#for anyone out of the loop those specific three are being tagged because those are the specific three in my au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jackrrabbit · 3 years

Text

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

2K notes · View notes

qrovidcore · 2 years

Text

well since i was asked for it (tags from this post, ty @x-i-l-verify) and i’m too deep in hyperfixation mode to shut the fuck up......

i will try to keep this short lol. anyway, spoilers:

so unfortunately i can’t seem to find the exact post that kicked off this entire train of thought right now, but there’s been a lot of theorizing about the scrybes as being representative of different aspects of game design over in the inscryption subreddit, and i..... may have accidentally developed an entire reading of this game hinged around this idea??

fundamentally, i think, inscryption is a game about games, in the same vein as, say, undertale and oneshot are. more specifically, the plot of inscryption hinges on the philosophies behind What, Exactly, makes a good game? and each scrybe essentially acts out the aspect they represent.

p03 represents the mechanics of a game. i feel like the running thing with them, in their act 2 fight and as how they are as a gm throughout act 3, is the challenge of understanding fully just How the game works, the fun found in the challenge of strategy and leveraging the rules, and if there’s an expression of care present with them it’s found in the love you feel for something you’re driven to get inside of and Understand.

and this is the lens through which we see everything in act 3. it’s about p03, and the love of mechanics, and presenting the player with a Good game based on that philosophy, but it’s also about the aspects of the other scrybes, and what’s missing without them now that we know what the game should have been. and i think the uberbot fights really get at this, both through how p03 misunderstands what the other scrybes fundamentally are, and through the things so essential to each scrybe that they cannot be overwritten even as they are pushed out of the game, and how the love of each for their aspect is filtered through p03′s love of theirs.

grimora, as i was saying, represents lore. i more or less covered her so i won’t spend much more time here, but it’s interesting to see how what is presented as love of the individual cards, the sentimentality of writing them epitaphs and returning them to our hand transformed but there (grimora and the idea of transformative work as an expression of care, anyone?), is now repackaged as love of data. how big is your file? how old? it doesn’t feel like her. grimora doesn’t ask about stats. that’s p03′s thing, seeping through in the representation. but fundamentally she Is the archivist, the one who records the lore because she loves it, and there’s that sort of love of Knowing something that’s a common thread between her and p03 that becomes apparent when she’s filtered through them like this. and it becomes the love of information. give me your oldest file, and i will make it into a card, and you will not want to let it die. it’s the part of her that’s there no matter what.

leshy is the love of story, of narrative. the thesis of act 1, of the building rouguelike loops, of the way his game is presented, is that your decisions may feel difficult, or horrible, or weighty, but ultimately through those choices you have been setting yourself up for success all along. even in supposed failure, you’re helping yourself. it’s a collaborative narrative, the story of how the player wins, because that’s what a good game should do. it should tell a story with you. it should tell you you matter. and it’s there in act 2 as well, the act of making a new card from your first three plays and combining them to give you something stronger. telling you the story of how your choices mattered. and,,, honestly, the whole point is that leshy and p03 have so little in common, that they hold no love for the others’ aspect, but the game is not complete without either of them. and the photograher is the perfect filtering of that idea of narrative and choice through the lens of mechanics. it’s not leshy. he’s not there, and what is there is what p03 misunderstands of him. but the thing that remains is that your choices set you up for success, though this time in the form of strategy, of capturing your best moves and resetting to them to get you out of a bind. because your choices matter, and this is the fundamentally leshy thing that cannot be removed, and the shared thread of care between story and mechanics that comes out in filtering one through the other.

i’ve been working off of the idea of magnificus as representing art, but i’ll be honest i pulled my 69/69 oroborous on this poor tree and 2-shot him back in act 2, so i have a lot less to say about that. (and SHIT is it a testament to how goddamn good this game is, that i regret doing that so much because now i’ve missed out on a big chance to learn about him and about what he means to the game). that being said, i definitely am internally poking at magnificus’ associations with art as a transformative work and as an essential component of making a game complete – hello painting over the cards to give them stronger sigils? again, i deeply regret 2-shotting this fight. i am a Fool. THAT BEING SAID, OH BOY WAS THE UNFINISHED BOSS MY FAVORITE FIGHT IN THE WHOLE GAME SO FAR. PICKING THE RULES!!!!!! STACKING THEM!!!!!! HAVING TO ACCOUNT FOR ALL THE EXTRA MECHANICS YOU’VE PUT IN AND JUST THE SHEER POSSIBILITY OF WHAT THAT FIGHT CAN BE!!!!!!! THE WAY NO TWO PEOPLE ARE GOING TO HAVE THE SAME FIGHT BECAUSE OF THAT!!!!!!! IT’S SO GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and it’s magnificus’ love of creation and p03’s love of the rules and just what you can do with them to make a game fun and interesting combined and it’s SUCH A GOOD FIGHT!!!!!!!!!! and man, hey, somebody on this site once pitched p03 as representing creation and art through a digital medium, as opposed to the other scrybes and their associations with traditional art forms, and this does SO much for that!!! and while we’re talking inscryption as a game about Creating Games, having a boss fight ABOUT GAME DESIGN IS SO FUCKING COOL AND ALSO games ARE an art form!!!!! video games are an art form!!!!! what magnificus does is art, but what p03 does is art too, and there’s so much CREATIVITY that has to go into building a game that is fun to play mechanically and is atmospheric and engaging enough to hook players in. it’s all art, and they’re both artists in their own way, and this fight is the essence of what games Can Be as a medium and i love it so so much.

.. so much for keeping this short. i’ll see myself out. yeah.

#listen. many thoughts head full. made my own post bc i didn’t wanna distract from the very good archivist art but yeah.#something something p03/g0lly is fundamentally nd but maybe im reading it that way bc im nd #but i never felt like p03 wasn’t expressing genuine care for the game he was giving us? they’re an asshole but they care <3 #i dunno. perhaps she’s from what the game could’ve been. y’know. had the scrybes collaborated and cared for each other’s aspects #but therein lies the tragedy #and also the thesis #the game’s incomplete without all the scrybes #even in their own sections they have to draw on each other to deliver a game worth playing to the player #i dunno. i think about how sacrificing stoat!p03 when you’re learning leshy’s game is what makes what that act Is *click* at the start #like constantly. i think about this constantly.#inscryption is about how the game designer makes the player care and about how and what we assign weight to it’s about love it always was #(no romo. just #the love put into creating a thing and giving it to someone to experience.)#many thoughts head full all the time all the time #and none of the thoughts are connected sorry you’re on brain dolphining with me #anyway #inscryption #the paranoid android speaks!#also yes 69/69 oroborous was on purpose. nice. ;)#:0 oh shit this is getting attention so i wanna credit twixt for hitting me w/ the V GOOD the scrybes act as their aspects in the game

123 notes · View notes

veliseraptor · 4 years

Text

Down in the Yi City Pit: A Recs Post

So as anyone following me may have noticed, I’ve been spiraling ever deeper into a pit called Yi City Feelings. I’m down at the bottom and I’m still digging. This also means I’ve been doing a lot of fic reading, and I figure it’s about time that I wrote a recs list, since I said I’d do it and some people expressed interest.

Heads up that I am a dirty Xue Yang stan first and foremost, so this list is going to skew in, uh, that direction. Just so we’re all aware.

Divided these into canonverse recs and modern au recs, since apparently this is the only thing I’ll read modern aus for! It’s a brave new world out here.

Also like. blanket warnings across the board here for The Inherent Dubiousness of Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen as a Pairing, Generally. I’ll offer more specific/major ones as they’re relevant/I remember, but please check the tags/authors notes as well.

CANONVERSE

lover to your nightmare by Zaatar (@ameliarating) . Xue Yang uses Xiao Xingchen getting sick as an opportunity to fuck around a little. Second person POV sickfic, except XueXiao flavored sickfic which means it’s messy and full of good things like “delirium” and “people taking advantage of other peoples’ confusion and disorientation to mess with them psychologically.” This fic also does the thing I love really well where Xue Yang’s internal monologue/self-justification is full of indications that he’s having Feelings that he neither recognizes nor acknowledges. Crunchy, delicious.

Samsara / 輪迴 by ForgivenMemes. Upsetting fic full of every content warning ever alert! (Off the top of my head: violence, rape, suicide, self-harm.) I keep going back to this fic and rereading it because it hurts so bad and I love it, because it hurts in the best worst self-sabotage recapitulating-mistakes-over-and-over way. Like, I am a sucker for a time loop fic always, and usually I read them as a route to fixing things - but honestly I’ve always loved the part of time loop fics that’s “everything getting worse first.” And this is a whole fic of “everything getting worse.” Aka, the one where Xue Yang has thousands of chances to get it right, but there’s no getting it right.

compromise by Sectionladvivi. Xiao Xingchen convinces Song Lan and Xue Yang to kiss. (aka, obviously Yi City AU where Song Lan gets folded into things, Xiao Xingchen still doesn’t know about Xue Yang being Xue Yang, and an uneasy detente where the two of them don’t touch each other gets interrupted by Xiao Xingchen Wanting Things, which is, of course, a priority always).

til dawn by Sectionladvivi. Xue Yang takes care of Xiao Xingchen’s body after his death, and mind the tags. This is that perfect Yi City level of “horrifying and also very sad, I feel bad for my boy but also he is sort of defiling a corpse (though it is just kissing).” This might not sound like a recommendation but it is absolutely a recommendation.

Our Antebellum Innocence by spockandawe (@spockandawe). First time XueXiao. Xue Yang lays the groundwork for his first time with Xiao Xingchen with meticulous care. This author always delivers, both in terms of excellent porn and in terms of characterization, and this is no exception.

life’s illusions I recall by Sour_Idealist (@souridealist). The basics of this fic is just “outdoor sex at a river” and it is delicious for that, but what I love about it in particular is this author’s Xue Yang voice. It’s always good (they are the genius behind the incredible Jiang Yanli/Xue Yang fic - no, really), and this is a fic I come back to a lot for that reason. I also love the tag “two characters experiencing two very different fics” which feels like a very apt description for the XueXiao dynamic, generally speaking.

Selenographia by lightningwaltz. A lovely, short-ish fic about the Yi City years. I don’t feel like I have a good description for this one - it’s just one of those beautiful character/moment portrait pieces, very well done.

Stories from A Lonely City by blackwatervial. A series of snapshots/vignettes from the three years in Yi City. Sweetness, bittersweetness, and of course, ultimately, a sad end. This was one of the first Yi City fics I read.

yi city depression hours by glueskin (series). Just. You know. Some feelings. There’s two fics in this one, both short character study type fics making me feel feelings.

a bird caught in this winter blizzard by cherriru. I do love a good grief/mourning fic, especially featuring someone realizing slowly the sheer miserable depths of their fuck-up. Aka, Xue Yang after Xiao Xingchen’s death. It’s just sad.

all I ever knew of love by Sour_Idealist (@souridealist). See what I said above about the Xue Yang voice and this author; this one also featuring blistering hot porn (first time), a little light praise kink, and huddling for warmth as an excuse for sex. It’s a perfect blend of filth and tenderness and I love it.

revelations wallet wood burn art by Sectionladvivi. This one describes itself in the summary as “grim pwp” and yeah, that fits (and also! is such a XueXiao vibe, whoop whoop); it’s based off the simple premise of ‘Xue Yang tells Xiao Xingchen who he is, in the middle of sex.’ Honestly, one of my favorite things about this fic is the ending, which is horrifying in the best possible way.

Your Heart Inside My Hands by williamshooketh (@ectoplasm-james). This fic is fabulously made for me in the specific subgenre of “Xue Yang thinks he knows what he is getting into when having sex with Xiao Xingchen and, it turns out, does not.” This one featuring some of my favorite things including praise kink and Xue Yang getting extremely fucked up by someone being very nice to him.

Sleep Until the Sun Goes Down by spockandawe (@spockandawe). Love me some Xiao Xingchen seducing Xue Yang with candy. First time fic, second person POV, absolutely delightful.

pass the time by short_tandem_repeats (@yiling). A-Qing and Xue Yang bonding hours. I am actually such a sucker for their weird relationship (I don’t poke at it enough in my own stuff, should work on that) and the way they recognize each other in ways that Xiao Xingchen doesn’t, and also a-Qing having to reckon with the ways in which she’s more like Xue Yang than like Xiao Xingchen. Just a very good fic with a delightful a-Qing.

Three Springs by Verbana. Just a really excellent Xiao Xingchen POV of the three years in Yi City and a developing relationship between Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang. Beautifully written, a lovely escalation, and I’m absolutely delighted by the gentle loneliness of the Xiao Xingchen POV here.

Red Azalea by CeNedraRiva (@cenedrariva) (WIP). A longfic in progress following the continuing adventures of the Yi City Crew after Xiao Xingchen survives his suicide attempt and Xue Yang reconsiders some life choices. Recently got tag-updated to SongXueXiao which has me absolutely thrilled. Updates every Wednesday.

ephemeral by im_krying (WIP). Xue Yang, traveling around wearing Xiao Xingchen’s face, decides it is time to go looking for the last remaining part of Xiao Xingchen that he doesn’t already possess. That is to say, the eyes in Song Lan’s head. I’m really curious where this is going - it smells up my alley at this point though it’s been a bit since the last update.

Heaven Has a Road But No One Walks It by Silvestris (@silvysartfulness) (WIP). Things I love: beating on Xue Yang, SongXueXiao, terrible road trips, fix-its where there’s a lot of suffering involved. Things this fic has: all of the above. I’m in love.

MODERN AU

(There are other recs to this one but for various reasons (pwp reasons) triggered my self-consciousness slightly too much to put on this post. Go check my bookmarks, you’ll find stuff there.

Most of these are PWP to greater or lesser extents (Rewritten and Misalignment are, I’d say, the exceptions); all very hot and fantastically written.)

circling like vultures by brawlite (@brawlite) (series). Truly quality porn, featuring mostly Xue Yang/Song Lan both pining for Xiao Xingchen, which is a thing that it turns out I really like. The sex is rough and mean and I’m really into it. (Okay, mostly the sex in the first one is mean, the second one is actually XueYao, and the third one is actually verging on nice. Wow! Growth. Anyway, it’s all very good and very My Scene.

Rewritten by incendir (series). This series is like. Everything I want from a modern AU and that was true even before the most recent fic gifted me a beat up Xue Yang suffering, so you know. I don’t have a good summary for this series other than that it’s basically a married Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen adopting Xue Yang as a third partner and it’s just. So well done, such good writing, such good characterization, I would read 20,000 more words of this and probably still be hungry.

catalyst by Ajaxthegreat. If there is a porny fic I’ve reread more than this one, I’m not sure what it would be. I’ve reread this one a lot. It’s very good. It’s very hot. I’m trying not to be self-conscious. SongXueXiao first time rough sex and boy is it tasty.

biting the bullet by Sectionladvivi. Xiao Xingchen doesn’t want to have to choose between his two boyfriends and so he doesn’t. Sectionladvivi in general writes some very sexy modern au PWP (including a few different Xue Yang/Lan Wangji fics which...didn’t see that one coming! But it works when they do it), so general rec for author but this one (as, you know, SongXueXiao porn), is one of my favorites, probably.

sxx configurations by rynleaf (series). This is a SongXueXiao series on AO3 based off of @kevinkevinson‘s modern reincarnation AU and I am in love with both the art for that AU (go look!) and these fics, they’re so good, I’ve reread several times.

Misalignment by Kasasagi (WIP). The one with a reincarnated Xue Yang and a Xiao Xingchen who arrives in the modern world from the past, fresh off his suicide.

And Once Again, if I’m Allowed to Rec My Own Fic

a kindness you can’t afford. Early days in Yi City after Xue Yang wakes up.

lick your exit wounds. I wanted canonverse-era bottom Xue Yang praise kink, so I wrote it for myself in the hopes others would also find this an interesting prospect.

this place could be beautiful. Xue Yang vs. domestic living.

tear out all your tenderness. Xue Yang gets turned on by murder and makes it a project to get Xiao Xingchen to lose control.

the beauty of your repair. PWP, modern AU SongXueXiao; there’s not an inkling of plot here, it’s really just an excuse to get Xue Yang wrecked, but nicely.

#finally posting this!!!#yi city crew #fic rec #song lan #xue yang #xiao xingchen #i'm sure i'm missing things but there's only so much i can do #xuexiao #songxue #songxuexiao

221 notes · View notes

gameofdrarry · 3 years

Text

Wizards Hearts Recs: Holiday Fic

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 East of Eden by WriteSprite Rated: Explicit Words: 41,122 Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Parseltongue, Dirty Talk, Rimming, Biting, Drinking Games Summary: When Harry receives a dodgy brochure for an island vacation, he isn't sure he should attend. After a bit of a push, he decides to go for it and winds up spending the week in paradise. At least it would be, if it weren't for that pesky blond git. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Take My Hand by daisymondays Rated: Explicit Words: 12814 Tags: Summer, Summer Romance, Pining, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, First Kiss, Drinking Games, Harry Potter Has Dimples, Draco Malfoy Can't Cope, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Auror Partners, Draco Has Feels To Spare, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Meddling Friends, Touching, Soooo Much Touching, HP: EWE Summary: Draco has long resigned himself to pining after Harry... that is until an invite on the annual Ministry holiday gives him a chance to change everything. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 December Never Felt So Wrong by MaesterChill Rated: Explicit Words: 50001 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Angst, Mystery, time skip, 00's Music Sung Badly, Fluff, Amnesia, A niffler, 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2018, curse magic, Knitting, Sex, Cuddles, Blow Jobs, First Time Sex, wanking, Advent Fic, Christmas, Magical Artifacts, Falling In Love, Magical Theory, drarry dads, Rimming, Memory Loss, A tiny bell, Sharing a Bed, Dad Jokes, Cursed objects Summary: 'Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side. All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Tell Me the End at the Beginning by harryromper Rated: Teen and Up Words: 36591 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, St Mungo's Hospital, Healer Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Christmas Presents, Christmas Decorations, 25 Days of Harry and Draco, Food Hall Turkeys, Advent Calendar, Healer Luna Lovegood, Kreacher, Minor Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley, Yule Logs, Misheard Christmas carols Summary: St Mungo’s is the last place anyone wants to spend the festive season. Harry finds himself there anyway. Or: Harry's an Auror suspended from duty, Malfoy's wearing the hell out of three-piece suits, Hermione is entirely over everything, and Kreacher just wants to be left alone to decorate for Christmas. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Too Cold Outside (For Angels to Fly) by gracerene Rated: Explicit Words: 62688 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Hogwarts, Creature Fic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela (Harry Potter), Auror Partners, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Aurors, Case Fic, Murder Mystery, Mild Gore, Advent Calendar, Christmas, Drinking, Scotland, United Kingdom, Muggle London, POV Alternating, Coffee Shops, Past Character Death, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Crime Fighting, Duelling, Burns, Blood and Injury, Bars and Pubs, Getting Together, Romance, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Bisexual Harry Potter, Gay Draco Malfoy, Anal Sex, Riding, Shower Sex, Hand Jobs, 25 Days of Harry and Draco, 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2019, Switching, Wings, Wing Kink, Veela Mates, Mating Bond, Anal Fingering, Bonding, Dirty Talk Summary: The Auror Department and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures are working to create a new division partnering human wizards and Magical Beings in order to more effectively police crime involving any and all classifications of Magical Creature. Auror Harry Potter jumps at the chance to join the pilot programme, but he starts to regret his rashness when he discovers who he's to be partnered with: Draco Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 If the Fates Allow by Saras_Girl Rated: Mature Words: 80957 Tags: N/A Summary: What's that crackling in the walls? Harry has no clue at all. He'll eat some cake and drink some wine Because he is completely FINE. --A story about life's disregard for our plans. [2017 advent story] ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A New Peace by MalenkayaCherepakha Rated: Explicit Words: 5566 Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex Summary: Of all the people Draco expected to walk into his cafe in Muggle London, Harry Potter was not one of them. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 flashback, warm nights by warmfoothills Rated: Mature Words: 13068 Tags: Deathly Hallows AU, or more specifically, the godric’s hollow christmas shitshow of 1997, but with ron and draco!, and no snake-animated corpses!, instead:, Grand theft auto, a lot of blood, teenage fugitives, a time loop, Horcrux Hunting, one psychopathic quinquagenarian, Bodily Injuries, the ~power of love, Breaking and Entering, hospital food, questionable headwear, kissing in the backseat, kissing in the freezer aisle, Kissing in the Snow Summary: “What’s killing me is that I actually quite fucking like Christmas, festival-for-a-personally-irrelevant-religion-turned-commercialised-garbage-holiday though it may be, and now I’m stuck in the perpetual almost-there of it all with an idiot who gets himself cut up every time no matter how differently I try and do things!” “Killing you?” Potter asks. “I thought I was the one who’s about to get my torso sliced into?” ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 All Must Draw Near by Saras_Girl Rated: Mature Words: 61080 Tags: N/A Summary: Harry doesn't have time for rumours; he has a shop to run. Which is just as well, really. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 With A Little Help From Hermione by naarna Rated: Teen and Up Words: 6983 Tags: N/A Summary: Secret Santa at Hogwarts with every House participating in the name of unity... And Hermione suddenly finds herself in the position of a matchmaker. ❤️ Read on Fanfiction.net

📜 Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout Rated: Teen and Up Words: 29793 Tags: University, Wizarding World of the United States of America, Americans, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Librarian Harry Potter, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Parselmouth Harry Potter, College Student Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Anxious Harry Potter, Baby Gay Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Friendship, Family Dinners, Halloween parties, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Romance, Misunderstandings, Internalized Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Secondary Theme: Book Fair Summary: Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The 12 Dates of Draco by Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn) Rated: Explicit Words: 16808 Tags: 12 Days of Christmas, Light Angst, Christmas Smut, Anal Sex Summary: Holiday dialing, desperate attempts at reconciliation, and 12 blind dates with Draco Malfoy... oh my! OR The day Harry just can't seem to get past. But what is the universe trying to tell him? And when did Draco Malfoy get so bloody fit? He's got 12 days to figure it out. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Christmas Is For Sex (and Love), So Give It To Me by GoldenTruth813 Rated: Explicit Words: 53218 Tags: PWP, Established Relationship, Christmas, Bondage, misuse of frosting, making gingerbread houses, coming without touching, Blowjobs, Fingering, anal penetration, Rimming, misuse of fairy lights, Praise Kink, Nipple Clamps, erotic massages, Lingerie, Harry in Lingerie, Butt Plugs, Masterbation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Topping from the Bottom, Ice Play, misuse of snowballs, misuse of brandy custard, veritasium, Public Sex, misuse of christmas candles, Wax Play, floating blow jobs, bubble baths, Candy Canes, misuse of candy canes, sex with feelings, Clubbing, naughty letters, babysitting teddy, Edging, healing past trauma, really so much more than sex, but lots of sex too, spiked hot cocoa, Drunk confessions, Anal penetration with a foreign object, french!draco, Switching Summary: Draco buys Harry an Advent House, intent on helping Harry create all new holiday memories, and have a lot of great sex in the process. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 As it Should Be by leo_draconis Rated: Mature Words: 5670 Tags: N/A Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Draco's world has just shattered around him. Will a Christmas miracle give him a second chance? ❤️ Read on LJ

📜 Dream by the Fire by GallifreyisBurning Rated: Mature Words: 11431 Tags: Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, No Angst, seriously no angst whatsoever, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Coffee Shop Owner Harry Potter, Writer Draco Malfoy, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Magical Tattoos, Memory Magic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Wizarding History (Harry Potter), Friends to Lovers Summary: When Draco Malfoy resurfaces in England after eight years abroad—tattooed, pierced, and wanting to take over a corner of Harry's coffee shop to work on a writing project—Harry can't help but be intrigued. Where has he been? What is he working on? Why here? And why does he have to look so stupidly hot with all those tattoos? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The best Christmas he ever had by gnarf Rated: Teen And Up Words: 1965 Tags: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Post-War, Fred Weasley Lives, Christmas at the Burrow (Harry Potter), Mutual Pining, Drinking, Dancing, Family Feels Summary: Christmas had never been less appealing to him than this year. That was until Arthur Weasley showed up at his door, dressed as Santa, inviting him to the Burrow. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The One Where Ginny Keeps a Secret, Sort of by Theartfulldodger Rated: Teen And Up Words: 4039 Tags: Fluff, Christmas, Established Relationship, Non-Linear Narrative, Group Vacation Summary: Harry is determined to have a good time with Ginny and Pansy for a trip to NYC over the winter holidays, even if Draco can't join them. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Adventures in Truth and Texting by fluxweed Rated: Explicit Words: 7981 Tags: Texting, Drunk Texting, Sexting, Veritaserum, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Auror Harry Potter, Drinking, Christmas, Advent Fic, Awkwardness, everyone has phones, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Summary: Former Death Eaters are being targeted with a Veritaserum curse – it’s permanent, and makes victims speak aloud their every thought. Luckily, it’s easier to control when writing – and Hermione is trying to introduce Muggle technology to the wizarding world. An advent fic featuring texting, identity struggles, and a Draco Malfoy who will literally not stop talking. ❤️ Read on AO3

#holiday #vacation #drarry #drarry rec #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

16 notes · View notes

princess-of-the-corner · 3 years

Note

Winx Reboot Episodes 13 and 14 (Your worldbuilding is awesome!)

Worldbuilding is so fun!

Episode 13

So this is going a different direction! Bloom still goes back to Gardenia but 1.) She already knows she's adopted and the thing about being found in a fire 2.) Aura vision doesn't work like that. 3.) I want more of Bloom's Earth Friends!

So!

Bloom goes home for break. Her parents are a little... Shocked at the differences. Like, to Bloom most of her Domino traits came gradually but for her parents it's a bit of a jump.

Next morning at breakfast she uses a Glamour to look how she used to, and her parents immediately jump to "frick. We're sorry! We love you anyway it was just a shock to see you don't have to hide what you are from us!". It's pretty sweet and Bloom agrees to not use Glamours when it's just them but out in town she'll probably use it because explaining is... Weird.

Bloom goes to meet her friends from episode 1. I call them Zoe, Jake and Daniell. (Names are subject ti change given certain other fandoms...)

Anyway they're sharing their stories. They also end up with Mitzi tagging along because like.

She showed up and tried to bother Bloom by doing her usual mean girl tactic. But while it's annoying, Bloom has dealt with so much over the past year that Mitzi is barely registering on her radar. Which pisses Mitzi off so she sticks around to keep trying to get a rise out of her.

The rest are surprised to hear that Bloom did end up going away last minute. And Bloom tells them about her adventures. Mostly. She has to censor a lot because of all the Magic stuff.

Mitzi calls her out on the half-truths but Bloom just sidesteps the accusation.

Of course, everything kinda goes to shit because the Trix followed Bloom home and are also trying to get a rise out of her.

They have no issue doing Magic in plain view of everyone, but thry don't start a fight immediatly. Thry just kinda... Show up and taunt Bloom about how she's clearly not from here, and poking at "I wonder how your friends would feel about you if you dropped the Glamour".

Eventually they do start causing more of an actual problem and people are in danger. Which means Bloom has to transform and fight back.

Their job here is done so they leave and Bloom gives up on hiding anything. She gives them a rushed "Yeah turns out Magic exists and I have Magic and I went to school for Magic beings but it's less "Harry Potter" and more "Steven Universe" because it's like Magic Aliens and shit". They're thrown for a loop but Mitzi is the only one to be a dick about it. And the others are like "bitch she just saved you from getting frozen solid" so she begrudgingly thanks her before fucking off.

Now Bloom gets to tell them the full version of her Magic adventures!

Episode 14:

This is different because Faeries and Witches are on friendly terms.

So, fed up with not getting any answers from Alfea's Library, she asks Faragonda for permission to search Cloud Tower's library. Specifically the book with her name on it.

I'm going to derail to talk on the book for a moment. There are books that are a written account of someone's life. It is Magically written, and only includes significant events. It can also only be read by the person whose book it is. So you can't get info on anyone just from reading their book.

Faragonda agrees that Bloom's book might have something.

Faragonda arranges it with Griffin, but given what happened last time Bloom went to Cloud Tower, both Headmistresses will be supervising.

This is Griffin's first time /really/ meeting Bloom. Like she saw her with the other Winx when dealing with whatever the Winx/Trix rivalry was, but now seeing her...

It's very obvious that Bloom is from Domino. And as Bloom explains her story, she has the same suspicions about who Bloom might be. And she knows there's no way Faragonda hasn't made the same guess to they're just giving Each other looks this whole time. Neither is going to tell Bloom until they find the book and see if it has answers.

They do find the book, but as Bloom looks to the beginning, all she feels is frustrated. Because the book starts with her being found on Earth in the burning building. It doesn't make sense to her since she had to have existed before that! She was roughky a year old back then what's going on?!

Griffin muses over the fact that sometimes people can have two books. If they do something drastic and change their identity, the person they once were doesn't always exist(though both books can merge if the person accepts both parts of their identity). There might be another book somewhere with Bloom's "birth name" on it, telling of her first year of life. But finding it would be difficult.

Now. At some point the Trix saw Bloom walking around and have been eavesdropping. They decide to create a fake book that is "magically drawn to her". Griffin and Faragonda find this suspicious, but allow her to read it.

Naturally the book gives false info about her being a tool of destruction and whatnot. Griffin and Faragonda try to calm her and tell her it's not real or possible and clearly the book is a trick. But Bloom ends up running off.

While the Trix had been eavesdropping on Bloom and the Headmistresses, Mirta was eavsdropping on them. She wasn't able to interfere with their plan, but she decides to run after Bloom and tell her the truth.

She does so, managing to make Bloom a bit calmer. And also slightly more frustrated because at least when dhe thought she was a tool of destruction she had answers!

A fight happens and Mirta gets turned into a pumpkin. Bloom manages to escape and bring Pumpkin!Mirta back to Alfea. Faragonda and Griffin arrive soon after having been looking for Bloom after she ran off.

They try to turn Mirta back, but find that the spell used is something from the more Forbidden Magics. It will take time to undo it.

But for those three to be using Forbidden Magics, spells that were outlawed for various reasons mostly pertaining ti being cruel and evil, that's a hard no.

Not only are the Trix expelled from Cloud Tower, but there's an attempt to arrest them. They escape and are now on the run.

#winx club reboot project

17 notes · View notes

amethystblack · 3 years

Note

Ay, I know it's a bit of a long shot, but I'm an aspiring game dev, and I'm looking for tips. I looked up the tag Game Dev Blog, saw one of your posts, and decided to ask. I'm the main artist, and general designer, but my friend, who I'm working with, is doin' the programming and music. Any chance you can tell me anything about pixel art, and maybe also stuff like class balancing? Maybe even a couple music tips, so I can make a piece or two my self.

there is probably a lot to say about any one of those subjects, let alone all three of them together, so let me hit some general points for aspiring creators that can apply to all of them

Observation is a critical skill

For all of art, music, and games, it is important to look at (or listen to) something, figure out what you like about it, and then break down the individual components of that thing and analyze how they work together to create an impression. Notice how the shading was done on art you liked-- cell-shaded? dithered? smooth blending? Notice how much contrast in values there is-- shifting to greyscale can help see values. What about that soundfont do you like? What does the bridge do differently in comparison to the chorus that makes it stand out? If you can identify these techniques, you can recreate them.

There is no substitute for doing

Everyone already knows practice makes perfect, but a lot of online advice is geared around generating clicks and views under the notion that you can watch this 20 minute video to fasttrack your way to being an expert. Videos and advice can help as a sprinkle of perspective on top of your experience and show you new ways to grow, but the unhappy truth is that you have to be putting in the hours to grow in the first place, and anyone that tells you otherwise is probably selling something. Not to publicly roast you (because I don't mind you asking this here-- and in fact I'm very grateful that you thought my perspective was worth writing in to hear, thank you for that), but even looking for game dev tips on tumblr is not building the skill of [making games]; it is building the skill of [finding advice on tumblr]. After watching many videos on the subjects of the above bullet point, I also realized that the skill I was building was [analyzing games], not [making them]. You gotta pull a Shia and eventually Just Do It ™

Enjoyment is a high priority

In order to git gud, you have to do something a lot. If doing something a lot were easy or more fun when you're first learning, probably a lot of things in the world would be much better. Alas. In order to get through the requisite 10,000 hours of practice, it's much better to find ways to enjoy the time and experience of making something rather than just holding your nose to the grindstone and bearing with it. If you're enjoying making something, you'll want to do it more, and then you'll just feedback loop yourself into getting all the practice and experience you need to do it better. Therefore, anything you can do to enjoy the process more is 100% a valid and good thing to do and you should absolutely go for it.

final specific tidbits: - for pixel art programs i recommend aseprite, but graphicsgale is a good free alternative. - make balance decisions according to player feedback, not guesses. just have fun until you get that feedback. - i'm convinced video game soundtracks have everything to learn from musical theatre.

i hope this helps you or someone else a bit! best of luck on your projects~

#game dev #pixel art #music #advice #pokopresentsshitposts #ask ame

10 notes · View notes

chuuyasnumber1simp · 4 years

Text

Born of Lies, but Learning to Love

Part 1. Chuuya x fem reader.

part two part three

Summary: Y/N didn’t know where she came from. She never did. She was given one mission in life, one purpose. She knew not her own thoughts, her own ambitions, not even her own feelings. All she knew was the feeling of the sticky red liquid staining her hands, and the way a knife felt in her fingers.

Ability: Falsum Quod Visus (False Sight)- Can manipulate what someone see’s by manipulating what the brain deciphers from the signals the eyes send. When used to the full extent, she can drive people mad. The person under the effect of this ability experience all five senses of whatever illusion she creates. The only drawback, whatever illusion she creates, she also see’s and feels as well. Driving someone to the point of insanity would also drive her to insanity.

A/N: so this is kind of like a Violet Evergarden au? I do plan on making multiple parts, I don’t know how many, I was kind of planning on going with the flow, but if anyone wants to be on the tag list just let me know :)

Warnings: Blood, death mention, trauma, PTSD, self worth issues

Word Count: 6,623

This was supposed to be his day off.

Chuuya grumbled the entire time he got dressed, and though he loved early morning rides on his motorcycle, he did not like weaving in between cars when he was going to the one place he wasn’t supposed to go today.

Chuuya had worked tirelessly for weeks just to earn himself one day off, and he wasn’t exactly ecstatic to receive a call from Mori at 5:47 a.m. telling him that he had a surprise for him. Mori’s “surprises” usually consisted of a botched mission, new job, or some mess Dazai, who wasn’t even in the Port Mafia, got into.

Nonetheless, and order was an order, and his loyalty one against his stubbornness, so he he was, riding the elevator up to Mori’s office at 6:15 a.m.

He strutted into the room with all the confidence of a peacock, knowing his boss would be expecting him.

taking in the room with one glance, Chuuya noticed a lone figure standing next to Mori. She held a clipboard to her side, and seemed to be writing something diligently. Mori was eagerly talking to her and pointing out things on his desk. Chuuya cleared his throat loudly, gaining both of their attentions.

“Ah, Chuuya. I see you’ve met Y/N,”

Chuuya cocked his head in confusion. The only people he saw coming up here were subordinates and secretary's, and the girl standing next to Mori.

Suddenly Mori snapped his fingers, and the girl standing next to him vanished. Chuuya immediately activated his ability, but before he could even blink he felt the clod, sharp blade of a knife against his throat. He threw his head backwards, attempting to catch his attacker by surprise. His head was met by empty space, and he instinctively dropped to his knee’s and kicked his leg out, and grinned when he felt his foot knock into something. Whoever it was knew what they were doing, and leapt backwards before he could throw a punch in their direction. Spinning around, he was shocked to see no one there. Using his ability, he hurled one of the chairs in Mori’s office in the direction of the door, but all it did was hit the wall and break.

“Mori, what is the meaning of-” Chuuya stopped when Mori was nowhere to be seen. He let out a sigh, knowing this could only be work of an ability user.

“Alright, I’m done here. Reveal yourself or I’ll have Akutagawa rip you to shreds,”

He waited, but nothing happened. He was still alone in the office. Clicking his teeth, he turned around to exit but was shocked to feel someone’s fist connect with his face.

He stumbled backwards gripping his nose, feeling warm blood drip down his hands and onto the floor.

Ripping off his gloves, he activated his ability, not about to make the mistake of letting his guard down again.

“All right that's it-”

Slow clapping from the location of Mori’s desk made Chuuya stop in his tracks, and he turned around to see Mori situated there once more.

“How did you get back over-”

“My my Y/N, I never realized just how good you were. Managing to land a hit on Chuuya himself? That’s quite impressive. And I must say, it is quite entertaining to watch someone in control of your ability from an outside perspective,”

“Cut the crap Mori. Who is Y/N?”

“Now now Chuuya, there’s no need to be upset. I was merely giving you a hands on demonstration. Y/N dear, could you please reveal yourself to Chuuya? You can stop using your ability now,”

Chuuya felt someone's gaze boring into his back, and he whipped around, ready to figure out who was ruining his day off.

He was met by a woman, from the looks of it in her mid-twenties, holding a knife in her left hand. It was the most interesting knife he’d ever seen, definitely not a type of traditional knife, Both the handle and the black were solid black and curved, creating a crescent shape. The blade was sharp on the inside edge, and there was a loop at the end of the handle. How you would wield such a knife, Chuuya did not know.

She was clad in all black, sporting leggings and a sleeveless muscle shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. Interestingly, he did not wear heels like the rest of the women in the Port Mafia. Instead, almost sock like boots covered her feet all the way up to her knees. Many scars adorned her exposed arms, and Chuuya wanted to know their story. He himself had scars of his own, but something about hers stood out to him. She was small and lithe, shorter than he was, quite a feat. Not many managed to be shorter than Chuuya, an he wondered if harsh training stunted her growth.

But that wasn’t the most interesting thing about her. It was her eyes that drew Chuuya in.

The way that though his blood dripped of her knuckles, and he could see her ankle swelling from where he kicked her, there was nothing in her eyes.

They were not manic like Dazai’s were, angry like Akutagawa’s or scheming like Mori’s.

They simply held... nothing.

Like she wasn’t a real person. A lifeless machine, taught to do only one thing, and didn’t know anything else.

Chuuya looked into her e/c depths and saw absolutely nothing. And if he was being completely honest, it scared him.

He’d encountered many things, many kinds of people while working in the Port Mafia, but never had he seen someone quite as empty as the woman in front of him.

And yet, as much as those unfeeling eyes sent shivers down his spine, they also intrigued him. He wanted to know why, what had happened in her life to turn her into this emotionless robot. He genuinely wondered if she had ever smiled, if she even knew how.

“Do you like her?”

Mori’s question snapped Chuuya out of his thoughts. Now knowing she was under Mori’s command, he turned his back to her so he could answer Mori.

“I think she could be pretty useful. Who trained her?”

“Dazai. Then later, Akutagawa,”

Chuuya bristled at the mention of his former partners name.

“Why was my subordinate asked to train her and not me?”

“It’s really quite simple,” Mori said, folding his hands and resting his chin on them. “Because I didn’t want you to know about her. I gave them both explicit orders to never speak w word about her existence,”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes, suspicious about why Mori would keep something as small as training a new recruit from him. “And why is that?”

“Because she’s for you,”

“Huh?”

“Let me elaborate. You see, on a mission I sent Dazai on years ago, she was found. Her parents were traitors, so they were dispatched quickly, but she was a different story. When she heard the men in the apartment, she accidentally activated her ability. Dazai was able to nullify it fairly quickly, but once he figured out what it was, he found great promise in her. So, since the age of two, she was raised here, in the Port Mafia. Once she hit ten, she began her training. She’s been trained her whole life, for the past twelve years to be specific, just to serve the port mafia. She holds no emotions, no thoughts of her own. All she knows is what i, and now you, tell her to do. She is if I might say, the perfect human weapon,”

Chuuya wondered about the term ‘human weapon’. Nothing about the girl holding the knife and not even favoring her clearly broken ankle seemed human to him.

“Y/N, you take orders from Chuuya now. Do whatever he says. and kill whoever he says to,”

“Yes sir,”

Her voice, as well as her eyes, held absolutely no emotion at all. She gave no hint that she even felt her broken ankle.

“Alright let’s go,”

Chuuya swept out of the room, thoughts swimming in his head.

If she was trained by both Dazai and Akutagawa, does she also take orders from them? What kind of training was she given Are there any drawbacks to her ability?

Chuuya glanced at the girl next too him, astonished to see she wasn’t even limping. He wondered if she could even feel pain, or any emotion for that matter.

“Do you have a problem with me sir?”

Chuuya winced internally. Seems she’s pretty blunt. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone wo trained under Akutagawa for god knows how long.

“No. Doe’s your ankle hurt?”

“A little bit,”

“I can reset it if you want,”

“My ankle won’t be an issue. I’ve been trained to handle injury's that are far worse than this,”

“Yeah, but could heal wrong if you keep putting weight on it,”

“I assure you sir, I am fine,”

“Y/N, I order you stop and let me fix your ankle,”

Immediately, she stopped in her tracks. Looking around, she strode over to the nearest bench and plopped down.

Chuuya crouched on the ground in front of her foot, sliding the weird sock like shoe of her foot. The ankle in question was purple and swollen, and Chuuya grimaced at the sight. There was no way this only hurt a little bit.

“I’m going to reset it now. You can squeeze my hand if you want,”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,”

Chuuya sighed, and then slightly grabbed her ankle, took a deep breath in, and jerked her ankle until he her a rather sickening crack, signally the bone was re-aligned. He almost missed the sharp intake of breath she did when he reset her ankle, the only clue that she did feel the pain.

“All done. Now let’s go home, it’s too early for this and I'm supposed to be off today,”

“Should I drive sir?”

“Are you serious? Even though I reset it, your ankle is still broken. Besides, you driving would mean that I would have to leave my bike here,”

Y/N lightly tilted her head to the side, as if she did not understand how a broken ankle could hinder her in the slightest.

“I could call someone else to drive you, and then I could rive your bike home sir,”

“No. No one drives my bike but me. And stop calling me sir. Chuuya is fine,”

“Okay Chuuya sir,”

Chuuya sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, an action he figured he’d be doing a lot lately.

Timeskip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time he got home, Chuuya was exhausted. His nose was throbbing, and to mention he had no idea what he was going to do with Y/N. He wearily stepped through the door, sliding his shoes off and then turning to the short woman.

“I’m going to go fix my nose, and then I’m going to take a short nap. After that, you’re going to help me with paperwork,”

“Yes Chuuya sir,”

Chuuya grumbled about how she couldn't seem to drop the sir, but was too tired to pursue the topic. That would be a conversation for later.

One hour long nap and nose fix later, he was refreshed and ready to do the paperwork he’d been ignoring.

He stepped down stairs into the lobby, shocked to find Y/N asleep on the floor. She was slumped against the door, and because her shoes and clothes had not been changed, he assumed she never left that spot since the moment she arrived.

“Y/N?”

At the sound of her name, she snapped up instantly, shooting up but wobbling slightly on her injured ankle.

“My apologies for falling asleep, Chuuya sir. Prolonged use of my ability is rather draining,”

“It’s fine. I have extra rooms, you could have asked to sleep in one,”

“It was not my place to ask. You did not give me orders to sleep in one, nor did you tell me to leave this spot, so I didn’t,”

Chuuya was a bit shocked, to say the least. He had never met someone who did not do anything, and he meant anything, unless he told her to.

“You live here now Y/N. You’re allowed to do whatever you want while you’re, within reason,”

“My apologies sir,”

“It’s okay. I don’t know what kind of training you went through, but you can ask for anything while you’re with me. It’s not like I’m low on cash,”

“I understand. Thank you Chuuya sir,”

“It’s Chuuya. Just Chuuya,”

“I see. Thank you Chuuya,”

“Let’s get started on paperwork,”

He lead her up to his spacious home office, handing her a pile of work and telling her to just follow the instructions on the paper. He was too absorbed in his work to notice that Y/N had not moved the entire time.

“Is something wrong Y/N?”

She pursed her lips in thought before speaking.

“I’m sorry Chuuya, I should have mentioned this earlier. I was never taught how to read and write. I apologize for my inadequacy, you may punish me as you see fit,”

“Okay first of all, I’m not going to punish you for something out of your control. And second of all, did no one ever teach you how to read or write?”

“Mori said that reading and writing were not essential to my training. All I needed to know was how to kill someone quickly and effectively, so he gave instructions to both Dazai and Akutagawa. Although, Akutagawa went against Mori’s orders and taught me how to write my name. He made me promise not to tell anyone though. I guess I have broken my promise to him,”

“If you’re going to be working for me, you’re going to need to know how to read and write. Come on, we’re going somewhere,”

Every cell in Chuuya’s body was screaming at him that his was not a good idea.

He couldn’t bring her to the Port Mafia, he could not risk the chance of Mori finding out about this. Instead, he went to the one place that was least likely to tell Mori about what he was doing.

Chuuya approached the building of the Port Mafia’s enemies Y/N in tow, and slowly took the stairs up. He was positive they knew he was here, but with Dazai there, he hoped they would not open fire on him. It would only add another layer to his horrible day.

He knocked on the door and braced himself for whatever response the ADA would have for him and Y/N showing up on their doorstep.

“Hello, welcome to the-”

The boy Chuuya recognized as Atsushi opened the door, and stiffened once he realized who was waiting for him.

“O-oh hello Chuuya. Can I h-help you?”

“Yeah, actually you can. Do you-”

“Is that Chuuya i hear?”

The short man groaned as he heard Dazai’s voice, already dreading this interaction.

Dazai threw himself at Chuuya, but Chuuya ducked and pulled Y/N out of the way. Ignoring Dazai who was now face down on the ground, Chuuya and Y/N stepped into the ADA.

Kunikida met him at the door, rambling on about he couldn’t just show up un-announced, especially seeing that he was a Mafia member. Chuuya did his best to ignore him, and continued on.

“Hey Atsushi, is Tanizaki here?”

“Why do you wanna know that?”

Atsushi was on the defensive, and Chuuya couldn’t exactly blame him. He did find it interesting that no one had questioned Y/N’s presence yet, or even noticed she was there.

“I need his help with something. Yours too,”

“What could we possibly do that the Port Mafia couldn’t?”

“Teach her how to read and write,” “What do you mean ‘her’?”

It finally clicked in Chuuya’s brain. She was using her ability. Mori must have told her to always use it around anyone outside the Port Mafia unless told not to.

“Oh, my bad. “Y/N, you can stop using your ability now,”

Instantly, Y/N appeared next to him, knife in hand. Everyone in the office was instantly on guard, trying to get a read on what she was going to do.

“Relax. She won’t do anything unless I tell her to. Y?N, please lower your knife,” Y/N put the knife back in it’s sheath and scanned the room as if looking for someone.

She must be looking for Dazai.

“Is that my dearest Y/N?”

Atsushi looked at his mentor in confusion. “You know her?”

“Know her? Why, I was the one who trained her!”

At the sight of her former mentor, Y/N walked towards him, and punched him square in the face.

Atsushi attempted to restrain her, but she activated her ability, causing herself to disappear from his vision once more.

“Ah ah ah, Y/N. No cheating,” Dazai grabbed her and activated his ability, causing her to reappear.

Blood dribbled down his face, but he carried on as usual.

“Your punch is stronger than it used to be. Great job Y/N, i totally didn’t see it coming,”

“Thank you Dazai. It’s nice to see you again,”

“I’m shocked you don’t hate me. I did practically torture you for about seven years,”

“I never said I didn’t hate you. You betrayed the Port Mafia and caused me immense pain for seven years. Although, i can’t say that i do hate you either. I suppose i don’t feel anything towards you, like i didn’t feel anything when i broke your nose just now,”

Chuuya watched on in interest, this was the most he heard Y/N speak in one go.

Dazai chuckled at the small woman’s declaration, then gave her a soft pat on the head.

“Whatever you say, Y/N. So,” Dazai turned his attention to Chuuya. “What are you both here for?”

Ranpo spoke up from the side of the room. “Mori gave Y/N to Chuuya, Chuuya found out she can’t read or write, so now he’s here so Junichiro and Atsushi can teach her,”

Chuuya smirked next to Y/N. “Smart as ever, Edogawa,”

Atsushi was looking very confused, and for a second Chuuya wondered if he was going to pass out on the spot.

“Huh? Why us?”

“Because Akutagawa trusts you, and you and Tanizaki seem to have the most patience out of everyone in the ADA,”

“O-okay, should I go get Junichiro?”

“Yes,”

Atsushi rushed out of the room in search of his friend, and in the meantime, Chuuya sat down in one of the chairs.

“Does Mori know you’re here?” Dazai questioned.

“No,”

“Figures. He never let me teach her anything outside things he thought would make her a weapon. He didn’t even let me tell her what day her birthday is,”

“I have no need for such trivial things as a birthday. I know how to dispatch of something quickly, and that is all I need in life,”

“Does it make you happy?” The farm boy Chuuya knew as Kenji spoke up.

“What does it mean to be happy? What does it mean to smile? People around me often do these things, but I never have. Does that make me broken? I don’t feel anything. I have a purpose, the one Mori gave me. Isn’t that enough to keep living?”

The room got very silent after her words, no one knowing how to respond to that.

Finally, Yosano spoke. “Personally, I don’t think that’s really living. That’s just not dying,”

“Is there a difference?”

Chuuya was both fascinated and sad at her statement. This woman was never allowed to feel anything. He wondered how long it would take to break her free of this mindset Mori put her in.

He was still haunted by just how empty her words and eyes were. Logically, he knew that she felt things, but he doubted she knew what they were and what to do with them. So, like she was taught to do with everything, she killed them. Buried them deep, and didn’t let them resurface. It was all she knew how to do.

“I’ve got Junichiro,”

Atsushi and the red haired boy stood at the doorway, both looking rather nervous at what Chuuya was asking of them.

“The plan is to leave her here for two hours each day, and you two will be in charge of teaching her how to read and right. I’ll give her orders to do what you say, so as long as you don’t provoke her, everything will be alright. Got it?”

Both Atsushi and Junichiro nodded their heads with vigor, so Chuuya turned to Y/N.

“I’m gonna leave you here with them. I’ll be back in two hours, Dazai knows how to reach me if anything goes wrong. You have my permission to attack them, but only if they have malicious intent, okay? You’ll be safe here, so i doubt anything will happen, but make sure to get a hold of me if anything goes wrong. If Dazai won’t cooperate, use Atsushi has a hostage,”

“Um, I’d rather if I wasn’t the hostage-”

“Okay Chuuya,”

Chuuya waved goodbye to the ADA, and sped off on his bike.

Your POV:

You didn’t know what to take of the people that surrounded you. You could tell they wouldn’t hurt you, Chuuya himself trusted them. But, you didn’t quite know how to feel about your former mentor being here.

The blonde boy in overall’s approached you first, a wide smile on his face.

“Hi! My name is Kenji. Do you like animals?” He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

You just stared at it, not knowing what you were supposed to do. Since Chuuya wasn’t here, you turned to Dazai for assistance.

“You’re supposed to shake it. Here, like this,”

He grabbed your hand in his, and shook it up and down once. Next, you turned to Kenji and shook his hand, still slightly confused about what this accomplished.

“Does Rashomon count as an animal?”

Kenji looked to be in thought. “Yeah i guess it does,”

“Then I can’t say I like animals. That’s the only one I’ve ever met,”

Kenji gasped. “Well that won’t do! Atsushi, come here and turn into a tiger,”

Atsushi glanced at Dazai for confirmation, but the tall man only shrugged in response. Nervously, Atsushi activated his ability and changed into his tiger form.

The action surprised you, you had no idea what a tiger even looked like. Quickly, in the place of where Atsushi stood, was a large white tiger with bicolored purple and gold eyes. It sported impressive claws and fangs that could no doubt kill you in a second.

Junichiro spoke for the first time since you arrived. “You can touch him. He won’t attack you. Plus, if anything happens, Yosano can heal you and Dazai will just nullify his ability,”

Hesitantly, you took a step forward and touched tiger-Atsushi in front of you. His fur was softer than you expected, and you couldn’t resist running your hands across it. Stopping for a moment, you looked at Dazai.

“Is there an emotion to explain how I feel about this?”

“That depends on how you feel about it. Do you like touching Atsushi’s fur?”

“I think so,”

“Then that’s joy you’re feeling. Or maybe satisfaction, if you want to be specific,”

You looked back at the large tiger before you, understanding your emotions for once.

You looked at Kenji and tried to move your lips in different positions, then growled when you couldn’t accomplish what you were trying to do.

Junichiro looked at you with confusion. “What are you trying to do Y/N?”

“I believe you call it a smile. But I don’t think I’m doing it right,”

“Oh! I can help you with that!” You turned back to Kenji.

He put his fingers in his mouth and pulled at the corners, showing you how to smile.

You did the same, and then pulled your fingers back out of your mouth once you were sure you got it.

In the meantime, Atsushi had turned back into his human form, and was gawking at you and Kenji. Then you turned to him and tried your best to smile at him.

He looked a bit surprised, but smiled back at you.

“Thank you Atsushi. I think i like animals now,”

Timeskip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chuuya walked in the door two hours later, like he said he would, and you were happy to see him. You believed the emotion you were feeling was excited, though you hadn’t experienced it much before this.

“Hello Chuuya. Kenji and Atsushi taught me how to smile,”

“Is that so?” He looked rather tired, and you suspected he had done paperwork the entire time you were gone.

“I still don’t understand how that helps me do my job, but Junichiro said that everyone should learn how to smile,”

“I agree. Did Dazai give you any trouble?”

“No. Kunikida kicked him out after he asked me to use my ability on him so he could experience a painless suicide,”

“Mm. That makes sense. Why haven’t you stood up this entire time?”

You swallowed thickly, you were hoping he wouldn’t notice. Your ankle and foot had gone completely numb, much to your dismay. You were a failure for letting it affect you. You had trained for twelve years to be able to bear this sort of thing, so you didn’t know why this ankle was being so stubborn.

“I’m sorry sir. I said I wouldn’t let it affect me, but I can’t feel it anymore. I’m sorry I let an injury so minor inhibit my functionality. You can punish me as you see fit,”

Chuuya walked towards you silently and raised his hand.

Atsushi sprung into action upon seeing this, determined to not see you suffer anymore Than you already have. He hadn’t known you very long, but there was something about the way you had tried so hard to smile that made him sad. Inwardly, he held some resentment towards Dazai. He knew that Dazai had changed since his mafia days, but just how many people did he mess up while he was there? First Akutagawa, and now you. It made him feel slightly protective over you, after all, he was the first real animal you met.

“Hold on Chuuya-”

You braced yourself for whatever stinging pain was coming, but it never did. Instead, Chuuya lightly chopped you on the head with his hand.

“Idiot. I said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m not going to punish you for something out of your control. It would be unreasonable of me to expect you not to be affected by a literal broken ankle. And besides, it was me who broke it anyway,”

Atsushi gasped. “You’re the one who broke her ankle?”

“Yeah. Mori had me fight her first, then told me who she was. Hey, she did manage to break my nose,” Chuuya looked at Yosano who had watched the exchange from afar. “Hey Yosano, can you heal her ankle for me?”

“Yeah, I can. I can’t guarantee it’ll be a pleasant experience, though,”

Junichiro visibly shivered at the thought of Yosano healing. It seemed he had his fair share and was okay if he never had to do it again.

Getting healed by Yosano was an... interesting experience. You could now understand the sorry looks Junichiro and everyone else gave you.

Once back home, you didn’t really know what to do. It was well into the evening now, the sky fading into orange and red hues. Chuuya had gone upstairs and told you to “pick whatever room you want” to sleep in, so you guessed the living room would be fine.

The floor in there was carpeted and looked comfortable, and you had slept on worse. You didn’t know where any blankets or pillows were, so you settled for a towel you found in the bathroom and a throw pillow that was on the lavish couch. You had pondered sleeping on the couch, but one look at the red velvet and you opted against it. Chuuya might not want you to touch any of his things. You had made that mistake once with Mori, and you knew how strong Chuuya was. You weren’t sure if you could activate your ability before he could do serious damage.

As you settled down on the floor, you went over the events of today in your head, you noticed a few things.

One, Dazai didn’t have the unhinged and cold look in his eyes as he always did when he trained you.

Two, though they were supposed to be your enemies, Chuuya went to the ADA without hesitation.

Three, Dazai looks at Atsushi the same way Chuuya looks at Akutagawa. Dazai never looked at you or Akutagawa that way.

And finally, someone was lying about what happened to your Parents. Mori told Chuuya they were traitors and Dazai took you to the Port Mafia, but he didn’t.

Though you were very young, you remember that day as if it were yesterday.

You ran through the park, having the time of your life. The sun shone down on you as you rolled about in the grass, relishing the feeling of how it tickled your arms and legs. However, you were rather surprised when you suddenly could not roll any further. Confusion clouded your face as you could not see anything that would stop you from moving forward. It was like there was a wall in your path, though you could see none. Standing upright on your chubby legs, you tried to walk backwards, but collided with something else solid. Immediately, the park disappeared. You were in a dimly lit room, and there was a man standing behind you. He wore a long, dark trench coat, and bandages covered half his face. You did not know this man, and that scared you. You ran in between his legs, attempting to escape but he grabbed you by the hood of your sweatshirt. You kicked and screamed, and wished he could not see you anymore.

Suddenly the man spoke: “What the-”

You looked down at your hands, but were horrified to see that they were gone. So were your legs, and the rest of your body. You screamed more, you were scared of this man, scared of this room, and scared of the red liquid that coated the floor.

Scared of the two bodies that looked suspiciously like your parents.

You ran past the man once more, but this time he did not catch you.

You ran out of the room, you did not recognize it anymore. Down the hall, to the left where the closet was. Just when you thought you’d made it, you were snatched up off the ground.

It was the same man as before, but this time you did not disappear.

You stayed right where you were, and cried as he walked down the stairs of the second floor, meeting another man downstairs.

“hey Oda,” the scary man said. For some reason, no matter how hard you tried to remember, the bandage man’s appearance was always blurred, voice always muffled.

“I think this kid is an ability user. I would take her back to Mori, but she’s seen too much. Should i just kill her now and get it over with?”

The other man was much more friendly looking than the scary man. You reached out to him, hoping he would save you from the nightmares and horrors you’d witnessed today.

Surprisingly, the man gently took you from the other man’s grasp, and held you softly. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, crying loudly into his shoulder.

“No, I’ll take her in. I don’t like to do it, but we can have someone erase her memories. Besides, if Mori hears we killed someone who might be a valuable asset to the Mafia, we won’t hear the end of it,”

“Yeah, you’re right,”

Slowly, the man took you off his shoulder and set you on the floor. He kneeled down until he was eye level with you and then took your tiny hand in his large one.

“Hello, my names Odasaku, but you can call me Oda. What’s yours?”

“Y-Y/N,”

“Good, can you tell me if you’ve ever gone invisible before?”

You shook your head no. “Sometimes, i have dreams during the day. If i think really hard about it, i can dream about being somewhere, and it’s like I’m really there. I tried telling mama and papa, but they yelled at me and told me i was lying,” You turned your big, watery eyes onto Oda. “Are you going to take me back to mama and papa? I don’t wanna go. Mama called me witch and kicks me. And papa won’t even look at me,”

Oda ruffled your hair. ‘No, you’re going to come with us now. You aren’t a with, i think you’re very special. Can you smile for me?”

You gave the nice man a big grin, and he picked you up once, more and walked out of the car. That was the last time you ever saw him, and your parents.

End of FlashBack

You often wondered about Oda, the nice man who took you away from your parents. You often about how Dazai, when he was younger looked a lot like the scary man who almost killed you that day. But Mori would never answer these questions when you asked about them. So, you stopped asking.

3rd Person POV:

Chuuya wasn’t surprised to see you had moved away from the door, where he had left you last night.

He was however, surprised to see you curled up on the floor, using a bathroom towel as a blanket

He walked over to you, and shook you lightly on the shoulder. “Y/N? What are you-”

White hot pain pierced his thigh, and he screeched as you sliced a long gash down it, blood seeping through his pajama pants. He activated his ability, sending you flying across the room. Your recovery time was insane, because before he could blink, you were attacking again.

He knew you weren’t yourself, he saw it in the way your eyes were blinded by pure terror. You kept using your ability in short spurts, disappearing and reappearing in different places. What he wouldn’t give to have Dazai’s ability right now. Even in your fear, you were smart.

You had sustained several injury's, and blood was dripping down into your right eye.

But you kept going.

Prolonged use of your ability made you exhausted, and he could see it in the way you swayed on your feet. You disappeared again, but this time reappeared in the kitchen. There you slumped against the kitchen island, exhaustion finally getting the better of you.

Ability still activated, Chuuya walked towards you calmly, trying not to spook you.

“Y/N? Hey hey, can you please put the knife down? It’s me, Chuuya,”

The fog cleared from your eye’s, and the knife clattered to the ground.

You fell to your knee’s holding your head in your hands.

“I'm sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-”

“Hey calm down, it’s alright, I'm right here,”

He pried your hands away from your head, noticing how tears were freely flowing down your cheeks. He doubt you even noticed them, too preoccupied mumbling apology's and breathing rapidly.

“Hey, look at me,” He spoke in a calm, soothing tone. “You’re okay. You’re at my house, and I’m alright. Let’s get you upstairs and clean you up, okay?”

You nodded slowly, shakily getting up and starting to walk towards the stairs. Chuuya looped his arm over your shoulder to support you as you walked. Slowly but surely, you managed the stairs.

“I’m going to give you some of my clothes to wear, okay? We’re about the same size, so we should be fine,”

He handed you a pair of grey sweatpants and a black sweatshirt, then stepped out of the room so you could change.

While he sat outside the door, he contemplated what could have caused this episode. He’d read the file on your ability, and as far as he understood, you could use it on yourself, and not necessarily just other people. So, it’s possible that when you dream, your ability activates and you genuinely experience them. And because you’d been through intense training since ten, he doubted your dreams were all that pleasant. He came to the conclusion that you were still under the influence of your own illusion, and assumed he was an attacker.

The door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, and he snapped his head up to where you were standing rather uncomfortable in his clothes.

“All right, I have a medicine kit in my bathroom, we can get you patched up in there,”

You were silent the whole time he cleaned you wounds, and did not even peep or stiffen when he put alcohol on a particularly nasty cut on your face.

“There, all finished,”

You never moved from your spot on the side of the bathtub, looking at the cold tiles on the bathroom floor.

“Why,” You whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you treat me so nicely? I'm just a tool, something replaceable,” you’re voice rose with each passing second, and your eyes burned with unshed tears.

“I can’t even do my job right. If I can’t do that, then what am i worth? I’m meant to be used and thrown away, that's what Mori always told me, That’s what Dazai always told me!”

“So why,” You glanced up at Chuuya’s face, his cerulean depths brimming with guilt and sadness.

“WHY DO YOU KEEP TREATING ME LIKE I’M WORTH SOMETHING?” You were full on sobbing now, an action you hadn’t done in a long time. The tears on your face felt foreign, and you were confused. Why were you crying? You’re stronger than this. Stop it stop it Stop It.

“I treat you like you’re worth something because you are. You are no less human than I am, and you are worth neither more nor less than Dazai. You are not a tool, you are a human being. I don’t care what Mori and Dazai said, I will continue treating you with respect and decency, because you are not replaceable,”

Though you knew Chuuya had no reason to lie, you had a hard time believing his words. It had been drilled into you that you were just a toll, only meant to follow orders for so long you had a hard time believing anything else.

But that doesn’t mean you didn’t want to believe Chuuya’s statement.

“Come on, you look exhausted. I know you slept on the floor all night, so you’re going to sleep in a real bed. No buts,” He finished when he saw you open your mouth to protest.

“At least let me clean your injury first,”

Chuuya waved his hand. “I’ll deal with it. It’s not your fault, i should have known startling you wasn’t a good idea. Go get into my bed. That’s an order, Y/N,”

You limped lightly over to the bed and crawled under the silk sheets, thinking they were too nice. The comfortable mattress and expensive sheets were a sharp turn away from the cold, dirty, concrete you slept on when you lived at the Port Mafia hq.

Nevertheless, you were exhausted from using your ability for so long, so you fell asleep to the sound of Chuuya humming as he stitched his leg.

A/N: this is knife i was describing, for reference:

It’s called a karambit :)

#chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #dazai #atsushi #kunikida #junichiro #kenji #yosano #mori #ranpo

93 notes · View notes

flamehairedwritings · 4 years

Text

The Fiancé: Chapter Six

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, apartment sharing, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The title has been taken from the Ella Fitzgerald song of the same name.

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

It’s Only A Paper Moon

WEDNESDAY

“I am in heaven.”

“Doll’, this is Y/N’s wedding, not yours.”

“We have the whole place to ourselves, I can try on one thing, right?”

Well, the first part of that is true. Sitting on a couch not designed for sitting on, you play with your hands in your lap as your gaze travels the room. Nat had, she’d told you before you’d left that morning, bought the whole place out, for the sake of sensationalism, security and it just seemed like something a very famous person would do.

‘Sensationalism’ is so far so successful; there is a crowd of people similar in size to the one at the cake shop outside, trying to look through the French windows, though you’re located at the back of the shop. As for security, it means Nat doesn’t have to plant people inside and you won’t get crowded and overwhelmed by people coming up to you, and for seeming like something a famous person would do? Yeah, probably, you don’t know.

“Just have some fun,” Nat had said as you’d gone down in the elevator. “It’s just trying on some dresses and having a fun time with your friends.”

Fun.

You’d nearly laughed. But, you’d just smiled and nodded, because that’s what you do now, smile and nod and go along with things. If you don’t, that leads to conversations, and conversations lead to you having to admit to things, like the panic attack you’d had that morning as you’d dressed or the fact you have feelings for your best friend and every moment of this week is both wonderful and torturous.

Speaking of... you haven’t seen Steve today.

Last night, after you’d woken up from your nap, you’d showered, masturbated while in there, ‘cause, hey, things had only gotten more stressful, and changed and wandered downstairs, but Steve was nowhere to be seen. Then you’d heard sounds of machines in the gym room and realised he was working out. He’d left a note for you on the island, though, saying there were leftovers in the oven of what he’d cooked. You’d eaten alone, watching TV.

You did that for about two hours, and Steve didn’t emerge once, still working out. You hadn’t thought anything of it, though, he is super-human. So, you’d gone to bed, leaving him a note in return saying thank you, you hadn’t wanted to disturb him and that you were going to bed, with a little drawn smiley face.

There’d been no note when you’d come down after calming yourself and pulling your shoes on, not wanting to be caught out like yesterday morning, just Nat.

But space is good for you two.

Even if you never usually go this long without at least messaging each other.

But this isn’t a ‘usually’ time.

“Y/N?”

The Christmas jazz music filters back into your hearing as your head snaps up to look at Dolly, sat on a gorgeous pale pink shell chair, her big eyes wider than usual.

“Yeah, sorry?”

Her smile is wide and her eyes seem to be only getting wider. “I can try on one thing, right?”

You nod as you smile. “Uh, yeah. As bridesmaids, you probably actually should try something.”

She releases a sound akin to a squeal and claps her hands together. “Great! What colour do you want for us?”

“Uh...” Oh, you know this, you talked about it with Nat in the car... “... Red.”

Bridget looks at you, then exhales a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, I thought you were gonna carry on and say ‘white and blue’.”

Your lips twitch as you tilt your head. “Come on, we’re not gonna be that on the nose.”

Bridget raises their eyebrows but before they can retort a woman, Sally, appears with an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne inside, and three glasses. All three of you give some kind of very grateful sound before thanking her as she sets them down on the glass table before you. You also all cheer as she pops the champagne, (God, who are we... desperate for free alcohol, that’s who), and thank her again as she fills the glasses and hands one to you each.

Beaming, she stands back, her hands clasped together. “Can I get anything else for y’all?”

You hum as you quickly swallow your mouthful. “Mmh. Yes, please. Do you have any dresses in red, for these two?”

She glances at them, her gaze sweeping over them and you realise she’s expertly measuring them, and nods. “Absolutely. What style would you like?”

“Uh, any, we’ve got time.”

Her beam grows as she nods. “Wonderful, I’ll be five minutes.”

You take another sip as she trots off to the back room. Much like at the cake shop, you’d said to the shop attendants assisting you, all five of them now having nothing to do but assist you, that you will try everything and anything. Like Damilola, they’d looked delighted, probably used to, as you’d seen on reality shows, people coming in with very specific requests.

And, boy, do you all have the time to try every damn thing on. Dolly and Bridget have the day off, Yvette being very understanding at the short notice, officially, though unofficially she probably isn’t too pleased to not have her best receptionist and the Head of IT on the same day.

Who am I kidding, she never breaks a sweat. Probably a good time to get those interns trained up, too.

You also have the time as you were meant to be visiting two places today, though the first hadn’t exactly gone to plan. In other words, you’d walked out.

“Oh, our, uhm, our plus-size section isn’t very large.”

You fold your arms as Bridget raises their eyebrows and Dolly narrows her eyes.

“Oh? And why not?”

The woman, Candace, looks between you, her cheeks pink. “Oh, because we, uhm...”

You raise your eyebrows, placing your hands on the counter. “I’m about to blow your mind, Candace, but bigger people get married, too. And you’ve just lost my custom.”

You’d walked out seconds after, a smug smile hinting on your lips as Candace had called after you, practically begging for you to return, that they could order whatever you wanted in, but you’d just kept walking, Bridget telling Candace to save it as Dolly looped her arm through yours.

Nat had apologised profusely once you’d gotten into the SUV she was going to spend the day ferrying you three around in, saying it hadn’t occurred to her to check, as Dolly and Bridget had stared at her, still unused to being in her presence.

Of course it hadn’t occurred to her.

This place, though, The Pearl... It’s gorgeous. Despite not having felt offended at the last place, just angry and exasperated, you couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. What if this was going to be your whole day? Going from place to place just because they were dumb and exclusionary? You’d felt welcomed the moment you walked in, though, all five assistants and Sally smiling as they greeted each of you in turn, and all Sally, obviously the senior member from how she led the conversation, had done was ask you your usual dress size and that had been it.

You look at the interior again, taking in the pale pink and white walls, framed photos on them of dresses or models in them, or real people on their wedding days in them, the plush cream carpet, the crystal chandeliers, the gorgeously decorated Christmas trees in each corner, the fairy lights adorning the counter by the front door.

Yeah... I can have fun here. And why the fuck not? Trying on dresses is always fun, no matter what, and there’s free champagne and I’m here with Dolly and Bridge’.

Sitting back on the pale pink couch, the tightening in your chest easing, you sip your champagne with a smile.

Am I a champagne person now? This week’s telling me yes.

Bridget stretches their legs out as they sigh contentedly. Looking at you, they smile softly. “How are you feeling about the interview?”

You pull a face as you hold the glass between both hands. “You know about that?”

“Uh, it’s been trending on Twitter for the last two days is all anyone’s talking about.”

You groan as you take another, longer sip.

“So how do you feel?” Dolly gently repeats the question.

You smile lightly, looking between them with raised brows. “How do you think?”

She smiles softly, endearing assurance in her tone. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Then again... you can talk about it freely with these two, they’ll understand without feeling guilty or worrying too much or treating you like a breakable vase.

You exhale a breath, one you feel like you’ve been holding for days. “I don’t know, it’s live and we haven’t been able to get an idea of what they’re gonna ask yet and... I just don’t want to think about it too much, really.”

Bridget rests their arm on the back of the couch, turning their body to you. “That’s not like you. I’ve watched you spend months preparing for one meeting.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.” They point a finger at you. “This is a meeting, and you’re pitching your marriage.”

You have no idea how close to the truth that is.

You take a breath. “Can I practise on you two, then?”

Both of them perk up, smiles wide.

“Absolutely!” Dolly enthuses. “We’ve been dying for you to tell us all the details, we’ve been so patient.”

“And a little bit offended,” Bridget adds good-naturedly with an arched brow.

“I know, I know,” you smile, even as your chest twinges.

“It’s fine, two birds, one stone, you can make up for it now and practise,” Bridget says, holding their glass on their knee and fixing you with an expectant gaze and adopting a stereotypical news reader voice. “So, how did this happen, when was the first kiss, the first fondle, the engagement, I want every dirty detail, and the romantic details, too.”

“Okay,” you say through your laughter as Dolly giggles. “All right, all right... God, I’m gonna need more champagne.”

—

He could see the headline now; Cap Goes To Seek Former Flame’s Approval!

At least it would be better than the one’s that had been written when he’d gone on two dates with Sharon. Had that been why they’d both ended it? The media pressure, the questions, the constant hounding? No, but maybe that had been a factor in it. Sharon is great, but... He hadn’t felt a real connection, and neither had she.

He’d only felt that connection a few times in his life, so he knew when something was worth fighting for.

"Engaged, hm?” Peggy Carter fixes him with her gaze, an eyebrow arched, and, God, nothing ever passes her by, not even now.

A smile pulling at his lips, he raises his own eyebrows a little. “Peg—”

She exhales a laugh. “You can’t tell me, I understand.” Lacing her fingers together on her stomach, she smiles. “I do like her.”

“You’ve never met her,” he reminds her gently.

“I know,” she adjusts her head on her pillow, “but the way you talk about her makes me like her. How is she doing with all of this?”

He nods, his own hands clasped together. “Okay, I think. She’s tough.”

Peggy looks at him, her jaw moving minutely. “Hm.”

“What?”

Her lips lift a little, her features soft. “People called me tough. Said I handled things okay. But I can’t tell you how many times I cried in my office, then pulled myself together. I don’t mind crying, it’s very therapeutic, but I would have hated them to see me do it, hated what they would have twisted it into. Or even some of my friends, how they might have gently told me to maybe cut back my hours or something like that, to take on less. But just because I cried it didn’t mean I couldn’t handle matters.”

Steve opens his mouth when she continues, “Did you know that after you went into the ice our relationship is all anyone wanted to talk to me about? Interview me about? Even when I became Director of SHIELD the same questions followed me around, ‘What do you think Steve would think? Would he be proud? Do you still miss him?’”

Something in him twists as he looks at her. “I’m sorry, Peg.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Lord, I’m not saying it to make you feel bad, Steve, still so dramatic...” Her features soften again, but her gaze fixes on his. “I’m just trying to give a little perspective, having been in the position she is. It’s not easy.”

He exhales a long breath, his shoulders dropping a little. “That’s what I’m afraid of, actually.”

Her brow dips. “What do you mean?”

“Like you just said, it’s not easy being with me.”

“Steve Rogers...” His gaze, having lowered, meets hers again, and he finds it faintly incredulous. “... It’s the easiest thing in the world being with you. You are easy to be with. It’s the rest of the world that’s the problem.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I liked where that was goin’ but that last part doesn’t make me feel any better.”

She huffs out a laugh, tilting her head. “But the rest of the world doesn’t matter, though, does it? Not if you’re with someone you love, hm?”

He looks at her, his lips lifting a little higher. “No, it doesn’t.”

—

“... So, it was only a couple of weeks ago... We were out at the park we like to walk in, you know the one, I go on about it all the time, the trees are always on my Instagram ‘cause it’s just so pretty, ‘nd it’s quiet, y’know, we’re in the middle of winter, and it’s dark, no one wants to really be out walking, except us...”

You’ve had a bit more champagne than you probably should, but, hey, go away, morals, this is a nice story.

“... so we’re walking, and we’re just talking, and then we stop, and we’re looking up at the stars...”

Dolly, Bridget, Sally, and the other five shop assistants, Donna, Nicole, Max, Jamie and Priya all sigh together at the imagery, and your eyebrows raise and you nod in an expression of, ‘I know’.

“... and then he just gets down on one knee and asks me to marry him.”

They all sigh again, a couple of them putting their hands to their chests and ‘aww’ing and you nod as you sip your champagne because, yeah, that is very cute.

Good one, me.

“What did he say? How did he ask you?” Max asks, all the assistants bunched together on a long couch they’d dragged over.

You take another, longer sip of champagne because what did he say...

“... Oh, well, that’s just between me and him,” you say with a coy smile and they all boo good-naturedly.

Nice one.

“That’s such a lovely story,” Sally smiles warmly and you return it before raising your eyebrows.

“Shall we carry on trying these gorgeous dresses?”

They all cheer and the assistants get to their feet and scurry off to the back to find more for you and Dolly and Bridget. You look at your two friends, Dolly in a yellow ballgown, Bridget in a multi-coloured floral suit, and beam. You are wearing an ivory lace number that hugs your figure and then flows out just below your hips, and are trying very hard not to spill champagne on it.

The session had quickly escalated into Dolly and Bridget trying on whatever they wanted between red dresses, and you just putting on whatever was brought out. You’d told Sally you were here to get an idea of what you wanted, but that you’d be returning very soon. Nat has scheduled in another dress shopping day for Friday and you’d quickly messaged her about half an hour ago while you were changing to cancel wherever that was and make it here. She hadn’t argued.

You’re also giving little bits of details here and there to practise for the interview, your first kiss (at your place after watching a film), when you’d said I love you, (at his place after having dinner and watching a film together), and the story of how he proposed. You’re going to have to remember all this to tell Steve, though, so you keep making notes on your phone as you get changed.

You’ve also sent him a message because you still haven’t spoken.

You know he’s with Peggy, though, so he absolutely won’t be checking his phone, but...

It just feels strange.

“Right...” Your attention comes back into the room as Sally and Jamie appear with an armful of dresses each, “... We have a vintage style one here that we think y’all are gonna love.”

Dolly claps her hands together as Bridget gasps dramatically.

“Vintage? Oh, he’s absolutely gonna love that.”

You don’t know why that makes you feel warm. It’s not like he’s actually going to see you in it... Unless...

—

“... Thank you so much! ... We will! We’ll see you Friday!”

You have to practically drag Dolly out of the back doors of The Pearl, the three of you giggling as you wave at the assistants. Who knew you could become such firm friends with people in the space of in five hours? Well, two bottles of champagne will do that.

You’re on the higher end of tipsy, in a lovely, warm, chatty way, and you have lined your stomach and soaked some of it up, Sally having ordered you all food so you wouldn’t have to leave and 1) Face the crowd, and 2) You couldn’t be bothered to leave, really.

The crowd is also the reason you’re leaving out the back doors, none of you wanting to face the horde outside. It has grown throughout the day, people desperate to get even the tiniest glimpse of you and what you’re wearing. Priya had closed the curtains after an hour, though, and they’d had two of their security guards stationed outside the front doors and it was just bliss. You’d had the chance to forget all about the outside world and just have some fun. Moving across the staff parking lot for The Pearl and a couple of surrounding shops, people haven’t had the chance to get in because it’s guarded, and the man whose job that is looks up from his newspaper in his little station, then looks back down.

Bliss.

Nat waits for you in the SUV, those sunglasses on, one hand leaning against the steering wheel.

“Such a ‘top’ pose,” Bridget stage-whispers and you’re all falling into giggles again.

You’re still gigging as you climb into the car, you in the passenger seat, Dolly and Bridget behind you. Nat’s lips twitch as she raises an eyebrow.

“Did we all have a fun time?”

“So fun.” Dolly, who is usually the most intimidated by Nat, which isn’t surprising considering she has a crush on her and they’ve both only met her three times before, including today, launches into a glowing review of the shop and day, “Everyone was so nice and the dresses and suits and jumpsuits and shoes are gorgeous, I can’t wait until we go back, oh my God, it’s all I’m gonna think about tomorrow...”

Nat’s smile lingers on her lips as she heads towards Dolly’s apartment, Dolly carrying on for the whole journey with Bridget occasionally butting in to add a comment. You laugh the whole way, your cheeks almost hurting from how much you’ve been grinning.

Nat parks up outside Dolly’s building, and turns in her seat, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head and meeting Dolly’s gaze, which provokes a pink blush to rise on her cheeks.

“Sounds like a really good day, then.”

Dolly just nods now, swallowing lightly. “Yep.”

Glancing from her to Bridget, Nat smiles and you think you hear Bridget let out the quietest of sounds. Wanting to save them both, or maybe they don’t want to be saved, they could be loving gazing into her eyes, who knows at this point, you turn to them, too.

“Oke doke, we’ll see you later, Doll’, I’ll text you when Sam and I are on the way.”

Bridget’s eyes whip to you, their mouth dropping open. “Sam’s picking us up?!”

You can’t stop your smile from widening, your eyebrows rising. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God, right, I need to go home and get ready now, Doll’ get out, I only have three hours, oh my God...”

Dolly is laughing so hard she nearly trips out of the SUV, and one hand is on your chest as the other wipes at your eyes as you laugh. Dolly waves from the pavement as she grins before she trots into the building, and all feelings of intimidation have left Bridget as they point ahead.

“Step on it, Nat, this is a national emergency, go...”

Nat just shakes her head as she turns back around, but she’s still smiling and you’re still laughing. “All right, all right, don’t worry, hold on...”

And, boy, does she mean it.

How does she drive this fast and this safely.

—

There’s just something about getting ready for a night-out while you’re tipsy.

Sometimes, if you haven’t had a chance to pre-drink, you have a few moments of ‘ugh, do I really want to go out, I can’t be bothered, there’s that new show out, I’m so tired, oh my God, what if I do something embarrassing...’ but now, the champagne having only worn off a little from what you made yourself for dinner, and, okay, it probably didn’t help that you also made yourself an alcoholic beverage to have with it, you’re still quite buzzed.

Steve hadn’t been home yet and Nat had left a few minutes after making sure you were inside the penthouse so you’d been able to play your music and yell along to it. You’d been able to take your time getting ready, trying on a few outfits before settling on a true classic number that makes a lot of appearances on nights out because 1) you look amazing in it, and 2) you look really damn amazing in it.

You’d even, Nat having requested it, taken a selfie once you were ready and uploaded it to your Instagram story, along with a few gifs of glasses clinking together and someone dancing.

Job done, you’d returned to the group chat you have with Dolly and Bridget and sent them the picture, accompanied with, ‘time to fuckin party’. You could send them a picture of you in a bin bag and they’d still reply with the same thing they do for every photo, and you would for them.

Bridge’ 🌟: Y E S

Dolly ✨: WHO IS SHE???

Bridge’ 🌟: INCREDIBLE, SHOW STOPPING, AMAZING, ICONIC, LIFE CHANGING

Dolly ✨: I LOVE IT

They swiftly send their own photos.

You: LOOK AT US

Bridge’ 🌟: WHO ARE WE

God, they’re great.

You ignored the slight, unpleasant flip in your stomach at seeing Steve’s message, that he sent an hour ago and you haven’t replied to yet.

I hope you had a good day, have fun tonight x

You message each other every day so you never send ‘kisses’, so this just makes you think he’s done it to soften the blow of a slightly blunt message. Is it blunt? Or are you reading too much in to it? He has had a busy day based on what Nat told you when she’d driven you to the penthouse. He was seeing Peggy all day and then going over to Bucky’s to see him, and then they are going to have their own night out.

That’s busy, right.

Whatever, he doesn’t have to reply all the time, it’s fine.

You reply:

Thanks, you too! :-) x

Which is the kind of reply you’d give to someone at work.

You’d ignored your phone vibrating as people, strangers, react to your Instagram story, slipped it into your bag and headed downstairs.

If you were an ego-maniac, Sam’s reaction on top of your friends would just make your head explode.

“Well, hello, ma’am!”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Nu-uh, let me look at you... Wo-ow. You look amazing.”

“Stop it... but thank you, I know.”

The moment you got into his SUV, (does everyone get one the moment they join SHIELD?) he has music playing that you can both sing along and dance in your seats to. Bridget had told you to pick them up last to give them more time so you swing by Dolly’s place first and she looks gorgeous as always in a short, glittery pink dress with matching eyeshadow and lipstick, her blonde hair curled and bouncing.

You give little squeals as you see each other, despite having only seen each other a few hours ago, and she’s definitely still buzzed, too. Sam gives her the same reaction he gave you and, God, you love him.

As you pull up outside Bridget’s building, you can’t stop meeting Dolly’s gaze in the rear-view mirror, your lips twitching. She’s doing a worst job than you at hiding her smile, her hand in front of her mouth, and you’re both trying so hard to stop a laugh.

It escapes when he gets out of the car and closes the door and you’re both turning in your seats to stare at Bridget as they walk out, gorgeous as always in a buttoned up, black blazer with no shirt underneath and matching black shorts, one side of their head freshly shaved. Dolly’s hand darts out and grips your arm as Sam approaches them and kisses their cheek and they’re both smiling but you can’t hear what they’re saying and you hate SUVs, are these things sound-proof, I’ll ask Nat...

As they climb into the car, you and Dolly are staring at Bridget, smiling. They just raise their eyebrows, grinning and say, “Hey, girls.”

“Well, hello.”

“Hi.”

You have to once again stop a laugh as Sam starts to drive, turning the music up, and you were all soon yelling along to the songs.

Now here you are, at a roof-top bar, being escorted to a table that had been reserved for you. Usually, you’d go to your favourite bar opposite work but Sam had gently insisted that you move it to another place he was more familiar with and where he could have better access to an exit and eyes on you. For a place simply titled The Venue, it’s very nice up here; it’s large, fire pits and heaters dotted around so you can’t feel the cold, a stunning view of the city, low, sultry tunes playing, a dance-floor in one corner, everything either purple, red, or gold. There’s even table service, and you recognise a few people dotted around.

“Is that—”

“Oh my God, yes...” Bridget whispers back to Dolly’s question as they stare at a table a little way away.

Your lips twitch as you each take a seat at a wooden table with a candle on it, the chairs red and plush. Your server informs you that a tab has already been set up for you, so you each grab a menu and debate for a good few minutes about what to get, the server standing patiently. Settling on cocktails, the server leaves with a beam, promising to be back in a few minutes.

“God, this place is fancy,” Bridget says, turning in their seat to get another look at everything.

“And we actually have a table!” Dolly sighs delightedly.

“Perks of being Mrs America, huh?” Bridget turns back around to look at you, their eyebrows raising with a smirk.

You snort, your cheeks heating. “Not quite yet.”

Bridget opens their mouth but Dolly gets in first, gasping suddenly. “Did you see the news by the way?”

You pull a slight face. “No, I don’t tend to look at it anymore.”

She beams, her eyes sparkling. “Well, what happened at the dress shop, at the first place, everyone’s talking about it. People are so happy you said something and brought attention to it, there’s so many discussions being had about the wedding dress industry and the fashion industry in general when it comes to plus size clothing.”

The server returns before you can reply, and as she sets your drinks down you feel heat rise on your face again as you bite at your lower lip, pride spreading through you.

Well... Great power, great responsibility... I could get all kinds of stuff to be talked about... Note to self, change world tomorrow.

The three of you take long sips of your chosen drinks, humming in delight at the taste. As you lick your lips and set your glass down, Bridget places their arms on the table and leans forward.

“Now, come on, Y/N...”

Your eyebrows raise. “... What?”

Bridget tilts their head. “What’s he like in bed.”

You give your best scandalised gasp as Dolly laughs and Bridget smirks, continuing, “He’s kinky, isn’t he? It’s always the quiet ones...”

“Bridget Sanderson,” you gasp again, even as you grin, Dolly’s laugh infectious, “A lady never tells.”

“Well, you ain’t no lady so spill.”

You take a long sip of your drink to buy some time.

Could you? Should you?

Well, I’m in this far... And they won’t let it slide...

Licking your lips, you lean forward and lower your voice. “All the details?”

Dolly giggles and claps her hands together as Bridget grins. “All of them, you saucy bitch.”

—

Who knew you were so imaginative. Who knew you could remember every detail of every fantasy you have ever had about your best friend. Who knew you could think up such filthy, delightful things. Who knew you’d start comparing these imaginings with actual things you’ve done in your life, and that Dolly and Bridget have done with their sexual partners.

Who knew all three of you could drink so much.

Sorry to whoever’s paying the tab. The government? Shit, sorry, government, no wait, no I’m not, another round!

As the server, Melanie, you found out is her name while ordering the second drink, brings you your fourth drinks, you’re currently in the middle of laughing so hard it hurts at a story Dolly is telling of a sexual encounter, tears streaming from your eyes.

“... and then...” She dissolves into laughter herself, leaning over. “... and then her cat came in and it just, it just sat on the bedside table and made eye contact with me and...” God, you bloody love her laugh. “... she was doin’ such great things and sayin’ such good dirty talk but all I could do was stare at this cat and I just felt like apologising to it... and then it just started licking itself!”

Bridget is practically curled up in their chair as they laugh and you’re having to wipe at your cheeks, practically crying. Once you’ve all calmed down, you blow out a breath and massage your stomach.

“Oh my God, Doll’, I can’t believe you never told us that story...”

“I’m gonna wanna hear it again every day,” Bridget says, running a hand through their hair as they grin.

Dolly beams, sipping her drink. “I’d forgotten ‘bout it, think I repressed it.”

“So Steve’s into dirty talk, too, huh?” Bridget asks, sipping their own drink.

You nod several times, because part of you had always just thought, with him being such a great commander and leader, that he would be... and you’ve already told them that he is. “Mmhm, he’s made me come by jus’ his words alone.”

“No.”

“Get th’ fuck outta here.”

You nod smugly, your tongue catching your straw and you take a long sip. Not a total lie, you’ve imagined his voice in your ear several times... with a vibrator helping you along. And, hey, you won’t feel guilty about any of this ‘cause this is boosting his image... to your friends.

Dolly’s eye are wide and she and Bridget lean in, wanting more sordid details. You grin, happy to oblige and divulge more of your fantasies.

“So, it was when he was away one time ‘nd he called me ‘nd—”

“Excuse me?”

All three of you pause and turn to look at a woman, close to your age, smiling as she pushes her brown straight hair over her shoulder.

“Hi.”

“H’llo.”

“Hiya.”

“Hey,” she says, holding a phone in her hands as she looks at you. “I’m sorry to bother you, but can my friends and I get a photo with you?”

You blink, and look at her. Did... Yeah, you heard it right. Photo? With you?

You nod quickly, realising you’re just staring and silent. “Oh, yeah, sure, absolutely.”

What the fuck is happening. I hope I don’t sound as drunk as I feel. Or look it, oh my God, are my eyes open properly?

You push yourself up and, oh, fuck, yep, you’re drunk, and step around your chair as the woman beams and beckons her five friends over.

“Thank you so much!”

Bridget offers to take the photo, the woman very grateful, and she and her friends introduce themselves, a little tipsy and giddy with nerves and being with a celebrity, oh my God, I’m a celebrity, this is hilarious...

You stand in the middle, your arms around the girls either side of you, and you smile, making sure your eyes are open properly, as they pose. Bridget takes a few photos before smiling and handing the phone back to the first woman as they break away from you.

“Oh my God, thank you so much!”

“You’re so pretty!”

“We’re so jealous of you!”

You just smile and nod, trying to appear a little more sober.

“Thank you, have a nice night!” you call as they wander off, still giddy with excitement and all wanting to look at the photo.

Sitting back down, blinking, you look at Bridget and Dolly. They’re looking at you, blinking, too. It’s Bridget who finally speaks.

“... So, as you were sayin’ ‘bout gettin’ absolutely railed by America’s Finest?”

The three of you dissolve into giggles again, Dolly throwing her head back as Bridget leans over the table and your hands cover your mouth.

“Hey!”

Oh my God, I really am a celebrity.

Your wide smile lingering, you lower your hands and look up at the woman. You hear a chair scrape back on the stone floor somewhere as you pause. Hang on, you know this woman—

“You worthless bitch!”

Dolly screams as the woman throws some kind of small can at you and you’re suddenly drenched in a thick, liquid, your eyes closing just in time. Someone else screams as you hear Bridget shove their chair back and yell obscenities at the woman, lunging for her, but suddenly other voices are there, and they must be pulling the woman away because her own screams are coming from further and further away.

You’re frozen in your seat, hands half-raised. People are shouting around you but you barely listen. Dazed, your hands continue moving up, as they had been doing to protect yourself, and you wipe the liquid away from your eyes, and slowly open them.

You can feel the cold now, the heaters and fire-pits worthless, the liquid sticking to your skin and clothes. Or maybe you’re just shaking because you’re in shock.

You suddenly realise someone has been talking to you. Your head moving, you meet Sam’s gaze, suddenly feeling his hand on your back. His features are soft and his voice is gentle, but you can see the rage in his eyes.

“I got you, it’s all right. Can you get up? And we’ll get you out of here?”

You nod and lower your gaze, going to reach for your bag.

“It’s all right, I got it,” he says and your eyes move to his other hand, confirming that he does.

Getting to your feet, Sam’s arm goes around your shoulders and your feet are moving. People are still shouting, some trying to take photos, but there are people pushing them away, giving you and Sam space to head towards a door he’s leading you to.

It’s paint, you realise suddenly. Blue paint. You look back down at yourself again, watching it stain your skin and clothes.

“Where’s Bridge’ and Dolly?” you hear yourself ask.

“Another agent’s got ‘em, don’t worry, she’s gonna take ‘em home.”

Sam shoves the door open and you step into a stairwell, two men stood inside it. One of them moves to your left and you see an elevator, which the man opens by typing in a code on a keypad. Sam’s hand is still on your back, gently guiding you into it. The doors shut as the man types in another code, and Sam drops his hand from you and presses a button marked ‘B’. The elevator starts to descend and you stare at the doors.

“We’re gonna get you home, all right?” Sam says quietly, and you just nod, not caring to ask if he means home home, or the penthouse.

You hear him unzip his jacket. Yeah, it is hot in here. Your skin is warm all over and your throat feels tight, and you can’t quite take in a deep enough breath. Then you hear the sound of something ripping. Your gaze darting to Sam, he holds a section of his polo shirt in his hand and offers it to you. You stare at it, your brain putting the pieces together, and then you take it. You wipe at your eyes, mouth and face, and Sam zips his jacket back up and looks at you.

“You okay?” His voice is quiet again and you’re grateful for it because even the sound of his shirt tearing has made your heart beat faster.

“That was the woman from my work, who got in, wasn’t it?” you ask blankly, your volume matching his.

He shifts a little, scratching at his jaw as you hear him release a breath. “Yeah.”

You nod, swallowing hard and you wish the lump in your throat would go away. “Right.” He opens his mouth when you continue, finally meeting his gaze, “Why did you do that, Sam? You’ve blown your cover, surely, or they’ll know I’m being watched.”

He gives a light smile. “People will expect you to be watched, it would’ve been suspicious if no one stepped in.”

“Ah.” You start to wipe at your hands.

Sam tilts his head slightly, his smile softening. “And I wanted to get you out of there.”

You meet his gaze again, but you don’t have the energy to smile, despite the sentiment being touching, and just nod. His eyes linger on you as you look back down at your hands, concern swiftly replacing his smile.

The elevator slows then comes to a halt, the doors sliding open a moment later, and the cold night air washes over you as you both step out into the underground parking garage, yet another one, Sam’s hand returning to your back. The place is silent, and you spot Sam’s SUV amongst a few other cars, both of you heading towards it. He gestures to someone in another car but you don’t care to look, assuming it’s another agent.

He moves a step ahead of you to open the passenger side door and you stop abruptly.

“What?” he says instantly, tensing.

“The paint. It’s gonna ruin the seat.”

He looks at you for a moment, his features relaxing into a smile. “Ah, that’s all right. That can be taken care of.”

You get in after he nods, and he places your bag on your lap. Closing the door, he jogs around to the driver’s side as you buckle your seatbelt then settle your hands over your bag, gripping it along with the piece of his shirt. Your eyes focus and stay on the dashboard as he secures his own seatbelt and puts the car into ‘drive’.

The barrier is more guarded than the other parking garages you’d been in this week but that hasn’t stopped paparazzi and occupants of the building from gathering, assuming that’s how you’d leave the area. You keep your eyes on the dashboard as lights flash and people shout.

Shouting, always shouting.

Sam doesn’t drive as fast as Nat, but he’s goes at some speed when you’re out on the main road. “Steve’s gonna meet us at the apartment,” he says after a couple of minutes, keeping his eyes on the road, “He was out with Barnes.”

“Okay.” Your voice sounds small to your own ears, distant.

Neither of you talk.

You look at your hands, the paint dry and barely having come off from when you’d rubbed at them in the elevator.

You start rubbing at them again, then use your nail, trying to scrape what you can off.

“Shit...” Sam murmurs suddenly.

Glancing up at him, you find him looking in the rear-view mirror every few moments.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s followin’ us.”

Your stomach drops, and exhaustion hits you like a fucking freight train. From his reaction, you guess it’s not a news van.

Sam presses a button on the steering wheel and the sound of dialling fills the interior.

Nat answers on the first ring.

"Where are you?”

“Nat, we’re bein’ followed.”

“Shit. All right, there’s a car on the way. Change your route.”

“Okay.” He takes the next left, and you know your heart should be pounding but you’re just so tired.

“How far away are you?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Sam replies, glancing up at the rear-view mirror. “We’re definitely bein’ followed, Nat.”

“The car will be there in three minutes. Keep taking turns, it’ll follow behind them.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N, nearly home,” Sam murmurs.

“Mhm.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Nat asks, her voice a little softer.

“Mhm.”

Sam glances at you as he pulls up at a red light, his lips pressing together. “Not long now.”

“Mhm—”

The sound twists into a gasp as you’re thrown forward slightly, the seatbelt catching you. Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you lift your head and look in the wing mirror as Sam spits out a curse.

A car, its bonnet dented, is reversing... then it speeds towards you again.

“Sam—”

“I see it.”

“Sam, what’s going on?” Nat demands to know as Sam pushes his foot down on the accelerator, the SUV lurching forward.

“We just got hit, they’re tryna ram us.”

“Are you both okay?”

Sam’s expertly weaving through the traffic, leaving horns blaring in your wake, but he just keeps going.

“Y/N, you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” It’s an automatic response, but you think you are. Physically, at least. Whiplash will properly rear its head soon, though.

A faint memory comes to you, however, of Sam telling you all the SHIELD cars have been built to absorb the impact of things like this, it having happened a fair few times, leaving the occupants with minimal damage, if none, so maybe not.

“Are they still following?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Think we lost ‘em.” He only slows his speed a little, though.

“You’re right, the agents are following them now, just get back here as quick as you can.”

“All right.”

The call ends and Sam glances at you.

“Y/N, you gotta tell me if you’re not okay, are you hu—”

“I’m fine, Sam, thank you.” You swallow hard, the lump still in your throat.

He falls silent, leaving you be, and you’re grateful for it because you’re so fucking tired.

Several minutes later, he pulls up at the penthouse building and he makes you wait, sliding out of his seat and jogging round to open your door. People stare as he ushers you across the main foyer to the elevator that’ll take you up to your floor but you just look ahead. Thankfully, Sam doesn’t say a word as the elevator ascends and you just look at the doors. When they slide open at the penthouse floor and you step out into the tiny circular foyer, you let Sam get his keycard out, opening the door.

And then the noise washes over you.

People talking, to each other, over each other, on phones, demanding, ordering, snapping. You hear the door close and feel Sam behind you as you slowly walk down the short hallway, then into the living room area.

There are agents everywhere, maybe about twenty, all stood around, talking. Loudly.

They don’t look up at you as they continue on with whatever they’re doing, typing on tablets, staring at tablets, standing over a hologram of what you realise is the floor-plan of the penthouse.

“Y/N.” Your eyes dart up to Nat as she approaches, striding across the carpet. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Tired.”

“Okay.” Her gaze scans you, assessing, and you’re too drained to care that she knows you’re lying. Her hand settles on your arm gently and she holds your gaze, her voice lowering. “We analysed what this is, okay, we got the can of it from the woman, and it’s just paint—”

“Who is she?”

Nat pauses at your abrupt question, and you know she’s weighing up what to tell you. Her hand doesn’t move from your arm as she speaks, “Her name’s Marise Daniels. She’s one of Steve’s stalkers, we’ve been aware of her for a while.”

Stalkers. One of.

“Oh.”

“She...” Sam starts to say, choosing his own words carefully. “... She isn’t meant to be out, especially after what happened at your work.”

“Apparently there was a system error. Someone’s seriously fucked up,” Nat continues, the information new to you both considering Sam’s hissed release of a breath.

“Is that why these people are all here.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard your own voice sound so lifeless.

Nat pauses again, weighing her words again and, God, just tell me. “Someone tried to break in. They got into the elevator and overrode it, got up here but they couldn’t get in. The tampering alerted our systems but by the time we got here they’d gone. We’re checking CCTV footage now and asking people if they saw anything.”

You look at her, her words barely feeling like they reach you. “So why are all these people in here.”

Her hand is gently rubbing your arm now, and it’s faintly starting to ground you. “They’re checking the security systems in place here, making sure they’re secure or reinforced.”

“Okay.”

“They’ll be gone in thirty minutes, I promise.”

“Okay.”

She takes in a breath and smiles lightly. “How about we—”

“Agent Romanoff?”

A muscle in her jaw ticks slightly but she turns to the agent, her eyebrows raising. “Yeah?”

The agent lowers her phone from her ear. “Captain Rogers has helped to apprehend the suspect. He’s on his way over. Agents Moore and Lane are taking the suspect back to HQ.”

“All right, tell them to...”

Nat’s voice drops out of your hearing, and your gaze drifts to the stairs. Sam’s hand settles on your back, rubbing gently, and you remember that he’s there.

“I’m gonna... gonna go upstairs and wash this off,” you mumble to him, and you don’t hear if he replies as you move forward.

People don’t look at you, continuing with their business, talking, talking, talking. You reach the top of the stairs before you know it, opening your bedroom door. You close it behind you, muffling the sounds of the people downstairs.

Removing your shoes, you drop your bag to join them on the floor as you head to the bathroom. You pull your outfit off, letting it drop to the floor, too, you can deal with it later, hopefully the washing machine will get it out.

You turn the shower on and step under the water. Head down, you watch some of the blue paint start to wash off, swirling and whirling in the water and disappearing down the drain. Only a little, though.

You have to use your hands and the body-wash to get it off. Scrubbing at your skin. Scraping at it.

You’re in there for twenty minutes. Scrubbing. Scraping.

When you finally make yourself get out your skin feels raw. There’s still a faint stain in some parts, though. You grab a towel and use it to continue rubbing at your skin, blue now staining the cream softness of it. The rest of your skin is dry by the time you make yourself stop and you pull the robe on.

Then you look at yourself in the mirror.

The lump returns to your throat and tears fill your eyes. You look... drained. And you fucking feel it. You’re exhausted. So exhausted, in every single way. You’ve spent all week fighting so hard to stay up-beat, to stay positive, to make this work, to see the good sides, but the world isn’t allowing that. You’d just wanted to yell at the woman, Marise, that you are doing this to keep him safe, that he is in danger, and you are just doing this to keep your fucking best friend safe.

The fact there’s still some blue paint staining your cheeks and neck is what makes the tears finally spill down your face. Sniffing, you swallow hard and grab a hand towel, wetting it and scrubbing at your skin once more.

It’s not moving.

You inhale a quiet, shuddering breath, almost a sob, as you stare at your reflection, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.

Three gentle knocks sound on your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you say automatically, your voice cracking, and you wipe at your eyes.

You look up as the door opens and see in the reflection... Steve.

He pauses, the door nearly closed behind him. You sniff again as you look at him, his eyes assessing you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” you answer. You shrug then, your features crumbling. “... It’s not coming off.”

The door closes and he’s moving towards you.

“Come here, it’s okay...”

As you turn from the mirror, you’re then enveloped in his embrace, your cheek pressed against his chest as he holds you. A jagged sob escapes you as your arms go around him, holding onto his shirt, gripping it.

“It’s okay...” he murmurs again, and you feel his voice rumbling in his chest, his chin resting on your head.

You’ve tried so hard to stave off tears all week that now that you can, now you don’t care anymore, now that you’re so tired, they’re not stopping. The front of his grey shirt must be damp, now, and your throat hurts and your chest is heaving but you just let the tears come and come, and he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his hands occasionally stroking your back and arms gently.

It’s not until you start to draw back that he does, guiding you to the sit on the rim of the bath.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with one hand. “Still a bit drunk, I think.”

A corner of his mouth lifts a little as he crouches down before you and takes the hand towel. “You don’t need to apologise. You can cry as much as you like.”

Your own lips lift for a moment as you sniff, and then you want to cry all over again as he starts to gently dab at the stains on your face and neck. You watch him, your eyes tracing his nose and mouth, the small, concerned lines on his forehead. If he got into a fight with the suspect earlier, there’s no sign of it. His hair doesn’t even look tussled.

Your eyes continue moving and meet his. He lowers his hand and inhales a quiet breath.

“I’m sorry, about all of this, Y/N.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence. “Steve, it’s not your fault.”

He looks almost pained at that, shaking his own head. “I could’ve prevented you being in this situation, though, I knew the risks of—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt sharply, surprising you both, but you continue on, “I already know what you’re going to say, and I will take it all, all of this, if it means I get to be your friend. Like we’ve said, we’re a team in this. I really wouldn’t want anyone else as my fake fiancé or as my friend.”

A smile pulls at his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to take all this, though, you shouldn’t—”

“No, I shouldn’t. But I will.” Your hand has found his free one, and grips it gently.

He turns his hand over instantly, curling his fingers around your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His smile softens.

“I think the world’s finally gonna see the stubborn pain in the ass I have to deal with.”

You exhale a laugh, and his smile widens at seeing yours.

“Well, it’s only fair others should have to suffer,” you say, shrugging a shoulder.

“You’re right there.” He resumes dabbing at your skin as you look at him.

“How was your day?” you ask quietly after a few silent moments, knowing he’ll just ask how you are if it stretches any longer.

“It was okay.” He’s dabbing at your chin now. “Peg says hi, and that she understands what you’re going through.”

God, you just want to cry all over again.

Your chest warms as you smile. “Really? Maybe I should go on your next visit.”

“I think she’d really like that.” His thumb is still brushing over your knuckles, and you wonder if he realises he’s still doing it. “She knows this isn’t real, though, think she figured it out.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less. How was Bucky?”

“Fine. He says hello, too.”

“Wow, everyone’s being so kind to me today.”

He arches an eyebrow at you as you laugh, trying to stop himself from doing the same. “I don’t know whether it’s a good sign or not that you’re already joking about this.”

“Humour’s a great coping mechanism, you know that.”

He’s still smiling, but you can see the concern returning, so you quickly continue, taking your hand from his so you can raise a finger, raising your eyebrows, “Well, Doll’ and Bridge’ told me to tell you, by the way, well done, on having me as a fiancée.”

The corners of his mouth lift higher, now reaching his eyes. "Yeah, I know how lucky I am.”

“Oh, and, you proposed to me in our park, by the way.”

He tilts his head as you smile somewhat smugly. “Did I, now?”

“Yeah, under the stars.”

His eyebrows raise as he smiles widely. “Wow, you’re also very lucky, then.”

You wave your hand slightly. “I said a lot of stuff today, I’ll have to fill you in. I made notes.”

He chuckles as he lowers the towel from your face and rises to his feet. “You can show me my homework tomorrow.”

You watch him as he moves to the sink, dropping the towel into it, then raise your hand suddenly. “Oh, there was a dress I actually really liked there, too.”

“The one you sent me a picture of?”

You freeze, staring at him as he turns to you.

“... What?”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he moves back towards you, unlocking it, then taps on a couple of things before turning it towards you.

Ohp.

And there you are.

In the vintage style dress, cascading flutter sleeves stopping just below your elbows, tight on your breasts and with a v-neckline, satin gold, your hand on your waist, beaming at your reflection in the gold mirror at The Pearl.

Ah, now you remember sending it...

“... Yeah, that’s the one.”

“It’s really nice,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he offers you a hand to get to your feet. “You look great in it.”

Your face heats as you take his hand and get up, shrugging a shoulder and smiling. “Oh, well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Your hands drop, yours going to your side, his going into the pocket of his jeans. Looking up at him, you give a light smile, which he returns.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and you nod after a moment.

“Yeah. Just so fucking tired,” you say with a slight laugh. “Think I’m just gonna sleep now.”

He nods, his teeth grazing over his lower lip. “That sounds like a good idea. What a fuckin’ day, huh?”

You snort, your eyebrows raising. “Yeah, for both of us.”

He sighs, as if remembering that, oh, yeah, someone had tried to break in, too. “The agents have all gone, now. The place is even more secure, it’s like a fortress.”

“Well, that’s good.”

You head into the bedroom, and he follows you out, moving to the door. He opens it, turning to you, and you share another smile.

“Sure you’re okay?” he asks again, and you bite at your lower lip.

Stay.

You widen your smile. “Yeah. Just very ready for sleep.”

He nods, taps his fingers against the door and smiles. “All right. Goodnight. I’m just down the hall if you need me.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

Your smile lingers for a moment as the door closes, then fades as you hear him walk away.

—

Halfway down the stairs, Steve pauses, his hand on the railing.

He considers turning around.

Going back up the stairs.

Opening your door.

Taking you in his arms again.

After a minute, he carries on down.

—

In your pyjamas, phone in your hand, you climb into bed, sinking into the soft safeness of it.

You unlock it, finding several messages in the group chat from Dolly and Bridget, asking how you are, saying they’re home safe, that Sam had filled Bridget in and they’d filled Dolly in, that they both hope you’re okay.

You send a message back saying that you are okay, you’re tired, and that you’ll speak to them tomorrow, and you hope they’re okay.

There’s a message from someone else, too.

I’ve just seen what happened on the news, I really hope you’re okay x

I’d have a normal life with Aaron.

Where the fuck did that come from?

But you can’t help thinking it.

He’d slipped into your mind when you’d masturbated that morning. You hadn’t wanted to think about it. You’d just imagined him, out of curiosity at first, as he’d posted a photo on Instagram of him at the gym again, just to imagine what he’d be like, you do it with most people to pass the time... and then he’d stayed in your mind.

It had seemed... more real than when you’d imagine Steve. Probably because Steve is your best friend and you shouldn’t be thinking of him that way and you don’t want to ruin what you have, you really don’t, and Aaron... Aaron is the kind of person you could take a chance on.

You feel tears start to prick at your eyes because this is fucked, this is all so fucked, and you love your best friend and you can only think that in it’s entirety without your brain shutting down when you’re drunk or tipsy because it’s the only time your mind is free and you love him, you love him, you love him, you love him...

But there is no fucking way you will ever risk losing him as a friend.

—

Comments and reblogs make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in this series!

Tagged: @herb-welch, @jobean12-blog, @gifsbysimplysonia, @multireality, @saltyspiceduh, @sergeantangel, @sarcasm-is-my-native-tounge, @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky, @dispatchvampire, @superapplepie, @rynabarnesrogers-reading, @im-not-great-at-making-up-names, @imaginedreamwrite, @thesefleshfailures, @mrsbarnes32557038, @tellthemall-i-saidhi, @tacohead13, @opalsandlace, @notsomellowmushroom, @river-soul, @ollypopp, @byssheplease, @kimberliinabox, @ughofcourse, @sebbystanlover-vk, @vale0413, @donutloverxo

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #marvel fanfic #my writing #flamehairedwritings

74 notes · View notes

ghostofskywalker · 3 years

Note

i need advice, i am a pretty sporadic writer (i was in your fic exchange last fall, under the name ithehellisbucky, its my side blog) i write every day for a week and pump out three stories, and then i get 4 notes total and go radio silent for 5 months. i have done this many times with between 500- 6k words per fic. i never got any recognition, and as much as i didnt want to pressure anyone into anything my main reason for writing is to create a world to feel safe in, and when no one joins you in your world, you feel really lonely. i have pretty bad mental health issues, so i often switch from fandom to fandom (but i loop back around a bunch and am very committed) and i am in need of reassurance. im gonna finish up a request i got a while ago, and then im gonna go work on a series i wrote the first part of. so, my questions are:

should i publish under my main blog with a large following that i dont really want to be the same as my writing, or should i go back to my highly refined side writing blog that gave me 0 notes for 5000 words and 30 followers

how can i help myself write

how can i write better

and how can i grow my following

sorry for the intensity, i just need to ask someone :)

hi again! don’t feel bad, i totally understand needing someone to talk to 💕 i think the best way for me to answer is to just tackle your questions, i’ll do that first

i’ve gotten a similar question before, so i’ll also link that if you want to take a look :)

although i prefer a sideblog specifically for my xreader fics, i can understand why it’s not always the best idea. it’s kinda hard to get to know your mutuals, and replying to comments is always a bit awkward if the person doesn’t know your main blog. what you could do is post the fic to your sideblog and then reblog it to your main, that’s what i did for my first couple fics. this way if anyone follows your main and they also read the type of fic you’re posting to your sideblog, they might drop in and follow it if they already follow your other blog. or, you could make an entirely new blog and start completely fresh.

i would say the best way to get myself to write is to find like random prompt list on here and write from that. sometimes when i see people reblog prompt lists i’ll skim over them and i’ll be like “oh that prompt might work with bucky,” so if there’s a prompt that catches your eye just write it!

i’ve found that getting more comfortable writing allows me to both write more and improve my writing skills. i’m definitely not the person to talk to about time management though, i’ve been telling myself i need to take a break from writing since last october and i still sit down to try to write nearly every day like a monkey dancing for spare change at a carnival

as far as growing your following, the only thing i can think of is time. if your fics aren’t getting any notes, check to see if they made it into the tags immediately after you post, because tumblr has a notorious habit of not putting fics in the tags, and that stacks the system against new writers big time. other than that, events are a good way to get your name out :) i’m still running exchanges, but i’m doing them through tumblr rather than ao3 now because it’s a lot easier for everyone, and there’s just more people on here. also writing challenges are great, because those are normally done for high follower counts, so when the challenge runner reblogs your fic, more people will see it. you could also do one of those posts that’s like “i’m looking for mutuals” and then tag all the characters you write in the tags so people can find you!

also, another thing i discovered is that people don’t necessarily want 5k+ word fics. i’ve found that anywhere from 1k to 2.5k is a nice sweetspot for my writing. don’t freak out about your writing being too short, and as long as you like what you put out, other people will too.

also finding other writers who are in the same boat as you helps so much! a lot of tumblr (whether people want to admit it or not) is give and take, so if you find some people and you all reblog and hype each other up, it just benefits everyone :)

i hope this helped! if you have other questions i’m here 💕

#ghostofskywalker.ask #blondefrnk

5 notes · View notes

chaoticdean · 4 years

Text

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Monday 9 — prompt: undercover

Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through couple therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.

~ 2.6K

Warning: this story will be coming in at least 2 chapters, the second part will be posted next Monday as part of the Monday 10 prompt (free choice). Feel free to ask for me to tag you in any updates :)

Host : @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21 & @pray4jensen ♡

READ ON AO3

Going undercover as a couple would have been a brilliant idea to catch the monster they are after if only he wasn’t going undercover as a couple with Cas.

Not to get your ideas twisted, the situation felt more like a dream than a nightmare for Dean, which was the whole damn problem. It was far too easy to lose himself into the false pretense of them being an actual couple, to the point where he actually craved the connection.

“Dean? Are you listening?” Cas asks, and Dean realizes he’s been zoning out for two minutes.

“Yeah, sorry Cas. You were saying?”

“Sam thinks we’re hunting an Algea. They were the personified spirits of pain and suffering, grief, sorrow and distress, bringers of weeping and tears. The Algea were related to Oizys…”

They’ve been here for 12 hours, trying to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain. So far, 2 people have died here, at the Greystone Retreat in Nashville Tennessee, and the best way they found to try and bring it down was to go undercover as a couple having issues with their marriage.

Which would have been a brilliant idea, if Dean fucking Winchester wasn’t such a sucker for Castiel.

But choices were made, and his feelings for his best friend didn’t weigh heavily over saving dozens of people from a murderous maniac supernatural being. So obviously, when Sam pitched the idea, he and Cas were both immediately on board.

“You’re not listening to me.”

Cas’s voice suddenly breaks through his mind and he looks up to him from where he’s sitting on the bed. His tone isn’t questioning, it’s acknowledging.

“Silver kills it, a bullet through the heart. Right?” Dean finally answers, locking with Castiel’s cobalt blue eyes.

The angel is wearing a very different outfit from what he’s used to — “if we’re gonna sell the part about you and me being married, you’re gonna have to wear anything other than this dirty trench-coat and freaking suit that I’ve seen you in for a decade, Cas” Dean had said — and boy oh boy was it a mistake to request for him to wear this.

He’s wearing one of Dean’s pair of black jeans, the hems carefully folded to fit him perfectly, a pair of brown boots and a fitted navy shirt three buttons down that made his eyes pop.

And Dean’s going to fucking lose it at some point, because how the hell is he allowed to look this good while wearing Dean’s clothes? It feels like everything has been designed to fit every distinctive part of him in the most perfect way, and Dean is absolutely fucked.

Castiel finally sits on the chair facing the hunter, looking almost as distraught as Dean seems to be.

“What’s wrong with you? You seem very… agitated, yet not entirely there with me.” He asks, tilting his head in that particular gesture that was so Cas.

“I’m fine, Cas. I’m just tired. I’m gonna try and get some sleep if you don’t mind, you can keep on with the research if you want to.”

“Actually, I was thinking…” he stops, hesitating, his eyes flickering to the king-sized bed Dean is sitting on, “We should probably sleep together to maintain cover, if either the Algea during the night or the staff tomorrow morning comes in?”

Dean feels simultaneously like his heart has dropped ten stories and is gonna burst on fire. It didn’t occur to him that they might have to literally take their cover to bed.

He’s suddenly not entirely sure that this is either a dream or a nightmare.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice brings him back again, and he’s left staring into the angel’s blues.

“Y-yeah you’re right” he stutters, trying to keep his face neutral while his stomach is making loops inside, “we never know. Are you actually gonna sleep?”

A decade ago, Castiel didn’t need to sleep and would have gladly kept on doing research — or flown out to god knows where angels went after midnight— until the brothers would’ve been up and ready to go. Today was a different story, and he actually needed some sleep every now and then to recharge his angelic batteries. Judging by the yawn that just escaped his mouth, Dean figures tonight is one of those nights.

“Yeah, I think I might. Did you pack anything for me to sleep in? I think my sweatpants stayed in the bunker” Cas says with a soft smile.

Dean sighs, checking through his duffel bag to bring out a pair of navy sweatpants that seems to be there specifically for Cas — God bless Sam, but also fuck him a little, cause the color of these sweatpants completely matches Castiel navy shirt and God the things this color does to Castiel’s entire appearance should be fucking illegal.

Castiel thanks him and calls dibs on the shower, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts for 10 minutes, which he uses to check his emails, text Jack to make sure the kid is still alive and well watching Netflix in the bunker, and text Sam. When Cas comes out, wearing nothing but the damn sweatpants, his hair still wet from the shower sticking in 12 different directions and his chest entirely exposed, Dean feels like his eyes might drop to his feet and his head might explode. Thankfully, Castiel doesn’t seem to realize the effects he has on Dean.

“Can I borrow one of your shirts? I’m afraid I completely forgot to bring anything to sleep in. I can sleep like this if you don’t have a spare one” he says, rubbing his face in a way that makes him look inherently human.

“Yeah, sure. Here, take this one” Dean answers, tossing him an old well-worn Ramones shirt that he’s sure has been his for more than two decades.

Watching him put on his shirt, Dean is suddenly convinced the whole damn universe wants him dead. The thought of Castiel going back to his god-awful suit that hides his broad shoulders and, quite frankly, each of Cas’s most flattering body parts after this is almost insufferable right now.

“I thought you were going to the shower after me? Dean, are you alright?” Cas asks, visibly concerned by his partner’s apathy

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Jesus fucking Christ, for the last time, I’m fine!” Dean answers, trying to keep himself in check cause now is not the time to fucking lose it, Winchester.

But even the cold shower he inflicts himself with doesn’t seem to help with anything. When he gets back into their room, Castiel is already in bed, cuddled up into one of the cushions. If he didn’t know better, Dean would think he was already asleep. Silently slipping under the covers next to him, Dean lies on his side to watch him. The angel smiles softly.

“D’you keep wondering if I’m okay because you’re the one who’s actually not okay, Cas?” Dean asks, his voice low, watching the Angel for any kind of reaction.

“I think couple’s therapy is getting to your head, Dean.” Castiel chuckles, trying to sound offended.

“Bite me, Dr. Seuss.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking” Cas answers with a dramatic roll of his eyes that makes Dean smile even wider “Should we sleep now?”

“Yeah, yeah sleeping beauty. I’ll turn the lights off.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Cas.”

***

Dean wakes up screaming from a nightmare, the room still dark and Castiel hands on his shoulders. Nightmares from his time in hell don’t occur as much as they used to, but when they do it’s fucking pathetic how they turn Dean into an absolute mess.

“Dean.”

Castiel’s voice acts as a calming balm over the scars of Dean’s mind. He’s turned on the bedside table’s light, and Dean can see how concerned he is when he looks into his eyes.

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe.”

Dean sits up on the bed, suddenly realizing he’s covered in sweat and fuck, his head hurts like hell. One of Castiel’s hand finds its way to Dean shoulder, anchoring him to reality while he presses his face into his palms.

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe.” Castiel repeats, and as much as Dean hates feeling vulnerable, he’s okay with feeling vulnerable with Cas right now.

Castiel’s hand moves to his back, softly massaging his skin into soothing circles. He feels his body moving beside him, and suddenly Castiel’s face is pressed into his shoulder, his whole body against him.

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe.” Cas says again, like a mantra.

Dean closes his eyes again, listening to the calm in Castiel’s voice, enjoying the warmth of his body. After a while, his breath goes back to normal and he opens his eyes again, turning his face so that he can see Cas’s. The angel looks at him, although not moving from the spot on his shoulder where he seems completely content. And not removing his hand from his back either.

Not that Dean would actually complain.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asks, although he seems to already know the answer.

“Not really.”

Castiel gives him a small, reassuring smile, and starts removing himself from Dean’s personal space. The spot he occupied on his shoulder feels cold and the traces of his hand on his spine left tingles on every square of his skin. Dean reaches out, pulling Castiel’s wrist before the angel gets back to his sleep position.

“Cas, I don’t… Can you…”

There’s a beat in the room, and Castiel’s face softens. Dean has never asked Cas — or anyone in four decades — to stay with him after a nightmare. But he also never shared a bed with Cas in over a decade of knowing him, and the fact that he just spends half the day posing as his husband might have given him wings. And he could swear he sees a glimmer inside those ocean blues.

“Of course, Dean.”

The hunter falls back onto the mattress, and suddenly Castiel is there against him. It takes them a minute to adjust to each other, Castiel finding his spot in the crook of Dean’s neck, tucking his head right below his chin. Dean instantly wraps his arms around him, breathing in his scent — cheap shampoo, a hint of citrus and something he can never quite figure out —, his heart still thundering beneath Cas’s cheek.

“This is how it should be every other night” is the last thought that comes to Dean’s mind right before he falls back into the dark limbos of sleep again.

***

The unpleasant sound of an equally unpleasant alarm clock suddenly rips Dean away from a very comfortable sleep. Coming back to his senses, he quickly assesses the other body pressed against his, the other arm tucked around his waist, the face breathing hot against the skin of his neck, and the events from last night come back in waves.

His nightmares, Castiel’s soothing hand and voice, Dean basically asking him to cuddle back to sleep —

Shit.

Lost in the sensations, Dean doesn’t realize right away how something seems to be going on below his waist.

And Castiel is starting to move against him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Dean rapidly strips aways from a very sleepy angel, grabbing his jeans and tee-shirt to cover his prominent boner, and makes his way to the bathroom. The whole thing must have lasted 15 seconds tops, and suddenly he is alone with his dignity and half-hard cock.

Jesus Christ, let’s hope this cold shower does the trick, cause there’s no way he’s taking care of this 5 feet away from the reason why he’s like this in the first place.

Thankfully it does, and it takes Dean about 10mn to get back to the room fully showered and dressed, although still dizzy.

Castiel is still in bed and judging by his face, grumpily so.

And to Dean’s demise, he looks freaking fabulous. His bed hair is glorious, and the visible scruff on his face makes Dean want to crawl back into bed with his angel.

Control yourself Winchester, he thinks, briefly wondering when he started thinking of Cas as “his angel”. Probably somewhere between last night’s cuddle and 10 fucking years ago is the only answer that comes to mind.

Not that anything happened between them inside that bed, other than a reassuring presence in each other’s personal space.

But damn, Dean would do anything for this to happen over and over again.

Maybe he should.

“Morning, sunshine.” Dean says while sitting back on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots.

Castiel turns on his side to look at the hunter’s back, studying Dean’s movements.

“Dean, I love you, but it’s entirely too early to be awake.” Castiel sighs, and Dean’s heart explodes against his ribcage.

“It’s 8 am, what the fuck are you even talking about? Aren’t your angelic batteries charged up enough yet?”

“Not even remotely close. I feel like I’ve been rolled over by a garbage truck, while simultaneously being ripped apart by a shredder.” Cas says, his voice indeed sounding very tired.

“Oh, fancy.” Dean reacts, glancing at Castiel’s face and meeting his eyes “You’re gonna be okay, though?” He asks with a tiny smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Go get breakfast I’ll join you in 10.”

“Not sure it poses as a steady couple if we show up at separate times.”

“But I thought the whole point was to appear as a struggling couple?”

“Yeah, okay. See you in 10.”

Dean gives his partner a smile as he grabs his jacket on the back of the chair and leaves the room, letting Castiel struggle with his morning grump. He makes his way to the facility’s breakfast room, which is surprisingly crowded. The buffet is filled with stuff that makes the hunter’s stomach growl, and by the time Castiel joins him — wearing that damn navy shirt that makes Dean’s heart grow 10 times again — he’s already on his second set of pancakes.

“Anyone talked to you yet?” He asks, dropping on the chair facing Dean

“Nah. Here, I got you coffee. Figured it wouldn’t hurt your garbage-truck-slash-shredder body struggle.” Dean says with a smile, pushing a white paper cup towards the angel.

Castiel smiles at Dean softly, which Dean realizes he’s been doing a lot recently, and accepts the cup with a nod.

“Did you sleep okay? You know, after the.. nightmare.” He asks, carefully trying not to step into Dean’s feelings.

“Yeah. Thank you, Cas. For… well, you know.” Dean says.

He’s about to continue when the face of an employee of the facility appears in his field of view, and he immediately put on the mask of Dean Cartellone, who has been married to Castiel Cartellone for 2 years.

“Mister and Mister Cartellone! How is it going this morning?” The man asks with so much enthusiast in his voice it actually makes Dean’s brain tweak.

“Slowly” Cas grumbles into his coffee, clearly wanting nothing more than being left alone.

Dean gives him a look, and quick smile at the man, challenging his voice with as much enthusiast as the man — Steve, as the name tag said.

“Good, thanks Steve. What’s the program this morning?”

20 minutes after, Dean and Cas find themselves sitting on a couch in front of a therapist, and now Dean’s fucking convinced this was the worst idea they’ve ever had in a decade.

59 notes · View notes

quarantine-writer · 4 years

Text

Why do stray cats follow me? P. 3

I know it doesn’t look like it yet, but this is a (really slow burn) MariChat story. Please don’t hate me.

Part [1] [2] [3]

Adrien’s day had been tired so far. It started at 6 am with Gorilla waking him up.

“Where’s Nathalie?” He said, with his eyes still semi closed.

“... Not coming today.”

Adrien had a well-balanced, lonely, and healthy breakfast. At 7 am he was already in Pont de Bir-Hakeim for the ‘City Life Collection’ photo shoot of this year. Vincent was talking to the Art Director about locations and special lighting for the shoots when he spotted him.

“Adrien, you’re already here! Go to make up and dress yourself up with combo number 4 first.”

Walking to the dresser he saw Lila with the hair stylist and saluted them from afar. He already knew she was going to be there. For some reason unknown to him, his father agreed on three photo shoots with her. This was barely the second. And because she was good at it, it wouldn’t surprise him that she will eventually sign up for more.

Six long hours passed, and they were done. To celebrate, everyone in the set ate lunch together. Lila was stuck by his side and he didn’t push her off, to be fair, she wasn’t doing anything wrong to anyone that day, so he tried (and failed) to have fun as well. He meant it when he talked to her: they could be ‘friends’ but there was a limit to how much he will be able to endure, specifically if she insisted on hurting his friends.

"Adrien, do you want to go to somewhere else and enjoy the rest of the day with me?”

“Thank you, Lila, but I can’t”

“If it is because of your father, maybe I can talk to him?”

“I had plans with Nino today, but they got cancelled because Father wants me to practice a new song for an upcoming event. I don’t think his opinion will change.”

“Oh... okay, later then.”

Adrien entered his car without offering her a ride, Gorilla closed the door and Adrien lowered down the window. “Yes, later. Have a nice day, Lila”

“Bye!” Lila said and Gorilla started the engine and the car moved away from her, who kept waving goodbye until they disappeared in the next corner.

And it was true. Nino wanted to show him how to breakdance and he really wanted to learn, he didn’t specify with his father about the plans, but Gabriel Agreste had a sixth sense when it comes to letting him have fun with friends. Suddenly the day before he was informed that there will be an event host by the Tsurugi family next month and he was supposed to play a couple songs during the evening: “Painted” and “River Flows in You”, both from Yiruma.

He already knew the second one by heart. It was one of her mother’s favorites.

So, he returned to the mansion and started to practice the first one. For the first two hours he was practicing seriously. The third hour he recorded himself to create a loop that would be played later when Chat Noir went out to play.

Gorilla appeared at his door around two hours and a half later to give him some food. He returned the empty dishes just before going out. His recording had a very elaborate edit of his very best try, looped three times, and then a couple recordings with errors here and there. If his father came when the errors were being played, he won’t disturb. If he went when the recording was sounding perfect and realize he still was playing, he won’t interrupt neither. Nobody will enter his room in the next 3 hours, probably. It was almost 5 pm.

“Plagg, claws...”

“Wait!” Plagg interrupted him mid-sentenced.

“Plagg?”

“First you shush me because you are recording and now you suddenly transform without saying a word? What happened to your manners kid?”

“Sorry Plagg, but I didn’t have any recording of that song, and I really wanted to go out.”

Plagg was still playing hard. Floating with both arms crossed in front of Adrien’s face “Where are we going today?”

“I don’t know... anywhere else but here.” Plagg was still with his tiny arms crossed, clearly upset for being ignored. “But I’m sorry bud, do you want extra cheese before going out today? Or do you want to stay? We can play video games if you want.”

Adrien would probably never realize how much Plagg loved him. He dropped his arms and decided to go lie down to the blonde’s head so he couldn’t see his face. Adrien moved something inside Plagg with his suggestion to stay home to make him, the God of Destruction, feel better when clearly Adrien just wanted to run away. “Nah, I ate the emergency supplies when you were recording. I’m fine if I got three extra cheeses when we return”

Adrien pet Plagg’s head over his head with a smile “You are incorrigible buddy. Plagg, claws out!”

━━━━━━━━※━━━━━━━━

To be honest, she woke up that morning thinking that her day was going to be exhausting.

But here she was, smiling, hugging Luka’s back on the way home, resting her head on him. Both were on his bicycle, carrying an empty box behind.

Luka smelled like lavender, probably because of the cloth softener in his house, but it recalled her freedom and peace. And she just wanted to keep hugging him all day.

It has been an awesome day so far. She woke up late but on time to meet Luka. She stayed very late the previous day dividing the gifts by types. Sweaters, scarfs, gloves, hats, everything was also divided by colors. She tagged everything, unwrapped it and put it into bags, and those bags into a box.

Luka gently carried her around Paris to deliver the clothes into a couple charities for homeless. They got lunch together by the Seine. They saw street performers by the Eiffel Tour doing brake-dance and a couple mimes playing with kids.

Luka bought her a smoothie and they walk down the Jardin des Tuileries while talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

When they passed near Notre Dame, he told her he would like to show her his new progress with her melody, so she listened quietly the 2 minutes song on a bench next to him, watching the peaceful Parisians enjoying a sunny and beautiful Saturday.

Everything was lovely and colorful. So far, no Hawkmoth, no Chloé, no Lila, no stress, no danger. It was like a vacations day and she was up to live it full for what it last. Since the moment she opened her eyes she was waiting for the next akumatized person to show up and change her plans, but it was already 4:00 pm and Luka was successfully distracting her from her own thoughts.

Luka never asked her why she had so much male clothes, and even that small detail gave her peace at mind. He didn’t judge, he just listened.

There was a moment in which she was startled by a purple butterfly on Notre Dame. He immediately put himself on between them, with a fierce determination. But it was a regular butterfly. They laughed together by the realization but laughs stopped when he hugged her.

“I promise I will protect you with all I have if Hawkmoth dare to attack today”

And Marinette knew it was true, he has already done it after all, jumping to protect her from the bees last time. If Luka haven’t done that, who knows what would have happened to her that day.

It made Marinette immediately sad. It was horrible to know that thanks to Chloé: Luka will never be Viperion again, Alya couldn’t be Rena, Max couldn’t be Pegasus, Kim couldn’t be Roi Singe, Kagami shouldn’t be Ryuuko and Nino couldn’t be Carapace.

Of course, Luka thought she was suddenly sad because Marinette was scared for him. He caressed her cheek. “Don’t be sad, Marinette. If there’s something I’m scared of is not Hawkmoth, but to not being able to cheer you up when you are distressed”

Marinette hid her face in his chest.

“You want to talk about it?” He asked, softly.

“What do you think will happen if Hawkmoth wins?” she mumbled.

“That won’t happen. Paris has the best heroes on earth.”

“But what if” she insisted.

Luka meditated his answer for a couple seconds “Then everybody in Paris will help Ladybug and Chat Noir to get a proper revenge. If Hawkmoth ‘wins’ I’m sure everybody will fight along with them to help them restore everything back. Including us both. Am I right?”

Marinette let a little giggle escape her lips. “But of course, Luka”

“I can imagine you as a hero you know, brave, smart, beautiful”

Marinette blushed immediately “Ugh... stop. Don’t exaggerate”

“I am not!” he said, kissing her forehead. Marinette’s heart skipped a beat. “You will probably overshadow Ladybug. At least to my eyes.”

She didn’t immediately reply to that. She was feeling too many butterflies in her belly and even her neck was probably red right now. She covered her face with her hands and mumbled a quiet “Thank you”.

Luka released her from the hug and got on his bicycle again “Let’s go, I don’t want your parents to think I kidnapped you.”

And really, time flies. How come she already spent 8 hours with Luka without noticing it?

So here she was. In her way home, hugging Luka’s back and smiling while mumbling the melody he played for her a couple hours ago. Since the last battle she has spent countless hours talking to Tikki and the other kwamis, studying, learning about history and her new role responsibilities and thinking about strategies. She had been holding quite difficult discussions in her room lately. And she didn’t even have the chance to talk to Chat Noir yet.

So, it felt good to be able to relax today. She didn’t realize she needed a moment of peace that much.

She also didn’t notice Chat Noir jumping from rooftop to rooftop, but he did spot them and gave them a sincere smile from afar.

“Hey, Luka”

Marinette called him from behind when they were a couple streets from her home.

“Yes? Do you want me to stop?”

“No, just change directions please”

“Change directions? Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere” She hugged him stronger. “If it is okay. I just want to stay a little more with you today. Just one more hour.”

Luka’s heart shrank and he almost lost control of the bicycle by Marinette sudden comment.

“Do you want to see the sunset from Sacre Coeur?” He asked.

“I would love to”

━━━━━━━━※━━━━━━━━

Adrien arrived home before anyone noticed it and went downstairs to have dinner at the same time as always. His dad was unexpectedly waiting for him at the table.

“Father? What are you doing here?”

“I have some news to share with you, Son” Gabriel asked him to take a sit with his hand. Someone from the service staff served him a plate with onion soup, toasted bread and a glass of water.

When they were alone, his father started conversation again “As you know, Nathalie have not been feeling well lately”

“Is she sick again?” Adrien was looking at his food with a sad look. Something that was stressing him out lately was how much Nathalie’s condition resembled his mom’s.

“Yes, but there’s good news on that regard” Adrien raised his gaze with a hint of hope. “A doctor found out what was happening to her. She will be out for three weeks for recovery, but she will be cured”

“Really? That’s awesome!” Adrien stood up with energy and a smile from side to side, truly excited for the good news “What did she had?”

“Something related to her inner ear, which explains the dizziness. A minor surgery fixes it”

“Can we go and visit her?”

“She prefers not to. But you are welcome to find a gift if you want, for when she returns” His father kept his gaze busy on his tablet, probably still working.

“I will do it, thanks, Father”

━━━━━━━━※━━━━━━━━

When Marinette closed the door of her room, Tikki flew in front of her with a smile.

“Marinette, did you have fun today?”

“Yes!” Marinette ran to the divan and laid there hugging a cat pillow, while giggling “Today was great, Tikki. I think I didn’t have this much fun in a while.”

“I’m glad” Tikki sat above the cat pillow.

“But as fun as the day was today,” Marinette sat down, letting the pillow aside and holding Tikki on her hands “We have work to do.” She climbed up the stairs of her bed and pull out the miraculous box out of her hidden spot.

She opened it and took the panjas bracelet, put it on and Roarr appeared in front of her. “Hi Guardian! Is it my turn today?”

Marinette giggled at the little kwami “Hello there, would you please be as nice as to help me to know you better?”

“I like peanuts!” Roarr answered fast “I don’t like when the weak is abused, I’m very protective”

“I know you can control the lighting of a place and reflect yourself to camouflage” Marinette was taking notes “I also know you take most of the decisions with Sass back in the box when Tikki and Plagg are out”.

“I have had only 13 permanent holders. Nothing compared to the others, so I’ve stayed most of my time taking care of the world inside the box”

“By what circumstances have you been handled to permanent holders?”

“I was stolen 4 times, 7 times I was needed to hide the order of the guardians, 1 time the guardian of the box preferred my powers to fulfill his job, you know, like Master Fu with Wayzz, and one time the Guardian of the box preferred the Pig miraculous, and give my miraculous to his lover so I can help to keep the box safe with her.”

Marinette stopped writing. “What?”

“What, what?”

“A Guardian share this secret with his lover?! Who was it?”

“It was many, many centuries ago” Roarr jumped from Marinette’s hand to her hair “The guardian was married when he was appointed to the task and he decided that the way to keep his family protected was to share the secret with Abelia.”

“Was it a good idea?”

“Many tragedies overcome his family. I know Abelia didn’t regret any.”

They chatted a bit more, Marinette did a pause to get her some peanuts, she showed her the room and what she liked to do and finally they wish each other sweet dreams after a couple hours of getting to know each other.

It was already after midnight and Marinette was already laid on bed when a noise called her attention.

“Ugh... again?”

She popped her head out and saw a watering can spinning on the floor. It stopped and a little kitty walked out there.

“What are you doing inside there, little buddy?” It was a brown kitty, smaller than the one she saw the other day, but this time the kitty didn’t run away the moment he heard her. It walked to the watering can again, searching for something. Marinette saw how he started to lick the metal, so she went out and pour him some water in a flowerpot base she saw near him.

The kitty followed her and started to drink water “Were you thirsty little one?” She couldn’t help it and pet his head a little. “Such a cutie”

Part [1] [2] [3]

Gosh I’m the worst... I know this looks like a Lukanette (which I also love) but this is the most realistic turn I can take after that season finale! This is a Marichat story even if I haven’t prove it yet :) (please remember the sloow slowwww burn disclaimer from part 1)

#marichat #lukanette #ml fanfic #marinette deserves better #slow burn #my writing #marichat... eventually #after season 3 finale #lovesquare

59 notes · View notes