own, you learned some..pretty shocking things about how he caused the lockdown, went through torturous experiments, and was falsely accused of nine murders and was proven innocent far too late.

The most upsetting part was that he was never informed of this.

He learned that after presumably stealing his own document.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, knowing he's the reason you're being terrorized by those beasts, but you couldn't find it in your heart to be angry at him.

If anything you were angry at Urbanshade for their "guilty until proven innocent" system--or in his case, being proven innocent didn't matter.

His human mugshot was also included in the file, and even with the black censor bar covering his eyes, he still looked like quite a handsome fellow. You could make out some details, and ended up drawing him on a separate page, too, although part of you wishes you never started.

You doubt he would kill you or rip apart your book for drawing him, but considering how volatile and rude he could be at a moment's notice..you did your best to conceal the sketches when you visited his shop.

You didn't want him to be offended or reminded of his past..and make him resent the one person who he almost considered a genuine friend.

Unfortunately, you'd soon come to realize that your actions were only heightening his suspicions.

And that it was going to come to a head next time you entered his shop.

...............

"Okay, I'm going to bite...what're you really hiding in that little book?"

"Pardon?" Pausing mid-sketch, you looked up at Sebastian, wondering why he appeared so disgruntled. "I'm..uh...just doodling like I always-"

"No, don't give me that "like always" crap." He huffed, flicking the end of his tail as he crossed his two arms over his chest, staring down at you. "Last time, you couldn't stop showing me a stupid face you'd think one of those S-Qs would make...and now you won't even let me have a sneak peak of your next "masterpiece"." He spat the last word, voice dripping with disdain. "Are you really drawing something...or are you secretly writing intel to give to Urbanshade?"

"...wha.." You blinked in disbelief, wondering where he'd get that assumption from. "Why would I ever do that?"

"Oh I dunno, maaaybe because you have access to my file and know my location? I bet you're gonna sell me out to those scumbags once you reach the crystal." He gnashed his teeth. "Did they say you'd get extra cash for leaving tips on my whereabouts, huh?"

"Sebastian, there's no reason for this hostility. I'm not giving any intel to anyone-"

"Then you wouldn't mind me taking a look at this, would you? Yyyyyyoink!" His third arm was quick to snatch your sketchbook away, holding it out of your reach as you jumped up in panic.

You were already dreading his reaction.

This could very well be the end for you.

"Please give that back! You'll tear it!"

"You look frightened. So maybe I should, considering you're writing secrets about.....about...." But as Sebastian finally looked at the page, all he saw were sketches of his current self, and you began to see a shift in his expression.

It went from pure anger, to surprise and confusion, and then to....something unreadable.

"These are...all of me?" His voice became quieter as he flipped the page, only for his breath to hitch upon finding the drawings of his human form.

And for once, he was completely speechless.

The details were immaculate, everything from his hair style to the scar he used to have across his face--given to him from an angry cellmate who thought he really did kill those people and tried giving him a "taste of his own medicine".

But the way you made him look was...incredible.

That's him.

That's really him.

The man--the human--he was before...

Before...

"Yes." Your face was burning with embarrassment, and your heart was pounding with fear of both death and ridicule, now knowing that your fate laid in his hands now. "I-I'm sorry. I should've asked for your permission and I know the details aren't perfect but you didn't let me........huh?"

Ceasing your ramblings, you noticed the tears welling in his eyes, and you were stunned. Then his shaking hands closed the sketchbook and returned it to you. "Um..are you okay? I'm really sorry if-"

"I...a-almost forgot what I looked like before all of this.." He raised a claw to wipe at his watery eyes, sniffling. "They're...good drawings, friend. I'm sorry..I...I-I didn't mean to..." His voice cracked, and he forced himself to stop, bringing his hands to his face. "Why am I crying over something like..t-this..?"

He hated looking so weak in front of you, yet he couldn't help the tears that kept slipping down his cheeks. A certain sadness was weighing heavily on his heart, yet at the same time he felt...honored that you wanted to draw him, putting your heart and soul into every sketch--with him getting the most effort.

You didn't overexaggerate him as the hideous beast he and everyone else was convinced he was, but just him as, well, himself. His smiles when he realizes it's you coming through the vent again, his cheeky grins when you buy up all his supplies, and even the one time he pouted when you died to Pandemonium because you risked it all trying to draw the moldy fish-creature.

The human ones, as you could tell from the way he broke down, especially hit home for him. Just from a mugshot alone, you were able to create a near-accurate depiction of him.

It made him wonder if you two have met before any of this happened.

Sebastian sniffled, struggling to stop the tears and expecting you to make fun of him as he finally uncovered his face. But instead he saw you standing there with your arms opened up. "I feel like you could use one of these. It's okay. I know you miss being human."

".........."

"C'mon, big guy. My arms are kinda hurting--oh!"

Without warning, he accepted your embrace and squeezed you tightly in his hold. Of course he was careful not to crush your diving tanks, and you smiled in appreciation and patted his back. "It's okay, it's alright..I got you. I didn't mean to make you cry."

He sniffled a few times, but otherwise said nothing and tried making sure you weren't supporting all of his upper body weight.

Curse his size. He wishes he could experience a normal hug again.

This one will do, though.

"I-It's...it's fine. Don't worry.." He finally spoke after a few moments, calming down. "As long as you don't tell anyone about this."

"I'll take it to my grave." You chuckled, letting go and stepping away so he could straighten his back out. While he did that, you gently tore a few pages from your book, to which he blinked in confusion.

"What are you doing with-?"

"Keep them." You insisted. "In case this sketchbook falls into a pit or gets waterlogged, I want you to hold onto these. Besides, I can tell you appreciate them a lot. So...consider it a gift."

"Why..thank you." A smile appeared on his face as he took the pages carefully. "Rest assured, they'll be safe and sound." He gazed at them both one more time, feeling a tug on his heart.

But it wasn't as heavy as before.

After neatly folding and stowing them away into his pockets, he saw you already sitting in one of the chairs, your sketchbook opened to a brand new blank page.

"Sooooooo what are you going to draw this time?" He tilted his head, ear fins twitching with curiosity.

"Hm...I did see a vision of a white glowing man a few rooms back. I think he was from...the Mindscape? There was a file talking about him and some floating gears and a white ball."

"Ohh yeah, he's an interesting guy. I'd love to see your interpretation of him." Now Sebastian was 100% invested, as he curled his tail around himself, resting his upper body on it so he could see your book better. "But y'know you won't be able to leave this place with sketches of-"

"I'm well aware of that...I could always change a few things and turn them into OCs."

"Hah. You should."

"Maybe I will." You snickered, grateful that you didn't have anything to fear.

At least somebody in the Blacksite appreciated your art.

#this one was fun to write <3 #clanask #anonymous #roblox x reader #roblox pressure x reader #pressure x reader #sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #hurt/comfort #artist reader #fluff/angst

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diodellet · 1 month ago

Text

chicken soup for the transmigrated soul

ft. ruggie bucchi, trey clover, rook hunt, jade leech, ortho shroud, lilia vanrouge, jamil viper

summary: So you worked yourself into a slight fever, no biggie. Take a painkiller for the headache, drink some extra water, do not make any sudden movements to keep from triggering the dizziness, and of course, whenever you could, catch a few z's in between work. You've done this before, you had a system. Even at your friends' protests—bless their concern, you'd always be grateful for that—it was only Tuesday. You could handle this until Friday and cash in a "long weekend" to rest. (Spoiler: You couldn't even make it to the end of classes.) content warnings: -gn!reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect (++tendency to overthink, gets lonely easily) -references to vomiting (due to emetic in Jade's part, as in his food deliberately makes you puke), food aversion (in Trey's and Ruggie's parts), and nonsexual partial nudity (in Lilia's part). nothing too graphic -swearing and general banter/ribbing as you would expect in a setting like NRC -all of these are platonic, but can be read (except for Ortho's) as romantic (i guess that makes it idia x reader if you squint??) ++mild hurt/comfort, there's shenanigans alongside the fluff in the midst of a twisted wonderland cold hitting like a truck word count: 4.5k words (~680 words per part)

Ortho Shroud is the first to notice your symptoms.

Scratch that, he's pre-empting the onset of your fever symptoms. And what baffles him most is that even with scientifically-backed data, you are still intent on continuing your work!

"You can't keep going to classes until Friday!"

It doesn't help that Idia('s tablet) will chime in and commend you on your commitment to the hustle grindset. Peas in a pod, the two of you😤

While Ortho doesn't need to worry about the same physiological needs that a regular human does, at least he takes care of himself! But all right, fine. There's the 0.000001 percent chance that you're not sick. You know yourself best.

(He's absolutely reminding you that he told you so every time he visits you in Ramshackle.)

On the bright side, there's zero worry about catching whatever you've got when he flits back and forth between your place and Ignihyde. He's found another good use of his built-in UV disinfection lamp! (Aside from curing Idia's resin projects and character-inspired acrylic art.)

When you're confined to bedrest, he brings over games, manga, movies—anything laid-back to keep you occupied.

Sometimes Idia joins in, remotely, of course. Can't risk catching what you have, he says. To which you retort by saying you'll sneeze on his tablet.

"Don't threaten my big brother, his immune system isn't as strong as yours!"

(His calculated objectivity really made you forget that he was a little brother at heart, that is to say, an Absolute Menace to you and Idia.)

It comes as a surprise when he asks if he can use your kitchen. You're about to pull yourself out of bed and follow him when he suddenly backtracks. "Wait! You need to keep resting! Any further elevation in your heart rate could…" Was that a buffering sound? "—could lead to a 67% chance of a mild onset of orthostatic hypotension!"

Was he was going to test some experimental drug on you—well, that was more of Pomefiore's area of expertise, but you couldn't rule that out. He and Idia weren't quite that discreet when talking about how inconvenient your symptoms were.

("Wow, breathe louder through the protagonist's monologue, why don't you, prefect?" and "If you get so much as a droplet of moisture on that first edition manga, I'm never talking to you again."

Oh, if only Ortho wasn't watching you…If only that high-powered technomantic beam wasn't a threat…)

Your thinking is interrupted by a coughing fit that almost leaves you light-headed. Fine, the persistence of a little sibling wins out this time. "Grim, go and help." Though the direbeast complains, he trots after Ortho.

While waiting, you doze off. It's not a very peaceful rest, what with snot dripping down the back of your throat and the ache in your temple.

But it's better than sleeping at night. Oh, your midnight thoughts were not very kind.

Ortho wakes you up, and he's handing you a warm bowl of soup. Well, it seemed to be more vegetables than actual broth. Great if you liked vegetables, not so great if you were tentative of surprise textures in your soup.

At your questioning look, he explains, "it's lentil soup. It's a staple back home, and my brother's go-to when he's sick. Try some!"

You can barely smell the dish with your clogged sinuses, but with the generous amount of toppings, it's more filling than your previous meals of plain broth and noodles. And Ortho makes for good company, the same way Idia is. It's a hearty meal that leaves you feeling cared for, in spite of the Shroud siblings' penchant for mischief.

(Really, being their friend meant being on the receiving end of So Much Sass. You were barely given any mercy even when your immune system was compromised 😤)

"I have to get back to Ignihyde, please get well soon! You promised my brother that you would run a co-op dungeon with him!"

Jamil Viper is a worrywart through and through.

As much as he channels disappointment through his words and expression.

"You can't attend afternoon classes in that state."

"It's just History and a free study period, I can handle that much!"

Sure, you didn't look very convincing with a snot-filled handkerchief held to your nose. But at least you were standing upright on your two feet, a feat that most sick people wouldn't be able to manage!

Before you can breeze past him, Jamil grabs the back of your blazer, spins you around to press a hand against your forehead. He tsks. "You're burning up. I thought so."

Go ahead, dig your heels in and make a scene, it won't stop him from dragging you to the infirmary. Jamil's making sure that you're getting sent back to rest at your dorm. ("You won't get penalized for your absences if you let them give you the damn doctor's note!")

But while your friends were on their way, he supposes he has no choice but to keep you company (and make sure you don't sneak back to class. Seriously, what kind of school did you come from that made you think it was okay to ignore the fact that you were sick?)

So here you are, resting in one of the infirmary's free beds with Jamil watching you like a hawk.

Awkward is an understatement. He looks like he's seething. He looks like he's cursing you for adding your sickness onto his juggling act of obligations.

"I was telling you I could walk—"

"Sure, and then you'd push yourself into an even worse fever. I'm not moving." Psh, it's not even a full-blown one yet. Look at the exciting back-and-forth you were sharing. Wait, now that he mentions it, your throat was feeling weirdly dry.

"…Not even if I need a glass of water?"

Jamil watches you down half the glass. "Your lack of self-care is appalling."

(Why does it feel that part of that remark is directed at himself? Maybe you could squeeze out some embarrassing anecdotes from Kalim once you've recovered.)

When the conversation lulls, that you can't do anything else but give in to your fatigue. Even though you feel extra sweaty and gross in your uniform, you doze off mid-sentence. You feel the press of his palm against your forehead a second time, could almost hear Jamil muttering to himself, something about your fever rising.

For a moment, he's gone. And then nice, cool relief atop your forehead. "…did I fall asleep? What was I talking about—"

"Calm down, I won't leave you alone." His fingers brush the stray strands of hair from your face. "Keep resting. I'll wake you up when your friends get here."

(Kinda mortifying that he could sense that you really didn't want be alone in such a state. Or, maybe it was comforting that he immediately understood that sentiment?)

"Could you talk about something—anything? At least until I fall asleep again?"

Jamil gives you a look, it's not quite admonishing, but whatever iota of fondness you see disappears as he sighs, "all right."

He barely makes it through his first anecdote—something about his roommate accidentally enchanting the school's plants, which then attempted to migrate from the botanical gardens—when you slip back into a comfy nap.

Your fever lowers to a slightly more manageable temperature when Grim and co. arrive at the infirmary. By then, your group parts ways.

With his own whirlwind of a daily schedule, Jamil doesn't visit you that much at Ramshackle. (And that's probably for the best, so he won't catch what you have.)

But you do receive a container of chicken soup and a pack of over-the-counter meds to help manage your symptoms. (And it's not much of a note, but he does send you a text about not overexerting yourself. That hypocrite.)

Maybe it's the mix of spices warming you up with each spoonful, or you could dare to hope that it was made with love a certain vice housewarden's wishes for your speedy recovery.

Trey Clover is the most experienced at playing caretaker.

But did you really want to rope in the busiest person at Heartslabyul?

Just kidding, he's the vice housewarden. He can easily get an extra set of hands to take the burden off. (See: The rest of Heartslabyul)

Ace and Deuce get the brunt of the extra work, of course, being your classmates. Your missed homework, copies of lecture notes, and a smidge of the current classroom drama. (Guess what Ace contributed 👀)

If you think for even a second that Trey is here to provide a brief heavenly respite amidst your sickness, you would be sorely mistaken.

When you felt you've had enough of the same bland sickfood, you once asked Cater to smuggle your favorite sugary drink from the school vending machine during their next care package delivery.

Instead you get a passive aggressive sermon about not impeding your body's healing, and of course, salt in the wound (read: Trey asking if you really wanted to endanger your dental health too.)

Whatever happened to Cater, you didn't know. You could only hope that whatever consequences* he received, that they were fair to the poor guy.

*He'll be fine, especially since he's got Split Card.

Trey is ruthless. Nothing will get him to bend the rules of your recovery regimen. (And maybe the fact that he's diligent about wearing a mask makes him look more intimidating than usual.)

He's had to take care of his little siblings when they were sick. He's basically immune to any and all complaints and tactics (especially puppy eyes).

You're partway through a bowl of savory porridge (not the best texture when you're dealing with post-nasal drip, but the toppings were yummy) when you set the spoon down. It clinks defeatedly against the rim of the ceramic, drawing Trey's attention.

"What's wrong? You've only got half of the serving left."

"…'m not hungry anymore." It's tiring, being confined to your bed and bathroom for the past few days. And when you think that you're well enough to return to work, your symptoms return with a vengeance.

"Don't—Don't get out of bed, what do you need?"

"I need to catch up on homework or do something instead of wasting time—"

"You and Riddle are surprisingly similar." He probably wanted to use a different word. Trey sighs, equal parts fond and exasperated. "Let me try something first."

He casts Doodle Suit and you look at him questioningly. "Just try a spoonful," he says.

"But what if it doesn't work?" For a moment, you wonder if you can really make it to complete recovery.

"Then we'll figure something out. But you need to eat something alongside taking the medicine."

Wow, very comforting bedside manner 🙄 Without the support of his baked confections, Trey is so matter-of-fact that it's like talking to a brick wall.

Begrudgingly, you taste a scoop of the prestidigitated porridge and—

"It tastes weird. What did you change it into?" A laugh bubbles up from you.

"What? I could've sworn I made it taste like…" Of course he'd try to change it into your current sweet craving.

You try another spoonful, which is challenging not because of your lack of appetite, but rather in trying not to spit it out from laughter.

"It's so weird." Still, you manage to finish the entire bowl. "Man, I can't wait to go back to sampling your Unbirthday tarts."

At your change in demeanor, Trey barely slumps with relief. "Well, focus on getting better first."

He isn't the best with comforting words, but the next time he visits, you're treated to some tea with a generous amount of honey. With the caveat that you can only have one (1) cup per day.

And of course, he's persistent in reminding you to brush your teeth afterwards.

Ruggie Bucchi, opportunist that he is, becomes a frequent visitor.

"Y'didn't give Grim enough for your meds."

"Oh shit, how much do I owe you?"

"Just by five thaumarks, buuut I can let it slide if—"

Of course you knew that any extra help wouldn't come for free.

Whatever comfort meal he can throw together, he's leaving Ramshackle with two Tupperwares for himself.

He'll inflate expenses by a thaumark or two, just to pocket for himself.

Speaking of Grim, you've become very familiar with his complaints about following Ruggie around.

"My paws are numb from zipping back and forth around campus…"

"Henchman, he's doing all this extra work for pocket change. Pocket change!"

"He refuses to even waste gas for the stove! I can't be confined to the kitchen forever, henchman! You gotta get better!"

And you were trying! But this was the sort of sickness that could only get better with rest. Which is to say, something that couldn't be rushed.

Not that Ruggie's trying to hurry you along your healing. He seems perfectly happy with this current setup.

"Hm? Worried about me catching what you have? I'm tougher than some common cold, Prefect." It's either he wears a mask or you're getting the ghosts to throw him out.

Sure, he punctuates every similar remark with his trademark hissing laugh, but it was impossible to catch a light nap with how often he came into your room.

(It was as if he was making absolutely sure that your sickness wouldn't take a turn for the worse.)

You've taken to shrugging off your blanket every few minutes just to savor the feeling of getting tucked back in. A fitting exchange, since he freely toted Grim around campus.

"Prefe~ct, are you ever gonna use this pack of egg drop soup?" Ruggie shakes the packet, as if that would further entice your lack of an appetite.

The thought of being spoonfed crosses your mind briefly. "Why not? Better it gets used up instead of waiting until its expiration date."

"See, I told you that you've gotta stop hoarding your food." He grins. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Ten minutes later, Ruggie's got half of the pot's contents stashed away in a Tupperware cooling on your dining room table, while your own bowl was going cold atop your bedside nightstand.

"Don't you have Spelldrive training? Or some…part-time shift?"

"Nope, not really." Well, he deflected that really quickly. "I'm not that much of a workaholic."

Negotiating with Crowley was basically pulling teeth. "Must be nice, being able to shirk your work."

"Even I know not to push myself past my limits," Ruggie tsks at you. "And stop stalling, you're wasting your soup."

He even added some vegetables alongside the broth, making it more filling than if you were to cook it by yourself.

"Did you have to look after the neighborhood kids when they got sick?"

"Sometimes, yeah. 'Sides, it earns me free food and extra favors." The smile on his face is more devious than of genuine fondness.

"What a role model you are, teaching the children some quid pro quo."

"Well, you can't be picky with your opportunities." Ruggie shrugs. "Speaking of which, you should stop picking at your food. That's only two scoops."

"Two? I bet you could unhinge your jaw and finish the entire pot in two gulps."

His expression turns serious for a second. "I might just do it if you let your soup freeze over."

What was supposed to be an amused huff turned into you scrambling for a tissue to wipe away the glob of mucus that escaped your nose.

That gets Ruggie to break character, dissolving into wheezing laughter.

(You're not sure if Ruggie saw in you some resemblance to the kids back in his hometown, but you don't mind the ribbing. If it meant not having to see him get all worried pensive over you.)

Rook Hunt is more enamored than dependable. He's capable, but at the cost of…well…

You'd have to forgive him for being so enthralled with the progression of your recovery.

Now that you're well enough to catch up on some light chores and studying. Boy, are you glad to be out of bed.

"Bonjour, mon Trickster!"

"GAH!"

He scales the outer wall of your dorm once, and he decides to use that route for each subsequent visit. Of course.

"Rook, can you please use the front door next time?"

"Désolés, I was in a hurry," he says, with a smile too bright to be considered apologetic. "You are looking healthier today."

"You say that every time you visit."

Thankfully, he seems too busy shaking out the extra foliage and dirt from his hat out your window to notice your frown.

"This is from us at Pomefiore, Vil and Epel wanted you to have something hearty." And he somehow produces a steaming container from…his sleeve?

Did the Pomefiore dorm uniform have pockets? Or was he using some kind of spatial magic?

"Oh, sure, we can have breakfast before I get to work."

What you don't expect is him pressing the back of his ungloved hand against your forehead, then the side of your neck.

"Your hardworking spirit is very admirable, Trickster, but you should take care to not exert yourself too much."

"My work is piling up. If you're so worried about me getting sick again, then help me out for a bit."

At least he's willing to help with the chores. Admittedly, your strength wasn't completely back to a 100% but having Rook's assistance made the busywork go by more smoothly.

(Of course, you have to treat him to some cheap coffee after cleaning half of the Ramshackle lounge.)

The next morning, you're feeling…off—not quite unwell to be considered sick, more of a general sense of discomfort. The kind that precedes a full blown fever.

"Are you still intent on working today? Perhaps it would be better for you to rest today," Rook suggests after checking your temperature again.

And go back to twiddling your thumbs idly? Stuck with staring at the peeling wallpaper of your bedroom? Hell no.

"I need the lounge to be clean or I'll go mad if I spend the day in bed again."

This time you get winded even more quickly, that you have to entrust the last of the heavy work to Rook.

"Thanks for that, I'll get started on dinner."

"Just a moment, Trickster. You are shaking like a newborn fawn." His palm rests on your shoulder. "You can hold onto my arm."

"Thanks, but no thanks." You brush off his hand. Big mistake, the moment you cross the lounge, your vision goes sideways.

Once your head clears up, you realize you're leaning heavily against Rook's side. "Huh."

His expression is creased with frustration as he surveys your condition. Whatever he mutters under his breath is too quiet to hear, but you're sure he's blaming himself.

(You're also feeling a twinge of regret.)

"…could you at least help me to bed? And heat up some of that leftover stew you brought?"

Come the next day, one of the Ramshackle ghosts brings in a basket. You easily surmise this was from Pomefiore.

Reading the note—it reads more like a novella than a 'get well soon' card, especially with contrite flourishes that were obviously in Rook's handwriting—it turns out that the vice housewarden was banned from visiting you in Ramshackle, as consequence for inadvertently sending you back into a fever.

There's another container of that stew, some fruit (probably from Epel), and a different brand of fever medication, probably the better ones that would've eaten a hole through your meager savings.

(You set the note, the backs of your hands and the cardstock slightly dampened in several places. And you pop one pill of the gifted medicine.)

For all of his suspicious motives, Jade Leech is suprisingly capable.

Was this a good thing during the worst of your relapse? Who knows.

He's omnipresent, but he isn't overbearing. He keeps things nicely professional and doesn't seem to be rummaging through your things. (Good, because you gave Grim the go-ahead to blast singe him if he did.)

Is it eerie how well he can preempt when you need water or a new box of tissues? Maybe. But on the bright side, you won't have to worry about burning through your clean laundry.

(Surely Octavinelle would collect their debt after you've made a full recovery, right? Right?? NO—)

It's another day of feeling miserable in bed. Food sounds the furthest appealing thing at the moment, you want to sleep the day away but your miserable hour of sleep is making you buzz with stale energy.

Enter Jade Leech with an unassuming food container. But, it looks appetizing enough that you can tolerate one more meal in bed.

"Is this chicken noodle soup?"

"Pastina is similar, though food from the Coral Sea doesn't tend to be served piping hot. Please, eat to your heart's content."

Your suspicion melts away at that first spoonful. "It's actually pretty good…!"

"You wound me with your doubt, prefect." So he says with a wide smile hidden behind his facemask.

In between bites of your food, Jade is more than happy to tell you about his recent hikes for the Mountain Lovers Club. (<-This was a moment of weakness, obviously. You're so cooped up you'll take his anecdotes to inspire imagining being out and about.)

Until halfway through finishing the soup, your stomach gurgles. Very uncomfortably.

"…Is something wrong?" His eyes are still crinkled into crescents.

Before you can speak, you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep your meal from spilling onto your bed.

That spurs the vice housewarden to help you to the bathroom.

So Jade basically gave you an emetic. You're cussing him out in between retches, and the bastard has the audacity to chuckle demurely while holding your hair back.

"What the fuck did you give me?" Not a question, a threat. "What is it really?"

"It is a simple home remedy made with local ingredients. I promise you that I did not make any adjustments to the recipe." Another wave of that "soup" splatters into the toilet bowl, and you're glaring at him through the burn of tears in your eyes. "Though I suppose you might be intolerant to one of the components, as you are someone who lives on land," he muses.

(If you listened closely, there might've been a note of something akin to sadistic scientific thrill.)

Strangely enough, it seems to have flushed out the worst of the bug in your system. You can stomach real food now.

(This is where Jade reveals his actual gift from Octavinelle, your usual order at the Mostro Lounge. You're glad to be able to have something that wasn't some stew or soup.)

"Hm, the color has returned to your features," he notes, his face a smidge too close for comfort. "Hopefully with another night of rest, your sickness will clear up for good."

"It better or I'm marching over to Octavinelle and turning you into sashimi." The splatter of vomit on the side of your cheek makes you look more pitiful than threatening. "And you better not include that takeout on my tab."

"Oh dear." At least Jade indulges you with his best approximation of a fearful response. (Which was more akin to an ingenuine smile inviting you to do your worst.)

But he does keep the teasing to a minimum when he helps you back to bed, though. Not that you're willing to forgive him that quickly.

The next time Jade visits, he's under heavy surveillance by Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts.

I lied, Lilia Vanrouge is actually the most experienced caretaker among the vice housewardens.

Unlike Rook who camps outside your dorm, Lilia freely teleports in and out of Ramshackle. All you have as a warning are the little green sparks of light—not that dissimilar to Malleus' own teleportation magic—and the pop! that accompanies Lilia's appearing in your room.

"Good evening, prefect. I hope I'm not disturbing your rest."

"Eh, this sickness has been disturbing me for about a week now." You punctuate that by blowing your nose into a well-loved hanky.

(Well-loved, in that it hasn't left your hand since the past week.)

You're especially not used to being alone and idle. With each day you remain sick means burdening your friends again.

Lilia tsks to himself. "First things first, let's get you changed out of those clothes." Your cabinet opens and a newly-laundered set floats over to your bed. He starts pulling your sweaty shirt off.

"Wait, just let me go to the bathroom—"

Despite his appearance, Lilia's stronger than he appears. You're only able to resist his grip since he was being careful of accidentally tearing the fabric.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, prefect. I've changed Malleus' and Silver's clothes. Oh and Sebek's, as well." As if he was merely talking about the weather.

"At least let me turn around…!"

Lilia swats at your shoulder. "Enough of that now." The gesture was more surprising than painful, eventually you give in to your fate.

He wipes your back dry before helping you slip on a new sweater atop your new clothes.

"And why don't we air out your room? The night isn't too cold." As he says that, you hear the windows of the second floor all swing open.

A cool breeze flows through your bedroom, and combined with the fresh change of clothes, your general feeling of shittiness dissipates.

Thanks to Sebek and Silver's intervention, you're spared from Lilia's rendition of ginseng chicken soup. Not that you can smell or taste much of it, but free food is free food. And Lilia's company is…sorely welcome alright.

"—and then, right as we were about to have that picnic, what do you know? It's suddenly raining! Malleus wasn't too pleased with that, and some spring rain turned into a little thunderstorm. Of course, Sebek and Silver—loyal friends that they are—insisted on pushing through. You can guess what happened the next day."

"…they got sick?"

"All three of them!" Lilia hoots with laughter. "Snot dripping onto the floor, fevers hot enough to hardboil an egg, oh, and you shouldn't underestimate the young heir's magic even he's ill. You couldn't tell if he would spew fire or ice until—"

(It's enviable that he has so many stories. Was he getting tired of talking to fill the silence?)

You readjust your resting position. From this angle against the glow of your lamp, he looks wearier than cherubic.

"Another cup of tea?" he asks.

"I'm fine. Shouldn't you be back at Diasomnia by now? It's past curfew."

"The dorm is in capable hands, even with my absence. Though I noticed that your other student is nowhere in the vicinity."

Of course you asked your friends if Grim could sleep over somewhere else instead. You didn't want him to become sick like you.

Flick! Lilia's fingers connect with the side of your ear. "Haven't I told you, enough of that?"

You rub at the sting. "It's practical…!"

"…really, you young'uns like to make things more difficult for yourselves." He shakes his head.

He reaches over to cover you more properly with your blanket. "There is no shame in wanting company as you recover. Nor is it a debt for us to visit and assist you."

"Okay." You blame your tears and sniffles on the soup and your sickness.

(The next day Grim comes back, accompanied with the rest of Diasomnia. Your lonely feverish thoughts were no longer your sole company.)

a/n: this was for ME the sick binch (like after not getting sick during the pandemic, these past times i've gotten sick were the Absolute Worst) and being sick when i'm supposed to be productive? goodbye🗿 this was also written for me as someone who's allergic to being doted on. hopefully this'll rewire my brain or smth who knows (kinda ironic that the people doing the doting are the more overworked peeps in the twst cast). not super confident about how i characterized everyone aside from jamil, this being my first time writing them but it's whatever! this is preparation for in case i wanna take a break from writing jamimi flex my writing muscles🤧 big thanks to @jessamine-rose for sharing ur fresh eyes and keeping my impostor syndrome at bay💕

the jamil writing taglist: @viperwhispered @bibi-cha @scint1llat3 @sillystr1ngs @pzlqpibz

@warriorpacifist @chloemari-e @mama-m1na

(lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies!)

#dellet-writings #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil viper x reader #trey clover x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #rook hunt x reader #jade leech x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #gn!reader #twst #ortho shroud #slight idia shroud x reader #jamil viper #trey clover #ruggie bucchi #rook hunt #jade leech #lilia vanrouge

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